#i wrote this in 3 hours so if it isn't the best

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 26: I Hate You, I Love You

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty-six of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 8.3K

Warnings:  I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's Soldier Boy. , Angst, Cursing, Sexual References, Family Problems- A LOT of family problems, Past Trauma, Death Mentioned, Self Deprecating Thoughts, Blood mentioned. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/n: I know that this isn't the final battle, but I wrote most of the battle and the chapter was so long (it was over 13K and I wasn't close to ready) that I needed to break it up. So now this is just a wonderful helping of angst in which the reader and Ben do the thing that they do best… fight with each other and then make up.

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READER POV

The silence that follows Homelander's disappearance with Lou and Rosemary's pursuit after him is deafening. It feels like hours have passed, but it's only been seconds. You feel cold and hot, nothing and everything. Fear, anger, anxiety, and terror all congeal into an ice cold ball in the pit of your stomach. Rubble is covering the thick shag carpet on the bedroom floor, the air filled with flecks of dust and drywall from Homelander's departure. You weren't thinking about how Legend would react though, couldn't think of anything else except the fearful look on Lou's face when Homelander grabbed her and refused to release her.

The thought that Lou was trapped with someone like him broke you. The fear that came with the thought was almost mind-numbing, because Homelander was dangerous and now that Ben and you had told him that you didn't want anything to do with him, there were no other bargaining chips. Homelander couldn't be placated because you had crushed the glimmer of hope in his eyes by telling him that he wasn't your son and that he was monster. You knew that Homelander was smart enough that he wouldn't believe you now if you promised him family, not when he had Lou and probably had Rosemary.

Rosemary had minimal training when it came to fighting, yes you'd made sure that she knew the basics of self-defense, but she'd never fought another supe before. She was never interested in that sort of thing. And it wasn't always about using your powers when it came to fighting another supe, it was about tactics and knowing the weaknesses of your opponent. In a fight with someone like Homelander, you couldn't just rely on your abilities, you had to understand what you were up against and see the little ticks that he tried to hide. You'd watched stronger supes fall because they relied too heavily on their abilities, and you worried that Rosemary would be the same way. That she would be filled with a blind rage because Homelander had Lou and that he would use her anger and frustration to his advantage.

Tears were streaming down your face and you were still struggling in Ben's grip, where his arms were wrapped around you, holding you back from chasing after them. And the longer he holds you, as more seconds tick by, everything else goes and you're left with something else.

To say that you were angry was an understatement, you were livid. You hated that Ben had done this to you again. That once again Ben was acting like you weren't a supe, like you weren't powerful, and like you needed to be locked away from the world in a glass cabinet. You were sick of it.

Because you understood that Ben loved you, that he wished to protect you and that he feared losing you, but you refused to allow him to walk on eggshells around you and put you in a glass bubble because of his insecurities.

Yes Ben had told you that he saw your strength in the past, that he saw how powerful you were, and only wished for you to need him, but you were done with this. He didn't have any right to do it. And yes, he was the man you loved, but he was not your master. Perhaps that's what made all this worse for you, that Ben said how much he loved you and that he saw your power, but every time things went South he did shit like this.

"Ben, let me go." You growl, turning your head to look over your shoulder.

"No. Not until you promise not to go after them." Ben's eyes are narrowed. He knew that if you promised him, you wouldn't do it, that you cared too much about what a promise represented to break one.

It was true, which was why you weren't going to promise him shit.

"I won't promise that."

"Then I guess I'm not letting you go." He says it casually, but the look in his eyes is meant to convey that he is just as upset with this turn of events as you are.

"Oh I think you fucking will." Your teeth clench together and as you say it, you turn your palms face down in front of you and break his hold. Having Homelander's strength made it easier to face Ben. In the past the two of you had sparred together in training. Back then you didn't think too much about it, but now you understood that he did it to make sure you knew how to protect yourself when he wasn't there, that he worried about you more than he wanted to say and that was the only way he could prepare you without telling you how much you meant to him.

Ben stumbles back a step, his eyes flashing with anger and you’re sure that he can see the same emotions written on your face.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You snarl at him.

“My problem?” Ben sputters.

“Yes!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? If anything it’s you that’s having a problem-“

“Oh I’m sorry Benjamin. Am I being difficult?" You press a hand to your chest feigning remorse. "Forgive me for having a fucking problem when our granddaughter has just been KIDNAPPED by a psychopath. And our daughter is going to face him alone!"

"She's not alone-"

"Wrong. She is alone, because you wouldn't let me help her."

"I told you that I didn't want you to fight him alone. I told you that we would do this together-"

"I wouldn't have been alone if you'd stop being so damn overprotective!" You snap, stomping over to the chest of drawers, searching through them angrily for something to wear. It was difficult not to rip the handle off the front in your anger. You were still wearing your sweatpants and an oversized paint splattered t-shirt, and the last thing you wanted was to face Homelander looking like that.

Why can't he just understand that I am powerful too? Why can’t he let me go for once? Why does he keep doing this?

You hated that he was acting like you couldn't handle yourself, especially after he had seen you destroy Legend's backyard single handedly the other day with your mind. You were so sick of being underestimated. First Vought, then Stan, and now Ben, and you didn't want to be seen that way anymore. You were powerful and damnit you weren't going to "sit" and "stay" because some man ordered you to.

"I am not being overprotective!" Ben's voice is a low growl. "The other day I told you that I didn't want you to do this by yourself, that I didn't want you to do any of this alone. That I'm here-"

"Well congratulations Ben! Our daughter is doing exactly that right now, facing fucking Homelander alone, because you couldn't just let me go." You grab the end of your shirt and take it off, shucking it to the floor before you begin to put on the tight long sleeved black t-shirt. "You always do this."

"Do what?"

"Underestimate me!" You take off the sweatpants and quickly step into the dark jeans. By now your eyes were flashing bright purple and you could feel the thrum of your abilities under your skin, begging to be released. The energy was growing with each passing second, the lights in the room flickered and you could feel an unnatural breeze rustling the curtains that were hanging from the windows, coming from you.

"I do not fucking underestimate you. I know how powerful you are-"

"Well you have a funny way of showing it." You spit turning around to face him again.

Ben is also getting dressed. His sweatpants have been replaced with the bottom portion of his supe suit, his knife, pistol, and top half of his suit is laying on the unmade bed. "We have already talked about why I have a problem with you doing shit like that alone." His words are almost a growl, but you can hear an emotion on the edge of them that isn't anger. It was worry.

You knew what he was referring to, when he told you that he hated watching you die because it made him feel like he'd failed to protect you, that every time you were hurt, Ben struggled with that.

You knew how he felt.

The other day at Herogasm when Homelander had him by the throat all you saw was red. You didn't want to witness Ben's last moments just as he had witnessed yours multiple times. But it didn’t mean that you held Ben back from doing what he needed to do. You saw his strength and supported him. All you wanted was for him to support you.

A part of you deep down registered that he acted like this to protect you, that he didn't want to lose you as much as you didn't want to lose him. And as happy as you were that Ben was finally getting comfortable showing and talking about his emotions in front of you, you still wished that he would let you be strong for yourself. You had to be strong without him for forty years, protecting Rosemary and Lou.

Does he really think that Stan and Countess are the only people who I've killed in the past forty years? That there haven't been other people and supes that figured it out? Did Homelander really think that Stormfront's death was a suicide? 

"You let me face the twins!" You shout.

"Those incestuous fucks couldn't handle you when they were full powered, let alone when they were dried out." Ben states pulling his shirt over his head.

"I don't understand why Homelander is any different." You cross the room to grab the long dark green leaver overcoat, the same one that Ben had scraped the blood and bits of flesh off when you returned to Legend's after you killed Stan. "You saw me handle him the other day-"

"Because he is different!" Ben practically stabs his knife down into it's holster on his belt.

"Oh really?" You tap your lip as if deep in thought. "Huh. Because I remember you calling him a pussy when you were thinking about killing him. When you told me that Butcher asked you to."

"He is." Ben's eyes are blazing now.

Your sarcasm always did that to him, and it did tend to rear it's ugly head in the most inopportune moments. In all the years you'd known him, Ben never really did like it when you got like that.

The room was quickly heating with the force of Ben’s anger, a slight glow radiating out from his chest, but Ben was keeping it under control. At least for now.

"Oh, so he is a pussy, but not when I have to fight him?"

"Yes." He seethes through clenched teeth.

"I hate to break this to you Benjamin, but of the two of us, I'm the one who has fought him and kicked his fucking ass." You spit back at him, sick of his attitude.

Ben crosses the room in two heavy strides so that he's standing over you, his hands on his hips. "The only reason why you fucking fought him, was because you felt the need to step in when I had him handled."

"Did you have him handled? Could have fooled me. When someone has you by the throat I find it hard to say that you have a handle on the situation!" You mirror his stance, refusing to back down.

"Don't fucking do that."

"Do what?"

"Be sarcastic! You know that I hate it."

"That's just too damn bad!" You snap. "I'm not your dog Benjamin  you cannot tell me what to do."

"I do not treat you like a damn dog. I will say that you're being bitchy." His teeth are grinding together, so hard that you can audibly hear it.

"Well excuse the fuck out of me! I think I'm allowed to be bitchy," You seethe the word. "Because you're acting like a sexist dick!"

"I am not-"

"Yes you are." You poke your finger into his chest. "And I don’t want you to come with me."

"Like fucking hell I'm going to sit here and wait around for you to come back."

"I don't want you to come with me because I don't want to spend the whole fucking time worried that you're going to get in my fucking way and prevent me from doing what I have to do."

"I do not get in your way." Ben roars.

"Yes you do." Your eyes narrow. "And I don't need some "big strong man" to do things for me!" You make air quotes around 'big strong man' to emphasize the point, but Ben was not getting it.

This was one of the worst fights you'd ever had with him, you knew that. The two of you had many over the years, Legend was not lying when he told Butcher that, but this one was quickly nearing the same magnitude as the fight the two of you had the night of the premiere. This was more than just the two of you going through the motions of being frustrated with one another and more than the two of you shouting over a little problem, this was about Ben's continuous need to hold you back and keep you out of harms way like you weren't a supe and perfectly capable of doing thing by yourself.

"All I do is try to protect you." His eyes are dark now, not a trace of green in them, looking more like darkened pits. When Ben was really angry you'd seen them go that dark before, only the night of the premiere had you seen them like that when he looked at you, all the other times you'd seen that look when he felt the need to put someone in their place, to beat them into submission.

"I don't need you to protect me!" It comes out in one breath, uttered in an exasperated tone, because again Ben just didn't understand.

Ben stops. "You don't need me?" The words aren't in the same harsh tone that he used before, it's softer, and the anger in his eyes shifts to something else for just a moment.

You could feel regret swirling in your chest, because you did need Ben. You needed him more than life itself, didn't want to spend a moment away from him. You hadn't meant to say it like that. And you know that it was something Ben struggled with, the idea that you didn't need him anymore or never did need him.

"No. Ben, I do fucking need you, but I don't need you to protect me all the time." You emphasize with a sigh. "I've changed. I'm not the same person I was in Philadelphia. I'm not the same little girl. I've been taking care of myself and Rosemary and Lou for years. I needed to change and so I did."

Ben still looks like he can't fully understand what you're trying to say.

"Ben do you really think that Stan is the only person that I've killed in the past forty years?"

Ben blinks surprised.

"There have been others. People who asked too many questions. Supes that just didn't believe the lie that Stan and I made up." You sigh. You weren't ashamed of that, weren't ashamed of the things you had to do to keep your daughter and your granddaughter safe. "You think that every death leaves a scar, but not always." You murmur remembering the fight with Stormfront, the one you never talked about. When she showed up on your doorstep and threatened you and Rosemary. And the others who threatened you, tried to blackmail you because they didn't fear you the way they should have. Stormfront had expected the same woman she knew from the past, but you weren't her anymore.

"What do you mean there have been others?" Ben's expression hardens, malice swimming in his eyes when he realizes that other people have hurt you.

Flashes of the past come creeping up, years you spent with Ben and the cold ones that you'd spent without him stumbling around like someone trying to find light when they were buried underground. And you did love him, but you hated that he did this, because every time he did it made you feel small, it made you feel again like he didn't see you or comprehend who you were.

"They don't matter now." You sigh. "But I am not something to be possessed. I am not someone who’s going to hang on your arm make you look good and laugh at all your jokes. I am not something to be controlled or shielded from the world. If I wanted to just be a trophy or a doll for someone to use any way they wished I would have stayed and married Howard. But I didn’t. I came with you, but I never imagined that you would treat me that way. I never imagined that you would treat me like he did.”

Ben looks stunned. He should. In all the years you’d known him you’d never compared him to Howard like that. It was a low blow and you knew it, but you were pissed. It hurt you to say the words, hurt you to open up that wound all over again, but it was the truth. You didn't lie to Ben and you weren't going to start now.

The words ring through the air between the two of you, the space between your bodies suddenly miles apart even though you were standing in the same room. It was the first time you'd ever felt that distance with him, not since the night he came to your apartment the night that he almost killed Noir and after the two of you talked you cried in the shower frustrated and angry with yourself because you couldn't tell him how you felt and upset that he didn't love you the way you loved him. And now you were just as frustrated and angry with him.

Ben opens his mouth to answer you, the look in his eyes heartbreaking.

"What the fuck happened in here?" Butcher shouts stumbling down the stairs and into the room. He looks disheveled, like he just rolled out of bed.

"Homelander." Your gaze leaves Ben. "He took Lou, Rosemary went after him."

"He took Lou?" Hughie sputters from behind Butcher, fear flitting through his eyes.

It was the same fear that had begun to trickle back in after the fight you just had, but the things that Ben and you had yelled at one another were still there, soaking through the air like a foul odor and seeping in to your heart. You weren't sure if it meant that you could come back from it or not.

"Yeah." Ben grunts.

"Then lets go get her." Butcher says. "Come on." He gestures with his hand and begins to trek up the stairs with Hughie in tow, leaving Ben and you in the bedroom alone once more.

But this time you can't say anything, can't bring yourself to apologize because you're still so damn mad, and so instead you follow after Butcher, without giving Ben a backwards glance.

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SOLDIER BOY POV

The car smoothly followed the long stretch of highway under Butcher’s hand, the trees along the road flashing by in a green blur, but it still didn’t seem like it was going fast enough.

It had taken Butcher and Hughie ten minutes to get ready after they stumbled downstairs to where Ben and you were and now the four of you were on the road and driving to New York. Hughie and Butcher were in the front seat while Ben and you sat in the back, but unlike the other day when you drove to Herogasm together, you were sitting on the other side of the car, arms crossed over your chest staring out the window, and not touching him at all.

Ben's jaw clenched when he remembered the day you drove together to Herogasm, when he held your hand and you leaned into his shoulder, reveling in the fact that you wanted him there with you.

And he wasn't sure that you still did. As much as he hated to admit it, that scared him. He didn't know where he should be if he wasn't with you. Everything else felt wrong. To be without you was like being without the sun, living in the deepest darkest cave and refusing to see the light.

That being said, Ben knew you were pissed, he was too.

Watching Homelander take Lou all but ripped him in half. He hated that the pussy had used a fucking child as a shield and hated that he had gotten away with it. Ben felt his body tense when he remembered the fear in Lou's eyes and a jolt of white hot rage burns through him at the thought that Homelander was hurting her.

Ben cared about Lou as much as he cared about you. She loved him and always made him feel welcome, and even though Rosemary never did, he was worried about her too. Maybe it was because he saw how much it hurt you for them to go, for Homelander to take Lou and for Rosemary to race after him. He knew that was your worst fear, but that didn't stop Ben from holding you back, for refusing to let you go alone to a place that Ben couldn't follow.

He'd never resented his abilities before, but he suddenly wished that he could fly. He would have soared after Homelander, after Rosemary, and after you if you had followed behind them.  That was why he had held you back though, because he couldn’t and he was scared.

The word felt like a curse to think, but it was true. Ben knew that it was fear coursing through his veins in those few moments when he realized that you were going to go after Homelander and he wouldn't be able to follow. He didn’t want you to face him alone, didn’t want to watch you die again.  After all these years, each time you died he feared that it would be the last, he feared that it would be the time it stuck and that he would be left all alone. He didn't want to live in a world without you, he'd done that for forty years and he was done with that.

Ben believed that it was his job to be there for you and after forty years of him being away, he wanted to be there to help you and take care of you. He was ready to make up for the lost time and he had told you how he felt the other day when you destroyed Legend's backyard, that he wanted the two of you to do this together.

That was before today.

Ben's hands are curled into fists on his lap as he forces himself to look out his own side of the car, refusing to look at you. If you could do the silent treatment he could too. Of all the fights the two of you had in the past, Ben knew this one was worse or at least it was as bad as when he fucked up, fucked Countess and then pushed you away when all he wanted was to bring you closer.

Honestly, you'd never compared him to Howard before. Ben could still remember the words you uttered to him the night of your birthday before you allowed him to take you to bed:

"Don't be jealous of Howard. He meant nothing to me. No one means as much to me as you do Ben."

Ben remembered the way you'd smiled up at him when you said it cheeks slightly flushed, lips red from when he kissed you.  He remembered the way he felt like he'd swallowed pure sunshine, because that was what you always did to him. You always made him feel like he was the only person in the world that was allowed to see the real you. He knew that you loved him, knew that he loved you more than life itself, but what you'd yelled him before Butcher came downstairs made him feel like taking a two by four to the chest. It hurt him.

He hated what you said to him, that you compared him to that asshole from back home. Ben wished for nothing more than to wipe the memories of that man from your mind. When you were younger sometimes Ben would see Howard and you sitting in the park or getting lunch. He remembered the way that you never seemed to smile as wide, how small you looked, how Howard liked you better in the gowns that your mother chose for you, how Howard liked you silent, and how Howard preferred your body covered in heavy coats even though it was the middle of summer.

That particular thing always pissed Ben off, because he knew how you struggled with that, struggled with the way you looked and Ben hated that someone else who stated they loved you made you feel small and ugly, when you were the most beautiful woman that Ben had ever seen in his life.

Ben hated Howard with a passion for that exact reason, because Howard did try to control you. He chose what you wore, complained about what you ate, discouraged your art, and did other unspeakable things that you had told Ben over the years. Things that made Ben want to go back to Philadelphia and end Howard’s bloodline.

But sometimes on the nights when Ben was away at boarding school and he couldn't sleep he would think of Howard and you. Ben would never admit this to anyone, but he would compare himself to Howard, try to find the little differences that Ben thought made you like Howard, the differences that Ben thought about doing himself to make you love him the way he loved you. It always made him feel like a fucking pussy though. His father probably would have beat him within an inch of his life if his father knew that Ben was comparing himself to another man. It was something that Ben's father ingrained in him, that Ben's was from a strong, proud, family that never did that. And that a real man knew that he was better than everyone else, and if anyone tried to challenge that then it was best settled in the ring.

Ben sighed. He was trying hard to weed out the toxic things his father told him. You helped immensely with that, by letting Ben know that he didn’t have to be strong all the time and didn’t need to keep everything inside, that he didn't have to hide what he was feeling from you.

He loved that about you, that he felt like he never had to hide who he really was, that you saw all the parts of him he locked away for so long from everyone else and didn't care. And in exchange he got to see all the wonderful things about you and he didn't want to trade that for the world.

Even though he was angry with everything the two of you shouted, he still loved you.

You were just so damn stubborn all the time and never wanted to see things the way I do and-

Ben gritted his teeth together as another wave of annoyance came over him. He really did hate how stubborn you were. Probably because you were just as stubborn as he was and that meant the two of you were often at a stalemate.

Ben glanced over to where you were looking out the window. You were frowning, arms crossed tightly over your chest, leaning back against the cloth seats.

The awkward silence in the car was palpable and Ben knew that Hughie and Butcher were also trying not to notice the tension in the backseat. There was a song playing on the radio that Ben didn't recognize, but Hughie kept bobbing his head along to the music while Butcher's hands tighten on the wheel.

Ben's eyes flick back to where you are staring out the window. He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. Honestly he'd rather the two of you be yelling at one another than you give him the silent treatment. At least then he had some semblance of what was going on in your head. Ben knew you better than anyone, which meant that he was usually good at reading you, but not now.

Even Ben could admit to himself that you'd changed some, you were a little harder than you had been when he knew you, but it didn't make him love you any less. He had been shocked at your revelation that you'd killed other people. Ben was trying to ignore what you'd said about not all deaths leaving scars.

He'd been present for most of the ones that had happened in the past, but he wondered how many others there had been, and what other powers you had maybe acquired. That  was the thing about you, you weren't one to brag, never seemed to need to use as many powers to take someone down.

Your arms tighten around your body and Ben watches a single tear roll down your cheek.

Fuck. He thinks to himself. He really didn't want to be the reason why you're crying. He had been the main reason for so long and he hated that, he hated making you cry and hated when you cried in general. If you weren't so mad at him he would have unbuckled your seat belt and pulled you over onto his lap so he could hold you close and make you feel better, but he wasn't sure you wanted that, still wanted him.

The thought that you didn't made him feel like he was sinking into the sea, that the sun was slowly being sucked away while he's dragged under into the depths. Ben didn't know who he was without you, didn't know where he would go, and certainly didn't know what his purpose was if he wasn't in your life.

Before he can stop himself he reaches out to touch your arm, but you flinch away from him, still looking out the window and not turning to him.

Ben fights the urge to make you talk to him, and drops his hand back down to his thigh, curling it into a fist again. Ben felt something in his chest that was unfamiliar when you didn't let him touch you. He wasn't sure if it was fear or anger or frustration but it was there, simmering underneath the skin.

It reminded him too much of when he came back you didn't let him touch you, didn't want him anywhere near you. He didn't want to admit how much he relied on that, you touching him, not just sexually. The little touches you gave him on the back of his hand to comfort him when you knew he was anxious, or the brace of your hand against his shoulder or back when he was sitting down to reassure him that you were with him and that you weren't going anywhere or the moments you adjusted his collar when it was facing the wrong way, or smoothed a wrinkle at the front of his shirt or even just running your fingers through his hair the way you knew he liked, Ben lived for them, for all those little moments.

No one else had ever tried to touch him that way before, with comfort and love.

Even when you were children, the hugs you gave him when you saw him made everything else seem colorless in comparison. When he came back to you and you refused to let him touch you he was afraid you never would again and when you began to touch him again he felt like he’d ascended to another plane, but now your refusal for him to touch your elbow or even take your hand worried him.

He did not believe that he could survive without something as simple as that.

But all of that just solidified the one thing that Ben knew deep down, had known since the moment he realized how much you meant to him, that you were his one weakness, his fatal flaw, the one thing in his life that he couldn’t live without. He didn’t want to imagine that world existed because he couldn't survive without you.

That was why he didn't want you to fight Homelander alone. It wasn't because he didn't see how strong you were, it was that he was so afraid that he was going to lose you that he couldn't control himself.

He hated admitting that even to you, but now he knew he had to, because he knew his pride wasn't worth losing you.

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READER POV

After the most awkward car ride in history, you were ready to get out and kick some ass. Despite Butcher's accelerated driving it had taken five hours to get back to the city from Legend's due to traffic and the whole time you were especially aware of Ben's presence. His brooding was practically audible from the other side of the car where he sulked and refused to look at you. You figured that just as he did the silent treatment you could too, but it didn't make it any easier.

Frankly nothing made any of this easy.

You were frustrated by this turn of events, that Homelander had done the one thing that you feared more than anything else in the world, the one thing that you had tried to prevent from happening your entire life, but he had.

But as upset as you were and worried about Lou and Rosemary, you were upset with yourself over what you had said to Ben. You hadn't meant to mention Howard, it was a low blow and you knew how much he hated the time you spent with Howard. You knew that Ben struggled with the thought that you possibly loved Howard more than you loved him and the  possibility that you regretted spending your life with Ben rather than him. And you knew that it hurt him as much as the moments you watched him with other women over the years.

You didn't want Howard, never wanted Howard, never felt anything for him, and for Ben you felt everything. Sometimes you were afraid to show Ben just how much you felt for him, feared that it would make him push you away when he realized just how much you needed him. In the forty years you spent away from him you tried to convince yourself that you didn't, but having him back was like everything coming back in color from black and white. But at the same time you were still a little angry, angry with him for holding you back when you knew you could have taken Homelander down yourself.

Because in your heart you knew that was what Howard did to you. Not that he held you back from fighting a psychopathic supe, but that Howard never saw you more as a possession, a jewel in a crown adorned on his lofty head, nothing more than something to parade around Philadelphia. That's why it was so different for you when you were with Ben, because Ben saw you, he never covered you up with heavy cloaks, he never discouraged your love of art, he never bored you or made you feel like your opinion wasn't important. Ben made you feel alive, and Howard? Howard made you feel like the empty husk of what you used to be.

You press your lips together in a tight line as Butcher pulls up the seat so you can get out of the backseat and set foot on solid ground. Hughie had been left behind at a gas station, and yes you hated that Butcher had done that, but at the same time you were relieved. You didn't want him to get hurt. You still believed that Hughie was different than you, not that he was innocent, but he wasn't jaded or hardened the way you had to be to survive.

Your gaze lifts to look up at the towering skyscraper that rises from the earth like a proud oak tree on a hill. Vought tower looks the same way it always has, bold and haughty like the men who founded the company all those years ago. The setting sun glints off the glass windows like the last glimmer of summer, something to be grasped before the cold of winter comes to take it all away.

You'd stood here looking up at the building before, watched the lights turn off and on, watched the people go in and out of the building, and had crossed the threshold a handful of times. The final time was to deliver last rights to your good friend Liberty.

She, like a few others, hadn't believed your story and had shown up to speak with you. But unlike the others, her methods of finding out if you were still you was to try to kill you. She had succeeded and then left stating that she would "be back to catch up." When you'd gone to Vought to find her, you hadn't been expecting her to look the way she did, half burned and laying in a hospital bed. You didn't know why she looked that way. It had been odd to stand there over her, odd to remember the person she used to be, proud and powerful and then look at the broken body that laid there. Her death had been a necessary evil, the only time you ever stepped foot in Vought Tower in the last forty years, but if it was to protect your family it was worth it to you.

Your frown grows the longer you stand there underneath the ominous glow that emanates from inside, anxiety prickling along your skin like the spines of a cactus. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this way, just that you didn't want to feel this way ever again. The building was a symbol of everything you hated, and you vowed deep down to destroy Vought and send it to hell where it belonged and make those who were responsible for Vought's success pay.

You think about the other day in Legend's backyard, when Ben pulled you back from the darkened pit and back into the light, when Ben told you that he didn't want you to do it alone, that he wanted to be there for you, and when he promised you again that he wasn't leaving and that he wanted you to give him all your burdens.

Yes he wants to be there for me, I get it, I GET IT. You sigh in frustration. I understand that he loves me and that he wants to protect me, but I wish he would just-

"Y/n?" Ben says from behind you. His voice is quiet, reserved, but you know that he's probably just as upset as you are.

You turn and glance up at him. Ben hadn't tried to touch you since you shifted away from him in the car. It hurt you to do that to him, to pull away from his touch when all you wanted was for him to comfort you. The night he came back to you, you hadn't lied when you said that he might have been the one who hurt you, but he was the only person you wanted to comfort you. That was the hard thing about loving him and him being your best friend. It was difficult to draw the line in the sand, to separate the two.

The feeling was normal. It was the same one you had when he broke your heart. You had hated him then too, but he was still the only person you had and the longer you stayed in bed running over the years you spent with him, the more you wished that he was with you. The only person that you wanted to comfort you and care for you even after everything that he had done and yelled at you at the premiere, was Ben.

Sometimes it scared you how much you relied on his touch, how much you needed just a comforting hand on your arm, or for him to tuck your hair behind your ear or for him to kiss you or for him to hold you while you slept. You didn't realize how much you needed it, how much you craved it until he came back and you allowed him to touch you again.

In the car you had been trying not to cry, but everything was building, your frustration with Ben over the conversation the two of you had, fear over what would happen to Lou and Rosemary, and red hot anger directed at Homelander. A single tear had slipped and when Ben had tried to comfort you, you pulled away from him.

Fuck.

You hadn't wanted to. You'd wanted to curl up against him and let him make you feel better, but you were still angry with him for holding you back.

The words you yelled at him momentarily ring in your ears. It wasn't just that you compared him to Howard, it was you told him you didn't need him to protect you. But you knew Ben better than anyone and you knew that he was probably circling the drain and thinking that you basically told him that you "didn't need him" when you did.

"Yeah?" You clear your throat. It was difficult to look at him, not when you were so close to just breaking down and telling him that you were sorry. You knew that you needed to be focused on what was about to happen, but you couldn't, not when things were like this between the two of you. You hated fighting with him.

Ben's gaze drifts to where Butcher is staring expectantly at you.

"Give us a minute." Ben says to him.

"Why?"

"Just give us a fucking minute." Ben snaps, obviously annoyed, but you knew that he was probably upset about the fight the two of you had and he was projecting that anger onto Butcher.

"Fine. I’ll clear the lobby. Don’t take too long." Butcher frowns, but turns and stalks up the front steps of the building.

You turn back to look at him, unable to stop the sarcastic comment from building. Because yes, you wanted to forgive him, but at the same time you were still frustrated with him. "What? Are you gonna lock me in the car? Or are you going to tell me again how you don’t want me to fight him?"

"No." Ben growls.

"Then why-"

"Because I don’t want it to be like this." Anger lurks on the edge of his words, but at the same time you can hear something else in his voice, something that sounds a little broken. And it makes your heart clench in you chest.

"You don’t want what to be like this?" You ask confused.

"I don’t want us to go in there angry at each other." He continues.

"Why not?"

"Because I-" Ben stops, his jaw tightening for a moment, before he sighs. "I hate it when you’re mad at me. When you don't let me-" He swallows and you watch his eyes drop to your hand for a moment and you understand what he's saying.

That he hates it when you don't let him touch you. You hated it too.

"You think I like being mad at you?" You whisper, fingers itching to touch his cheek, to push back the dark hair that has fallen forward into his eyes.

"No." He breathes.

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence fill the space between you. The sounds of the city rising around you, the sound of traffic, vendors downtown, and the smell of the pretzel stand around the corner are everywhere. There aren't as many people on the streets now, but you know that it's only a matter of time before someone recognizes Ben in his uniform.

You sigh as you look up at him. Despite the uniform there's a vulnerability in his eyes that you can't shake and you understand how much it must have hurt him too.

“I don’t like it when you’re mad at me either.” You reply.

"I don’t like being mad at you." Ben exhales heavily. "And I don't want it to be like this before we go in. If something happens I-" He stops talking. "I don't want our last conversation to be like that."

"What do you mean you don't want our last conversation to be like that?" This time you can't help, but take his hand and Ben physically relaxes as you do, squeezing your hand back just as tightly.

"If this doesn't work out, if-" His jaw locks and he drops his eyes from yours. "I can't lose you."

"Ben." You whisper and this time you can't help but hug him, pull him close to comfort him. Your arms go up around the back of his neck, burying your face into the hollow of his throat. "You're not going to lose me. Everything is going to be fine." Ben's body immediately curves around you, arms holding you against him so tight it's almost painful, like he thinks you'll never allow him to do this ever again.

"I'm not strong enough for that y/n-" He whispers it so low that you're not sure he meant for you to hear it. "I can't-"

"Shh." You breathe, moving your hands into his hair, smoothing down the unruly strands at the back of his head. "I promise you're not going to lose me." You pull back to look him in the eye. "But I want you to treat me like an equal, like you see my power-“

“I do.”

“No you don’t, because if you did you wouldn’t hold me back all the time.”

“I’m trying not to, but-“ Ben sighs leaning forward into you. “You said it’s your job to take care of me, well it’s my job to protect you.” His expression hardens. “And I failed before.”

“What happened to me was not your fault.”

“I should have been there. I shouldn't have left you for a second-"

“Just like I should have been there in Nicaragua." You whisper back, with a sorrowful sigh. "Just like I should have asked more questions, should have made sure that you were really gone. Then you wouldn’t have had to be in that lab, you wouldn't have been alone-"

“That’s not your fault.” Ben's forehead is against yours now. "Please don't feel bad about that."

“It doesn’t matter if it was my fault or not. I should have been there for you. I will forever feel guilty that I didn’t come for you sooner and that you had to endure that for forty years.” You drop your eyes to his chest.

“Then I’ll forever feel guilty for the way I treated you.” Ben replies.

"I don't want you to." Your gaze rises to his once more, locking with his deep green eyes.

It was true. You could still remember what he said to you, remember what he did, but he was here now and he was doing everything right to make you forget. He was being so different and working so hard to make up for the past that you didn't feel the prick of pain with the memories that you used to.

"And I don't want you to feel guilty about what happened to me." Ben murmurs, raising his hand to cup your cheek. "Those years don't matter to me. The only thing that matters to me is being here with you. And I don't want to miss another second because I did something stupid again."

"And I don't want you to feel guilty about what you did to me anymore. Because you're making me forget, you're doing everything you can to be different, and you're making me fall in love with you all over again." You whisper, leaning in to his hand where his thumb traces gently over your cheekbone. "And I don't care what the past held as long as I have a future with you, as long as you're here with me I don't care about anything else."

Ben smiles when he kisses you, the shape of his lips imprinting against yours, and making you lose yourself in loving him the same way that you had all those years ago. "I love you sweetheart."

"I love you too." You smile just as wide, fingers tangling in his dark hair. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have compared you to Howard. You're not like him Ben. You are my everything and Howard was nothing."

He nods. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to hold you back I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

"I know. I want to keep you safe too." You nudge your nose against his, breathing in the same air for a few moments.

He is still smiling softly. "Why are we like this?"

"Like what?"

"We always find something to fight about and I-"

“I kinda like it.”  You shrug.

“What?”

“Not that I like that you’re mad at me or being mad at you, I just think that we like to keep it interesting." You snort. "I think that if we didn't have a healthy amount of fighting we would just be so boring and-"

Ben kisses you again to shut you up, but it doesn't work.

"Plus, I like to think that the make-up is worth it after." You whisper against his lips with a smirk.

You watch Ben's eyes darken, with your comment. "Well, sweetheart, I'd say that we've got about forty years to make-up for." His hand on your waist tightens, moving his lips to your ear. "And I look forward to every single second." Ben's voice is rough and he bites your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine that for a moment clears your worry about Homelander.

"I love you." You smile, kissing him like it's the last thing you'll ever do, like it's the greatest good you'll ever amount to.

"I love you too." Ben replies kissing you like it's the last time he'll be able to and trying not to think that it could be.

********************************************

A/N: A lot of delicious angst before the final fight! I have written most of the fight already, but I am hoping to finish out the next chapter by the end of the week... if the writer's block isn't blocking. 😂😭 I hope y'all liked this one. I see only maybe 2 chapters left officially in the series, but we will see how everything wraps up.

As always thank you so much for reading! I am so happy that so many people love this fic as much as I do. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126 @simplyfixated @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444

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[stressedanime]

read on ao3

Will was sitting on the couch mindlessly flicking through Netflix. He was sitting completely upright, his body full of tension that he had nowhere to put. Nico was late coming home and Will couldn’t help the cascade of worst case scenarios that were currently parading through his mind.

As always, he remembered too late that he and Nico shared each other’s locations, so Will could literally track his location live through his phone. His arms darted around on the couch for his phone, probably more frantically than was necessary.  

Before he could even find his phone he heard the scrape of keys against the lock, and then the sound of the front door opening, announcing Nico’s arrival back home. Will didn’t waste a second before he jumped off the couch and headed to greet his partner.

Nico was standing near the entrance of the house when Will reached him, but before he could embrace him like he always did, Will stopped.

Nico had an expression on his face that was unfamiliar, and frankly jarring to see. He wore a sheepish smile, but his dark eyes were sparkling with… hope? He was also standing slightly hunched with his hands behind his back, obviously hiding something, which was even more concerning.

They stared at each other for a beat, and before Will could question what he was hiding, Nico spoke.

“Will, darling. You love me right?” 

Will blinked at him. “Yes… of course I love you,” he said hesitantly. Nico nodded, and it looked like he gained a little bit of confidence as he stood up straighter.

“You love me and you would do anything for me?” Nico questioned again, and at this point Will’s mind was racing through a million different possibilities. 

Will hesitated, his eyes darting to Nico’s arms that disappeared behind him. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“What do you have ?” Will shot back, taking a step towards him. Nico held his gaze for another second, before sighing and carefully bringing his hands out from behind him. It looked like he was holding a bunched up t-shirt.

Will frowned, not sure what was so remarkable about an old t-shirt that Nico had to confirm Will’s devotion to him. Then he saw movement. Will’s eyes widened, and he closed the distance between them, and lightly touched the edge of the shirt.

Swaddled gently inside was a baby opossum. Its little black eyes stared up at Will, its pink nose wiggling slightly as it sniffed the air. 

Will glanced up at Nico and almost had to look away instantly. Nico was giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen grace Nico’s face. Even the time that he came across a listing for an extremely rare first edition Mythomagic set didn’t come close to the eyes he was currently giving Will. 

As Will stared at his adorable expression, he already knew what Nico was going to ask, and Will wasn’t sure if he could say no.

“Can we keep ‘er?” Nico asked on cue, pouring every ounce of sweetness he could into his voice. Nico blinked and somehow made his eyes even bigger. Will thought that this was vaguely reminiscent of a scene in the animated Puss in Boots they had recently watched together. 

Nico’s favourite animal was opossums. Will and Nico’s Instagram and Twitter DM’s were more or less filled with possum memes, or just pictures of possums with Nico lamenting over how cute they were. He had always joked to Will that if he was to ever own a pet it would be a possum, so Will had to admit it wasn’t really surprising that Nico took the opportunity to bring one home. 

Already feeling his resolution crack he sighed, knowing one of them had to be the voice of reason. “Nico. It’s a baby. Did you steal it from its mother?”

“No!” Nico exclaimed in a half whisper. Will raised his eyebrows. “No, I would never. It’s mom-” Nico cut off and hesitated, looking down at the creature in his hands. He shifted so he was cradling it protectively against his chest instead of holding it out to Will. To Will’s surprise, when Nico met his eyes again, Nico’s face was pinched into an expression that Will recognized as Nico trying to hold back tears.

“Her mom was on the side of the road. She was the only one that was still alive,” Nico said quietly, the last words of his sentence barely a whisper. Nico’s eyes filled with tears, and in tandem Will’s heart filled with sympathy and he reached out to pull Nico into a hug, being careful of the possum in his arms. He gently rubbed Nico’s back, and whispered comforting words. After a little bit, he kissed the top of Nico’s head and pulled back, decidedly not mentioning the newly damp spot on the collar of his shirt. 

“Okay, let's go sit down. We definitely can’t keep it forever, but we have it now. Let's go figure out what we can do.” Nico nodded, and gave Will a peck as he walked by him, whispering a small thank you .

Nico headed to the living room, and placed the baby possum on the coffee table. He kneeled in front of it, crossing his arms on the table and then resting his head on his arms. Nico fixed the possum with a look of pure adoration as it crawled out of the t-shirt, then headed towards where Nico was sitting. 

Will stood for a moment, just studying Nico. It was rare that Nico looked so absolutely soft with his chronic case of resting bitch face. Will got to see the soft side of him more than anyone else, but seeing Nico being so tender with such a tiny little creature caused Will’s insides to melt into a gooey mess. 

Will sat on the couch behind Nico, and Nico leaned back using Will’s leg as back support. Will threaded his fingers into Nico’s dark wavy hair, scratching lightly as his scalp. Nico let out a puff of air and relaxed into the feeling.

“First things first,” Will started as Nico reached out to lightly pet the possum between its ears. “What did you name it?”

“Heather,” Nico answered, faster than Will expected.

“Heather?” Will repeated back to him, and Nico nodded. “Why Heather?” 

Nico wasn’t facing Will, but Will could tell he was blushing by the shade of pink that his ears turned. He mumbled something Will couldn’t hear, so Will leaned forward, prompting him to repeat himself.

“I named her after the possum from Over the Hedge. She was voiced by Avril Lavigne.”

Will let out a small laugh, not out of judgement but out of affection. “That’s cute babe, Heather sounds perfect.” At that Nico tilted his head back into Will’s lap and smiled at him. Will leaned down, the position was a bit awkward but he still managed to give Nico a chaste kiss. 

Will sat up again and Nico turned his attention back to the coffee table. At this point Heather had crawled into Nico’s hand and curled up, closing her eyes. Nico cooed at her, shifting on his legs but being careful not to move his arm at all.

“Are you able to Google what we should do? I know we probably can’t keep her, but I want to make sure we do everything right.”

Will hummed in affirmation and started looking for his phone again. He finally found it on the side table beside his end of the couch. He googled ‘how to take care of a baby possum’ and started reading out the advice.

“Number one thing is to keep her warm, and have her in a dark place. It says to put some rags in a box for her to go in with some sort of heating. I think we have a shoe box somewhere that we can use, and we have that heating pad, so I’ll grab that in a bit.” Nico nodded, and gently placed Heather back into the t-shirt. 

“What about food?” Nico asked quietly. 

“It actually says not to feed her. We could feed her the wrong thing or she could eat something wrong and get it into her lungs. Most of these sources say just keep her warm and safe until we can contact a wildlife rehabilitator.” 

Nico sighed, his shoulders slumping. “That makes sense.” He leaned his head down onto the table. “I don’t want to give you away to some stranger though,” Nico cooed at Heather, using his finger to scratch her head again.

They sat in comfortable silence for a couple moments, before Nico perked up. 

“Wait. What am I saying. Frank’s literally a wildlife rehabilitator! He works at the zoo as a vet! ” 

Will’s eyes widened. “Oh my god you’re right.”

Nico carefully picked up Heather again, and turned around to look at Will. “Do you think they’ll keep her, and let us visit?” he asked, tentative hope written across his face. Will leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose.

“I’m sure you can convince Frank. I think he’s still scared of you.” 

Nico laughed at that, and then shook his head. “I really don’t get why. I was joking when I gave him the shovel talk when he and Hazel started dating.”

“Babe, you can be scary when you’re happy ,” Will said leaning in and looking Nico directly in the eyes. Nico scrunched his nose in disagreement, so Will continued. “Not to me though. There’s no way I can think of you as scary when you bring baby animals home and name them after cartoon characters.” Nico rolled his eyes in annoyance, but the smile on his face betrayed him.

Will lightly gripped Nico’s chin and pulled him close. He caught Nico in a deeper kiss than the others he had given him since he got home, and Will did his best to pour his absolute adoration for Nico into it.

After a couple of moments though he pulled away. He slapped his thighs before standing up. “C’mon, let’s go set up a box for Heather. We can call Frank in the morning.” Nico nodded and stood up next to him slowly so as to not jostle Heather. Before Will could walk away Nico leaned in and gave Will another short kiss.

“Thank you,” Nico whispered against Will’s lips. Will just smiled, and returned the kiss.

[eggmeralda]

spent an hour making a list related to That Fandom, followed by an hour listening to the haunting vibe playlist, followed by an hour reading the fanfic we wrote about my band and crying actual tears bc it's the peak of comedy, followed by an hour thinking about all the things I've ever created that will never be seen by anyone either bc I don't know how to show them to people or bc people just think they're bad but either way I'll never know the true answer, and now it's 10.30pm and I've basically experienced the full spectrum of emotions: autism, existential crisis, silly, and the feeling of being unseen

[chososdiscordkitten]

Just A Taste.

Synopsis: Gojo wants to taste readers breast milk •⩊•

Pairing: Gojo xFem!Reader Content: some plot, mostly nasty stuff, no penetrative sex, nursing handjob, ADULT NURSING, he tries to convince reader to let him suck a lil sum, gojo being weird, mentions he didn't have a mom, BREASTFEEDING, mommy kink if you squint, PREGNANCY KINK, whiny satoru, overall just a lot of nipple and breast play

Dedicated to: @busyreader17 , my beloved for hyping me up to write this, ty<;33

(a.n) why do I only ever write about gojo being a pregnancy freak? has to be studied. wrote this listening to very dramatic classical music

MDNI

Gojo has always been hard headed, never thinking twice on talking back or starting an argument just to prove he was right. And that little quirk about him only enhanced when his child was born.

Even if you were the one who spent countless hours in the emergency room trying to give birth to his big headed child- Satoru insisted that he knew best for his offspring. And in extension- he knew what was best for you. 

“Formula isn't good enough for my child.” he retorted when you mentioned how painful it was to breastfeed his gnawing child.

And when you'd bring up that you were ready to start working again- “You don't have to work- that's why you have me.” 

Little by little Gojo started dictating most of the aspects of your life. There was little to no resistance from you though- you didn't mind his overbearing fatherly tendencies when it came to protecting his family.

But there was one thing, just one thing you'd complain about if you could.

As stubborn as Satoru was in day to day life- he was equally, if not more stubborn in bed. Especially in one specific area.

Gojo begged. Begged on his knees as he watched you pump. Sitting on the couch and bouncing your knee as his hands held onto your calf, “I just want to taste-” he pouted, eyebrows pinched upwards. 

“Satoru.” you gritted through your teeth- hearing the whirr of the machine on your chest. He sighed as he placed his forehead to your knee, mumbling something about how mean you were to him.

This newfound need to taste the milk from your breasts was mildly irritating, not being able to take your shirt off without his eyes prying- parting his lips before asking again.  

Satoru would be lying if he said that anytime your breasts would leak against his chest midway through fucking- it didn’t take every ounce of strength he had to not trail his lips down to your puffy nipple. 

So, so, very tempting. But he'd refrain from acting on his urges, knowing you'd probably shake him off or tell him to stop completely. So instead of doing it without your permission, he settled on asking you anytime he could. 

At first you thought this was just him wanting to know what it tasted like, but when you offered him a small sip from a cup he said- “If i'm gonna drink it, I want it straight from the source.” to which you said, “I guess you're never gonna taste it then.” before tossing the small sip down the sink. 

He must've asked 3 times a day. Gojo needed it so bad- he would beg on his knees at your feet, looking up at you like an abused puppy that you were being far too cruel to.

And you always said no. 

But, your objections sounded like ‘maybe one day’ to his ears. 

So one very early morning, 4 maybe 5 am- you were standing at the kitchen counter, holding the little pumping machine to your right breast as your face churned with a grimace. Your nipples were sore, from the machine sucking harshly and from how often you had to do it.

You had just started filling one of the little bottles, and as though Gojo knew what you were doing, he walked in. Squinting at you, almost asking what you were doing at this hour- till his eyes landed on your breasts you didn't bother to cover. “Go back to sleep, I'll be done soon.” you muttered in a groggy voice as the whirring woke Satoru up from the hazy state he was in. 

He took a few steps towards you- resting his elbows on the counter as he watched the machine milk you. Jealous that a stupid machine had the right to and he didn't. 

The sun not even breaching the skyline made the room dim and dusky. 

You didn't mind if he watched- but that's all you'd ever grant him. But directly after sex- when his chest would be drippng with the light cream colored liquid that leaked from your breasts while he fucked you- and as he looked down to his sculped body in the bathroom, the sink running on a hand towel as you waited for him to come back to help clean you up.

His fingers couldn't help but swipe at the liquid before placing it on his tongue. The whisper of your taste on his tongue made one thing clear in his mind. If he couldn’t wrap his lips around your nipple and suck till there was nothing left- if you wouldn’t grant him that one favor, the closest thing he had was to fuck you in missionary from now on. Hoping one day he would ask you mid way through- and you’d be too fucked out to say anything but yes.  

True if he really wanted to taste you- he could just reach into the freezer and thaw a bag of the pumped milk to try it. But he didn't just want to taste it- he wanted to feel it fill his mouth directly from the source. How warm it would be as it slid down his throat. And god- from the small tastes he's gotten, it's so sweet. You taste so fucking sweet.

His eyes watched as the plastic bottle filled up with milk, almost hypnotized by the liquid. You winced as the machine sucked at your sore nipple, which only made the cogs in Satoru’s brain start churning with schemes. 

With soft eyes he fluttered his white eyelashes up to you, “Does it hurt?” he whispered, looking at your expression that looked more irritated than pained. You nodded your head slowly, “It feels like when your foot is asleep,” you muttered, “but not the ‘numb’ kind of asleep, like the kind that hurts anytime you move it.” you continued as you closed your eyes, exhausted and very ready to go back to bed. 

Satoru raised himself from the counter, taking steps over to you as you felt his presence loom next to you. “Nd you have to do it all the time too-” he scoffed, playing the sympathy card so you'd think he was on your side. 

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, “They always look so full,”  he murmured against your skin, you hummed in response, agreeing with what he was saying as he wrapped his hand around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder. “So painful.” he hummed as his hands dared to trace up your bare torso. 

“I can help, y’know.” The tone he said those words sounded sincere- almost as though he was just trying to make this easier for you, you let out a hum in disbelief, “Unless you're a baby who refuses to latch- no you can't.” you mumbled with a groggy voice. 

Your words came out as a retort- but in Gojo’s ears they sounded like a challenge. 

It was true, his child had the same stubborness as Satoru, refusing to eat anything that didn’t come from a plastic bottle. Thus the pumping and the overproduction of milk that was piled high in the freezer by now. You had half the mind to sell it or empty them down the drain, I mean what child is gonna drink that much? Even if it was a Gojo heir- no child drinks that much milk. 

But the thought pained Satoru, it only reminded him of the times where that frozen milk could have been in his mouth rather than in plastic bags. 

Satoru kept a light touch as his hand trailed to the side of your ribs, scooping the bottom of the free breast you hadn’t pumped yet. Feeling the weight in his hand as he lifted it lightly, and you were just tired enough to let him. “They're so heavy.” he whispered in a coo as you blinked your eyes open, fully registering what he was trying to do. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Don't be gross, ‘toru.” you spoke in a clearer voice, earning a small laugh to ring into your ear as his hand gently grasped the side of your full breast. “What's gross about wantin’ to help?” He murmured in your ear, his hand keeping a light graze as his pointer finger brushed past your tender nipple, you hissed at the feeling causing Satoru to hum an understanding ‘I know.’ into your ear. 

You couldn't see his face but you were sure he was pleased with himself, “That's all I wanna do.” his words sounded wholehearted. Almost earnest as his large hand held onto your breast with a light touch, “I'll be sooo gentle, I promise.” he closed his eyes feeling your breast fill his palm with ease, “I just wanna help you,” he whispered as he pressed the off button on the little machine, guiding your hand to place it on the counter as he pressed an honest kiss to your ear. 

You knew that filling those little bottles would have taken way too long, then the thought of how much faster it would be if you let him- “Let me help you.” 

Satoru’s silver tongue was never your favorite part of him, you never liked how easy it was for him to hide the truth behind seemingly sincere words. 

His brushing fingertips against your sore nipples didn't help either, his fingers were very, very close to squeezing the suede ring of color around the hardened peak- Satoru wanted to see if small rivulets would spurt out of your nipples if he squeezed. 

You inhaled feeling the warm pads of his fingertip caress at your tender nipple. If Satoru wasn't trying to convince you of something, you'd admit it felt nice. You scoffed, “Don't make it nasty ‘toru-” you caved, sighing with an exhausted tone, feeling his warm palms lift your heavy breasts.

Gojo’s mouth had been salivating from the second he walked into the kitchen, and as you said those words he gulped hard. “Course not~” he mumbled, allowing the truth to seep out in his words. 

And as he guided you to sit onto the couch as you've done plenty of times when you'd pump, he already knew how he wanted to be fed, he had thought about it over and over again. And settled on this position, his back was pressed against the tops of your thighs. His long legs extended onto the couch- unashamed of his cock rising from staring at the cream droplet that threatened to fall from your nipple.

Even if this act was obscene and borderlining on too far- you were grateful he didn't make any teasing remarks on how little it took for him to convince you this time. That and how his mouth would have been filled soon enough, so you wouldn't worry about that. 

Your hand was on the back of his head, fingers filled with lily white hair as he fought back a smile. Only the gleam in his eyes showed you just how excited he was. Satoru’s lips parted as his eyes darted back and forth from your sore nipple up to your face that was warm with embarrassment. All but asking for permission as you watched his bottom lip quiver in anticipation. 

With pinched eyebrows, you guided his head towards your aching breast, Gojo’s lips parted awaiting your puffy nipple. His tongue covered the bottom of his teeth- a low groan rumbled onto your skin as he lightly pressed his parted lips onto the skin around your nipple.

You watched with a grimace look on your face, not knowing why he would offer this- let alone enjoy it. 

Satoru’s tongue circled at your hardening nipple, lapping softly as he tried to keep his promise of being gentle as the essence of the milk lingered on his tongue. A small huff left your lip as he rested his tongue at the bottom of your nipple, protecting it from his pearly teeth. 

His hands rested atop his tummy as you caressed the back of his scalp, you nodded your head as a form of permission, giving Satoru the ‘ok’ that he could start- his lips were slow to start sucking, pulling your nipple further into his mouth with a lactogenic motion from his tongue.

Before now, Satoru wasn't fully sure how to nurse if you let him, he knew it wasn't like just sucking your nipple. But the second he felt the sore apex of your breast press against the roof of his mouth, sucking in as much of your breast as he could, his tongue massaged the bottom of your tit to coax the milk to come out. 

The motion came to him as an instinct, as though nursing was engraved in his marrow from the minute he was pulled into this world. 

It took very little effort to pull milk to the surface. But the moan that reverberated onto your breast from a fat droplet hitting Satoru’s tongue- it was bordering on pornographic. It was as though he saw the pearly gates of heaven when the droplet infiltrated the taste buds of his tongue.

No matter how much fantasizing he did, or any of the ghost-like tastes- nothing. Nothing, could have prepared him for how fucking heavenly you tasted.

Your milk was warm, thick enough to leave a light cast on his tongue as he tried to suckle more liquid from your nipple. Gojo’s mouth was latched onto you in a way you knew it would hurt to pull him off.

Satoru’s gaze threatened to shut as you looked down at him. His head coddled in your hand as he kept faltering eye contact with you. Only making this feel even more salacious than it should have. 

No, this was only supposed to be a way for him to help- a way to remove the aching pressure from your breasts and save some time.

But that look in his eyes, the way his eyebrows were furrowed- almost as though he was sucking your tit in spite. 

That was till a bigger wave of your milk rushed into his mouth, earning an almost anguished whimper to pulse against your skin.

Your eyes squinted trying to figure out if he was exaggerating- only the way his eyes struggled to stay open, the blush across his cheeks and the satisfied smile on the perked corners of his lips, convinced you he was being genuine. 

With every ooze of the prized liquid he suckled from your plump breast, Satoru swallowed. Not wanting any to spill from his lips as you placed your hand on his chest that was threatening to start hyperventilating. Too focused on suckling as much milk as he could to even consider keeping a steady breathing pattern. The warmth of his mouth on your tender nipple was soothing, comforting almost.

Gojo’s eyes were half lidded and hazy- trying his very best not to let them roll to the back of his head as the dulcet milk trickled down his throat. 

Unwillingly a small whimper fled his latched lips as his eyes closed, chest heaving from the taste of you coating his mouth. You huffed a small breath from his greedy tongue sucking harder on your nipple. 

Rubbing your hand on his chest to soothe the little whimpers that rumbled your breast, thankful his eyes were closed when they rolled to the back of his head. His trapped cock was shouting at him for attention, be it instinct or just wanting to relieve the ache- his hand slowly trailed down his tummy, only your eyes were too focused on his seemingly intoxicated expression to notice. 

Your hand holding his head up started rubbing gently at his scalp, seeing frustration form on his delicate features- unknowing why. But you were almost trying to soothe him as whimpers vibrated onto your breast. Watching his eyebrows furrow and the growing blush on his cheeks to deepen as his eyes fluttered open.

Looking up at you from the slightly obstructed view from below, your palm on his chest being able to feel how hard his heart was beating. And as your eyebrows furrowed with a breathy sigh- you watched the familiar look in Satoru’s eyes glimmer past white lashes. 

You inhaled sharply, feeling his tongue trail from massaging the bottom of your nipple to the little mound that provided the milk. Tracing the tip of his tongue on your bud causing you to hiss his name in a warning. 

That's all it took for him to continue suckling on your sore nipple. You were about to rest back onto the couch with a sigh, caressing the back of his head as you felt relief wash over your shoulders, allowing him to take what he needed and then some. 

That was till your eye caught his bicep flexing- and you trailed your eyes down his pale arm parting your lips in shock as you watched his unashamed hand palm himself through his gray sweats. 

You huffed- only it came out in a breathy sigh rather than in the reprimanding tone you meant it to. Satoru only moaned as he heard his name fall from your lips, feeling his mouth suck rougher in order to pull more milk from your heavy breast that threatened to suffocate his nose.

His hand hesitantly removed itself from the stiff bulge of his sweats, landing on your wrist that was on his chest. His hazy cerulean eyes filled with the kind of mist you only see when he's premeditated something long before you knew of it.

Satoru’s fingers wrapped around your wrist as he greedily drank from your nipple, so greedily that the corners of his mouth were threatening to leak the honeyed fluid- he was suckling so much, he couldn't swallow fast enough.  

And as the little droplets stained the sides of Gojo’s jaw, trailing down his pale skin- he led your hand to extend over to his strained bulge. Knowing if you truly were uncomfortable by this, you would've pulled away the second you saw him palming himself.

You inhaled as his hand led you to his cock by your wrist, gasping softly with a tingle on your cheeks from how hard he was. Satoru placed his larger hand atop yours, pressing it onto his painful erection with a whine rippling through your skin. 

You flashed your eyes from the gray fabric that trapped his neglected cock, back to his eyes. Threatening to blink shut as you kept a gentle grasp on his bulge. Even if he was the one in your lap, nursing at your breast in a way that can only be described as voracious. That look on his face was smug, almost as though he was right this entire time and you were the hard headed one.

Satoru trailed his hand onto your forearm, smiling to himself as you started softly palming his prominent bulge. 

Your eyebrows were pinched upwards, trying very, very hard not to shift your thighs beneath his back to relieve the ache forming between them.

You felt bad, like the only reason he was palming himself- almost in a sad way, was because you allowed this to happen. It wasn't guilt- but you wanted to apologize in some way. 

Satoru’s mouth suckled in no pattern, his only goal was to drain every single gush of milk you offered. No matter how fervent he must've looked right now, he didn’t care. As long as he could feel your warmth in his throat- your taste coating the cavern of his mouth- he didn’t care if he looked like a starved man.

You sighed almost in pity as he let out various throaty whimpers, firmening your fingers around the print in his sweats. “Oh ‘toru~” you soothed, knowing how hard he was- it had to be painful. Your cheeks tingling and warm as his hips bucked up into your hand for more friction. 

And as your hand cradled onto the back of his head, you maneuvered the hand on his bulge to free it from its torment. 

For the first time since he latched onto your nipple, his lips parted from your breast with a low moan. The cold morning air hitting his pinkening tip causing him to furrow his eyebrows, but all it took was for the feeling to settle before he attached onto your draining nipple once more.

You didn't hesitate to place your hand onto his base, feeling the light trails of his precum on his shaft from how worked up he was, tempting a gasp to leave his lips, you looked at him.

And as though he was made to do it- Satoru lightly ran his tongue at your budding nipple, lapping up the white sweetness that leaked from your breast. 

You kept a light touch on his cock, his hand on your upper arm before gently resting it on the swell of your other breast. Thinking to himself how rude of him that he was neglecting your other equally tender nipple. 

Satoru lightly thumbed your nipple, feeling light drips wet his thumb. Enticing you to slowly start stroking him, stopping your grasp right before your fingers could roll onto his flushed tip. Knowing he wouldn't last long if you worked over his cockhead. 

The moans that rumbled from Gojo’s throat and onto your sensitive skin were full of desperation and bliss. You watched him in almost pity- trickles of your milk falling from the sides of his lips, making trails of white drip down his cheeks.

It didn’t take long for him to finish draining your breast, somewhere in his mind he knew there was nothing left in your left tit, but that didn't stop him from trying to slurp up any remaining droplets.

Gojo’s cheeks felt like they were boiling on his face, and with one last lap of your nipple, he unlatched from your breast. Huffing softly as his breath tickled your damp nipple, he looked up at you, an amazed and out of breath expression formed on his face as you wiggled your eyebrows. 

It was embarrassing, the way your milk left trails of a light white film on his cheeks, the way he was breathing heavily with his cock in your hand. Vulnerable. 

Satoru saw your flushed face- and to comfort you he raised himself from the tops of your thighs lightly, keeping a massaging hand on your unsucked breast as he pressed his plump lips to yours.

It was filthy- Mouths dancing against each other in pure delirium. Being able to taste yourself on his tongue- on his spit laced with milk. It was like Gojo did that to show you just how exquisite you tasted. Only for your hand to keep its snail pace, avoidant of his crying tip. 

His lips pulled from yours, looking into your eyes and thumbing your weeping white nipple. Soft opened mouth moans coming from his lips as your hand stroked tenderly.

Rare were the times when Satoru was silent during intimacy, usually babbling teasing nonsense. But this time, the carnal look in his eye told you everything you needed to know. His senseless prattling wasn't even a thought in his mind right now, burning beneath his skin was pure and utter hunger. Hunger, to taste you- to drink from you. To nurse, over and over again. 

The one thought that lingered in his mind was to make sure to keep you pregnant- keep you in a state to continue producing the warm comfort he hardly had as a child. 

Gojo licked his bottom lip, mouth salivating as he felt the warm liquid trickle onto his palm. He leaned back slightly, looking down to your swollen nipple rolling between his fingers. Then trailing his gaze to your slow stroking hand, Gojo was sure he had never been so hard in his life till now. 

He licked his lips before cupping the side of your heavy breast in his palm, slowly shifting himself down to align himself with your right breast. Your hand followed the back of his scap, guiding him to latch onto your dripping nipple. 

Satoru opened his mouth, closing his eyes when he felt the skin of your breast fill his mouth again. Running his tongue across your neglected nipple and tasting the essence his fingers had squeezed out. A throaty whine leaving his nose as he started suckling, so enthralled by your taste and the gentle way you stroked him. Keeping his kneading hand on the side of your breast to assist in guiding more milk into his mouth.

Your cheeks were warm, tingling from how lewd he looked at that moment. The little whimpers that came from him didn't help either. 

Happily, Satoru let those unfiltered whines pour from him, if it meant you'd know how much he was enjoying himself. 

And as your hand slightly passed his tip on the upturn, he gasped against you. Almost as a warning, he sucked harder on your sore nipple in return. Gojo let out muffled cries from your hand stroking past his tip, even if you couldn't see it- his eyes were rolled to the back of his head as he suckled instinctively. You looked away from his face- churned with an insatiable greed. 

Looking at his pinkening cock in your hand as the veins on his lower abdomen stood proud beneath his skin. His chest was heaving once more, forced to take heavy inhales through his nose as he felt the knot in his tummy tighten. 

Satoru’s whines started to rumble louder against you, watching an inhale reach down his torso, his tummy caving from how hard he exhaled. He was so close. So fucking close and fighting it at this point. You could see it in his scrunched eyebrows and desperate suckles. 

You lightly scratched your nails onto his scalp, “It’s okay ‘toru,” you sighed softly, gaining his cerulean eyes to open slightly and look up at you. You were flustered sure, but you wanted to assure Satoru that he could cum whenever he liked. He didn't need to hold off for your sake. 

Only when he saw the soft smile on your lips- something deep within him snapped. It didn't click before, even with your hand tenderly stroking him and your tit in his mouth, even as he was nursing directly from your breast. It still didn't click. 

But when you soothed his whimpers, the tender smile you had on your lips as he took and took from you. The nurturing tone you assured him with. That's when it made sense. That's when he realized why he had been longing to help you in this way. 

Before he didn’t really question it- thought it was just something weird he found hot amongst all his other strange fantasies. But now. Now it made sense. 

Your mind was a mess, barely able to process the words that fell from your lips naturally. Gojo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as you polished his cockhead, his hips bucking up into it in response. You watched as he let go of that final reservation, sucking harshly causing more of your milk to spill from the corners of his lips with frustrated whines. Being able to feel his orgasm tighten in his stomach. 

The hand on your breast was practically milking you, squeezing milk into his mouth rather than his tongue nursing at it, his nose was scrunched as he exhaled a ragged breath through his nose. Your nipple was starting to ache from the vibrating whimpers and moans, and instead of telling him to stop, you raked your fingers through his hair gently. “Shh, I know, I know.” you crooned, keeping a steady pace on his cock as he simmered his whimpers. 

Ever since Satoru told you he had little to no memories of his mother, you knew he had mommy issues. And when he started asking to taste your milk you were hesitant, knowing once that pandora's box was opened there was no use trying to close it again.

Only as you looked down at him, how content and blissful he looked- unlike anything you've ever seen before, you didn't mind if it didn’t close again. 

Satoru parted his eyes, feeling his orgasm slowly slip in his tummy, you watched as his eyes fluttered back to his head- mumbling something in the sound of ‘m’cummi-’ against your skin as you sped up your pace. His hips twitching up into your hand as you jerked him quickly, his lungs could barely handle how little air he was inhaling, his brain fuzzy as he slurped and lapped at your nipple. 

Gojo saw stars as you stroked him past the pinnacle you worked him up, his eyes squinted harshly as his lips unlatched from your breast, throaty groans mixed with whines fell from his lips as his orgasm oozed over your hand. When your thumb caressed the opening on his tip, his cock spurted out another pump of his cum with a whine. 

As you helped work through his orgasm, smaller pumps of his seed assisted in the wet strokes you gave him, Satoru latched back onto your breast with a content sigh, needing to drain as much as he could, his cock slowly softening in your hand. 

And as he drank the rest of your milk you rested your hand on his lower belly, waiting for him to finish taking what he needed. His mouth wasn’t suckling as frantically nor hurried as before. You relished in the warmth his lips provided with a sigh, closing your eyes as the sun started rising. Being able to see the light through your closed eyes. 

When Satoru couldn't taste any more milk coming from your drained breast, he hesitantly pulled away. Resting his head in your hand as he looked up to the ceiling hazily, milk drunk as your breasts obstructed his view.

He inhaled, “Throw away that stupid machine.” you sighed, knowing he’s hated the breast pump since he saw you use it for the first time. 

“What am I gonna do when you're not around?” you murmured, thinking of a world where you wouldn't have access to a pump. 

“Call me and I'll find you.” 

You let out a small laugh. Leaning your back onto the couch as Satoru setted on your hand. “So fucking weird.” You murmured, hearing him let out a smiley breath. 

Satoru sat up, turning to you with an endearing gaze, “Only cause I like you soooo much.” he claimed, pressing a kiss onto your temple before standing. Reaching out for your hand, ignoring the mess on his tummy, pulling you to stand as he led you to the master bathroom. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” you muttered behind him, watching him halt his steps and looking back at you, “What?” he asked with a smug smile and creased eyebrows. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “...Breakfast?” not understanding what was confusing about the question. 

Satoru scoffed, “What for? You just fed me.” he spoke sweetly, watching the grimace on your face churn with an appalled ‘ugh!’ as you snapped your hand away from his. You scoffed as he reached for your hand again, pulling you into his arms. Peppering kisses over your features as you groaned.

“You’re so nasty.” you scoffed as he stepped forward, leading you into the bathroom with various kisses on your cheeks. 

You were sure this little activity Satoru found so much attraction in, would make its way into your daily routine. Only you didn't mind it as much as you thought you would.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

writing this added 3 years to my life dead ass.

[ja3yun]

please be real | p.js

ex!jay x fem!reader warnings: angst, heartache, smut (mdni), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, teasing, pet names (princess, baby), crying, mentions of alcohol, drunk jay, pure heartbreak in the beginning, not proofread, anything else lmk synopsis: after a six-year relationship, you and jongseong part ways due to different needs for the future. when jongseong's first birthday post-breakup arrives, his struggle with your absence reaches a breaking point, prompting a late-night call from his friend that consequently reignites emotions and unresolved feelings. wc: 9.4k a/n: hi! it's me and it's jay's birthday so i wrote him a little something something. i didn't initially intend to rip my heart out as i wrote this yet here i am. this was oddly a healing one to write but i must warn you it does mention the reader not wanting to have children so if that doesn't appeal to you then this probs isn't the fic for you! as always, like, comments, feedback, etc. is all appreciated! ilysm and happy bday jay <3

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really. 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver. 

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern. 

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your 6-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once in a lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle. 

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart. 

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward, “Jjongie? It’s me, baby, look at me,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him with your soft voice.

As your fingers gently encircle his clenched fist, Jongseong's body tenses at the touch. Slowly, he turns his gaze towards you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own anguish, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

He leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation he's been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning your face to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves cumbersome as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount he consumed.

“Like two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend.

"Oh, baby..." you sigh softly, feeling a wave of empathy wash over you. Returning your attention to Jongseong, you press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. His response is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace.

You need to get him home, he’s a mess and the longer he stays like this, the more his body is going to wear out. 

With a gentle hand, you stroke his hair, your touch a soothing caress against his trembling form. Despite the chaos swirling around you, you find a semblance of peace in this intimate moment, anchored by the bond that still lingers between you.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, drawing back as he eases up his grip on you. His friends go to help you but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, concern etched on his face. "He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the flat without us," he protests.

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up, "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose now that he has relaxed slightly.

You slide into the driver's seat, the engine humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house makes you more nervous than before. This wasn’t just his flat, it used to be your shared home, the place you lived for 2 and half years and made countless memories in.

You were the one to move out and find your own place, thinking it was best since your work was further away and you could find an apartment closer to it. But the truth is, you just couldn’t face being reminded of him in each room and in the pieces of furnishings.

It was selfish of you to leave him with the remnants of your relationship surrounding him, all you thought about was you and your needs, neglecting to think about how he might feel being surrounded by nothing but memories.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You push your thoughts down and make your way to your once-shared bedroom, walking through the memories and heaving your ex-boyfriend along slowly. His nose nudges into your hair, sweeping in your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

As you reach the familiar threshold, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. This room, once a sanctuary where you both shared your laughter and bodies, now serves as a poignant reminder of the love you've lost.

Gently, you ease Jongseong onto the bed, sitting him up, “I’m going to get you some clean boxers okay?” you ask him but he’s not here, not really, so you make your way to the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hellow Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he mumbles as his lips ghost over yours. 

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave. 

"Please, Princess," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own. 

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while. 

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes. 

Even if he did want to open them he couldn’t because they are being held together so tight by something. Was he crying last night? Actually, what even happened last night?

He replays the fragments of the evening in his mind, a few scattered images begin to surface - Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the raucous atmosphere of the bar, and the ill-advised decision to ride the mechanical bull. And then nothing.

As he tries to recounter the night, you see him attempt to pry his eyes open and decide to help him out. Swiping your thumb over his eyes, you wipe away the mix of his dried-in tears and sleep. He looks so confused when you touch him and his body tenses.

Either he is having a severe case of hallucinations to the point where he is starting to physically feel you or the girl that he took home last night resembles your touch. God, how he hoped it was the first one. 

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong. 

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously. 

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements—this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly. 

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay.”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you. 

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds. 

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself. 

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire. 

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need. 

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!” 

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked. 

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you. 

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.” 

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t. 

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream. 

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

[aperrywilliams]

Little Big Secret (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You’re 36 weeks pregnant with Spencer’s baby. What happens when you are about to give birth and need to contact Spencer while he is in a case out of town?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Pregnancy and labor symptoms are described. Some strong words. If I missed something, let me know. It's a fluffy one. Dad!Spencer coming to light. The chaotic trio I love having their moment (Reid-Morgan-Prentiss).

A/N: I wrote this fic based on this request. I loved doing it! Let me know what you think.

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Being 36 weeks pregnant and stuck in your apartment trying to convince your non-born baby girl to stop kicking your guts is not funny. It's worse when the same scenario occurs at 3 am, and you are alone, unable to sleep in the last 24 hours, exhausted and sentimental because your boyfriend Spencer isn't home.

You won't tell him that, though. You convinced him to go with the team to Trenton for a case, telling him you would be okay and that baby girl Reid won't be here for at least two weeks. That's what your doctor said to you in the last appointment.

Reluctantly Spencer agreed, making you swear you would call him or your sister if anything happened.

"Relax, baby. Everything will be okay. We'll be here when you return from your case," you assured him. "You have to go while you can. Once this girl is born, you'll be stuck here and will get tired of us," you giggled. Spencer's eyes widened.

"What? No! Get tired of you? Never!"

"About that. Do they know why you are taking leave in the next weeks?"

"Not really. Hotch knows, but the rest assume I'll go to see my mom," your boyfriend shrugged.

You still find it unbelievable that the best-known profilers in the country haven't noticed one of their own has a girlfriend for three years and a baby on the way.

At first, you had your apprehensions about why Spencer didn't want his team to know your existence. You thought maybe Spencer felt embarrassed because of you or didn't consider your relationship worth enough for them to know. But your boyfriend assured you it was anything but that. He told you what happened to Haley, Hotch's wife, and the multiple times a team's family member has been exposed to danger because of their job. He wanted you safe. He wanted to protect you.

The only one who knew about you was Hotch, Spencer's boss. But he, better than anyone, could understand Spencer's reasons, so he hadn't said anything.

You understood it and accepted it, even if you both knew that at some point, your secret would not be a secret anymore. For now, it was safer like this.

Exhaustion was all you got now, and even you have been trying to bribe your unborn daughter with chocolates if she behaved and let you sleep. It seemed you succeeded as she stopped making a party in your womb.

You fall asleep thinking about how your life has changed in the past years and how happy you were despite how uncomfortable pregnancy was at this point.

The next morning you woke up feeling a little better. Sleep helped, but your body was still tense, so you thought a warm bath after breakfast was a good idea to relax your sore muscles.

You were finishing your pancakes when Spencer called you.

"Hey, baby!" You greeted.

"Good morning, my love. How did you sleep?"

You didn't have the heart to tell him how uncomfortable you were last night.

"Good. Everything is good here. How is the case?" You tried to direct the topic to him. Spencer sighed.

"I think we are close to catching the unsub, but it had been hard," he confessed.

"I know you'll get him soon," you assured him. Spencer chuckled. He loved how you were always rooting for him. You were his biggest fan.

"I hope so. And you? Our baby girl has been good? When I come back-" he didn't even finish the sentence when someone called his name in the distance. 'Reid! We need you now!'

A heavy sigh left Spencer's lips.

"I'm sorry, love. I got to go," he mumbled into the receiver, guilt dripping from his voice.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't apologize and go to catch the bad guy," you encouraged him.

"I will. I love you so so much. And I love our little one. I promise to make it up to you both, okay?"

"I love you more. We'll be waiting for you."

Despite your efforts to relax during your bath, it seemed baby Reid had other plans, like moving and squeezing your insides. You tried singing to her, telling stories, and everything that came to mind.

You gave up and hopped off the tub. You dried your body and decided to watch some TV. After a while, stuck in a random show, the noise lulled you to sleep without noticing.

Everything would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that an intense pain woke you up suddenly. You didn't know the time, but the TV was still on. You tried to sit on the sofa, but the pain wouldn't leave you, so much so that it was hard for you to breathe. The twisting in your belly was stronger than you'd ever felt and scaring you.

"My sweet girl, I know you're eager to see us, but you have some days left in Mommy's womb, so try to be nice, okay?" You panted, trying to reason with your baby.

You weren't ready to give birth, let alone without Spencer.

But, again, baby Reid had her own plans.

Another sharp pang made you slouch on the sofa; this time, you felt something warm running down your legs. You looked down and saw the liquid drip onto the couch and slide to the floor.

Fuck. Your water just broke.

-

The morning was a rush for the whole team and the Tremont police. After an anonymous tip, they located the guy who fitted the profile and ended up being the unsub they were looking for. As he had a hostage, the team moved quickly to the warehouse where he kept captive his ex-girlfriend, the source of his rage. Before things went further, Rossi's shot ended with the unsub screaming in pain and the hostage a nervous wreck but unharmed.

Spencer couldn't believe it took them a whole week to locate the bastard, but it was finally done. So they returned to the precinct to wrap the last details and go home.

Spencer was pulling the case photos off the board when his phone started ringing. He saw it was you and hastened to answer. Usually, you didn't call him while he was working.

"Hello?"

But a loud grunt came to his ear instead of your sweet voice. Spencer's eyes widened.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?"

You barely could say a word, the intense pain reducing you to heavy breathing and whimpers.

"Spence-" you managed to say. "The baby. It hurts."

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening."Where are you? What's wrong? Where is Tania?"

Too many questions, and you had answers for all of them. But it was difficult to say a word with the pain cursing your body. After the contraction subsided, you could speak.

"My water broke. I'm home, and Tania doesn't answer. I don't know- ahhhh, fuck!!!"

Shit. You were in labor and alone at home. Spencer wanted to throw up.

"Baby, listen to me. I will call 911, but I need you to breathe, okay?"

"No! Spencer, don't hang up. I need you," you cried.

Spencer paced frantically in the room as Emily, Morgan, and Rossi looked at him, worried.

To call 911? Who the hell was he talking to?

"Reid? What is it?" Morgan tried to get his attention, but Spencer's brain was trying to make a plan to help you without stopping talking to you.

“(Y/N), please. I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me, please?"

JJ and Hotch entered the room at that moment. Both frowned when they saw Spencer pacing and the rest standing and waiting to know what was going on and what to do to help Spencer.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

You couldn't reply to him, crying in pain instead. Spencer thought he could die of panic.

"Yes. But I can't move," you sobbed.

Hotch didn't need much to understand what was going on. Grabbing his phone, he called Penelope.

Spencer was reduced to dumb and didn't know what to do.

"Garcia, I need you to call 911 and dispatch an ambulance to..." he paused and looked at Spencer, who was talking to you. "Reid," Hotch named. When he got no response, he tried louder. "Reid! Where? Where is she?" Spencer's face found Hotch's.

"At my place," he told his boss.

"Garcia, an ambulance to Reid's address. Report a pregnant woman in labor that needs to go to the hospital. I need you to go there too. Make sure she gets to the hospital alright. I'll give you more information later."

Pregnant woman in labor at Spencer's address?

Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi shared the same confused looks.

"Baby, the help is on the way. Penelope knows and will help you to go to the hospital. She has a key, so don't worry. I'm on my way, okay? I'll call Tania too," Spencer informed you, moving to collect his things.

"Please, hurry up," you begged. As the call ended, Spencer turned to see his boss.

"Hotch. I have to-. I need to-," Spencer stuttered. Aaron nodded.

"It'll be okay; we are leaving now," he assured Spencer.

Morgan was the first to bring the elephant in the room.

"Can you tell us what's going on?"

Then, Spencer noticed the team hearing the whole ordeal.

"Uh. My 36-week pregnant girlfriend is giving birth to my daughter right now, and she's alone. I need to be there," Spencer succinctly explained as he dialed (Y/N)'s sister's number again without luck.

To say the team was shocked was an understatement. But there wasn't time to ask questions. They needed to move quickly.

Hotch was who took the lead.

"Morgan, you'll drive to the hospital with Reid and Prentiss now. I'll stay with JJ and Rossi to pack everything and follow you. The drive to DC is about three hours; make it two. I'll take care of the traffic police," he said to Morgan, who nodded, grabbing the car keys. "Prentiss, you'll get an open line with Garcia while she joins (Y/N) and takes her to the hospital. Now go!" Hotch instructed, now patting Spencer's back. "You'll get on time. Go," he told Spencer, who nodded and stomped from the room, followed by Morgan and Prentiss.

-

"Hey, Reid. We'll make it, kid," Morgan assured while driving on the highway, Emily as the copilot. In the back seat, Spencer couldn't stop bouncing his leg, worried about if the ambulance had already taken you to the hospital. On cue, Emily's phone went off.

"Garcia, you're on speaker," Emily announced.

"My lovelies, good news. I got your girl, boy Wonder, and we're heading to the hospital. Besides the pain, she's fine," Garcia recounted, and Spencer could breathe again.

"Can I talk to her?" Spencer asked.

"No, yet; they have her in the stretcher and with oxygen while monitoring her, but as we reach the hospital and will get her admitted, we can call you again. Nonetheless, she asked me to tell you she hated you for putting a baby in her. I really like this girl already," Garcia quipped, making laugh Emily and Morgan. Spencer's cheeks flushed.

"Garcia?" He sheepishly asked. "Can you tell her I love her and am on my way?"

Morgan and Prentiss looked at each other briefly. They still couldn't believe what was happening, but either way, they had a mission to accomplish: get to the hospital before you gave birth, so the resident genius could see his baby born.

"Sure thing. I will. I'll keep you posted," Garcia assured before hanging up.

Spencer could sense that Emily and Morgan were itching to cover him with questions, but knowing his nervous state, they were respectful enough not to say anything.

"I'm sorry, guys. I didn't tell you anything about (Y/N) before," he mumbled.

"And the baby," Emily added with a non-malice tone.

Spencer's face fell with embarrassment. They were his family, after all. And he kept this little big secret from them.

"But we get it, Reid. We do," Morgan ensured.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. We all know this job, and we want the best for our loved ones, keeping them safe," Prentiss said, turning to see Spencer, who nodded. "What I still can't believe is that you kept us in the dark for three years, and none of us ever suspected a thing. They should fire us," Emily added, making Spencer chuckle.

"What I can't believe is you were able to make someone fall in love with you," Morgan quipped, smirking and gaining a slap on the arm from Prentiss. "And get her pregnant! You have been having a game all this time, and I still thought I needed to be your wingman," Morgan scoffed.

"Worst wingman on earth. He had had to do all the work for himself," Emily added. The three laughed.

They were still with an ETA of one hour when Penelope Facetimed.

"Garcia! How is she?" Spencer rushed to ask.

"Hello to you, genius," Penelope greeted. "(Y/N) is already in a room. She's 7 centimeters of dilatation, so we're waiting," she informed, turning the camera to focus you on the bed, exhausted but relieved of being in the hospital already.

"Honey!" Spencer shouted as Garcia handed the phone.

"Are you coming?" you asked in a broken tone. You didn't have much energy at this point.

"Yes! On my way now. Morgan is driving us with Emily," he informed you.

"We're almost there, pretty girl!" Morgan yelled from the driver's seat.

You let a wary smile. Spencer only wanted to be there with you so he could hold you.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"No. No. Why are you sorry? You have nothing to apologize for, okay?" Spencer hastened to point.

"Our little big secret is no longer a secret," you pouted, feeling guilty about the whole ordeal.

"Baby, it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is you and our little girl being okay. Believe me; it's the only that matters to me. I'm sorry for leaving you," Spencer sniffled.

"I love you," you said, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"And I love you so much," Spencer declared, wiping his tears.

You both kept in Facetime for a while. Spencer tried to keep you focused on anything but the pain, though it was difficult when a deep contraction raked your body from time to time.

Spencer recited your favorite poems and stories and recounted your best memories together. As a natural thing, Emily, Morgan, or Penelope made questions and comments about the things you or Spencer said. That helped. You felt accompanied, not only by your boyfriend but also by the beautiful people who were taking care of you and him. If you ever thought Spencer's coworkers didn't care about him, now all those doubts are cleared.

"We're getting there in five!" Morgan announced.

"Garcia, please tell the staff Spencer is coming so they let him rush upstairs," Emily requested.

"On it!" Garcia chirped. “The doctor is here, so I’ll hang up. Boy Wonder, the third floor, hall to the left,” she informed before the call ended.

Pushing the brakes in front of the hospital’s entrance, Morgan turned to Spencer.

"Go, pretty boy. We'll be there waiting," the man assured.

"Go to see your girls," Emily added. Spencer’s eyes were full of tears.

"Thank you. Really, thank you so much," he voiced before climbing off the SUV and rushing inside the hospital.

-

The doctor announced you were almost ready to give birth now. Just another centimeter of dilation, and you’ll need to push. After he left, you squeezed Penelope’s hand hard. You weren't sure you could do this.

“It’s okay, pumpkin. You can do it. Spencer is already here,” she comforted you. Garcia had just ended her sentence when Spencer rushed inside the room, panting and looking frantically. When he spotted you, you could see the tears in his eyes.

“Spencer!” you cried. He quickly lugged to your side. Garcia sighed, relieved that he was there. Spencer held your hand now, kissing your temple.

“I’m here, my love. I’m here. I won’t leave again,” he chanted, stroking your damped hair.

It was Penelope’s cue to leave the couple alone. But before Garcia crossed the threshold, Spencer ran to her and wrapped her in the tightest embrace he ever gave her.

“Thank you, thank you. For everything,” he mumbled. Garcia could have started crying, but it would be time for that later.

“Anytime, my love. Now go back to your woman. We’ll be outside waiting.” A grateful Spencer nodded before joining you again.

You didn't reach the last centimeter until an hour later. Spencer stood by your side, chanting praises and pushing away your sweat with a cloth whenever you needed it.

When the time came, you were pushing with all the strength you left, but your little girl wasn’t doing it easy for you.

“Spencer, I can’t,” you sobbed. Spencer kissed your head and stroked your hand.

“I know you’re exhausted, my love. But you’re almost there. We’re going to meet our little girl. Want that, right, my little pumpkin?” he talked now to your belly. The waiting room is full of aunts and uncles, ready to see you. They already love you, even if they didn't know about you until three hours ago,” Spencer pointed, and you let out a little chuckle in the middle of the pain.

The feeling of being cared for and loved gave you the last ounce of energy you needed. In the next contraction, you pushed harder, ending with a loud baby cry. Your daughter was here.

When they put her in your arms, wrapped in a white blanket, you couldn't believe it. She was the most beautiful baby in the world—the best combination between Spencer and you.

“You did so good, my love. She’s wonderful, and she’s here with us,” Spencer said, voice full of emotion and tears freely rolling down his cheeks.

You couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Our little big secret,” you cooed. “You’re a lucky baby already,” you whispered to her. Spencer chuckled.

“Should I go to tell them?” He asked you.

“They will kill you if you don’t,” you quipped.

When Spencer showed up in the waiting room, Hotch, Rossi, and JJ were there too.

All eyes were on him.

“A 7 pounds, 2 ounces, and 19.6 inches healthy baby girl,” Spencer announced, the biggest grin plastered on his face.

The room erupted in cheers and claps, everyone taking turns to hug the new father.

Once everyone calmed down, Spencer cleared his throat.

“I want to apologize for keeping this from you. I don't want you to think I don't trust or care enough to tell you about the important things in my life. It's just- you know,” Spencer trailed off. Rossi patted his shoulder.

“We know, kid. We really do,” the older man assured him.

“Yeah, Spence. We understand. That doesn't mean it’s not a big thing, but we get it,” JJ seconded.

“We are just jealous because Hotch was the only one who knew,” Garcia scoffed.

“Boss privilege, I guess,” Hotch shrugged, making the rest laugh.

“Well, being (Y/N) and baby Reid not a little big secret anymore, we can meet them properly, right?” Morgan pointed.

“Oh, yes! Please! I want to meet my goddaughter!” Garcia chirped, and Spencer looked at her, frowning.

“Don’t look at me like that, doctor. I won the privilege when I held that poor woman in pain,” she added.

“Maybe you’ll be the godmother, but I’ll be the cool aunt,” Emily chirped.

“And I’ll be Papa Rossi,” David seconded.

Spencer shook his head, laughing as everyone on the team fought for a place in his daughter's life.

He was so happy to have you and baby Reid. But now his happiness was complete knowing he could share it, and his whole found family could be part of it.

-------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[cuubism]

Found this old fic concept in my notes, I doubt I'll ever get around to writing it or that I could do it justice if I did, but it still makes me laugh so I wrote it up as a little blurb. Perhaps it will make you laugh too.

Mega Popstar Dream and Hob, his extremely non-famous celebrity crush

So in this universe Dream is an extremely famous musician. He's like Taylor Swift level of famous, if you walk up to any random person on the street they would know who he is. Meanwhile Hob is an actor but really not very well known, he was in a few small projects and is in the core cast of one TV show that's well-regarded but not super popular.

It's Dream's FAVORITE TV SHOW and Hob is his FAVORITE ACTOR that he's ferally OBSESSED WITH. Everyone knows about this too, Dream is really obvious about it. In interviews people will ask him what he likes and he's like "this is my favorite TV show" "have you seen Hob Gadling in that show isn't he incredible", They'll ask him if he has a celebrity crush (as a joke) and he's like "YES HOB GADLING 😍" like it's become a meme in Dream's fandom how much he has a crush on this random actor.

They've never met though, probably Dream was afraid to -- 'never meet your heroes' and all -- and never let his team book any overlapping events. So he's never seen Hob in person, only watched his favorite TV show 65 times in a row and memorized every inch of his face. Like a stalker.

So then a Buzzfeed-esque YouTube channel is running a special edition of their usual challenge show, "People Meet Their Celebrity Crush", except this time it's "CELEBRITIES Meet Their Celebrity Crush." Dream's entire team conspires against him to book him on this. Dream doesn't know what it is until the very moment since the whole point is to surprise people with their crush. Needless to say, Hob was REALLY dubious when the channel reached out like "do you want to come on as Dream's celebrity crush" but what's he gonna do say NO? say NO when Dream is so pretty and cute? So yeah he goes.

Anyway during the moment in the video when they revealed his celebrity crush to him -- aka Hob just looking like a totally normal and random guy -- Dream literally tripped over a chair and fell on the floor and then fainted. Instant meme and it became the thumbnail of the video. When Dream woke up to find Hob crouched by him all concerned asking if he was okay he nearly had a panic attack, he was never more flustered and nervous in his whole life not even performing for crowds of millions.

Hob fell in love instantly. He doesn't even know much about Dream, he hasn't even listened to Dream's music other than what's just playing ubiquitously on the radio all the time but all it took was watching Dream fall over a chair and then look up at him with his huge starry eyes and he was like 'This one's mine forever idc. I gotta protect this nerd he won't survive in the wild.'

Anyway they did start dating after that and Dream never leaves the honeymoon phase for the rest of his whole life, he truly thinks Hob is the most handsome man and best actor in the entire world and will tell anyone so at any opportunity, he goes around saying things like "see if you believe really hard you too can marry your celebrity crush 🥰" with zero irony, he might have skipped the Grammys to go to the premiere of season 3 of Hob's show (Hob didn't ask him to do that) (Dream won the Grammy but had more fun staring at Hob's face for 2 hours than he would have had at the awards show). Meanwhile Hob never talks about Dream in public because Dream already has negative 500% privacy in his life, he's extremely protective of him, and he allegedly punched one of the paparazzi in the face when they tried to take stealth shots at their wedding which was supposed to be a private affair. ALLEGEDLY. No charges were filed.

Dream did post one photo of the wedding on insta for his adoring fandom in which he described Hob as his knight in shining armor and then denied any knowledge of any 'alleged' events when asked about it in the future. Because Hob was so much more private about their relationship than Dream, for a while Dream's fandom had been like HOB DOESN'T DESERVE DREAM but after the (alleged) story about Hob punching someone in the face came out they were all obsessed with him. So that solved that problem.

(Despite Hob's efforts a paparazzi photo did come out of them the morning after the wedding, Hob sitting on the terrace drinking coffee, Dream sitting on his lap wearing Hob's shirt and looking thoroughly ravished. Dream might have framed it.)

Then they lived happily ever after. Dream put Hob in every one of his music videos regardless of whether it made sense for the story. Hob got one of Dream's songs put in his favorite TV show which made Dream's whole entire year. The end :)

[puppym3]

Heyyyy, Idk if you were planning on it or not but could you do a part 2 of the seven minutes in heaven thing you wrote about Felix?

⋆˚࿔ seven minutes in heaven 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ (pt. 2)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

lee felix x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

warnings: MDNI! 18+, smut, first date, piv, unprotected sex (whats protection atp), rough sex, a lot of overstim (literally 3 times in a row.), oral (f. rec), rip reader, she won't be able to move for days, (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: thank you guys for liking it!! and thank you @jadienoop for suggesting it in my inbox <3 sorry if it was later than you wanted it to be *sniff sniff*, i didn't expect people to actually want one...

anyways guys im getting a little dry on suggestions, so please feel free to leave some for me! idc if you spam-suggest me with things i would actually prefer that a lot

I HOPE YOU ENJOY, i have a taglist if u want to be added!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"So, where are you taking me on our date, Lixie?" You teased as the two of you made your way through the streets.

He gave you a sweet smile and shook his head. "It's a secret."

"Come on, give me a hint," you pleaded, pouting.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'.

"Ugh, you're no fun," you grumbled, playfully hitting his arm.

He chuckled and continued leading you through the streets, his hand clasped around yours.

After a few more minutes of walking, he stopped in front of a small restaurant.

"We're here," he announced, a smile on his face.

You looked at him shocked, "I didn't know you meant now, I'm not even prepared properly... my makeup," you pouted, looking up at him.

"You're beautiful, and it's just dinner." He said with a fond smile, squeezing your hand gently.

You couldn't help but smile, his compliment making your heart flutter.

"Now come on, let's go," he said, leading you inside.

The restaurant was small and cozy, with dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. There were only a few other couples there, and the atmosphere was romantic.

You were surprised that Felix had brought you here. It isn't something you'd expect for a first date.

Felix led you to a table and pulled out your chair, helping you sit down. You couldn't help but smile at his gentlemanly behavior.

"You know, this feels weird." You admitted, giving him a shy smile.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. I've hung out with you thousands of times, and now we're doing it again... but it's different."

"Different how?" He asked, looking at you curiously.

"Like, we're on a date. And I don't know how to act." You admitted.

He laughed softly and reached over, taking your hand in his.

"You don't have to act any differently. We're just hanging out, like always."

"But we're on a date, you were my best friend a few hours ago," you repeated.

"Yeah, but I've never called you my girlfriend, have I?" He asked, his voice soft.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks and your stomach fluttered at his words.

Girlfriend.

You were his girlfriend now, he was yours, and you were his.

"You're my boyfriend," you tested the words, your voice in a whisper, almost like a realization.

He blushed, and he had the most adorable smile on his face.

"Yes," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

"You're mine," you murmured, still not believing it.

"I'm yours," he repeated, his voice full of affection.

You couldn't deny how those words made you feel. It felt like your heart was about to burst, and the heat all over your body was almost unbearable.

"This... is surreal." You breathed out, your eyes scanning his face.

"Good surreal, or bad surreal?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Good. Really, really good," you said, smiling.

"Okay, good. Now let's order, I'm starving." He said, a playful smirk on his lips.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

As the two of you walked out of the restaurant, you couldn't help but admire the way the moonlight reflected off of his blond hair.

"Thanks for the late dinner," you said, smiling up at him.

"Anything for my girlfriend," he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Stop," you laughed, nudging him, the words undeniably exciting you.

He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, making your heart skip a beat.

"Ready to go home?" He asked, his tone soft.

As the two of you made your way down the street, Felix's hand found yours, his fingers lacing with yours.

"Hey," he said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Hey," you replied, a smile tugging at your lips.

"We're here." He said, stopping in front of his house.

His house was a familiar place to you, where you'd spent so much time.

But now you were going to his house together, alone, as a couple. Wild thoughts couldn't help but run through your head.

As you entered his house, your heart raced, and you slipped off your shoes. A mix of nerves, excitement, and anticipation coursed through you.

"So... what now?" You asked, glancing at him.

"Let's watch a movie or something," he said with a smile.

"But-" you started, catching your breath in your throat.

"Hmm?"

"Can't we... y'know..."

"Do what?" He asked, his brows furrowing.

"Well, you spoiled me, so you have to do the other part now." You said, referring to what you said at the party earlier.

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"You know," you smirked, trailing your hand down his chest. "You said you were going to spoil me and then fuck me. So, do it."

"Mm, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" You pouted, disappointment washing over you.

"Because," he said, his voice low, "If I do that now, you might not be able to walk tomorrow."

"Fuck," you breathed out, your heart racing.

"So, a movie then?"

You grabbed his hand, leading him to his bedroom.

"No movie." You said, backing up onto his bed as your hands reached to the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head.

"Wait..." he said, his eyes flickering rapidly from your face to your breasts.

"What? I said you were going to spoil me and fuck me, and that's exactly what I want."

He let out a shaky breath and nodded.

"Take off your pants," he commanded.

You obliged, slowly sliding your pants down your legs, revealing your matching underwear.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath.

He stepped closer and trailed his hands down your body, his fingers brushing over the lace of your bra.

His hands moved lower, resting on the waistband of your panties.

"I can't wait to see all of you," he said, his voice thick with lust.

"Then why don't you?" You asked, your voice shaky.

He leaned down and pressed a hot kiss to your neck, making you gasp.

"Fuck, Lix," you moaned, your head falling back.

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking, leaving marks.

His hands reached behind you, unhooking your bra.

Your breasts spilled out, your nipples hardening from the cool air.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, his eyes admiring every single part of you.

He took one nipple in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Oh my god," you gasped, arching your back.

His hands roamed over your body, feeling every curve.

He moved lower, trailing his tongue down your stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs.

You were completely bare before him, and he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

"You're perfect," he said, his eyes filled with awe. His hot breath ghosted over your inner thigh.

He spread your legs open, revealing your glistening pussy.

He looked like he was in a trance by you, taking his time biting and licking your inner thighs.

You were aching, desperate for his touch, his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

You moaned his name, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Please, Felix," you begged.

He chuckled against your inner thigh, "please what?" He murmured.

"I need you," you said, your voice shaking.

"Please, boyfriend."

The word 'boyfriend' sent shivers down his spine and his cock twitched.

He positioned his head between your thighs, his face right in front of your aching cunt.

You felt his warm breath against your pussy and it made you tremble, the heat almost unbearable.

You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him.

He trailed a finger down your slit, parting your folds.

He dipped his tongue inside you, lapping up your wetness.

You cried out, your grip on his hair tightening.

"Lix!" You gasped. "Please, Lix," you begged, your voice trembling.

He circled his tongue around your clit, before flicking it, the sensation almost enough to make you come undone.

His hands gripped your thighs as he lapped and sucked, your pleasure building, and building.

The knot in your stomach tightening.

The pleasure was too much. It was so much, yet it wasn't enough. You wanted more, you needed more.

Your foot trailed down to the bulge in his jeans, pressing against the hardness.

Felix moaned into your cunt, sending vibrations throughout your body.

"Please, please use this," you pleaded, almost whimpering.

He chuckled softly against you, pulling away with a lewd sound, his eyes locked on yours.

He stood, towering over you and began unbuckling his pants. You felt your core heating, throbbing for him to touch you.

His eyes locked on yours and his pants dropped to the floor.

Felix pulled down his boxers and you felt a shiver run up your spine at the sight of him. His cock was hard and throbbing, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

Felix let out a shaky breath and lowered himself on top of you.

His hardness rubbed against your core, and you couldn't help but let out a gasp.

His eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

You nodded. "Don't stop." You said, your voice shaky.

His hand reached up, his fingers trailing along your lips.

"Can I?"

You nodded, unable to speak.

Felix smiled, and guided his hardness to your entrance, his tip slowly stretching your walls.

The pleasure was unlike anything you had felt before. It was like every nerve was on fire, your entire body burning with pleasure.

Felix let out a shaky breath as he pushed further in. Your walls stretched around his girth and your pleasure grew with each inch.

"Fuck," he murmured, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

The sensation was almost too much for you to take. You were so full, your walls pulsating around his length.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he groaned.

You arched your back as he began thrusting in and out of you, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

Your walls tightened around his length, and your nails dug into his back as he pounded into you.

Felix's hands found yours and laced them with yours. He kissed you as his hips thrusted against your own.

He kissed down your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

You gasped, your walls clenching around his length. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your climax building with each thrust.

"Oh my god," you gasped, your toes curling.

"If you cum now, I won't stop," he warned, his hips snapping into yours.

His cock pressed against your g-spot with each thrust, the pressure almost too much.

"I don't care," you gasped. "Please don't stop."

He looked at you as if you were going to regret saying that later, his cock buried deep in you.

Felix pulled back until he was nearly completely out, then slammed his length inside you, his hips snapping against yours.

You moaned loudly, the pleasure almost too much. Your walls clenching around his length as he slammed into you, each thrust sending you closer and closer to your climax.

The sensation of his cock stretching you, and his tip rubbing against your sensitive bud was too much for you. You cried out as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls tightening around his length, milking every inch.

The sensation was overwhelming, your toes curling as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, the orgasm hitting you in ways you didn't think was possible.

You writhed and arched your back as Felix continued thrusting into you, each thrust sending you into another state of ecstasy.

You cried out his name in helpless pleas, your nails trailing down his back.

Your walls continued pulsating around his length, squeezing it with every thrust.

The sensation was too much. The pleasure was so intense, you thought you were going to pass out.

Felix's hips continued snapping against yours, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You felt your walls clenching around him and another wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body shuddering with ecstasy.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mouth opened in a silent cry.

Your legs trembled around him as your second orgasm ripped through you. You writhed against him as your body spasmed from the overstimulation, the pleasure too intense.

Your nails dug into his back as he continued thrusting into you. His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

His hand reached between the two of you, his thumb rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

"No... no, it's too much!" You gasped, tears running down your face as your body shuddered against him. You didn't know how many times he had made you come, but your body couldn't take much more.

"I know, baby," he cooed. "Just once more, okay?"

You nodded, your body trembling from the pleasure. Your walls fluttered around his length, tightening around him.

Felix's thrusts became rougher as he felt your walls tightening around his length, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy once more.

You cried out in pleasure, your back arching off the bed as the pressure built, his cock slamming into you.

You were so close, so, so close. The pleasure was too much for you to bear, it felt like you were going to pass out from the intensity.

Your legs trembled, your toes curling as his thumb rubbed circles on your clit.

"You can do it," Felix urged you, his voice thick with lust.

That's all it took. His words pushed you over the edge, the pressure bursting and your walls tightening around his length, pulsating.

Your vision went white, and your body trembled with ecstasy, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave.

Felix let out a shaky breath, his body shuddering as he released into you, his cum filling you.

He continued thrusting into you as you came down from your high, your body shuddering with aftershocks.

Lying on the bed, completely spent, you felt every muscle in your body ache with satisfaction. Tremors wracked your body, making it difficult to draw in a steady breath.

He devoured you, you felt like all of the energy was just sucked out of you.

He kissed your forehead as he pulled out, his seed spilling out of you, and down your thighs.

He pulled you in close, wrapping his arms around you, "you okay?" he murmured against your skin, kissing you lightly.

You nodded, your body exhausted, you couldn't speak.

He held you in his arms, gently stroking your hair. "You did so well for me," he whispered, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

As you drifted into slumber, he tenderly pulled the covers over both of you, enveloping you in warmth. His arms encircled you, his chest radiating comforting heat against your back.

He pulled you close, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

His arms around you felt comforting and safe, his heartbeat steady. A sense of love and contentment enveloped you, filling your heart with warmth and peace.

Felix ran a hand over your back, his fingertips tracing light patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he murmured, his warm breath tickling your neck as he held you close.

You hummed quietly in response, your eyes fluttering shut, exhaustion hitting you in waves.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

taglist for my babies: @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1

[vaaaaaiolet]

Why choose between riding a cowboy, a stallion, or an Italian when you can have all three? In which you find competition for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the American West.

mdni holy shit. f / m, shameless smut just like pure filth. p in v, wild west au, TONS of christian imagery via metaphor??, mild praise + size kink, leon's a tease as usual

word count: 1.69k <3 // read on ao3

a/n: re6 leon turns my brain into illiterate mush and this is the proof. i wrote this 1 word an hour. i couldn't cope. ignore the half assed banner, half assed writing, half assed everything. listen to nessa barrett's song from the title. god bless you all.

God makes no mistakes: you’re on your knees in the back of an Arizona saloon, but you’re not exactly praying thanks. God is a vision in dirty blond as far as you’re concerned. How’d you end up here?

Enter Leon Kennedy: outlaw on the run.

He hadn’t gotten the memo when angels started coming down to Earth and wanted to give you the warm welcome you deserve. 

“Seriously?” You laugh; swirl your watered-down whiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to try that one out,” Leon grins. Cocky and magnetic, he takes your hand in his own calloused one and guides you to the dance floor. “But you haven’t seen my real trick yet.”

“And what’s that?”

“This.”

Every other beat of your heart finds you in a dizzying dip over the floor as Leon leads you in a dance akin to gunfights in Tombstone, except Leon is more than O.K. at what he does. He’s got you in a trance with his hands spanning your waist.

Sucking in dust and his woodsmoke cologne, you gasp, “Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

“You’ve never been danced properly before?” Leon laughs. He spins you like you’re the moon.

“Not like this!”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t learn by talkin’ about it. Keep dancing and you’ll figure it out.”

Figure out a two-step you might not have, but you can figure just fine what Leon means when his hand slips up the hem of your blouse. A hungry thumb soon lines your brassiere right under the nose of the barkeep. 

“You’re crass, Leon,” you whisper.

“Is that a no? I’ll treat you right if you let me.”

God expects his servants to give and take, and you’ve done a lot of taking so far, no? You’ve been a little down on your luck lately. Can’t afford to tempt fate that way. So you pull Leon down by the collar, whisper back with your lips lined in devil red, “Make it my treat?”

His smirk glimmers in the dark. “Lead the way, doll.”

Quickly, quickly. Miracles disappear in the blink of an eye and Leon needs to take you before you can disappear into the night. Rope-toughened fingertips fly down your lined blouse, slip the silk off to unveil your sun-freckled shoulders behind the barkeep’s storage door. You’ve spirited Leon away for twenty minutes at best before the saloon closes and the workers come barging in. You’ve got to pay penance for this, haven’t you?

You sink to your knees. 

Leon hooks his hands under your thighs and sits you right back up on a crate, and gets down on his knees.

What.

You’re running on borrowed time, you can’t afford tweaks to this arrangement. “I thought we had a deal?” you scowl. 

But you forget God makes no mistakes. Leon is his creation, so causation, correlation, you do the math. Your anger dissipates at the first swipe of his thumb over your clothed slit. Wetness blooms at his touch, and Leon chuckles as your breath shudders. Genesis.

“Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to let a lady do all the work.” He kisses the spot between your legs, looks up at you with eyes of oasis blue. “You know I take the lead.”

Your chest heaves. “I do.”

“I’m good at it.”

“...You are.”

"And I know this isn't your style. All I ask is that you let me earn my keep.”

Well, that goes without saying. And so Leon flips the script. 

He starts lining burning kisses down your thigh, entices you with an “Open for me”, sighs dreamily when your legs part of their own accord. A previously bothersome, soaked scrap of lace falls at Leon’s feet. 

“Oh, baby, you should’ve asked next time. Look at this mess. Wouldn’t’ve needed to be so quick, then.”

Try and look down, but Leon’s already latched his warm mouth onto your clit, sucking like it’s a Tootsie pop. You throw your head back in ecstasy. 

Waves of feel-good wash over you in all the colors of a pinkening sunset, gold at the edges and red hot at the center, your own overflowing with slick as Leon dips his tongue inside – oh, oh, oh, swirling the colors with each revolution around your sensitive pearl. Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps you pliant, capping your knees with rough palms.

“Leon…” you can’t help but whine. 

“Just workin’ ya a bit. Think you’ve had enough?” you hear him groan from underneath.

You’re barely breathing. “Need…need more.”

“Don’t seem that way to me from here. God, you’re gorgeous.” Leon croons, sucking a tender bite a little ways from where you need him most, over the softest part of your inner thigh. A landmark so he can hope to find his way back. He taps your knee. “Time?”

The dusty clock on the barkeep’s desk reads ten minutes to twelve; you relay this with difficulty as Leon does his damnedest to render you incapable of speech. He hums, considering. The vibration shoots right up your core.

“I’ve been in tighter spots,” he eventually decides, shooting you a lopsided grin as he hefts you higher on the crate you’ve practically melted off the side of, “No offense, doll.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so close. “Low-hanging fruit, Leon.”

“You taste sweeter nohow.”

Missing his mouth already, you pull him back into a kiss. His leather belt clinks in time with the glasses back inside the bar as he unbuckles it, and you take the time to appreciate how you’re level with him even perched atop a crate. Leon’s got height on you. 

Inches where it matters, too. His cock bucks in his hand when it finally springs free, and you bat your lashes up at him ‘cause it seems Leon’s been keeping secrets. He’s thick, ruddy and leaking, got a halo over the head of his dick in the light that creeps in from under the door, and you make a prayer to put your mouth on him if you cross paths once more. Your fingers barely go all the way around.

“Make a deal with me, cowboy,” you breathe. “I let you have your fun. Now, you let me.”

Leon cocks a brow. He’s antsy, understandably so. “What’s that entail?”  

Plywood burns the back of your jean skirt as you slide off the crate, Leon watching as you shuck off the denim, pool it underneath your feet. You reel him in by the collar just to shove him onto the barkeep’s high-backed chair. Leon’s eyes widen when your thighs bracket his and everything suddenly makes sense as you center your cunt tantalizingly over his painfully erect length. 

He’s rasping, needy. “This what you had in mind?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“You sure?”

You scoff haughtily, dragging a smile from him that’s all lynx. “Your wish is my command, miss.” 

Palms start gliding up your torso, thumbs rub circles on the undersides of your breasts. Leon’s collarbones collect moonlight streaming in from the open window and you want to lap it all up like milk, but you’re getting distracted. The clock is counting closer to midnight. Adrenaline makes you heady. Maybe you should tell Leon to get a good handle on your hips when you sink down on his dick – point blank. 

All the way to the hilt. 

He takes it in stride as best as he can. “Tight, doll, ah,” he hisses, head bobbing, “so tight. Gonna send me to heaven.” 

You shift your hips experimentally, whimpering at the stretch. You’re a lousy judge of character but an apparently worse judge of size because you have no idea how you’re going to do this. Leon’s thumb reroutes to your navel, North Star that it is, and travels down to wait over your clit. Technically, you’ve still got the lead. Everything’s still. So so still. You’re about to break.

The minute hand ticks.

“Leon, please,” you whimper.

“What’s that, doll?” 

You paw uselessly at his chest. “Need help.”

Leon clicks his tongue in sympathy. It’s hard to get mad at a thing like you no matter how tough you sell yourself. Smart mouth and pretty eyes, bubblegum sweet underneath, something he’s gotta help. Leon’s always been a sucker for the damsel in distress type.

So he calls down a miracle. “I gotcha, sweetheart.” 

You cry out in relief at the lifting sensation of his hands around your hips. This is another dance you’ve yet to learn, it seems. 

“I gotcha.” Leon’s voice is a psalm over the burn of his cock inside you. A familiar thumb sneaks in between where you and he meet; whiskey and mint on his breath intoxicates you when he murmurs, ”Did so good for me, darlin’. Doesn’t feel too great right now, does it?”

You sniffle. “Mm-mm.”

“Gonna let me make it better?”

“Please.”

Leon indulges you. Taking advantage of the slick velvet he’s wrapped in, he glides you up just the tiniest bit, revealing the inch of his length you’ve covered in your arousal. You watch transfixed as he lifts your hips up and down. Baby steps. Stomach flips. You leave him coated in stardust like you’re made of it.

Leon’s in awe. “See that?” 

But you’re too far gone to take notice of anything but the embers in your stomach, seconds away from crumpling onto his chest. You were once sitting proudly upright. The extent of your desire hits like a revelation once your insides finally mold around him, like it was all prophesized, and you can’t tell up from down when Leon starts to piston you on his lap.

Five minutes 'til it’s all over: You’re tender and boneless and about to explode. Leon is relentless. Sweat drips from his brow like holy water. He kicks the barkeep’s chair to barricade the door because you were right, there’s no way you’re making it out here alive.

Your thighs ache with exertion, steering you on their own.

Four minutes: “Can’t take it, Leon!” You’re going under. The flood is no myth.

“Tell me where,” he grits, desperate.

Three. 

You want him to pull up the ladder.

Two.

“Where, doll, where?!”

One.

“Inside.” 

And God, you burn brighter than the sun.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[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."

[venusacrossthestars]

I <3 Australians

pairing- Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

summary: You had an obsession with Australians, your boyfriend and love for the Australian band 5 Seconds of Summer proved as much. So what better way to show your girlfriend you love her than take her to see her other fave Australians?

wc- 2.4k

a/n- HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML OSCAR PIASTRI this is the self-indulgent fic I have been talking about. I am a 5SOS stan and idc if this flops or not because I truly only wrote this for me. also this isn't edited bc I could not be bothered to do so

f1 masterlist

You had a thing for Australians, your boyfriend was proof of that. But even before you met Oscar, you had been a fan of the Australian band- 5 Seconds of Summer. While other girls were in their One Direction phase, you were busy fawning over the 4 Australians. You were one of lucky few that were able to see both when 5SOS opened for One Direction. You were a stan, all of your family and friends knew it. But most importantly Oscar knew it as well. 

He was familiar with the band, they were after all from the same country. He became even more familiar with them after the two of you got to together. Anytime he picked you up and graced you with the aux cord, chances were that 5 Seconds of Summer was blasting through the speakers. Oscar didn’t mind, the music was half bad either, not that he would ever say anything negative about it to you. 

So when he saw that tickets were on sale for there newest tour and that one of the UK dates just happened to line up with a non-race weekend, he was quick to purchase tickets. The hardest part of this whole ordeal was keeping it quiet from you. Which is exactly why Oscar only lasted 24 hours before spilling the beans. 

Today was Oscar and yours designated ‘lazy day’, no responsibilities, no worries, a day filled with absolutely nothing. Oscar had gone into your shared office about 20 minutes ago, what he was doing, you had no clue and frankly you were too busy watching Bones to really care. 

You watch as Oscar appears from his office, hands behind his back hiding something from your view, “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” 

You quirk an eyebrow at Oscar’s sudden exclamation. “Should I be scared?” You ask, as you sit up on the couch.

“No. Just close your eyes.” 

You do as he ask, trusting him fully. You feel him place something in your lap, however, it was too light to for you to fully make out what it was. 

“Ok, you can open them.” 

As you open your eyes you look down at your lap. You weren’t sure what to expect but it surely wasn’t a folded piece of paper. “A piece of paper?” 

Oscar rolls his eyes at your comment, “Look what’s written on it.” 

You unfold the paper and it takes a few seconds for to comprehend what is on it. You look at Oscar then back down at the paper, back to Oscar, back to the piece of paper and finally back to Oscar. “You didn’t,” is all you can say. 

“I did.” 

“Oscar this isn’t funny. I swear to God if you are joking  you are sleeping on this couch.” On that little folded piece of paper is written confirmation for 2 VIP pit tickets for the 5 Seconds of Summer Show. 

“Surprise!” Oscar shouts, face scrunched up from smiling so hard. 

You launch yourself from the couch and into his awaiting arms. You pepper his face with kisses. “Thank you- Thank you-Thank you. You are literally the best boyfriend ever.” 

“You don’t need to thank me baby. I know how much you love them.” 

Your smile widens into a grin. You reach up to pinch his cheeks, “Don’t worry you’ll always be my favorite Australian.” 

“I better be.” 

The weeks leading up to the concert were difficult for you. You were torn in between wanting to know the setlist and not. You had done your best to stay in the dark with majority of the songs you did however know one thing they were going to be doing. 

“Osc, they throw a giant inflatable dice into the crowd and whatever song it lands on when it’s back up on stage is the surprise song they play!” 

Oscar shoots you a confused look. The two of you were on your way to the venue and you couldn’t stop talking off Oscar’s poor ear about the concert. You tired to reel in your excitement and everytime you apologized for being so excited, Oscar, like the good boyfriend he is, would tell you not to worry and that he loved seeing you so excited. 

“And,” you begin again, “one of my favorite songs is on the dice!” 

“Which one?” 

“English Love Affair!” 

Oscar nods, “Isn’t that the one about Harry Styles’ sister?” 

“Yes! I can’t believe you remembered.” 

“See I know a thing or two.” 

“So proud of you baby,” you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. 

You managed to convince Oscar to dress the part of 2014 grunge 5SOS, not that it was a challenge considering majority of pants this man owned were skinny jeans. You had your own get-up, black skinny jeans (that you had to dig out for your side of the closet), black converse, a white baby tee with a graphic that read ‘I <3 Australians’ and a red flannel tied around your waist. Adorning your wrist were the multiple friendship bracelets you had made. 

You could only be described as Wattpad Y/N. When Oscar had seen your shirt he had raised a questioning brow and had asked “I hope that shirt only means me.” 

After going through security you and Oscar were officially in the venue. Oscar was in search of something to eat and you were on the hunt for the merch stand. 

“What do you want to eat?” Oscar asks you as you stand in concession line. 

“Hmmm,” you take a peek at the menu, “I’ll have a pretzel.” 

Oscar, ever the gentleman, pay for both of your snacks and drinks. You barely have your food in hand before you are dragging Oscar to the merch stand. 

The line was long enough that the two of you could eat and silently debate with yourself what you wanted to get. 

Oscar leans his head on your shoulder, “You have to get the papaya hoodie.” 

You roll your eyes, “You’re so pretentious, it’s literally orange.” 

“Still you look good in orange.” 

“I better considering I wear it nearly every weekend.” 

While in line you chat with a few other fans, exchanging bracelets, predictions and hopes of what the dice song will be. You are interrupted by the feeling of eyes on you and Oscar, you glance over your shoulder to see a group of girls huddled in a circle. One of them is pointing to Oscar and yourself. 

You eventually get your merch, Oscar insisting on getting the ‘papaya’ hoodie for you. As the two of you were walking to the wristband station, you one of the girls from the group from earlier approaching. 

“Excuse me,” one of them asks timidly, “you’re Oscar Piastri, right?” 

Oscar nods his head, “That’s me.” 

“Okay, that’s what my friend thought,” she points over to where her other friends are standing, all now much more interested in their shoes, “I’m really sorry to interrupt your date but I wanted to ask if it’s okay if we could take a picture with you.” 

Oscar looks at you and you nod your head. He knows he doesn’t need permission, but today was supposed to be a day for the two you. “Sure, we can take some pictures.” 

After your run in with Oscar’s fans the rest of night moves in a blur and before you know it the lights dim and the crowd starts to grow crazier, yourself included. 

You grab Oscars arm, “It’s starting oh my god, oh my god.” 

Oscar rubs your hair, “Are you excited?” 

“Is the sky blue?” 

The overtune starts and you can see Ashton, Micheal, Luke, and Calum take their places on stage. The familiar instrumental beginning of ‘Bad Omens’ fills your ears and you can hardly contain your scream. 

Oscar watches in adoration as you sing along, knowing every word. He can’t help but join in. You might’ve not known the setlist, but Oscar did. He added it to his Spotify the night he bough tickets and listened to it when he could. He wanted to make sure that he could sing along with you. 

The first 3 songs pass in a blur- Bad Omens, 2011, Caramel- and not knowing the setlist proved to be the right choice on your part because when Blender starts you nearly make Oscar deaf with your scream. 

“I’d die for you, I’d die for you, I’d die for you,” you sing looking Oscar directly in the eye. He only shakes his head at you antics. You bop and dance around to the chorus, grabbing Oscar to join in on your chaos and by the second verse he is fully dancing along with you. 

Everyone is bumping into each other having a blast, personal space be damned. You were to high on life to care about the repercussion that you would be facing tomorrow-bruised feet and a sore throat. 

More songs play and the boys interact with fans, your screaming and hollering along with them. Oscar’s face lights up at the beginning of ‘She’s Kinda Hot’ and he turns to you with a grin on his face, “I know this one!” 

“My girlfriends bitchin’ cause I always sleep in. She’s always screaming when she’s callin’ her friend. She’s kinda hot though!” Oscar sings along, wiggling his eyebrows at you when he sings the last line. 

Rolling your eyes you give him a light shove away from you. You take a moment to admire Oscar, thankfully that you have a loving boyfriend that would take you to see your other favorite Australians. 

The mood takes a 180 when the chords of ‘Amnesia’ fill the venue. You can’t help the tears that line your eyes and the shakiness of your voice when you sing along. Oscar looks at you, concern etched on his face, you wave him off. It was just a sad song, that’s all. 

The lights dim and on the big screen you see Ashton, Luke, Micheal and Calum in there suit get up. You know what time it was- Dice time. They explain the rules, if the dice isn’t back on stage within a minute then they’ll be picking the song instead. 

Luke hurls the dice into the crowd and the timer begins. Hands are flying up as the dice moves across the pit, you and Oscar watch and before you know it the dice is coming towards the two of you. You stand on your tippy toes to help Oscar, and the other around you, push it back towards the stage. 

“That was strangely horrifying,” Oscar tells you. 

“Not something I would want to see coming towards me again.” 

The dice lands on stage and you have both your fingers crossed, praying that it’s English Love Affair. You look at the screen to see the graphic stop on English Love Affair, and the noise that escapes you is hardly human. All Oscar can do it laugh at your reaction. 

Just like with the rest of the songs, you sing along, there is however a little more passion when you sing along to this one. “The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain. No, I can't forget my English love affair.” 

Oscar wraps his arms around your middle and rest his head on your shoulder, he still couldn’t believe that this song was about Harry Styles’ sister. Oscar may not admit it but every time you told him about any celebrity tea, he always listened. And granted this was old news, but it was new to him the first time he heard this song. 

You were panting at the end of the song. “Having fun babe?” You ask Oscar, hoping that your little performance didn’t scare him off. 

“I am. I thought you had some performances in the car, but those are nothing compared to what I just watched.” 

Before you know it, ‘She Looks So Perfect’ is playing, signaling that the end of the concert is near. You know that the post concert depression would be hitting extra hard the next morning. As the final chord plays and the boys bow off stage you turn to Oscar, asking him if he is ready to go. 

“There are two more songs left, for the encore.” He tells you, still planted in his spot. 

You shoot him a look, “How do you know that?” 

You watch as Oscar’s cheeks grow red, “I might’ve learned the setlist so I could sing along with you. And trust me, you don’t want to miss these ones.” 

You knew that they would probably come back out to play ‘Youngblood’ it was their most popular song, however you weren’t sure why Oscar was so insistent that you wanted to hear the other one. 

So when they came back on stage and the familiar ‘Oh-whoa’s’ graced your ears you nearly burst into tear. You weren’t expecting to hear ‘Outer Space’ live, ever. You had made peace with this fact so you really couldn’t help it when tears started streaming down your face. 

Oscar knew of your history with the Sounds Good Feels Good album, that was an album that you related to so closely, he also knew how much Outer Space/Carry on meant to you. 

Oscars hand, now wrapped around your shoulders, brought you closer into his chest as you sang along, softer than you had been singing the entire night, “ I will wait for you, to love me again… I guess I was running, from something. I was running back to you.” 

Oscar leans his head in closer and presses a soft kiss into your cheek. Oscar reaches into his back pocket and hands you his phone, flashlight already on, so you could join in with everyone else. 

“The darkest night never felt so bright with you by my side,” Oscar sings along. And while you couldn’t see him, you knew that he was looking at you with nothing but love his eyes. 

The two of you sway in each others embrace, singing along to the ending- 

Nothing like the rain, nothing like the rain

When you're in outer space, when you're in outer space

Nothing like the rain,  nothing like the rain 

When you're in outer space , when you're in outer space 

Love me like you did, love me like you did

I'll give you anything, I'll give you anything 

Love me like you did, love me like you did

I'll give you anything, I'll give you anything

You turn in Oscars arms, you bring your hands up to cup his face and pull him in for a sweet kiss. It wasn’t the most romantic kiss the two of you have shares, you were both sweaty, tired, you definitely had tears running down your face, and there was probably some snot in the mix. It might’ve not been the most romantic, but it was something so personal and that’s all that you needed.

a/n: also as I said this was extremely self-indulgent and ik you can def tell. but in all seriousness 5SOS is my favorite band and their album- Sounds Good Feels Good is the album to listen to if you need to get some feels out. I cry every time I listen to Outer Space/Carry on.

I was lucky enough to see them last year at the '5 Seconds of Summer Show' and hearing Outer Space live was an out of body experience. If you ever need some song recommendations for a certain mood, they have a song for nearly everything.

taglist- crossed out names mean I couldn't tag you

@arieslost @customsbyjcg-blog @gr1mes-cc @styl1shl1v @landoscardotcom @poppyflower-22 @blancastans @katiezdiarysblog @mrsstylez @jamieeboulos @tpwkstiles @peanutaj @hiireadstuff @hwalllllllelujah @purple9950 @chaoticpenguindetective @crazymofo-96 @harriesnuggets @inlovewithsierrasix @luckyladycreator2 @luanasrta @inejghafawifesblog @ineedmoremilkk @swiftpiastri@virgo-wonder @faith-f1 @lily1sposts @animetiddies-21 @melissaw1202 @hauntedphotographybookstaco @livelovesports @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @slaygirlbossworld @pastryboyyy @pookiesnukoms @minkyungseokie @f1enthusiastsstuff @mirrorballpulisic @notturlover @notso-sweetcaroline @verspia @mk-wrote @whentheautumnleavesfall @trywhisperingtotheocean @sadbut-true0 @akiraquote @hockeylover4ever @imaginedworldsstuff @sassyangel16 @motkanykodas @foulsongfest @bingewatche @lonely92world @flonaschicken @cvnts3rver @cayls33 @grungy-blue-hipster @kikinuke2 @slupin333

[a-spes]

| THE PLACE WE'VE BEEN DREAMING OF - Imagine (1,109 words).

| Summary - when Natasha enventually gives in, and accept her wife's demand to adopt a pet.

| Tags & warning - Men & Minors DNI, soft dark!wandanat x R, not really pet play but R is reffered to as one (stray/mutt/it), a man being mean, mentions of death, hints of (past) abuse, pure fluff/comfort.

| Author's note - I wrote that quickly because it has been on my mind for so long, and I definitely needed to share it with the world, but hope you'll enjoy it anyway! I'll definitely write a longer version of it when I've time, but for the moment, here goes the first introduction to The place we've been dreaming of alternative universe (and it's only the beginning because i've so many thoughts to share about it) <3

| MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

it was wands' idea. she had begging nat for years, talking about how good it would be to have a pet, just to bring a bit of life in the household.

and that's exactly what natasha feared. because she likes how quiet, and tidy, her house is. she likes the routine she built with her wife over the years, and she is reluctant to bring another piece in her house.

but how could she deny her wife when she begs her with those puppy eyes?

so she eventually gave in, and they went into a place that's only known by the richest persons. it's kind of a shelter, but instead of animals, human being are sold.

they walked in, wands looking in the cages while nat roll her eyes everytime she tries to have her opinion. "did you find what you want?" the seller asked, and nat looks at her wife that seems to hesitate. "what's over here?" she asked back, pointing to a noisy alley that constrats with the quiet one they've just travelled.

the sellers just dismissed her question, "they're unfit" he just replied, "they're going to be send off tomorrow". "where?" wands asked. "to be killed", he replied, but when he tried to get the conversation back on his best goods, wanda ignored him: she wanted to see these ones. nat isn't surprised, her wife always having a thing for saving broken being, but she still roll her eyes, thinking about the additionnal trouble it'll bring.

so, before the man could say anything, they walk in the alley. the ambience is different. yells, cries, and dark glances greet the women, while in the first alley, everyone's was perfect. nat cringes while her wife walk around, until she crouches in front of a cage that, at the first sight, appears to be empty.

except that, that you are here. in the back of the cage, hiding where the light can barely find you, trying to forget where you are. the noise is frightening you, but your hands covering your ears isn't enough to reduce it. the yells from the other still bugging you.

you've no idea for how long you've been here, but it felt like an eternity. you've been sent back here by your previous owner, it was your last chance, you've been told, and you don't know what's going to happen. when the door clicked, you thought your hour had come, and it only made you curl up further.

but the hand that came for you wasn't harsh. it hasn't tried to grab you. when you eventually open your eyes, your met by the sight of a woman, that's trying to get you to come to her. her voice is sweet. she doesn't yell as you thought she would when you didn't move at first.

the men had to bang against the walls to get you out, which earn him a glance from both of the women. he ignored them. "this stray has one of the worse behavior. she bites, is noisy, messy, agressive, ..." but wanda isn't listening anymore. she is just looking at you, sitting in front of her, unable to ignore the look on your eyes. the fear, and the exhaustion.

you didn't bite. you didn't made a noise. you didn't try to run away.

you only flinched when she reach out to stroke your cheek, but a second was enough for you to lean into her contact. it was so sweet. so gentle. and, for the first time, it felt genuine, and even the slap or the harsh grip you were waiting for never came. she was looking at you with pity, and something you couldn't name yet.

"... she couldn't behave even to save her life, we've tried everything. she's trouble", he adds, still talking even if none of the women is caring about his opinion, "believe me, she'll be better dead", and nat muttered something how he should be the one to die, while wanda didn't listen at all to his speech, all her attention being on you right now.

"you're sure that's the one you want, wands?" she asked, but she already knew her wife would nod, and she is definitely not going to fight her, especially when she sees how attached she already seems to be.

she looked at her while she take a biscuit out of her pocket, just to give a bit to you, but ends up giving you everything when she notices how you inhaled it. her brows furrowing together, but she doesn't say a word. she knows it would be useless to start a scene right now, this man perfectly knowing how bad he is treating you, and everyone else here. or maybe he doesn't, and doesn't realizes, thinking you deserve it, and then it would be pointless to argue with him. in that instant, she wishes she could take them all home, and if she can't, she can at least save one life.

"we didn't even bring her home yet that you're already spoiling her" nat complained, rolling her eyes. a whispered, "she deserves it", is muttered under her breath while the man seems annoyed, "if you're too lenient, you're going to regret it. you need to be firm with these things, you know." "and how would you know?" nat would ask, "apparently it didn't work well, from what you said earlier" and she smirks when she notices he starts to loose his temper, his voice being harsh when he replies, "then do not even think about taking her back when you'll realize how bad she is," just to nat to assure him that he "doesn't need to worry about that".

she isn't found of her wife's choice. she would have prefer it if she choose one of the perfect pet from the first alley. one of the one that wouldn't disturb her peace. but obviously her wife had to go for a stray, a mott, and a broken one by the way. but if there are two things she enjoys it's seeing her wife smiling, and pissing off men that thinks they know everything. if adopting that one allows to do it both at the same time, then she's all for it. a part of her wanting to prove the man that he is just wrong, and is the problem in that story.

[farmerstarter]

The Bachelors on their Wedding Day

Hi Hello have this short list of my little Headcanons of the bachelors on their wedding day. Hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and likes are appreciated!!🌷🤍

ʚ🏈ɞ ˚ · . Alex :

🏈 Fiddles with his tie relentlessly and ends up ruining it. He runs to Evelyn to ask her to tie it up again. The only other thing he fusses over is his hair.

🏈 Alex keeps a rabbit's foot in his pants, wanting all the luck he can get.

🏈 Spent literal days writing his wedding vows. Ends up opting to wing it. It wasn't the most eloquently worded thing you've heard but it was sweet.

🏈 He gave himself a pep talk in his bedroom before the ceremony. You only know about this because George was complaining about how loud he was to you.

🏈 Dusty the dog is the mermaid pendant bearer, I decided.

🏈 Also, the song that plays during the wedding is the same tune from Alex's music box. 🥺

ʚ🪶ɞ ˚ · . Elliott :

🪶Beach wedding. You guys have a beach wedding. You've expressed your interest in one and Elliott, with the eager help of Willy, clean up the beach for your special day. Elliott's shoes would fill with sand but his discomfort is overpowered by his delight when he sees you all dressed up.

🪶 He reads you one (of many) of his poems about you. You later learned that he's got a whole book of poetry about you that he's been writing ever since you two started dating. The poem he read on the wedding day was the very first one and is the first page of the book.

🪶 He spent hours trying to make himself look good. Asking for Leah and Willy's input on what he should wear for a solid 3 hours.

🪶 Aside from him worrying over his appearance, Elliott is more excited than nervous. He's on the verge of creating a new chapter in his life with someone else. Gone are the days of his lonely shack and the empty (well, not as empty since you moved into town) beach. Honestly, to say that he's excited is an understatement.

ʚ🛩️ɞ ˚ · . Harvey :

🛩️ Gets awfully shy when reading his vows, stuttering his way through his words and being a blushing mess. He has no problem with the one-on-one check up sessions he does with the other villagers of Pelican Town, but to read aloud in front of all of them at once threw him off. But he kept his eyes on you and managed to power through it.

🛩️ He considered shaving off his mustache for the wedding at least twice. But he decided against the idea.

🛩️ Insisted that you eat Farmer's Brunch the morning of the wedding. Even during your wedding day, he wants to make sure you're feeling healthy.

🛩️ Holds your hands throughout the whole ceremony. Whispering apologies for how clammy his hands are.

ʚ🎸ɞ ˚ · . Sam :

🎸 He wrote a whole song about you and played it on your wedding day. He made it a surprise for you and the moments of him hiding his guitar and shoving music sheets under his bed when you visit his room were all starting to make sense to you.

🎸 Couldn't sleep for the whole night before the wedding. He worried over the ceremony and wanted to make it go smoothly. He's not one to meticulously plan every detail, opting to engage in spur of the moment decisions, but he tried his best to make everything as close to perfect as he can get.

🎸 Jodi tried to gel Sam's hair back, but no matter the amount of gel and hours, his hair would always spring back. Sam wasn't a fan of dressing up in a "dorky suit" but he did anyway, for you.

🎸 Sam didn't want to see you until the wedding so he got Vincent to play messenger for the two of you. He wouldn't do it at first but only agreed to do it because he likes you (Cue a dramatic gasp from Sam).

ʚ🐸ɞ ˚ · . Sebastian :

🐸 Ends up smiling through the whole ceremony, looking at you with such a brightness in his eyes.

🐸 He isn't one to wear anything fancy. The closest thing he ever wore that is considered formal was the suit that Lewis got him and the rest of the dancers to wear for the Flower Dance. He asks his mom to help him dress up for the wedding, asking her about it while she was building furniture. Sebastian doesn't want to admit it, but he liked watching his mom so happy over something that was so mundane to him. He makes sure to keep the suit in perfect condition throughout the ceremony because of it.

🐸 He tells his very heartfelt wedding vows. And while he does, you could hear the faint "that's good," from Elliott before a grunt, inevitably elbowed on the side by Leah.

🐸 You and him ride on his motorcycle after the wedding. He drives you two to the cliff overlooking the city, the same cliff where he confessed his true feelings to you. Under the full moon, the two of you would look at the stars with Sebastian occasionally pointing at a constellation that Maru taught him to find.

🐸 Consider: winter wedding.

ʚ🐣ɞ ˚ · . Shane :

🐣 Genuinely doesn't believe that you want to marry him. He thinks it's a dream at best and a prank at worst. It wasn't until you were tying his mermaid pendant around his neck for him to know that you do love him. He still has trouble understanding it sometimes.

🐣 Shane asked Marnie to teach him how to waltz for your wedding day. Sure, he's danced in the Flower Dance countless of times but he wanted to learn something new to surprise you. And he did. After dancing with you, he dances with Jas. Well, it's more of Jas standing on Shane's feet while he walks and glides around.

🐣 He gave his chicken, Charlie, a bow tie for the wedding and everything. Even got a picture of you and Shane with the little guy. The picture ends up being hanged on Shane's side of the bedroom for many years to come.

🐣 Has his pocket full of corn chips, let's be honest. He offers one to you before the ceremony starts.

[duskier]

If you ever wrote the 141 getting bullied by Fem!ghost, the lesbianism in me would go wild I fear (so like…you should totally do it ist saying)

(I'm unsure if this was just for fem Ghost or full fem 141 forgive me fkdjsnd if it isn't good lmk and I'll do better for u <3)

cw cucking (??) cw exhibitionism!! this is just Ghost fucking reader to show the guys how its done

I won't lie I feel like I did good here

I'm so sorry but fem Ghost in a regular 141 sounds like dyke HELL imagine all of these bumbling idiots talking about women like they can take girls home and play them like a instrument when they can't spell clit let alone find it!!

And the second they catch wind that Ghost is a lesbian? They aren't homophobic by a long shot, but suddenly Ghost gets deeper into 'the boys club'. They wanna talk women with Ghost. It's weird, crude, and Ghost can't help but pity the women they all go home to. Soap always asks really invasive questions about how lesbian sex even works, a ton of porn-centric ideas that make Ghost roll her eyes. Gaz mainly wants to guess at Ghost's type in women, keeps showing her girls in his dating apps to see which one catches her eye. Price is obviously curious himself about Ghost's love life, but keeps the most quiet about it.

...Soap gets a ton of bravado when he's drunk. He likes to let loose when they go to bars close to base, usually it isn't too intolerable. But then he brags about how he's the best lay in his town, 'just ask any girl'. Gaz makes a joke about being internationally ranked, to which Price punches his shoulder. They all look when Ghost snorts incredulously.

"Aye? Think you'd do better with that plastic, Lt?" Soap points at her using his whiskey glass, a small drop spilling onto the table with his carelessness.

Ghost narrows her eyes at him. Part of her just wants to deck him, as much of a little brother as he was to her. "I know I would, Sergeant."

...It's your lucky night. Gaz spotted you first, lips missing his straw repeatedly as his eyes fixes on you leaning over the bar. Price sees you next, jostles Soap to get his attention.

But when you look over to their booth, the only person you're looking at is the woman in the balaclava. Black compression shirt not hiding an inch of her bulk, wide shoulders and stomach hanging just over her belt line. Carabiner on a belt loop, and you know you've got to at least try. You'd misread flags before thanks to the stupid military base being so close by, but the sight of Ghost... too tempting.

You can't see Ghost’s entire face, but you see her eyes crinkle when you shyly bring her a drink. Her friends across from her in the booth offer you a seat on their side, but before you can reply, Ghost is patting her thigh. It shouldn't make you so weak in the knees, but it does, so you quickly sit yourself on her thigh.

The men's eyes are wide, fixed on Ghost- how'd she get you under her spell so fast? You don't really notice their looks, too busy drinking in the smell of her cologne, a thrill shooting up your spine at the feel of her hand on your back.

...Ghost gets the idea first. None of the team protests, if anything their eyes grow hungrier. It doesn't take much convincing for you, either. It's a strange request, sure, for three men and one woman to want to take you back to a hotel for the night. But Ghost reassured you-

"None o'em will lay a hand on you, love, you'll just be mine. They just need t'see, learn how to do things right. You mind helping me show them?"

When you nod, mind already imagining what was to come, she cups your cheek with a gloved hand, thumb stroking your soft skin. "There's a good girl. You'll be perfect."

...Within an hour, Ghost's got you naked and compliant in a hotel room down the way. You'd forgotten about the men watching you entirely within only a few minutes of Ghost's bare hands pulling you onto your lap. With one hand she's spreading your ass apart while her other hand slips a finger or two in you. You're bracing yourself with your hands on her chest, gasping with your forehead pressed to hers as she finds every which way to make you feel good in that position.

You don't even have to tell her when you're close. Stars shining behind closed eyelids you can hear her whispering just for you, "Go on, let them see you, pretty thing. You deserve it, cum for me."

After your shocks have worn off, she's kissing you through her mask as she lays you down. Hands caressing and exploring, never in a rush. The only clothes she removes are her gloves and rolling up her balaclava. You're only passingly upset Ghost won't take her actual clothes off- you're sure it had something to do with the dynamic between her and her team- she looks damn good with her strap hooked over her jeans anyway.

You're salivating when she gets her knees on each side of your head. Thumb pressing down on her silicon cock, guiding it between your pretty lips. "Just gotta get it ready f'me pet, then I'll give you what you need."

Her quiet little words of encouragement are all you need, emboldening you to suck it like you're getting paid to, thighs clenching together at the sound of her grumbling praise.

The men aren't touching themselves, despite them straining in their pants and shifting every so often. Their eyes glued to you, your own eyes glued to Ghost as she pulls back, thumb wiping your spit-slick lips clean.

When she lines herself up with you, she doesn't immediately bully herself in. She grinds herself against you, focusing her mental energy on everywhere else. Licking your neck, biting your ear, whispering praises just for you while her fingers tug at your tits.

"Look like a fuckin' dream, love. So good for me, they don't even deserve to see you like this..."

It's when your chest is heaving, your face is flushed, and your nails are clawing her back that she rears her hips back, the plastic expertly catching and slipping into your needy cunt. "Just like that pet, just fuckin'- like that-"

She was so affected, sounded so hoarse, it sent butterflies through you as she started fucking into you. Ghost was like a damned machine, fucking you through orgasm after orgasm, your mewls and desperate cries filling the room. Her arms are so strong around you, she's tearing you apart and holding you together all the same. Like nothing you'd ever had before, and she knows it.

"Think of me, next time you're in bed- with any man like them, yeah? Remember what you could be having instead, call me when he's pumped and gone. I'll take care of you pet, like no man could."

The front of her jeans are soaked from you by the time you finally tap her arm, entire form shaking from exhaustion. Ghost immediately accepts it, pulling out and unhooking her strap as you giggle light-headed at the wet spot you left on her pants. She cleans you up, wet washcloth and all. You try to tell her you don't need it, but the lukewarm cloth soothes your tender parts like she said it would. Dresses you herself because frankly, you're still boneless.

Wraps you in her big warm coat that smells like her cigarettes, tells you kindly she's gonna get you home safe. To the men behind her, the men you couldn't care less about, the men all politely sitting with their hands folded in their laps, she barks, "Do what you will here, clean up when you're done. I'll see you back on base."

[hazelsmirrorball]

BOTTOMS THE PODCAST  | Hazel Callahan

Rockstar! Hazel Callahan x  Host! Reader Summary: Hazel Callahan is a special guest on The Bottoms podcast after Y/n said in a lie detector machine that she was her crush.  Warnings: Not proof read. Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my main language.  a/n: Wrote this in my costume design class, something happy after that angsty Rockstar girlfriend chapter. I've been binge watching frenemies so that's how I got this idea. Hope you guys like it! I really love reading ur comments, they really make my day <3

Y/n always had a lot of things to say. All her life people would make fun of her because she never knew when to shut up. Maybe it was the fact that she knew a lot about several things  or the fact that she just enjoyed talking shit. But the girl could talk hours on end about things not knowing when to stop. Thankfully, Y/n had friends that liked to talk as much shit as her. Josie, PJ and Y/n could drag people like they were drinking water. So when they were offered to do a podcast the three of the girls agreed without hesitation. Getting paid to talk shit on the internet for an hour? That was an amazing deal. 

And by the looks of it, everyone around them agreed that talking shit was good since they were having a godly amount of streams daily. The girls had decided to name the podcast “Bottoms” and it took place in a small studio in downtown. The girls wanted the studio to look as cozy as possible. So instead of a serious looking podcast they decided to decorate the room with vibrant colors and random knick knacks, the three girls had a say in how the studio looked so at the end of customizing it they had an unintentional division of their areas. Different colors and decorations that made their area theirs but the only thing the girls had agreed on was having bean bags as chairs, that was the best part. 

Their podcast “Bottoms” was popping off, so the girls had come up with several ideas to not make the podcast repetitive or boring. Costumes, themes, breakdowns and most importantly, special guests. Due to the fact that people actually like them, there were a lot of celebrities that surprisingly wanted to be on the show. So in the last episode when Y/n was attached to a lie detector machine and was asked if famous rock star, Hazel Callahan, was attractive. She had rambled about her crush not thinking that Hazel was going to hear the podcast let alone be the next guest on it. 

There she was, academy award winning rockstar, Hazel Callahan, sitting across from her. Her hair was messily styled as she threw her head back laughing at something PJ had said, her pearly whites showing through. She slammed her ring covered hands as she attempted to stop her laughing fit.  For the first time in Y/n’s life she was speechless. Hazel was beautiful, Y/n knew that. But having her so close by made Y/n malfunction with her beauty. Hazel was sculpted by god and being near her made Y/n feel things she couldn’t say on air. Y/n wasn’t going to survive an hour of talking, she glanced at the timer that was behind the cameras noticing the 00:10  on the screen. Ten minutes and she hadn’t said a single word. Ten minutes of her staring at Hazel while she talked about the tour and her life.  The only thing viewers could possibly see was her staring lovingly at Hazel and if she had to see a compilation on youtube  of her staring at Hazel she was going to lose it. 

“Damn, Y/n. Cat got your tongue? See people…Y/n likes talking shit about how much game she has. But as of right now she barely said hello to Hazel. May I remind you guys that in the   last episode she said that Hazel was her dream girl and that she could take h…” PJ started pulling the microphone towards her as everyone focused her eyes on Y/n, including those damn blue eyes. Y/n could feel her body tense up but she quickly analyzed where PJ was going, so she slammed her hands on the table interrupting, PJ. 

“Miss Callahan, Do you have a girlfriend? The people want to know” Y/n managed to get out. But after hearing herself in her headphones  say those words she felt herself cringe instantly regretting asking that. Miss Callahan? Who the hell did she think she was speaking to? Y/n moved on her bean bag chair noticing how it sucked her up. Y/n closed her eyes not wanting to face even more embarrassment while she heard Josie and PJ attempting to hold in their laughs. 

“I’m single, actually. So I hope that’s good for the people.” Hazel said, pulling her mic towards her with her ring covered hand. Hazel quickly shifted on the bean bag crossing her leg on top of the other one resting her hands. 

“Oh, but there’s a rumor that rock stars get puss. You don’t have groupies all over you after shows. I’ve heard your name countless times, supposedly you're a pussy pleaser in the community. Opinions on that.” PJ added trying to stir up the pot for the episode. Y/n stared at PJ agape not believing the words that were slipping out of her mouth. Hazel let out a loud laugh, surprising the three of them. 

“The question was if I was single, not how much I got laid. But I’m glad you’ve done your research. Not a lot of people mention my supposed pussy pleaser ways in interviews, which makes this one intriguing. So thank you for putting that out there” Hazel said sarcastically while attempting to hold in her laugh. 

“Supposedly?” Y/n let out looking at Hazel slightly. She quickly gripped on her head regretting letting that slip noticing the cocky look on Y/n’s face. 

“Well, I can’t confirm the rumors myself but if you want, we can test that theory.” Hazel replied, sending a wink towards Y/n direction. PJ gasped loudly hitting the table once again. 

“You're good. Like a god, never have I seen Y/n this quiet. What is going on?”  PJ said in between laughs while looking all around the set. 

“I don’t want to be cocky but if we get past this pod, I’ll promise you she’ll be really vocal and loud. But that’s not important right now…How about you? Are you single Miss L/n? I want to know” Y/n looked up, her face completely flushed as Hazel grinned towards knowing the effect her words had on Y/n. 

“What are you  supposed to be?” Y/n said quickly trying to change the subject off her once again. Hazel looks down at her outfit trying to hide her smile while Josie instantly notices her discomfort so she takes the lead clearing her throat. 

“What Y/n is trying to ask is,  what is your costume? For all of you guys that don’t know we are in halloween. We have been doing different themes for each episode to dress up and all that.  By  the looks of it you’ve always dressed up. But if you do not dress up then I like your new style. It makes your eyes pop” So why don’t we go around the room and say what we are dressed up as. The theme this week is crush. It can be a fictional crush, celebrity crush, real crush, whatever crush you want. So I decided on dressing up as my lovely girlfriend, Isabel. My biggest crush in the whole world. Shout out to you, babe.  She did my makeup and styled me this morning. Who’s next? ” Josie said as she pulled her flower dress down as PJ applauded obnoxiously loud making Y/n cringe one again. Hazel reached towards the water in front of her arms slowly grazing Y/n’s leg making her tense up once again. 

“Y/n, why don’t you go? Who are you supposed to be, Anakin Skywalker?” PJ asked in a joking tone while turning towards her. 

“First off all, Fuck you. Second of all I was told that our costume was going to be fictional characters not crushes.” Y/n started while fixing her robes. Josie chuckled, pulling out her phone to check  the email while Pj shook her head. 

“Don’t worry, Y/n. For you it’s the same person that’s why we didn’t tell you anything. We didn’t want you to be a more blushing mess than you already are. So don’t be such a puss and tell the camera who are you dressed up as” PJ continued pointing at the camera while Y/n rolled her eyes.  

“I’m dressed up as Kit Tanthalos from Disney’s Willow” She muttered into the mic while glaring at PJ ignoring Hazel’s eyes. 

“Wait isn’t that, Hazel's character in that show she’s in,” Josie started making Y/n groan throwing her head back clearly embarrassed. 

“You know what I want to know, what the hell is PJ dressed up as. Who’s your crush” Y/n said quickly, making PJ look down at her shirt. 

“I’m dressed as a Milf, obviously. I know Hazel being here has taken your common sense but we need you to be attentive. Now, Hazel. Who’s your celebrity crush?” PJ asked, turning to Hazel. Hazel smiled widely, turning to Y/n, not unlocking their eyes. 

“Well, I decided to dress up as my favorite podcaster. I thought my outfit was pretty obvious.” Hazel said standing up, giving an awkward turn. Y/n could feel her face turn completely red noticing that her outfit mimicked one that was recently posted on her instagram story. 

“You see guys, this is how we make love in this podcast. In the next episode we will probably talk about all the puss Y/n got.” PJ almost screamed into the mic. 

...

Thank You Guys For Reading!

[lokideservesahug]

Always that good?

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Warnings: Swearing some French but I didn't use translate so it's probably all wrong. One mention of 'the deed' but it's brief. Brief mentions of drinking/being tipsy. I'm sorry if you have a pizza/garlic bread allergy😔

Notes: Its white fast paced and I'm not as happy with this peice as I have been wit others but here we go... 1/4 SMAU 3/4 writing so sorry if that's not your thing. Also I don't think I wrote this with anything gender specific but pls tell me if it isn't gender neutral!

Summary: You've been best friends with Arthur for over a year now... so why does his brother look so good?

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For a man who supposedly strictly sticks to his diet, Charles was all to eager to get his hands on the greasy concoctions you brought with you. He also didn't seem to dislike spending the evening as just the two of you. Neither did you but part of that was because the garlic bread was to die for.

As the night progressed, the Monagasque brought some beers from the Arthur's fridge. Despite you chastising him for stealing from his brother, Charles said that his brother wouldn't care and the beers could always be replaced. So, the two of you began to drink some beer along with your dinner. At some point along the way, the television was turned on but you weren't paying attention to it at all. All you could focus on was Charles. The way his eyelashes fluttered to a close as he took another sip; the way his addams apple bobbed slightly at the same time.

If you could get away with it, you would would stare into his eyes forever. They were captivating. The same man you were admiring then begins to break the silence by starting up conversation.

"This is very nice pizza. Where is it from?" "The pizza parlour just down the road, they've only just stared allowing people to take meals to go though." You see him nod in understanding at your words.

Before you can find yourself staring at him any longer and risking making it wierd, you turn your attention towards the television. As the programme changes, you find yourself gasping. You can almost feel the man next to you giving you a curious look but as the title to your favourite television show comes on screen, he laughs in understanding.

This pulls your attention back to him and you ask "What?" He doesn't even miss a beat before he replies "Nothing. You're just endearing" he finishes the remark with a smile. You can feel your cheeks heat as you respond "Sorry. It's my favourite show" this pulls a laugh out of him. "No need to apologise chérie and like I said, it's sweet."

This causes you to look down. You turn and face the television but continue to speak to the man next to you. You occasionally turn to him whilst speaking. "It's been a very long time since I've seen this. Arthur pays for different channels to me and with everything these days, the rights shows are always swapping between people and channels."

You didn't catch Charles' smile drop but you did notice his slightly deflated sounding tone "I'm surprised you dont live with him then." This causes you to pause. I mean yeah Arthur's your best friend but that doesn't mean you should live together- especially not with your difference in music tastes. You'd probably strangle him for listening to the same, boring, simple songs for hours on end before you could even finish the first week of living together.

"Hm? Why would I do that" Your enquiry causes his brows to furrow and he asks "Oh. Are you not at that stage in your relationship yet." Relationship? What does he-? Oh no...Oh no... Oh no.

You simultaneously visibly deflate and start laughing after his words sink in. Charles, who clearly finds it nowhere near as funny asks "What. Why are you laughing?"

"You- you" Unable to finish your sentence without it ending in a fit of cackles, you laughing some more, take some deep breaths and clarify the source of your amusement. "Charles, Arthur and I aren't dating. You know that right?" His lips form an 'O' and he looks down almost embarrassed as he shakes his head.

"But I've heard you saying that you ahd a thing for a Lecle-" He stops and grins as you both come to the realisation of what he's saying. Now it's your turn to look down in embarrassment and his to start laughing.

"Shut up." Your words clearly hold no weight and when you find him looking at you, eyes gleaming. You find yourself falling for him even more.

"So Chérie...you have a thing for Leclercs?" His eyebrows wiggle and when you both split into bursts of laughter, you could tell have dreamed of a better way to spend your evening.

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Thank you for reading! As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Also my inbox is open if you ever have a request!

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