#it's melting against the earth's core

[flatstarcarcosa]

this is another choice in rebirth i don’t care for, because it leaves a bad taste in my mouth i can’t fully explain and also on a heeheehoohoo level, i miss being able to gesture at slade and norman and be like “well in my defense, only one of these men fucked their sons fiance”

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. nanami kento x pregnant wife!female reader. smut, pwp. cunnilingus. pregnancy kink kinda. not proof read. reader gets called ‘sweetheart, honey, darling’

kento nanami cannot leave you alone, even if you’re pregnant. he’s a natural provider and always wants the best for you. especially when you’re carrying his child—which he thanks you for every single day. one day he shows his appreciation through words of affirmation, the other day it’s with endless gifts.

this time it’s by relieving your stress underneath the table while you’re peacefully eating breakfast.

“fuck. . ken,” you tug at his hair with your free hand, the other holding the toast you’ve been nibbling on. your head rolls back and your breath comes out in short gasps as kento’s tongue flicks over your sensitive cunt.

you didn’t expect your morning to be like this, but you’re not complaining. kento always has to start off his day by worshipping your body in any type of way. he’ll rub your small baby bump while you’re cooking, whisper sweet nothings into your ear, kiss you all over while telling you how beautiful you look and even more.

this time his usual body worship had evolved into something more. from kissing your little pregnant belly and praising you for bearing his child, to him kneeling between your legs, slobbering all over your soaked pussy.

“i know, sweetheart. your dear husband will make you feel better, i promise,” kento coos, his voice muffled as his mouth collides with your glistening folds over and over again. he’s getting lost in your essence—the slick messily coating his lips.

his fingers rub your clit a little in the meantime, not forgetting to pleasure you to his best ability. your repetitive moans bounce off the walls of the kitchen, echoing in his ears. you sound like an angel and your body feels like one as well.

kento tries his best to keep his own grunts down. your cunt is dripping so much, amazing amounts of wetness cover his mouth to the point that it trickles down his chin. he’s without a doubt getting drunk on your essence.

the place between your thighs is considered a heaven on earth to the blonde man.

“mhh, are you feeling better, honey?” kento asks, opening his eyes halfway to look up at you, “am i pleasing my wife well?”

the sight of your husband kneeling in front of you, his hands holding your hips steady on the chair and his mouth ravaging your puffy folds makes you forget all about the morning sickness you’ve been complaining of.

“f-feels way too good,” your breath is shaky as you try to focus on eating. you can’t physically get that piece of bread to your mouth, your hand shaking from the pleasure you’re being granted. your pussy tingles and aches with each lick or suck—your hips trying to buck against kento’s mouth.

“that’s great,” kento murmurs, his nose bumping against the bundle of nerves that’s nestled between your folds. the place that makes you go wild, “that’s all i want.” you squeal and find yourself dropping your toast to place your other hand on kento’s head.

you tug at his hair and gain another groan from him. kento notices that you’ve stopped eating and he pulls away from your pulsing cunt for a second, kissing your inner thighs gently. “you need to eat up, darling,” kento’s hot breath hits your bare pussy as he stares at you with love and lust in his eyes, “you’re eating for two now after all.”

he taps your little bump and leans in to kiss your swollen skin. an affectionate smile appears on his handsome features, one that makes you melt immediately. you know kento won’t resume eating you out unless you take a bite of your food again.

“fine,” you pout and grab your toast. you take a small bite and at the same time, you feel kento’s lips kiss your core back. the tip of his tongue slithers up and down your slit, circling your pulsating hole before kissing your clit.

he’s taking his sweet time to make you cum. after all, this is meant to soothe and pleasure you. to take your mind off the negative aspects of your pregnancy. if there’s one thing kento can do as your man, as the father of your child, it’s to take care of you both mentally and physically, in any way you need.

“how about your breakfast, k-ken?” you ask through quick whines. your entire body feels like it’s on fire. kento’s large hands keep holding your body down on the chair so you wouldn’t have the chance to escape his loving gestures. your teary eyes look over the table, “your coffee is getting cold.”

kento chuckles at your worries. you’re selfless, even when he’s offered to pleasure you himself. he leaves a trail of kisses up and down your throbbing pussy, his saliva mixing with your slick and causing lewd strings of clear liquid to stick to his chin.

“don’t you worry. i got my breakfast right here,” kento answers softly while eating you out. every jaw movement is down with precision—it’s slow yet filled with passion. he slurps up any excess fluid every now and then, not caring if you’re making a mess on the chair or on his face.

kento smiles against your wetness when he hears you moan at his words. the way you look so ethereal, staring down at him with open lips, drooling a bit with bread crumbs staining the area around your mouth is absolutely endearing, “you’re so cute. keep looking at me, darling.”

you cannot believe this man. he’s so caring, so loving. you definitely chose the right person to marry and have children with. his rough fingers come up to rub your small baby bump again, not forgetting to show you his appreciation through subtle touches in the meantime.

“so sweet,” kento sighs as he swallows drops of your slick, “letting me take care of you like this . . . such a good wife.”

he’s getting drunk on you, definitely. the taste of your essence and the fact that you’re pregnant with his child right now—the fact that he’s the one who impregnated you and made you a soon-to-be mother—is driving him insane. his cock is dripping with pre-cum, ready to burst.

but, he’ll hold himself back for your sake. you’re going to be taken care of first since you’re his priority and always will be.

being pregnant is so worth it when your husband is kento nanami.

[0097linersb]

Right Here ll

Pairings: Wooyoung x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 6k~

Warnings: It´s a smut so +18 MDNI. THIS IS THE SECOND PART TO RIGHT HERE!! This wasn´t proofread and I kind of wrote it with my ass so I´m sorry. I´ll slowly start tagging everyone who asked me to, sorry if I forget someone I´m stupid.

Follow me on twitter pleaseeee: wooyosgfreal <3

Part 1

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

“We´re not fucking,” You informed in between labored breaths. 

“We don´t have to fuck, I just need you to sit on my face.” 

You never whined so loudly in your life before. 

That was the one single thing you have been dreaming about hearing for weeks now and you were so happy you could practically cry, in fact, you almost came right there without even being touched. 

Wooyoung noticed the semi-thorn look still present on your face and sighed, holding your cheeks so you were forced to stare him in the eyes like he was speaking to a misbehaving child, “Y/N, I don´t care. I don´t care about whatever stupid game we were playing, ok? We will wake up tomorrow and pretend this never happened and continue to be the bestest of friends, but let me have this tonight.” 

“Like it never happened.” You repeat stupidly. Can´t believe you were already fucked dumb without actually being fucked. “You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Ok.” 

“Good. Now let me make the most out of it because I´ve been thinking about this for so fucking long.” 

He gave you no time to think this time, lips clashing against yours once again and you were embarrassed at how fast you melted against him – he just had a way with his mouth like you´d never seen before. His palms rubbed up your back under your shirt and you shivered at the touch, accidentally grinding against him and earning a groan in response, his hips automatically bucking up and a groan leaving his lips right against yours. Your hands flew to his hair in need, grabbing his roots as you continued to grind into him shamelessly, breathing getting harder by the second. You felt like an animal, just wanting to rip his shirt out and kiss all of his skin. You were so close from just dry humping a bit, his labored breathing mixing with yours, the sounds coming from his mouth so heavenly, the short breaths -  

“Nop, can´t wait,” Wooyoung panted as he broke the kiss. You were still trying to figure out what he meant when he slid down and practically threw you up his body so fast you could only yelp in surprise.  

And there it was. 

The sight you´ve been dying to see. 

Wooyoung under you pulling your hips so you would straddle his face.  

You took a shaky breath, wanting to appreciate the view for a moment after how long you´ve been imagining it, Wooyoung looking so pretty with his long hair and - but he was not having it, grabbing the back of your thighs and urging you to scoot all the way forward. He did look like the happiest man on earth once you got into the position he wanted, his eyes practically twinkling as he pulled your shorts and panties to the side again, another groan leaving his lips at the sight of you.  

“Fuck, can´t believe this is really happening,” He dazedly smiled before raising his head to meet your core, body supported up by his elbows. 

Wooyoung took a long slow lick up your slit like he wanted to savor it, but you knew better: he was just being a tease, especially considering he was looking up at you with mischievous eyes. His lips then met your clit in a quick chaste kiss and you whined - He sure was taking his sweet time for someone allegedly so desperate. But then again, what did you expect from Jung Wooyoung? 

“Let me enjoy this,” He teasingly scolded you for whining. “This is a dream come true for some of us.” 

You glared at him, but the mean look was quickly interrupted as he finally - and suddenly - put his mouth to real work.  

“Oh fuck,” You cursed in surprise at the feeling, hands immediately flying to the wall for support.  

To say you were seeing stars was not an exaggeration, he would kiss and suck, his tongue would draw shapes against your clit that you couldn´t even make up, head too dizzy with all the sensations. You didn´t even realize you had closed your eyes but there you were, eyelids shut so tight you thought you´d never be able to see again. 

“Shit,” You moaned with a spasm of pleasure. 

“Told you I was good,” He smirked up at you, chin glistening and lips plumper than ever. 

“Shut up,” You groaned, grabbing his hair and pulling him back where you wanted him so you wouldn´t have to look at him and his cocky smile. 

He simply laughed, the vibrations against your core driving you insane as he continued with his work. Your mind was practically slime at the point, only being able to focus on your high and how close it was, you knew that for some reason you had to be quiet but you couldn´t even remember why anymore –  

Oh, right: Wooyoung cocky, Wooyoung big ego, Wooyoung bad. 

Wooyoung sped up his tongue and you betrayed yourself when a moan escaped past your lips, alerting him you were at the edge. You held your breath and braced yourself, ready to let go - 

Wooyoung suddenly leaned back, breaking your trance, “You sound so pretty.” 

You opened your eyes to look at him, thrown aback – it was once again like a bucket of water had been thrown at you.  

The whole bucket, not just the water.  

“What´s wrong?” He looked up at you worriedly after you just stared at him gob smacked for a second.  

“I-I was close.” 

“Oh, I´m sorry princess,” He furrowed his eyebrows apologetically. “Let me make it up to you.” 

And so he did, his lips once again meeting your clit, tongue alternating between drawing circles, flicking it side to side and whatever it was he did that got your knuckles turning white against the wall. This time Wooyoung decided to go the extra mile, you felt a little shift in bed as he stopped supporting himself in one of his arms - but your eyes were once again shut close so you weren´t able to see what he was doing. You literally mewled when one of his fingers traced your slit before slowly entering you.  

He groaned against you for the nth time, you could feel how tightly your walls were squeezing his finger, but it was mostly because you had never been this turned on before. As he ate you out, his finger gently opened you up before he added another one, little gasps leaving your lips because it was just so insane. 

Was Wooyoung really that good or had you just been horny for that long? 

Who knew that Jung Wooyoung, the guy you were pretty sure was gay not even 2 weeks ago, was so fucking good at eating pussy????? 

The pads of his fingers found a spot inside of you that no one ever did before and you found your hips subconsciously bucking against his hand every time he pulled out. 

“Fuck, I´m so close.” 

You took a deep breath and prepared for the wave of pleasure to wash over you - 

“Did you say something?” He asked, stopping all his movements to pay attention to you. 

You opened your eyes once again, Wooyoung was innocently looking up, expecting your answer, and you were about to cry out in frustration when you realized: 

 He was doing it on purpose. 

“I will murder you.” 

“Why?” He looked so genuinely confused. 

“I fucking know you, Jung Wooyoung.” 

The innocent boy façade crumbled down so quickly as he smirked, “You know I like it when you´re mad.” 

“You got it. Happy?” 

“Well, no. You haven´t begged yet.” 

“I swear to god I´ll get up and go to Mingi´s-” 

“Sit on my face.” 

“What?” 

“Sit on it, so you´ll have full control.” 

Your legs got so weak suddenly. 

“I´m not above begging,” Wooyoung must have taken your shock as hesitation because he was quick to offer nonchalantly with a shrug.  “If that´s what it takes.” 

“I´ll suffocate you-” 

“And I´ll go as a happy man, now come here,” He ordered as he leaned down so his back was now flat against the mattress. “Please?” 

You didn´t really need to be asked a third time - not that you´d have the chance to anyways, Wooyoung was already eagerly grabbing the back of your thighs and pulling you forwards. He somehow even felt how you were still supporting part of your weight on your knees so you wouldn´t crush him, and not happy with that, he circled his arms around your thighs and forced you to let go, falling completely on top of him – well, his face. 

The worries over suffocating him were gone in an instant, though. If you thought he was good before, it was definitely because you hadn´t tried this yet. Suddenly it was worth fantasizing all these weeks about this moment, not even in your wildest dreams (and you mean that literally) did it ever reach this level of insanity.  

You felt Wooyoung´s hands grabbing your ass and kind of pushing it back and forwards against his tongue, it took a few rounds of that for you to realize what he was doing. 

He wanted you to ride his face. 

“Fuck,” You moaned, too overwhelmed to process anything. 

Wooyoung was again not happy with your lack of action and continued to forcefully grind your core against his face and your clit kept bumping against his nose and oh god, his nose. 

After being edged twice already, you were terrified of there being a third time, but it was just impossible to be quiet, you were just out of your mind, you had never seen yourself like this before. I mean, you had never felt like this before either - 

Were all the men you ever slept with really just that bad? 

No. Mingyu was amazing in bed, Wooyoung was just... Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung and his stupid fucking nose. 

At some point you gave him what he wanted without even realizing, your fingers deep within the roots of his hair as you grinded against his tongue searching for your high and he seemed to be having the time of his life, moans muffled between your thighs as he moved his head to help you out.  

You didn´t think Wooyoung would be able to edge you this time even if he wanted to, considering you were practically...well, immobilizing him - but you´d also never doubt Jung Wooyoung´s ability of being annoying and you were so so so fucking close.  

“Please.” 

Were you begging? 

You? 

Begging Jung Wooyoung? 

Has he really driven you that low? 

Wooyoung´s fingers dug into your thighs, your ass, your waist, anything he could reach - and that´s how he took you by surprise once again; about 2 seconds before your high hit, Wooyoung managed to flip you over and climb on top of you in between your legs. 

“This was fun,” He smiled and gave you a quick peck on the lips. “Want to start the episode over?” 

This situation was so surreal that your brain couldn´t even try to process it, staring blankly at him as your chest heaved up and down against his. 

“Jung Wooyoung, I´m being so serious right now.” 

“What?” 

“What twisted stupid little game are you playing?” 

“Oh, no games. You said we couldn´t fuck so I stopped before you know, it could get to it.” 

You stared at him like he had just told you the Earth was flat. You hated him so much you hated yourself - but at the same time, it was like looking in the mirror. You felt so fucking bad to everyone you ever slept with before, if you knew how annoying it was you´d have never been the way that you are. 

You could curse at him, you could yell at him, you could even kick him out of your place, but at the moment, none of that would give you what you wanted, so for now, all you had to do was take a deep breath, swallow your pride and admit you just got out-brattied by Jung Wooyoung. You could kill him after he fucked you. Wait- 

or - 

OR- 

“Restart the episode,” You ordered after over a literal minute of silence, rolling down to his side in bed. 

“What?” Oh, the amount of money you´d pay to see the look of shock and desperation on his face again. He was just so sure you´d back down and ask him to fuck you. 

“Restart the episode,” You repeated yourself.  

“Oh, ok,” You watched as he gulped and did as he was told, adjusting his body so he was comfortable against the pillow as he pressed play on the remote.  

You unpresumptuously turned tonyour side, placing your thigh on top of Wooyoung´s and your hand on his chest, his body jumping at the contact. 

“Jumpy, are we?” You teased, using his own words against him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Cuddling. Relax your arm.” 

Wooyoung skeptically wrapped his arm around your shoulders so you´d both be more comfortable and you snugged into him, waiting for him to get his guard down and ignoring how you could literally see his dick throbbing in his sweatpants.  

Serves him right. 

Once his breathing was as back to normal as possible, you decided it was time to attack. His body was still tense and you knew he was not paying attention to the TV, probably stuck in his head trying to come up with another plan since his first one failed, his feet twitching restlessly. 

Maybe Mingi was right, why couldn't you two just fuck like normal people without having to write a 600 pages long tactical book on how to get to it? 

Ignoring the deep voice of reason sighing in your head – Oh god, when did Mingi become the voice of reason on anything? - you quickly climb on top of Wooyoung to straddle him. He tried to sit up in reaction but your palm against his chest pushed him back down. He stared up at you in surprise, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he scrambled for something to say. 

“You know what we can do, though?” You asked, bending down so you could kiss his neck.  

“What?” He stuttered; shivers running up his body caused by your warm mouth against his skin. 

“You´ll see.” 

You felt his pulse racing under your lips, tracing his vein with kisses and gentle bites, even a suck here and there to leave a mark because you wanted him to look in the mirror for the next weeks and remember the day he lost.  

Soft little moans and gasps filled your ears, his hands found your waist and held you like he wasn´t sure if he wanted to pull you closer or push you away. Wooyoung´s neck was just so sensitive, it was driving you insane.  

You pushed his shirt up to his chest as you slid down his body, lips trailing their way from his abdomen to the waistline of his sweats. This time you went straight to business, pulling his pants down enough so his cock could spring free and you were so happy with that you saw: Wooyoung was so hard, painfully hard - You allowed yourself to enjoy his suffering because 1. it was his own fault and 2. revenge.  

You gently wrapped your hand around his member and after wetting your lips, you pressed a kiss to his tip, his whole body shivered, and a choked moan left his mouth in response. You slowly traced his cock with your tongue from the bottom to the top and the groan echoing the walls was like music to your ears. His hands were gripping the sheets tightly. His whole body was tense. 

“Wooyoung, love,” You called with the sweetest voice you could mutter up. 

“What?” He answered in between gritted teeth as you finally wrapped your mouth around his tip. You circled your tongue around it slowly before giving it a gentle suck, letting spit dribble down as you pulled away. “Fuck.” 

“Pay attention. I´m going to be clear from the start,” You warn him, slowly pumping his now wet cock . “I´m not finishing you off, period. Now, should I continue or should I stop?” 

“Fuck. Continue,” He groaned at your ministrations. 

And you obeyed. You didn´t want to tease him anymore, you just wanted to get him worked up enough that he wouldn´t be able to think properly – and then, hopefully, he´d finally throw you down and fuck you without being annoying. 

You wrapped your lips around him once again, bobbing your head up and down, reaching deeper each time, twisting your hand at the base for some extra flare as Wooyoung´s hands found your roots. He bucked his hips in pleasure, pushed your head down once or twice in reaction to something you´d done, rewarded you with moans and groans. You kind of really enjoyed this but you´d be caught dead before admitting it - Wooyoung´s voice was just really nice. 

“Fuck, you´re good at this,” He groaned and you simply hummed in agreement, rejoicing at the moan he let out because of the vibrations around him. “Even better than I imagined. Fuck.” 

Your mind was also filled with curses, your walls desperately clenching around nothing as you mentally begged for Wooyoung to just fuck you soon or you´d cry. Hopeful, you sped up your actions, his breathing matching the fast new rhythm, and you could tell he was close by the way his hold on your hair got tighter and his hips started erratically bucking up. 

Ok, showtime. 

You waited for the exact moment his moans got higher to pull away from him, getting back on your knees and just staring at him, waiting to see what it was gonna be. 

He looked confused, then angry, then it seemed like he finally understood what he had agreed to. He stared at you like that for a few seconds and you were kind of starting to reconsider your whole life when he interrupted you; Wooyoung sat up and grabbed your waist, flipping you around so he was on top of you once again.  

“Ok, you won. Happy?” He was smiling but his eyes looked kind of dangerous, like a cat´s. His hand was around your neck, not squeezing it, just holding you down. 

“Won what?” You played dumb. 

“Stop,” He glared at you, unamused.  

“Ok.” 

“I´m going to fuck you now.” 

“Ok.” 

“Awn, is that all it took? Should have tried that earlier,” He teased, sitting on his knees to pull your shorts and panties down. “Need some more prepping or-” 

“Oh god, please no.” 

He chuckled at your reaction, bending down to give you a quick peck on the lips, “Pretty.” 

Why did that little kiss make you kind of giddy when the man was literally pulling his sweats back down and positioning his cock against you?  

You ignored the weird feeling as you felt Wooyoung finally entering you, a long moan echoing in the room. Why did he have to sound like that? 

“You can keep going,” You urged him when he didn´t immediately start moving, you were so fucking wet you think a fire extinguisher would suffer no resistance from your walls at this point.  

“Shit, wait,” He groaned with a laugh. “If I move right now, this party´s gonna be over real soon.” 

“The high oh mighty sex god Wooyoung?” You teased. 

“Shut up, I´ve been waiting for this for a long time,” His smile looked so attractive in that moment you kind of forgot what you were teasing him over.  

“Are you going to say it´s because I´m too hot?”  

“Yeah, actually.” He laughed. “I haven´t taken your shirt off yet because I don´t think I can handle seeing your boobs right night.” 

You laughed too, about to continue playing with him but he interrupted you by suddenly bottoming out. You clawed at his back in reaction, a surprised deep gasp leaving your lips.  

Wooyoung slowly pulled all the way out before filling you again, his hips smooth as you felt his skin against yours, the large veins on his cock brushing against your walls. Supported by both arms on your sides, he kept a languid pace, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him on every inch of you, and you were definitely feeling it. Your walls so sensitive after months of torture. 

His hair fell around his face and you pushed it back with a moan, wrapping your legs around his hips. Wooyoung bent down to catch your lips with his, the kiss matching the rhythm in which he rolled his hips, sensuous and unhurried.  

“Fuck,” he moaned as he broke apart from you, his arms literally shaking at the feeling of you swallowing him. “If I knew you felt like this-” 

“What would you have done?” You managed to breathe out with a smirk and a roll of your eyes, incredulous at his words. 

“I would have made you mine,” Wooyoung groaned as he slightly sped up his hips, your nails digging deeper on his skin and you arched your back when his cock started brushing against a certain place. 

“Never took you for the ah- possessive type.” 

“Only when it comes to you.” 

“Fuck me like you mean it then.” 

“Someone´s eager, huh?” 

“If I´m crushing my moral compass, at least it should be worth it.” 

He used one of his hands to grab at your cheeks once again, tighter this time, smirking down at you without slowing down his thrusts, “Ah, you want me to destroy you for any other man. Gotcha, pretty.” 

Well, you never thought you´d be hearing your best friend direct those words at you – and you definitely didn´t expect to be clenching around him over it.  

“Thought so,” He smiled.  

You were mesmerized by the way he looked so hot with that cocky smile, by how the mole under his eye drove you crazy, by the way he looked at you with so much desire and conceitedness at the same time – you subconsciously tightened your walls around him and he definitely noticed if the way he opened his pretty lips in a moan were anything to get by. 

His pace quickened up one more time and it got you seeing stars, Wooyoung laughing at your loud moan, “Admit that I´m good.” 

“Does it make you harder if I stroke your ego?” 

“It totally does.” 

“If you wanted to be praised, just say so.” 

“You wouldn´t, you don´t have it in you,” a thin layer of sweat was forming on his face, his tan skin glistening and you just wanted to lick it. 

“Give me something to praise you for.” 

Wooyoung laughed darkly before flipping you over without a warning, putting you on all fours with zero to no effort, cursing at the sight in front of him. He caressed his hands down your back before pushing your torso down, you groaned in surprise as your arms failed and you crashed on the bed, your left cheek meeting the sheets as he held your hips up.  

“I wanted to be nice, since you know, you´re my best friend,” He rambled as he admired the view for a second before laughing. “But I know you, should´ve known you´d want to be fucked like a slut.” 

“Wooyoung-” 

“What? Am I lying?” 

“Just get on with it,” You groaned. 

He chuckled loudly at your annoyance, choosing not to bite back because he too was very much in need of having his cock inside of you, and so he did. Wooyoung grabbed his member, positioning the head against your entrance, his other hand stayed in your lower back holding you down as he pushed himself in, feeling the way every inch of you squeezed around him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn´t help but close his eyes to take the feeling in, hearing how his moans mixed with yours. 

“You really were needy, huh?” He groaned, shivering at the sensations. “You´re squeezing me so hard.” 

He didn´t expect an answer to that, and you wouldn´t be able to give him one anyways as he immediately began to move. You grabbed at the sheets, fingers turning whiter and whiter as Wooyoung sped up his hips, never losing the right angles to get you drooling - and you just caught yourself thinking this is something people would go to war over.  

You could not hold back your moans and Wooyoung was only going faster and harder by the second, your cheek was getting burnt because of the friction with the sheets, your sensitive nipples were rubbing against the bed with each thrust, and you think your eyes were closed but you couldn't be certain. 

This was a whole new world and you were not sure you´d survive adventuring in it. 

Suddenly, you were dragged away from your state of pure bliss by the hair – literally. Wooyoung had grabbed at your strands to pull you up against him, forcing you to stand on your knees, his back pressed to your back.  

In this new position, his cock reached deeper into you and his skin dragged against different spots of your walls. You were babbling away, complete nonsense, especially when Wooyoung took advantage of the easy access to start sucking harshly on your neck, your hand flying to his thigh behind you, where you dug your nails into. When he was done, he grabbed at the hem of your shirt, lifting it off you in one quick pull, looking over your shoulder at the view. You didn´t miss the way his cock twitched inside of you, his groan right against your ear. Wooyoung hands automatically flied to your boobs, massaging them, squeezing them, toying with your nipples while not slowing down his hips one bit.  

“Hang in there,” Wooyoung ordered when he felt how your walls were spasming around him, voice shaky because of his non-stopping thrusts.  

“I can´t.” 

“Will you really give me the – ah – satisfaction of cumming first?” You could feel his smile against your neck, before he bit your skin playfully. 

It was not even on purpose the way you clenched around Wooyoung, earning a whine from him in response, his forehead meeting your shoulder. The smirk you let out thought, was completely on purpose. You wouldn´t let him get that cocky. 

“Don´t worry, pretty. I´m a gentleman, ladies are always first,” He managed to tease in between thrusts. One of his hands left your boob, snaking it softly down your abdomen until his fingers found your clit.  

You were a goner. Wooyoung´s cock ravished you while he drew circles against your clit with the pad of his middle finger, his lips on your neck left wet kisses all over, vibrating against your skin with each moan he let out. His left hand was still playing with your boobs and you felt tears stinging your eyes from the way you were holding your orgasm inside, not wanting him to win this new silent war. Your teeth sunk into the back of your hand to keep yourself grounded, squeezing your eyes shut to relieve the burn. 

Wooyoung felt what you were doing, chuckling darkly against your ear as he finally left your neck alone, “Who would have thought, huh? Miss we´re-never-fucking crying on my cock.” 

You tried to fight back, but the second you left your hand go, a moan filled the room and your head fell. Wooyoung´s left hand abandoned your boobs to find its new place around your neck, holding your head up on his shoulder, and no matter how much you fought it, the moment he squeezed his fingers around your throat, you couldn´t hold it in anymore.  

“Woo,” You tried to warn him, hands looking for anything you could grab behind yourself and finding his hair. 

He pressed around your neck harder, turning his head so his lips would be right against your ear as he pleaded, “Let go. I need to see how you look when you cum, I´ve been imagining it for so long. You sound so good, you feel so good, fuck.” 

And suddenly, it´s like everything went quiet for a second before it all exploded, destroying everything on its way. The orgasm ripped you apart like an atomic bomb, engulfing you whole, leaving you blind, deaf and shaking. You gasped for air, feeling like your legs were failing you after the waves of pleasure were still hitting you for way longer than they should. Wooyoung in turn, after fantasizing about this for so long, expected to be ready for it, but oh boy, he wasn´t. Even if he fucked you for years, he doesn´t think he´d ever be prepared for the way your walls clenched around him so tight he almost couldn´t move, or the way you pulled on his hair harshly enough to almost rip his strands out, but what he would never get over, was how you sounded; not even in his craziest fantasies could he ever create such beautiful sounds – he was 99.5% sure he would be able to cum just by listening to your moans alone. So whiny, so desperate, so you. 

He didn´t stop, ensuring you´d have the best damn orgasm of your life, his fingers working on you all throughout your high, even when he felt his own approaching, bucking his hips into you like an animal just desperate to get there. His teeth found the juncture of your shoulder and neck once again as he reached his peak in a few deep thrusts, holding onto you for dear life. Only then his fingers stopped and you finally started coming back to reality, feeling as Wooyoung came inside of you, hearing his heavy breathing against your skin, the way his fingers let go slightly from your neck and how he pressed a few chaste kisses to your neck as he came down from his high, paying special attention to his bite mark. 

“Fuck,” He managed to breath out, gently removing his hands from you. 

As expected, you immediately tumbled down into the bed, legs completely gone at the point. You whined at him for dropping you and he simply chuckled tiredly, muttering a sorry before flopping down next to you. Your eyes were closed but you felt his weight next to you as he gently removed your hair out of your face. 

“So?” He asked. 

“So what?” You groaned, not bothering to look at him. 

“Feeling better?” 

“Ask me again when my legs stop shaking.” 

“Well, I guess that´s an answer on its own.” 

Wooyoung had created a whole new problem without knowing it. Yes, it was truth that you got the sexual frustration and touch deprivation out of you, but now you´d never be able to get over this. You´d remember how Wooyoung ate you out every time you met, of how he fucked you until you cried every time you looked at your bed, how he made you ride his face every time you looked at his stupid nose; and the worst part was that, once you get needy again, you won´t want anyone else to fix it for you. Wooyoung truly ruined you for any other man. 

“Can you tell me if I did a good job, at least?” His voice sounded soft, so you opened your eyes to look at him because the tone and the question were so out of character for him. 

“The Jung Wooyoung worried about others´ opinions?” 

“I wouldn´t if it was anyone else, but it´s you.” 

“Woo, don´t get cocky,” You warned with a sigh. “And if you ever bring this up I´ll deny it until the day I die, but this was life changing.” 

“Oh, wow. I really did fuck you stupid.” 

“And you´ve ruined it,” You rolled your eyes.  

“C´mon, I´m just playing. I´m glad I made you feel good. What do you want from me now? Cuddles? Something to drink?” 

And suddenly you remember why this whole mess started in the first place. 

“Yeah, actually.” 

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

“Stop looking at me like you´re in love with me,” You warned as the hot water comfortably burned your skin. 

“I do love you,” His eyes looked so soft under the moonlight shining through the window. 

“I said in love, not love.” 

“Is there a difference?” 

“Yeah?” 

He shrugged, “All I know is that I love you.” 

“Awn, you like like me?” You teased.  

“Would that be such a horrible idea?” 

“Wooyoung.” 

“What?” 

“You´re pussy drunk.” 

“That too,” He lazily smiled, gently hugging you under the stream so you were chest to chest. 

You felt his hot skin against yours as he simply held you there in the dark, his chin resting on top of your head as he softly swinged the two of you side to side, your hands around his waist. This was heaven to you; this is what you were literally crying over all those weeks ago. 

“We should try it out,” He continued after a few minutes of comfortable silence, running his fingers down your back.  

“What?” 

“Dating.” 

You laughed at the idea, knowing he didn´t really mean it, “I don´t think that would go very well.” 

“Why not?” 

“I mean, we´re complete opposites. I´d give it less than two months before we´re calling it quits and choking each other to death.” 

“We´ll never know until we try.” 

“And you decided you want to?” 

“I guess. Turn around, let me shampoo your hair.” 

You obeyed, handing him the bottle so he could get to work, the chill air immediately hitting you. 

“Wooyoung, I know you love me, but I don´t think you do romantically.” 

“I´m not sure I know the difference,” He answered genuinely, rubbing the shampoo onto your roots. “But I do know that I want to be able to kiss you again.” 

And he was right, you didn´t need to overcomplicate things as usual, it was as simple as that: you also wanted to kiss him again, so why not? 

“Ok, yeah. I guess we could try. First Cristiano Ronaldo impression and we´re breaking up, though.” 

A/N: Who wants a little epilogue of how their dating experience will go? lol

taglist: @wyrated @ohhwaa @bianca9889r @pnkified @i-love-ateez @luvleejuyo @rndm2413 @skittyneos @lyracarvahall @popialover @tunafishyfishylike @cherry-yoongs @sagittariusmoonlover @kosmicbomb @honniebabez @rose948 @khjoongie98 @jintastic-yuyu @evangelinemyamor @insomniacatiny @idfkimhereforsmut @yeetyeetbitchz @vixensss @msfixon @socutesotall @tatototat @e3ellie @zombiecheri @luvvfayte @thicksimpx @yeetyeetbitchz @xosannie @katykatmeow @donnakim87 @mimimimimimis-world @topazzateez @dawn-iscozy

[4unnyr0se]

Could I ask for Akaashi, Osamu, Kenma, and Bokuto + them giving oral?

❥ til your teeth rot! | akaashi, osamu, kenma, bokuto

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader, cunnilingus (duh), praise, degrading, overstimulation, face sitting, semi-public sex, osamu's accent, kenma is v lazy, fingering

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.8k

a/n: i wrote this when i was having tummy issues so i'm sorry if its awful

got a request? my ask are open!

❥ Keiji Akaashi | Slow and steady

Akaashi eats your pussy like it’s made of glass like it could break at any moment. Every flick of his tongue, every sucking motion on your clit is calculated based on your previous reaction. Did you mewl louder when he harshly sucked on your sensitive bud? He’ll apply more pressure next time, hopefully earning another one of your adorable moans. 

Just because he was calculated to give pleasure does not mean he was inexperienced or selfish. Absolutely not. He could never dream of denying you anything you so plainly desired. All you had to was flash him those beautiful, sparking eyes of yours, and you would be on your back, legs spread, and moaning like an amateur pornstar while Akaashi made you cum for the second time that day.

He never rushes you through your orgasm, he doesn’t think that being intimate with you is some kind of game. It’s a puzzle that he simply wants to solve. His tongue is achingly slow against your folds, making the most precious moments between the two of you last longer. He is savoring each bit of your sweet nectar, and he fucking loves it. 

K-Keiji!” you sobbed, your hands flying to his neat mess of dark curls, desperate for purchase. Your legs were wrapped around his shoulders, just in case he would try to flee. Akaashi fucking loved it when you trapped him between your legs, it made him feel like the two of you were the last people on earth. “Gonna cum!”

Akaashi smiled against your folds, his tongue pausing momentarily. “I know, pretty girl. Wanna fall apart on my tongue again? I love it when you do that.” he praised, diving back to make out with your core. His tongue slipped past your entrance, the tip of the wet muscle gliding in and out with ease. His soft hands squeezed the inside of your thighs, rolling the supple and soft flesh between his fingers. 

Your head was rested on the pillow beneath you, hair growing knotted and messy whilst your thighs trembled in Akaashi’s grasp. His nose rubbed against your clit so deliciously, the additional stimulation pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm washed over you as you cried in pleasure, his name leaving your lips over and over again. Akaashi purred at the sensation of your release coating his mouth and tongue, pulling away once your high had subsided.

“Amazing job, pretty girl. You did so well for me.” he praised, wiping your slick from his chin. He leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips, lingering just long enough for you to taste your own release. “See how delicious you are, darling? So unbelievably perfect for me.”

❥ Osamu Miya | No time to lose

Osamu eats your pussy like he has somewhere to be at all times like he’s in a hurry. Being the owner of a popular rice ball spot keeps him occupied most of the time (as well as dealing with his pain-in-the-ass older brother), so when he finds a free moment to be intimate with you, he makes sure he makes himself efficient. 

Even though Osamu is the more relaxed and lazy twin, he’s never lazy in the bedroom. His usually tired and ‘over this’ attitude would melt away the second you two shared a longing kiss, his body being taken over by some kind of insatiable desire. He’s driven by his motivation to make you scream his name for the shop next to him to hear. His tongue lashes at your pussy like a man starving in the middle of a desert. 

If there’s a rare lull in customers entering and exiting his onigiri shop, he’ll change the ‘open’ sign to a ‘come back later’ sign and text you to be in the back of his shop ASAP. And, of course, you’re there in less than ten minutes, your skirt flipped up and your hands supporting your weight on the steel countertop as his tongue ravishes your cunt, drinking in your slick like honey.

“Stay fuckin’ still,” Osamu groaned into your heat, slapping the inside of your thighs. “I can’t make ya cum if yer wigglin’, sweets.” that was a lie. He was a liar. He could make you cum regardless of how much you were moving, he didn’t matter to him. But if you writhed around so much that it caused some ingredients to fall onto the floor, then it became a problem. 

“S-sorry ‘Samu! Fuck!” you moaned, your hands gripping onto the steel material of the counter for dear life as his tongue hungrily, your sweet nectar coating his tongue beautifully. It was the best alcohol he could ever wish to taste. “M’close!”

“Ya better fuckin’ be. I only got five minutes before those fuckers wonder why the shop ain’t open,” his words sent vibrations through your core, your clit painfully pulsating. The rough pad of this thumb swirled around the sensitive bud, pressing against it harshly. “Be a good girl and fuckin’ cum already, yeah? Gotta open up soon, sweets.”

Osamu finally flattened his tongue in the way that drove you over the edge, still swirling your bud with his rough thumb. “That’s it, good fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, lapping up your release eagerly. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He pulled himself out from between your thighs, wiping off his chin with the backside of his hand. Osamu stood up and pecked the top of your head, playfully slapping your soaked cunt. “Get outta here, I got customers to serve.” he also had to sanitize his countertop hard. 

❥ Kenma Kozume | Suffocate him

Kenma will only eat you out if you sit on his face. Not hover, not dangle, fucking sit on it. Despite being a CEO and a popular streamer, this man is lazy as hell. Typically, you do all the work during sex. Bouncing on his cock, sucking him off, etc. But on the rare occasion Kenma wants to eat you out, you still have to pull a heavy load. He is not getting up off his ass by any means, so you might as well cooperate with him. He’s stubborn as a fucking mule.

Kenma was a selfish lover, and he didn’t want to change that. He liked being taken care of and not putting much effort into it. He’s already so successful. Why should he do more work than he already is? That’s so exhausting. But how could he refuse when his pretty girlfriend practically paws at him to help get her off? He’s lying on the bed in a minute, gesturing to you to tear off those pretty red panties and take away his ability to breathe.

“Ride my fucking face,” Kenma groans into your core, squeezing your ass with hands as your hips buck into his mouth wildly. He loved it when you got like this, so desperate and needy for his tongue. His tongue plunged into your sobbing cunt over and over again, eliciting the cutest moans from your pretty lips.

“Fuck, Kenma!” you whimpered, your hands grasping the mahogany headboard like it was the last lifeboat on board. Your ground your clit onto his nose, mewling pathetically as his tongue lashed at your most intimate parts. Kenma savored your sweet honey, adoring how it nicely coated his tongue. Maybe he should make you fit on his face more often. 

His deep brown hair stuck to his forehead, the skin slick with sweat as the tip of his tongue traced meaningless shapes on your clit, occasionally nibbling at the sensitive bud. He knew you were close. The way your entire body was shaking was a dead fucking giveaway. That, and his name practically being screamed repeatedly, was also a good sign. “Gonna cum? Do it, princess. Make a mess on me.”

And you did, your orgasm spilling all over your boyfriend’s cute face. Your writing stopped, with Kenma slapped your ass, indicating that you should get off. You sighed and chose to straddle his lap, pecking his nose gently. “Thank you, baby, that was amazing.”

“Did you think we were finished?” Kenma groaned, resting his arms behind his head. “You got me really fucking hard, princess. How about you take care of that for me, yeah?”

❥ Kotaro Bokuto | Pure addiction

Boktuo fucking loves eating you out. Whenever you mentioned that you were horny, he would drag you into his bed and plunge his face into your thighs until he got you to coat your inner thighs with your release. He could never get enough of you and how good you tasted. How you would only crave his tongue and his fingers on your most imitate parts. 

He didn’t fucking care when or where you were horny, he was more than happy to make you scream in pleasure. Whispering to him in a cafe? He locked the bathroom and had you sitting on the sick, your dress bunched up at your hips, and your stockings ripped so your soaking cunt could be displayed just for him. Woke up at two in the morning from a wet dream? No problem, he had you riding his face while he jerked his fat cock to the sounds you made. Did you also wanna suck him off? No problem, baby! You were sixty-nining until the rooster screeched. Truly, Bokuto was addicted to eating you out. 

“Why are you covering your mouth, baby? I wanna hear your moans,” Bokuto groaned into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your slick like a man gone mad. Your trembling body was pinned against the bathroom door of your favorite restaurant, your skirt pushed upwards, and your soaked panties dangled off your ankles while Bokuto whispered pure filth into your cunt. “Don't you wanna let all those people out there know how good my tongue can make you feel?”

“Ngh, we’ll get in trouble, Kotaro!” you whispered, doing your best to keep your voice at an acceptable level while your boyfriend spelled his name with your tongue, eliciting a sharp squeak in return. “F-fuck, don’t stop!”

“Yeah? You wanna cum on my face in a public bathroom, hm? God, you’re so fucking hot. How’d I get so lucky?” he purred against your clit, swirling the tip of his tongue over the throbbing bud. “You taste so fucking good, holy shit. Way better than lunch.”

His index and ring finger bullied their way inside of you, curling at the spot that made you instantly cum all over his face. He didn’t stop sucking on your folds when your orgasm hit, his fingers still scissoring deep inside of your broken cunt. Your hand slapped over your mouth, covering out your molten cries of ecstasy.

“Good fucking girl, I’m so proud of you.” Bokuto praised, licking off his tongue as he stared at your ruined state. He pulled your panties up and your dress down, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Now, do you wanna go back home and cum again, hm?

[cowboylor]

gold-skinned eager baby

— the only thing that can bring charles down to earth after a race. charles leclerc x fem!reader (18+) oral (f. receiving), soft dom charles, (1) spank.

your sundress is hiked up to your waist before he sinks to his knees.

charles fists the floral pattern in his hand, snaking the other to hastily rub his fingers against you—quickly, without keeping rhythm in mind, anything to keep you whimpering into his neck.

“charles,” you’re saying between his rough kisses. “baby—”

you can't finish any thought when he gets like this. so stoic and eager to have his way with you that you can't help but abandon all words and let him spread your legs however he pleases.

when he finally trails past your navel and he's peering up at you from his knees, you're dry-mouthed and not sure where to put your hands.

“let me taste you,” he orders gruffly, using both hands to keep your dress above your panty line. your head falls back when you feel his breath waft over your clothed core. pressing his mouth against you, he murmurs, “open up for me, mon amour.”

you’re suppressing your moan through bitten lips, resisting the urge to press yourself deeper onto his face but trying to remain considerate.

“you—” you feel your eyelids involuntarily flutter when his nose nudges against your clit. “you don’t have to.”

your body shudders when you feel him chuckle against you, before moving to look you in the eye. you swallow roughly, staring back at his dark eyes that seem more blown out than usual.

“this,” his fingertips hook around the band of your underwear. “is for me.”

it becomes clear. pleasing you is always something charles has been able to control. something that he takes pride in—hearing the noise you make whenever he takes you over the edge is something he'll remember even after he forgets his own name. it's a constant. it can't be taken away by a bad qualifying session. and when would you ever deny him?

he’s quick with it; his calloused hands running up your thighs before gripping them tightly, pulling you against his mouth again. he presses a wet kiss against your swollen bud, murmuring incoherent praises into you until you’re whining and pulling his hair with nowhere to go but the wall behind you.

“charles,” you gasp his name like a prayer. “please.”

he hitches your leg over his shoulder, his mouth continuing to work against your cunt—drawing sloppy, figure eights with the tip of his tongue and glancing up at you for stolen looks at your fucked-out expression.

“right there,” you muse through bitten lips. “you’re good—you’re so good.”

your praise is met with a swift slap to the side of your thigh.

his muffled agreement against your cunt makes you stifle a smile and you have to resist the urge to tell him how good he is again. how good he is at everything he does and especially, how good he is at making you fall apart on his tongue.

“fucking—” he growls between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. “—soaking.”

you’re mewling, arching against the wall and as he holds your thighs apart. you just about melt when he peers up at you again, eyebrows knitted in frustration from everything else and desire for you. your mouth runs dry. his face is smothered against you before you could remind him how much you love him.

“come for me,” he groans into you—the vibration sending shocks down your spine. “come all over my mouth.”

there are not enough oh god's left in you by the time the heat in your lower stomach coils and you're tugging on his hair harshly. when his nose presses harshly into your clit as he lapping at your core, your thighs begin to shake.

when he pulls your sundress back down, he’s turning you around just as quickly. pressing you against the wall from behind, you gasp as he moves to press himself into you.

“you can take more, can’t you, cherie?” he’s muttering on the cusp of your ear. your eyes roll back because yes, yes—you would take everything he gave you in this moment. “be a good girl and take more for me, yes?”

[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love

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

Chapter i. to forget

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

pairing : minho x reader.

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

cw : depiction of a car accident. mention of blood and physical wounds. depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 14.8k words.

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

a.n: she's here, she's yours, i hope you'll enjoy reading one of the most challenging things I've ever wrote :') your feedback is highly appreciated <3

special thanks to @forlix for going through this journey with me, i love you thank you, seriously, you mean the world to me. and to @dorisnumber1fan for listening to my initial rants about this fic, and all the ones i ever write. i love you and appreciate you so much, more than i could explain <3

quotes series masterlist. next chapter.

Day 1.

You're floating in a dark void, save for the specks of light swirling around you. A peculiar serenity fills your being, a tranquility unlike any you’ve ever known. It’s as though your body isn’t your own; but rather an otherworldly vessel, calmly traversing the cosmos, dancing in constellations with the stars that encircle you.

A sudden electrifying warmth surges from your hand, traveling down the contours of your knuckles, melting into the lines of your palm. It pulsates within your being as if you’re holding the Earth's very core between your fingers. You stir from your ethereal orbit, longing to break apart from the celestial lights, to reunite with your body once again.

The warmth intensifies, causing your fingers to involuntarily clench. A deluge of radiance enfolds you, drawing you into a luminous hole. You squint your eyes, drinking in the light- your first breath.

Your eyes flutter open in a daze, your throat parched, rasping like sandpaper against your vocal cords. White encompasses you yet again, from the high ceilings to the pristine bed you’re lying on. It takes you a few blinks to grasp your new environment- an unfamiliar hospital room. You wearily close your eyes, hoping for the stillness to return, aching for the peace you felt within your bones mere moments ago.

But to no avail; only the tingling sensation remains.

You tilt your head, eyebrows shooting upwards as you notice a hand clasping yours. A figure lies their forehead beside your body, black disheveled locks tickling your palm.

The warmth, you understand where it comes from now.

You attempt to slip your hand out of theirs, prompting the man to awaken with a jolt, surprise dancing across his features as his gaze meets yours. Dark circles adorn his face- testimonies to days of fatigue imprinted upon every feature of his. Yet, all of it dissipates as he gazes at you, lips slightly parted, bunny teeth peeking out. His face transforms into a radiant smile, stirring a mysterious longing within your soul- it brushes against your fingertips before slipping beyond your reach. 

"You're awake," he whispers in awe, and your tiredness renders you mute. You point to your throat, hoping that he'll understand what you need. "Water? Is- Is that what you want?" he asks, a touch too eager, fingers running through his hair in sheer disbelief. You nod and he rises swiftly, pouring you a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

You sip diligently as his hand caresses the crown of your hair, the warmth now traveling to the top of your head. You feel lightheaded as if the blood in your veins has thickened, the very life in you slowed to a faint whisper. Yet, a timid relief emerges as your thirst is finally quenched.

"I'll- I'll go call the doctor," he tells you, his beaming smile unwavering. It’s too bright, everything around you is, and you feel a throbbing headache growing at your temple’s base.

It's a mere minute before the man returns, a doctor and two nurses on his trail. You float within a haze as the nurse shines a beam of light in your eyes. The response of your pupils seems to please her.

"Do you remember what happened?" the doctor inquires and you frown. You've been racking your brain for an explanation as to why you're here, but to no avail. You shake your head.

"What's your name," he proceeds, lips growing into a thin line.

"Y/n, Y/l/n," you respond, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, as though it hasn’t left the confines of your throat for ages. You miss the darkness; you want to sleep again.

"What date are we?"

Your eyebrows knit together as you try to think of an answer. "The 20th or maybe the 21st September."

"What year?"

"2022."

An eerie silence falls upon the room, a stillness resembling the one of your dreams; but it isn’t comforting, on the contrary, it fills your being with an unsettling dread, one that trickles inside you with each second spent in silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You close your eyes to avoid the sorry ones of the nurse.

"We need to run you an MRI scan," the doctor finally speaks up, tone somber. "It appears you're suffering from retrograde amnesia. But we have to make sure."

It takes time for the words to permeate your consciousness, for the syllables to settle in and start to make sense. Amnesia.

What have you forgotten?

“What…” you chuckle warily, fingers reaching up to soothe your throbbing forehead. “What year is it?”

"It's the 24th of September 2023. You were in a severe car accident two days ago, a drunk truck driver rammed into your car on your way home. You have a fractured rib and extensive leg injury, but no broken bones thankfully. We'll get you to the scan shortly, okay?" he speaks easily as if announcing that you've missed the rain while asleep. As if it’s not a year’s worth of memories you’ve seemingly forgotten, erased in the span of a blink, akin to footprints on sand washed away by the waves. Nothing of importance.

"So, you don't... remember me?" a soft voice quivers, barely above a whisper, and your eyes meet those of the man who’s been at your side, temporarily forgotten in the conversation.

His question is laced with a grave fear, evident in his dilated pupils and trembling hands. A lump blooms in your throat, its thorns pricking at your voice. You aren’t sure you want to answer that question.

"I- I don't."

"Oh."

You’ve never known that a human could crumble in silence, in an imperceptible gasp, so small you almost did not hear it. A crestfallen expression materializes on his face in the span of a heartbeat, features coming together in the rawest expression of anguish you’ve ever seen. You bite your lip.

"Who- Who are you?" you implore, urgency inflecting your tone, hoping that he's no one of importance. Someone who helped you when you got into a car accident. Someone minor who you wouldn't fault your brain for forgetting.

"I was... I-I am your boyfriend. Minho," he utters his name like a broken plea, eyes slightly widening to gauge your reaction. As though those two syllables hold within them a myriad of memories, ones you simply cannot forget.

You don't remember.

The doctor was right in his diagnosis. The scan showed unusual activity within your brain, characteristic of post-traumatic amnesia. You listened numbly as he cited the precautions you should take to heal your physical wounds- to rest, not carry anything heavy, ice your lungs, and go on walks. But you did not care for the state of your body, you’ve bruised it before and it has healed in its own time. It will do it again; it is a familiar path you’ve already undergone. But what about your memory? Your mind that robbed you of a year of your life? How do you get it back?

“There is no guarantee you’d remember. There is also no treatment for amnesia. We advise that you focus on healing first. Do not strain your mind,” your doctor smiled, before leaving the room. His silver wedding band shined mockingly underneath your eye. He doesn’t know what it’s like to forget the lover awaiting you at home.

Minho dutifully sat by your side, nodding along to the doctor’s words. He signed your discharge papers and settled your bills before you could protest, and he was now pushing your wheelchair through the hospital's corridors. You didn’t know what to say to him- how do you talk to a stranger who uttered your name with love dripping between its letters?  

In the hospital’s parking lot, Minho pauses, squatting before you. His eyes are puffy, red veins contrasting against the pristine whites, betraying the tears he must have shed when he excused himself to the toilet.

You suddenly want to beg for a reprieve; it is too much pain for one day, too much for one soul to bear. But it is only six p.m. and Minho's gaze holds you captive, a new emotion dancing in his brown irises- grief. He's looking at you as though you're a phantom, gone when you are still very much breathing.

“We've been together for eleven months, and we moved in together two months ago,” he licks his lips nervously. “You have a two-month medical leave, and I- I don’t want to leave you alone, while you recover. So, you can think of us as… as roommates.” The word felt heavy on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears brimming in his waterline. He swiftly blinks them away.

Your parents are in a faraway city, so is your best friend. You were the one who decided to move somewhere so far, to flee from the skeletons threatening to spill out of your closet. You don't want to burden anyone. You just want to rest.

You nod in agreement and Minho attempts to smile. It is a useless effort; one he quickly gives up. There was nothing to be joyous about.

Minho takes your hand, gently helping you to your feet. He opens the door to his car, and you settle into the passenger seat. It smells pleasant, an apple-scented diffuser dangling from the rearview mirror. Yet, as Minho closes the door, the scent suddenly suffocates you. Your lungs ignite, consuming your oxygen to douse their rising flames. You can no longer breathe inside, panic rippling in your heart violently, pushing at your ribs, begging for an escape. You open the door, collapsing to your knees as a violent coughing fit overtakes you. You blindly clutch at Minho’s arm and he tumbles to the ground with you. 

The ugly sob that had been trapped within your throat finally escapes, and passersby pay you no mind. It must be usual to hear gut-wrenching cries in a hospital parking lot. But Minho seems to care, as his hands soothingly rub your back, undergoing a steadfast path from the nape of your neck down the base of your spine. He’s not panicking and his touch appears to instinctively know how to speak to your sadness, how to soothe your sorrow with unheard words.

You imagine it's not his first time comforting you, and the thought only forces another sob from the depths of your soul, as Minho pulls you up once again. He sits your shaky figure on the wheelchair, closing the car doors.

“We can walk,” he tells you gently, and despite the quietness of his voice, it manages to break through your raging storm. A singular sun ray parting the gloomy clouds.

“It’s okay, I’ll... I’ll suck it up”

"You've been through a terrible car accident, and I won't let you sit here and panic, especially when your wounds are still fresh and your mind is trying to protect you."

His tone is resolute, eyes blazing with determination as he looks at you. You can only nod in response. So, Minho pushes your wheelchair to his house. He doesn’t huff, nor complain about the autumn sun scorching his skin, the effort to push you for the entirety of the road, and then inside his building. He only smiles when his eyes meet yours in the elevator mirror.

He’s tentative as he opens the door to his apartment, hand tightly gripping the keys before turning them, as if preparing himself for a bigger heartbreak, one that lies within what was once his sanctuary- yours too, you suppose.

Minho pushes you inside, pausing near the entrance as your eyes drink in the interior. He seems to await something, perhaps for you to remember the place you’ve called home for the past months. A few seconds pass, and he clears his throat, holding your arm to guide you forward. He avoids your gaze as you both venture in.

“This is the kitchen,” he points to a small kitchenette, where a flower bouquet seems to have wilted, much like the man near you- his emotions now diluted, eyes dimmed as they glaze over the walls. You spot your favorite mug on the racks, one that resembles a fairy mushroom. The sight of it makes your heart clench in your chest. So, this is your home, after all.

You leave the kitchen and walk down a narrow hallway when you stumble on your feet. “Easy, honey,” Minho cautions, and your hold on his forearm falters. He blinks at you before gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” you reply in a small voice.

Minho leads you to the living room, cream-colored sofas with a navy blanket on top, multiple fuzzy pillows scattered all around. A tulip field painting graces the accent blue wall- your favorite flower, two matching slippers rest by the couch, racks of your novels adjacent to his collection of cookbooks, you assume. 

It is all the more evident to you that you’ve both lived here, lives intertwining so seamlessly into one another. The place radiates comfort and warmth, but it refuses to penetrate your being, as if you’re harboring a shield of oblivion, ricocheting off any touch of remembrance. You’re an intruder, standing in stark contrast to the inviting coziness that envelops you.

“I like that wall,” you say in an attempt to lighten the stuffy atmosphere.

“We painted it together,” Minho smiles sadly, and your remorse seems to liquify, blending in with the blood running through your veins.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot three furry masses bolting towards you, small paws clawing at your feet. You feel another dent add to your heart, so much you are sure it would blow away at the tiniest gust of wind. Just how much have you forgotten?

“We… We had cats?” you ask breathlessly, eyes widening as you take in the two orange felines, and the gray, much smaller one.

“These are mine, but you also adopted them, in a way,” he explains, crouching down to pet his cats, scratching the sensitive spot behind their ears. He is tender with them and they appear at ease in his presence. You realize you’ve felt the same since you’ve woken up.

“Hey, my babies,” he coos softly. “Mom- I mean y/n- is tired so let’s give her some space, okay?” he quickly corrects, before gently pushing the cats away from your feet.

Minho shows you the bathroom before leading you to the bedroom- it's a bit untidy, worn clothes thrown on the ground, some of your accessories tossed on top of the vanity. As if the room was also frozen in time, awaiting your return to resume its familiar course.

“You'll sleep here and I'll just take the couch,” Minho interrupts your thoughts as he gently sits you atop the bed.

"But-"

"I’ll make you dinner so you can take your medication, okay?” he ignores your objections, adjusting two pillows behind your back to help you sit up straight, just like the doctor cautioned. His necklace, adorned with your initial, brushes against your cheek. “Try to sleep meanwhile. You need to rest.”

“Minho this is too much-"

“It’s not. If you need anything just call me over, I’ll leave the door open,” he says, tucking you in beneath the blanket. 

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finally admit, voice slightly raised so he’d finally listen.

“Y/n, I love you.” He speaks so suddenly, fists balled on either side of your body. “And this is what I do for the person I love. I… I don’t know how to not care for you, don’t take that away from me, please. Please,” he repeats, voice faltering under the weight of his plea. 

"Okay," you concede. 

You can't quite remember that first night, the morphine injected into your veins made you ebb and flow out of consciousness, only recollecting small fragments of the hours flowing by.

But you remember the dull pain settling into your bones, one you knew would accompany you for the following weeks. You remember the thoughts swirling in your mind like a tempest- your near brush with death, how she almost trapped you into her icy hold; the year of memories gone with the wind, as if they were never yours to begin with; and the stranger whose home you are in now, the very one who took care of you throughout the night.

And you can't perfectly recall it, but you swear Minho stayed by your side until the early hours of the morning, warm hand pressed to your forehead to check your temperature, cold tears falling on your arm as he laid his head next to your sleeping body.

Day 2.

You miss being asleep the second you wake up in.

Every fiber of your being aches, as though pain has latched itself into every muscle, its grip unrelenting now that the morphine's comforting veil has lifted. You drag a hand tiredly across your face, tears of frustration welling like dewdrops in your eyes. It's only 10 a.m. Far too early for one's spirit to crumble.

A bright post-it note on the bedside table catches your weary gaze. "I went to drop your medical leave at your work. I've made you breakfast it's in the kitchen. Don't forget to drink your medicine, I'll be home soon"

What home was Minho referring to, exactly? Because this one wasn’t yours, and neither was the one back in your hometown. Were you destined to be a passerby in temporary places, always lingering near the door, ready to put your shoes back on and leave at any moment?

10:03. Still too early.

You find solace in having two months off of your work. You couldn’t bear being somewhere where everybody knew you for months, while your memories of them span but mere weeks. The expectations they would have, the pressure to conform, to mirror the footsteps of your past self was an unbearable burden. What if she was better than you? Made better choices, spoke more eloquently? What if you couldn't live up to the image they had conjured? What if you couldn't face the repercussions of your past actions?

10:07. You need to shower.

You slowly ease yourself off the bed, careful not to put pressure on your injured leg, avoiding even the slightest exhalation. You pretend as if nothing’s happening as you pick up a pair of pajamas that you recognize from the closet – a familiar relic from the life you’ve always known.

It's a charade, you’re aware of it. You're but treading on fragile ice, your pain threatening to shatter the frozen façade beneath your feet, plunging you into the frigid truth at any given moment.

You walk into the shower, attempting to rinse the day's tiredness away. But moving your limbs is a strenuous task, and you can't reach over your head to wash your hair. You let out a dry chuckle as the water runs over your back, splattering across the white tiles.

Your heart swells in your chest, an uncomfortable weight pressing against your fractured ribs. Still, it beats, and you cling with all your might to this one silver lining.

Minho has made you pancakes, not the most nutritious meal but the only one you can stomach on your sick days. He's also brewed you tea, a singular sugar cube resting at the bottom of your cup, just the way you like it. Your grip on your fork tightens, knuckles paling. You wish he had put three sugar cubes, or that he made you anything but pancakes, something to reassure you that he didn’t know you so intimately. That your mind hasn’t stolen a love where every detail of you was known. 

The door opens, keys clinking on a solid surface. The sound of it tugs at your heart ever so faintly, a distant bell ringing somewhere far- it quiets down before you even realize it is there.

“Good morning,” Minho greets, the corners of his mouth curving upward although his eyes remain downcast, redness tinging its outlines. You look down at your cup, unable to hold his wounded stare.

“Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast and for going to my work. I really appreciate it,” you say.

“It's nothing. Your coworkers wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Mm,” you murmur. “That's nice of them."

“Here,” he slides a phone across the table. “I bought you a new one since your phone’s screen was smashed in the car accident, but I took it to a repair shop. Maybe they’d manage to fix it.”

You go to protest when he shakes his head, silencing you. “Don’t say It’s too much.”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips at his accurate prediction, momentarily halting Minho in his tracks. You swallow the sound down as Minho clears his throat, dissipating your laughter into thin air. “I put my phone number there. Also, the ones of your family that I have. Always call me if you need anything, okay?” he pauses, locking your eyes with his. “Anything.”

“It's okay, I really don't want to bother you. You might be busy."

“I’ll still answer,” he quickly responds. “I’ll always answer you.” 

There is a certain sincerity that coats Minho's words, one that softens the edges of his letters, making them easier to permeate your being, to sink into the seas of your soul.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Yes, hon- " He inhales deeply, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Yes, Yn?”

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course.”

The ensuing hours blur into a hazy dance, in which you’re only awakened by Minho’s warm hand on your shoulder, as he brings you lunch, then dinner to your room, paired with the medicine you need to take. He doesn’t talk to you, only carrying out the tray outside when he deems you asleep- as if tiptoeing near your existence, afraid he’d slip into you again, knowing you won’t be there to catch him.

It's nearly midnight when you leave your room to use the bathroom. You pause near the door when you spot Minho petting his cats. You don’t even know their names, you haven’t dared to ask, still foolishly holding on to the hopes that this is but a horrible nightmare, one clawing at your tender skin even after you rose.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?” he coos softly, and the cats respond with plaintive mewls as if understanding his words. “Mm. I’m really sad too,” his voice is barely above a whisper, as though it’s a confession he isn’t ready to speak out loud. The pain in your ribs intensifies.

“But it’s okay, she’ll remember us. We are her family, she can’t forget us forever, right?” your breathing hitches. “Right,” he adds softly, as if to reassure himself; to inflate hope in a heart deserted by you.

Day 3.

Minho threw away the wilted flowers, leaving the vase bare at the center of the kitchen table. 

You almost wish he hadn't- those lifeless blooms were the sole reflection of your faded spirit within this home. Now everything in the house seemed alive, grand windows ushering in daylight to cascade upon the living space, causing the ivory walls to glisten. Everything, except for you and Minho, two ghosts skirting along the existence of one another.

There is, was, love imprinted in this house. You could sense it though you couldn’t feel it anymore. By the two cat mugs that connect through their tails, your products intermingling with Minho's in the bathroom sink, the notes you found hung on the fridge- some with his handwriting, most with yours, reminding Minho how much you loved him.

Where did all that love go? Did it dissipate into thin air, gone as if it had never existed? Has it turned into something else, lurking beneath the surface of your skin, waiting for you to remember?

You can’t find the answers, and as Minho finishes up his breakfast, you find yourself longing to ask him about the past year. Who you were and what you’ve lived. But you know it’ll feel like salt on a wound, akin to bringing a mirror before his face, reminding him of all that's been lost.

So instead, you offer to wash the dishes. He refuses, not that you expected anything else given his attentiveness to you.

“It’s only two plates and two cups, I can do it,” you insist, but he just stares blankly at you, before motioning to your ribs, and your swollen ankle. “It’ll be quick, please. I-I want to do it.”

“Fine,” he concedes, gaze softening. “But if you feel pain you'll stop.”

“Okay,” you smile tentatively, eager for the sense of normalcy that this mundane act would bring. You haven't forgotten how to wash a cup, at least.

Five minutes pass, and you suddenly freeze, plates drying in your hands. You have no idea where the dishes go.

This was your home, yet you can't even remember which cupboard holds the plates. 

Silent tears flow down your cheeks and you wipe them away angrily. You clutch the plate in your hands so tightly you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. You selfishly wish it did- you were tired of being the sole broken entity in this house.

A small whimper escapes your lips, startling Minho who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He rushes to your side, brows furrowed, concern woven into his face. 

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” he questions; eyes raking through your figure anxiously.

You shake your head as your tears double over. You can feel your heart constricting in your chest, longing for comfort, for a missing piece that was snatched from you, the void it left behind pulsating achingly within your being.

“I-I don’t know where the dishes go, and yesterday I tried to w-wash my hair and I c-couldn’t do it,” you admit through hiccups, plate still in your hands. Minho gently takes it from your tight hold, and your pinky brushes against his palm. He flexes his hand at the touch.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault. I should've shown you,” his voice is gentle, reminding you of how one soothes a child during a tantrum. You're embarrassing yourself but you can't find it in you to care. 

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t p-put them back in their place,” you choke out, head turned down, tears ricocheting off sage tiles. You’ve always wanted a green kitchen. You’ve gotten it and you can’t remember.

“It’s okay, I’ll put them back. Shh, yn, please don’t cry.” He’s slightly panicking, hands tightly fisted near his body as if he’s afraid they’d act on their own accord, reaching out to touch you the way they’ve done the past few months. He sighs softly before taking a cautious step toward you. 

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” he offers, smiling tenderly at you, knuckles brushing ever so gently against your cheeks. “Hm? You can sit in front of the sink and I’ll wash it.”

“You’d do it?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

There is a softness that emanates from every atom of Minho, flowing from his fingertips, molding everything he touches. You were sure of it as he stood beside you, pouring shampoo over your hair with you sitting on a stool, head tilted back to the sink, your favorite song playing in the background. As he dried your hair with a warm towel, and then settled behind you on the bed, gently lathering your hair with your familiar serum, brushing your strands with care, avoiding any tugs that might pain you.

Everything Minho does is not to hurt you. 

You went to sleep with the ghost of his fingers lingering on your scalp, his warm breath still caressing the back of your neck. You found slumber came much easier to you that night. You account it to your hair finally being clean.

Day 4.

“Yn?” Minho calls out gently, his head peering through the bedroom door.  “Should we go on a walk? Just around the block, the doctor said it’d be good.”

“Sure,” you nod, glancing at the bedside clock. 9:43 p.m. it reads. 

“Dress warmly, it’s cold outside,” he advises softly before leaving.

A few minutes later, you're clad in a gray university hoodie that drapes slightly past your thighs and a pair of matching sweatpants. Minho halts in his tracks upon seeing you, his eyes racking furiously over your figure. He shakes his head, swallowing a growing lump of despair. 

“Wait here,” he whispers, vanishing into his room, leaving you fidgeting in place. An orange cat sidles up to your feet and you slowly bend down to scratch its ears. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” you smile sadly and he purrs in response, as if forgiving you for forgetting.

You wished you could forgive yourself too, one day.

Minho comes back, a red scarf in his hands. He steps forward until only a few inches are separating your bodies. With attentive care, he wraps the scarf around your neck, securing it in place. His brows furrow as he loops the fabric through and you release a small, shaky exhale.

There is a fog dissipating before your eyes, a misty veil lifted off your irises. In the four days you've known Minho, you always willed yourself to not look at him for too long, afraid of the pain you'd discern brewing over his figure, the shadows cast across his face.

But now, he stands so near that you cannot help but look at him. Wispy black bangs fall on top of his forehead, framing his rich honey eyes. His long eyelashes flutter with each blink, pupils dilated like a constellation-laden night sky. The smooth bridge of his high nose, dotted with the smallest mole; a well-defined cupid's bow outlining rosy, plump lips. He’s beautiful, even in his sadness; with sunken cheekbones and darkened eye circles, the hunch of his back, and the shake in his hands as he gently frees your hair from underneath the scarf.

Was it wrong of you to find beauty in his pain?

His gaze softens when it finally meets yours, his hand still holding your scarf tightly, as if it's a lifeline tethering him to you, one with which he verifies your existence, suddenly so elusive now that it no longer entwines with his.

It must be strange, surely, to grieve the loss of someone who’s still alive, breathing in the room next to yours.

Minho smiles at you, his fingers hovering above your head, as though he wished to smooth down your hair. He retracts his hand back, burying it deep inside the pocket of his black sweatpants, physically trapping it, stopping it from reaching it out to you once again. 

You’ve noticed his reticence to touch you, even when he wakes you in the morning to drink your medicine. His hand never fully rests upon your shoulder, it is only his fingertips that delicately graze your skin. It's as though he’s convinced you're but a figment of his imagination, and he fears that once he touches you, his hand will pass right through your body, shattering the illusion he foolishly held onto.

You blink and Minho’s already three steps away, grabbing his keys and opening the door.

Despite cautioning you against the cold, Minho doesn't say no when you ask for ice cream, paying for it before you can reach the counter. It's an unfamiliar brand, one that he advised you to try, and you don't regret following his choice. It’s a sweet mixture of vanilla and caramelized almonds, coated in rich milk chocolate- you can't stop the happy smile that graces your lips upon tasting it. 

You glance at Minho to find an unprecedented softness coloring his expression, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. It isn't a smile directed at you, but rather an uncontrollable display of his feelings, splashing across his face like paint on a canvas. 

You expect him to swallow this mark of affection down, to conceal it with a placid expression, but he doesn't. He only tilts his chin forward, gesturing to the ice cream.

"Do you like it?"

You hum in agreement, a grin stretching wider on your lips. "I do."

"You did too, back then, when I showed it to you," he says, almost casually, as if referring to a childhood memory that turned out to be more important to him than to you.

"You have good taste," you reply, scrunching your nose playfully at him. The smile slips away from his face, his voice somber when he speaks again. "I really do, don't I?"

Walking with Minho isn't as awkward as you had imagined it might be. He shows you the neighborhood- the nearby playground, the hidden flower shop tucked away in a corner and you make a mental note to visit it later. You point at closed shops inquiring about them- he answers each of your questions diligently.

Your accident is never brought up, and you both tiptoe around the topic, skirting the edge of a dark forest where the light no longer seeps through and dark vines cover the sun. 

You both refuse to venture into the unknown.

"Just down the road, there is a bookstore. They have really great deals and I bought most-" Shouts erupt from somewhere nearby, loud slurred voices of two men under the influence. Your hand instinctively wraps around Minho's forearm, while his hand moves in front of your body, acting as a shield. 

You freeze, letting out a shaky breath. "I- I hate yelling."

"I know," he responds simply, lowering his hand.

He knows you- it is a comforting thought, to realize that you exist beyond the confines of your own mind.

Day 5.

Minho’s staring blankly at his phone, your conversation shining dimly before his eyes. You’ve just sent him a text reassuring him that you indeed took your medicine since he wasn’t home today with you- his three days off work passing by in the blink of an eye. 

In his mind, the past week felt like a mirage, a nightmare woven with intricate threads of his deepest fears- losing you, never getting to see the glimmer in your eyes again, and then looking at it and realizing it is no longer directed at him. 

He exhales softly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his navy trousers. The salty breeze from the nearby lake grazes his senses, and he closes his eyes, yearning for a fleeting respite. 

He purposely avoids watching the sun's descent into the water, which paints the sky in hues of yellow and orange. He no longer finds the sunset unfolding before him captivating, or any other scenery, for that matter, even those he once deemed beautiful. The world, in his eyes, has become lackluster and devoid of vibrancy, overshadowed by a profound sadness he never fathomed would reside in his heart. 

He still doesn’t know how he managed to remain strong until now, tending to you, holding your gaze, and breathing near you when you don’t even remember him.

You’ve survived, he reminds himself, you were lucky enough to be able to draw these breaths. The thought of any other outcome sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine. You’re alive and you’ll be home, he clings to this truth as he starts making his way back to his apartment. 

For how long will this knowledge offer him solace? How long will it push him to face a new day? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he wants to. 

It is much deeper into the night, the sound of the TV playing softly in the background. Minho has given up on slumber since the day of your accident. He was used to the feel of your fingers playing with his hair, your goodnight kisses planted on his forehead, then his on yours. 

He doesn't know how to sleep without burying his head in your neck, your chest, your stomach, wherever he saw fit that day. And he was used to your warmth- the warmth of your body as he pressed it tightly to his, the warmth of your love as you whispered goodnight to him. And the living room feels immensely cold in your absence. 

He fixates his gaze on the ceiling, resolute in his effort to avoid scanning the room. Since every corner he dares to inspect serves as a poignant reminder of the life you both once shared, a life whose echoes still reverberate in the air around him. The sound of your laughter, the memory of your annoyed whines when he teased you a bit too fervently. Vivid recollections unfold before his eyes- your tender kisses exchanged under the fridge's light, warm hugs by the front door after a particularly long day, none of you willing to let go first. 

He remembers your delighted giggles the first time you entered the house. It was still unfurnished, save for a floatable mattress and two empty cups of ramen beside it. But you were happy, immensely so, and your joy seemed to fill every room, painting it with shades of your love. Now the house feels empty- you're here and yet you aren't, and he is still on the sidewalk where he received that fateful call from your hospital. 

The moonlight filters through the window, and Minho looks at the light without truly seeing it. It's as if darkness surrounds him entirely- a bottomless sky where the stars of your affection have fizzled out, so suddenly, leaving him alone to wander blind. He can't help but feel guilty- had he not given you a love worth remembering?

Minho sighs loudly once again, trying to coax the reluctant breaths to escape his body. He pulls himself to his feet to check on you, knowing that you had to sleep upright for the first few days so your ribs would heal properly, which is why he often found himself readjusting your body at night. 

He peeks through the door, the light from the hallway casting an ethereal glow on your body. He frowns when he notices you fidgeting in your sleep, eyebrows knitted together. A soft gasp escapes your lips and Minho hurries to your side. He's witnessed your nightmares before and he knows that this one must be particularly terrifying to elicit such startled sounds from you.

“Y/n,” Minho coaxes gently, but you don’t respond. He presses his palm to your shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Y/n, wake up.” You writhe in your place, fear evident in your features, and Minho grabs both your shoulders, growing more urgent in his attempts to wake you. “Y/n, come on wake up!” he speaks louder, and you startle awake, pushing his arms away.

“I’m... Where am I?” you ask frantically, hand running through your hair. A sharp pain seems to surge through your ribs as you clutch your chest, slightly doubling over. 

“Take it easy, Y/n. Deep breaths,” he wills gently and you raise your head, meeting his eyes. Recognition shines in them, but not love, not anymore. He never knew affection could alter someone’s gaze this much.

“Minho… I- I remember,” you gasp, tears trailing down your face at an alarming rate. He freezes in place, tongue thickening in his mouth, unable to move it.

“What... what do you remember?” he asks carefully, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“The accident. I remember driving and I… I was going in my lane, I- I didn’t… I wasn’t driving fast, but a truck came out of nowhere and its lights blinded me, and then… it rammed into the passenger seat side of the car and-" Your hands shake as you bring them to your face. “The blood, there was so much blood coming out of me, that’s- that’s the last thing I remember, it was in my hands and my arms and-" You’re wiping frantically at your skin as if erasing remnants of the red liquid only you can see. “I bled so much but I was… I- I don’t-"

“Can I hold your hands?” Minho cuts you off, needing the panic to dissipate from your being.

“Please,” you stutter, and he promptly grabs your hands in his warm ones, intertwining your fingers together, rubbing his thumb soothingly across your palm. 

“You are safe now. You are alive and you are breathing and you are safe.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I drove safely, why… why was I hit?” you ask in a small, broken voice, overwhelmed by the unjust reality of the world. Minho swallows his own tears, throwing them down the pits of his pain. The one thing he wished you’d never remember was your accident, the sight of your unconscious body for those three days nearly driving him insane. 

“He was drunk. And he’s in jail now. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t have prevented it." 

You remain silent, gaze lost on the wall. “Hm? It wasn’t your fault, right?" he presses, squeezing your hand lightly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, unconvinced. Minho reluctantly drops your hand to pour you a glass of water, and you diligently drink it, before curling around yourself in a ball. 

“No, you can’t sit like this,” he gently reprimands and you pout. 

"My heart hurts. The pressure helps."

“I know it does,” he smiles in understanding, “but we have to make sure your ribs won’t hurt more, alright?” he explains as he pulls you upright, tucking pillows beneath your arms. He grabs a hoodie from the closet and rolls it into a ball, placing it gently on your chest. 

“Here, you can hug this instead.” You giggle quietly at the makeshift plushie, but your laughter suddenly morphs into fresh tears, catching him off-guard. 

“I’m so tired, Minho. And I’m so frustrated and mad and sad. Is it possible to f-feel all these things at once?" You hiccup, burying your face into his hoodie, soaking it in tears. 

“It is,” he hums gently, “Do you think it’d help if you talked to a therapist?” He feels you tense up beneath the comforter. “Only if you want to, on your own terms.”

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper. 

“Of course,” he says. “Try to sleep again, mm?”

“I don’t think I can,” you chuckle quietly, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your cardigan. “Do you have work tomorrow?” you ask.

“I do.”

“What do you work as?” 

“Computer programming. I’m also a dance teacher on the side,” he adds quietly, feeling a bit vulnerable at revealing this bit about himself again.

“How do you manage both?” you ask in awe and he shrugs.

 “My IT job leaves me a lot of free time. And I’ve always loved dance, so it doesn’t really feel like a job, you know?”

“Mm, you must work very hard at it. That’s why your body’s so toned,” you say almost absentmindedly, as Minho lets out a surprised chuckle at your words. 

“You think my body is toned?”

“I mean- I didn’t ogle you I just… you know, you wear these fitted shirts it’s hard not to notice your muscles and-"

"You are sick and yet you’re staring at my body?” he tsks. “I feel used.”

“Hey,” you hit him with the hoodie he gave you. “Forget I said anything,” you pout. 

“It’s okay, I work very hard for these, thank you very much,” he flexes slightly, and genuine laughter bubbles up from you both. This might be the one thing he misses the most. 

You both quiet down, silence filling the room once again, but it isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, almost as if you're the same person he's always known.  

“What’s your favorite color?” you suddenly ask. 

“Purple.”

“Did my favorite color change over this past year?”

“No,” he chuckles, “it’s still that obnoxious orange.”

“It’s not obnoxious, it’s peculiar.”

“it’s weird and it hurts my poor eyes,” he whines, covering his face as if wounded by the mere thought of it. 

“Hey, what if it can hear us and now you just hurt its feelings?”

“Colors have feelings now?” he asks, amused.

“Everything has feelings,” you nod matter-of-factly.

“Okay then think of the feelings of this bed we are both squishing with our weights.”

“Don’t say that. Now I’m sad for it,” you pat the comforter gently, a slight pout tugging at your lips. 

“I think you should sleep,” he smiles and you fake a gasp. “Is my convo boring you?” 

“Yes. Now sleep, Yn,” he brings the comforter up your body, sliding away from the bed. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Can you… can you sleep here too? I saw the inflatable mattress in the storage room. If that’s not… too much to ask for.”

"Of course not. I'll be back." 

"Thank you, Minho" you smile, lower lip slightly quivering. "Thank you for not being mad at me."

Just how many cracks can one heart bear before breaking beyond repair? Minho thinks he's close to finding out. 

Day 6.

The lights of your dreams have returned, but they are no longer comforting, nor warm, they glare harshly, searing your eyes as they announce your impending doom. Each second draws out in slow-motion and you find yourself counting the breaths you inhale, fearing they may be your last. One in, one out, one in, one out. The moment you dreaded unfolds- the truck collides with your car, flipping it upside down.

However, this time, flames rage within. You know that your car wasn't burned, but they feel terrifyingly tangible as they latch onto your skin. The heat becomes unbearable, you are no longer sure that this is just a mere dream. You try to scream but smokey air fills your lungs instead, robbing you of your ability to speak.

You need to wake up. You need someone to rouse you from this nightmare. Minho. You try to utter his name, but it escapes your lips in a strangled whisper. The lights won.

A cool hand clasps your own, yanking you from the fiery dream, dissolving it like sugar in a hot cup of tea. You startle awake to find Minho hovering over you, brows knitted in concern, his hand tenderly cradling yours.

“Are you okay? Another bad dream?” he inquires and you sigh in response, nodding as your head falls back onto the pillow.

He brushes your hair back, some damp strands still clinging to your sweaty forehead. "You screamed my name. Was I in your nightmare?” he ventures carefully, afraid he was one of the sources of your fear.

“No, I… I thought of you, in my dream,” you reassure, although your words seem to have the opposing effect, making Minho pause in his tracks. You’ve noticed his habit of freezing around you as if needing time to process what you just said. You wonder if you’ve ever came to learn the meaning behind each of his silences, what his blinks convey in ways his tongue fails to.

“You are heating up,” he clears his throat, pressing his hand against your forehead. “Do you wanna shower? I’ll make you tea meanwhile.”

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that,” you nod, glancing at your phone- 3.47 a.m.

Twenty minutes later, you find Minho sitting on the inflatable bed, legs crossed, two steaming mugs of tea before him. He appears drowsy, eyes shutting and reopening as if fending off slumber. It’s almost an endearing sight- the way his bangs fall before his eyes, obstructing his vision, the sleeves of his pullover dangling over his hands, hiding them from your view. He brought the mattress without you asking him to. The attention brings a smile to your face.

“Hi,” you greet softly and Minho looks up, a tender smile on his face. “Hey. Here is your tea.”

“Thank you,” you beam at him, settling on the edge of your bed, legs crisscrossed to mirror his. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Isn't that what sleep is?” you snort and he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“I was still conscious, you know. I can’t really sleep these days.”

“Is the couch uncomfortable?” you ask, worried, fidgeting with your lower lip.

“It’s not the couch,” he says as his eyes lock on yours, a stare so intense it forces you to look down at your cup. ‘it’s you’, you read in his gaze. You have no answer for that.

“What's your favorite food?” you suddenly wonder.

“Pudding.”

“But that’s dessert?”

“I really like the one you used to make me.”

“I cooked for you? and you liked it?” you giggle. “I’m not really good at it, usually.”

“I taught you some basic skills,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows proudly at you.

“Too bad your effort is now wasted.”

“It’s not a waste if it was done with love,” he pauses, licking his lips. “And I remember it.”

A bittersweet fog shrouds the air- he remembers that memory, but you don’t. Perhaps you will never bridge that gap, no matter how much you want to. The room in your heart may remain forever locked, the gateway to that chamber brimming with your stolen memories. Maybe you're condemned to merely stand before the closed door, straining to hear the echoes of the love that resonates behind, forever just out of reach.

You don’t fall asleep again that night. And as Minho’s quiet snores fill the room, you rummage your mind in search of a pudding recipe, hoping to retrieve the memory he spoke of so tenderly, shaky hands holding his mug tightly. Silent tears trail down your cheeks and you try your best to stifle the sound of your cries. 

You want to make pudding. You want to make him pudding so badly.

Day 7.

It’s been a week since you woke up anew. Seven days adrift in a vast sea where waves of your memories lap at the shores of your mind, unable to breach the walls guarding your recollections of the past year.

Minho took you to the hospital for your weekly check-up. He sat by your side as the doctor reassured you that your ribs were healing relatively well, but you still needed time to recover, time for your body to mend, time for your memories to return. You loathed the waiting, the wasted days slipping through your fingers. You wanted a now. 

But you kept all these thoughts to yourself, thanking the doctor as he exited the room. 

Minho rented a bicycle to drive you around since the thought of being in a car made your anxiety spike. He installed a little seat for you, in that bright, obnoxious orange color you love very dearly. The sight of it nearly brought tears to your eyes this morning.

Minho idly pedaled around, choosing a scenic route, one he knew by heart from the looks of it. You closed your eyes, savoring the last sun rays of the year. Autumn was fading, winter clawing its way into the seasons slowly. You weren’t sure you could handle both the cold and the grief.

Miho took time off work for your doctor's appointment, and you both spent the day around one another, side by side on the couch, a new book in your hands, and an anime playing on the TV for Minho. 

You could see him casting occasional, nervous glances in your direction, as you flipped the pages of the book. You didn’t understand why at first.

But then you did.

You only brought it up at night, when it was past 2 a.m. and you knew that Minho wasn’t sleeping either, the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He left the inflatable mattress in the room, no longer waiting for a nightmare to occur. You weren’t complaining. You desperately needed company.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Mm?”

“How did we meet?”

You can hear Minho suck in a deep breath at your question, before placing his phone down, the only light source in the room fizzling out. It made talking easier that way, when only your voices were heard, carried around, as if emitting from two entities that weren’t you both.

“We met… near your old apartment block. I was going to the kimbap place near yours, you remember that one, right?” 

You hum in response.

“And I saw you crying, crouching near an injured cat. Some car had run over her leg, and she couldn’t walk anymore. And you didn’t know what to do, so I helped you. You insisted on coming with me to the vet where I take my cats. So, we caught a cab. And you were so worried, you didn’t stop crying, so the cab driver thought I did something to you,” he chuckles faintly.

“Then, the vet put a cast on her leg and reassured us that she’d be okay. And I told him I’d take her home and bring her for check-ups. But you were so worried, you begged me to send you updates about the cat. So, you gave me your number. And we talked.”

“What happened to the cat?”

“I took her to a rescue store I trusted since I couldn’t take her in. and we still visited her from time to time. And then, she found a good family.”

“And what happened to us?” you inquire softly, hoping that if your voice was quiet enough then your question wouldn't hurt Minho as much. 

“We kept in touch," he said. "And it was… easy to talk to you, I felt as if I had known you for my entire life. When you found out I had three cats, we Facetimed a lot so you’d see them, but then we just kept on calling, every day, for nearly two weeks. Being with you felt natural, you know? I didn’t overthink it. I never did."

“And then three weeks later you came over to see Soonie, Dori, and Doongie. We ended up watching three movies in a row, and you were so tired you slept on my couch.”

“That’s embarrassing,” you chuckle.

"Yes," he laughs and you reach over to swat his shoulder playfully. "But it was also cute, and endearing. Then you came over a lot, and we just cooked together. Well, I cooked and you watched.”

“Right, that sounds more like me," you instantly agree. 

“We hung outside too, whenever one of us had free time. We had a lot of common hobbies and interests so we never ran out of things to talk about. We made time for each other too.”

“How did we start dating?”

“You made the first move.”

“I did?” you shoot up from your place, hissing when the abrupt movement causes a twinge of pain in your ribs.

“Take it easy,” he giggles, as he illuminates your face with his flashlight. “You did.”

“Did you put a spell on me? I swore I’d never make a first move again after I was rejected in third grade. That was my most sacred oath."

“Well… you were ranting about this book. The one you were reading today,” he adds, and your excitement fizzles out, as the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. “You were sad because you had no one to talk to about it. So, I bought the book and read it. I gave you my copy, complete with highlighted passages and notes. And when I did… you kissed me, without warning,” his voice is softer now, as he fiddles with the tip of his blushing ears. "You said it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you.”

“It was. It is,” you whisper, heart caught in your throat. “I saw the photograph of us both lodged between the pages of the book. Did we take it that day?”

“Yes, we weren’t dating, not yet. Because I told you I wanted to take you out on a proper date. But you wanted us to take a picture holding the book… So you’d remember.”

“So I'd remember,” you repeat, voice quivering. What good was it for in the end?

 “I looked so happy in the photograph,” you whisper, tears welling up your eyes. “I looked so happy with you,” your voice breaks as you utter that last part. "Did I love you, Minho?"

"You did," he nods softly, blinking away his own tears. 

“And did you love me?”

“I did. I still do, very much.”

“Thank you, for loving me. It sounds like I’ve lived a happy year with you.”

Minho's pain is akin to a polite guest; it lingers by the corner, speaking in whispers, hardly ever raising its voice. You'd never really notice it, unless you strain your ears, as you're doing now. Only then would you discern the tremors of his quiet sobs- broken, stifled, determined not to make themselves known, only escaping his lips when he thinks you've fallen asleep. 

Day 8.

Whenever an overwhelming emotion ran freely along the corridors of your soul, you'd often find yourself curled in a fetal position, knees drawn to your chest, like a fragile leaf.

Your teacher once explained that it reminds us of safer times in the wombs of our mothers, when the cruelty of life hasn’t yet reached us. 

It is the way you’re resting now, upon the cold, hardwood floor, dozens of books surrounding you. You decided to go through each book in Minho’s library, the need to satiate your curiosity overtaking you. You didn’t know what you were looking for, exactly. Other photographs, surely, in the hopes that one of them would spark up your memory, ignite the flame of remembrance. 

What you didn’t expect was to find Minho talking to you through books. Within the pages, amid the words, scribbled in small, dainty handwriting, threads of his thoughts all relating to you. Quotes he thought you’d appreciate, highlighted segments that reminded him of you. And dedications, so many dedicated lines you felt like you could drown in them. It felt as if Minho was on a quest to find love within every line, only to inscribe your name beside it.

Putting down the last book, you were left with a huge void, akin to a black hole eating away at your heart. So, you laid on the floor, one arm underneath your head, knees held tightly to your chest- as if trying to create borders for your sadness, to stop it from spilling out of your body, drowning the house in even more sorrow. Those four walls have had enough, more than they could contain. And so did you.

You suddenly longed for the very beginning of your life, when time was but a tranquil stream, when you were unaware of the hurtful years it would carve into your existence. Back to when your spine was still curled around itself; for it was never meant to be straightened. Your spine was never strong enough to bear your pain. 

You wanted to talk to someone, but you didn’t know who you could turn to. You didn’t know how to articulate these emotions into words, tangible enough for someone to understand them. And you couldn’t talk to Minho about it, not when he was hurting on his own. 

Because he smiled down at his cats, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. His laughter echoed around the room when he talked to his friends on the phone. And sometimes, he even hummed under his breath while making you breakfast. But this happiness never reached his eyes, behind his pupils the sadness seared itself into his veins, casting a gloomy shadow that followed him everywhere he went. It was a palpable ache, one that filled the very atmosphere with the metallic taste of grief. Making it almost impossible for you to breathe in. Even more so when you remember it was all your fault.

These are the thoughts that haunted you all day, as they have been doing for the past week. Minho must have noticed that you were feeling gloomier than usual, a silent storm raging by his side, since he put up a romcom for you. “It made you laugh a lot when you watched it months ago.”

“How do you remember all of these things about me?” you ponder, scratching the fragile skin near your nails, easily torn, just like you. 

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Should I stop?” he asks quietly, deflecting your question.

“No,” you say the truth. “It'd be weird if you were an actual stranger, but… you knew me. And I knew you. and I still feel safe around you.” 

He nods silently, but something in his gaze compels you to keep talking. 

“I mean, I never felt uncomfortable around you these days, which surprised me too. I just… I suppose that even if my mind doesn’t remember, my heart does, in a way?”

“My heart will always remember you,” he whispers, gaze adrift in a faraway memory. 

A gear shifts in your mind, a sudden light flooding your vision. You find yourself within a grand canopy bed, its pure white curtains swaying to the rhythm of a whimsical breeze, their delicate fabric brushing lightly against your cheek. It’s slightly cold from the wide-open windows, but then it’s warm, as a gentle hand finds its place on your thigh, kindling an ember deep within, setting your very soul ablaze. 

The curtains sway with the wind, obscuring your view, but you can still discern the sound of your laughter, echoing like distant chimes. And a tenderness, so delicate it seemed almost otherworldly, trailing along your skin, as warmth caresses your cheek and gently traverses the curve of your collarbones, peppering it with the softest kisses. You can't quite behold it, but it is unmistakably there, an ineffable presence that threatens to burst your heart at the seams—a memory of your love for Minho.

It is a blurry sight, like peering into a worn-out photograph, its details softened by the sands of time. But you clutch to it- to your fading laughter and hushed conversation, and then your voice ringing clearly in your mind, the promise you made to Minho. 

'My heart will always remember you'. 

You startle back in a jolt; the light and warmth have extinguished. They are now dull, withered down, sitting next to you with their head hung low. 

It takes you an inhumane effort to swallow down the lump in your throat.

Day 16.

This week has been particularly cold. Not temperature-wise, October has always harbored these same frigid temperatures and you've gotten used to them, to the relentless winds brushing against your skin. Only this time they pierced right through your soul instead.

You knew what had changed. You had felt the sadness, the frustration, the guilt- all blending into one sorrowful symphony, pulling at your heartstrings the way one does to a harp. Yet, amid these familiar emotions, a new feeling loomed large this past week- anxiety.

It arrived in sudden, icy bursts, cold beads of perspiration cascading down your spine, feet suddenly freezing no matter how fuzzy your socks were- the physical telltales, then came the emotional ones. The shadows of dread, for we fear the unseen more than that which we can touch. The growing panic gnawing at your heart, hinting that something profoundly disastrous lurked on the horizon.

Anxiety held you suspended in the air, bound by invisible ropes that compelled you to watch from above as the days drifted past you. You were a ghost haunting an empty shell, hollow and resonant with anxiety's clang, akin to an empty can's descent to the ground.

Your appetite had fled, leaving you alone to grapple with the chore of feeding yourself, mechanically ingesting food only to pacify Minho’s concerned gaze. The TV’s volume blared, since you desperately needed the voices of other people to invade your mind, to render your thoughts merciless, forcing them to put their sword-like tongues down.

And the exhaustion, not accounted to your broken ribs, for Minho had meticulously overseen their recovery. It was an emotional fatigue, a weariness that clung to your every breath, trapping them within your ribcage, far beyond their time, until they tethered on the brink of exploding in your lungs- a supernova of darkness devouring your essence. Only then did the breaths release their hold on you.

So, you patiently awaited the inevitable unraveling, because you knew this wasn’t an ordinary anxiety. Your soul whispered to you in a language your mind could no longer translate, throbbing with a message you couldn’t quite recollect, striving urgently to jog your memory of a monumental truth.

But you didn’t remember– you should have.

You should've known it was Minho’s birthday.

It is near midnight when you venture out of your room, the inflatable bed by your side unusually vacant. A dim glow draws you to the kitchen, and as you stand by its entrance, an intensified cold grips you. It chills the blood in your veins, transforming it into splintered shards that prick uncomfortably beneath your skin.

Minho is sitting by the table, a small, muted cake before him, a shoebox by his side. A solitary candle flickers in front of his face, casting elongating shadows on his chiseled features. The flame is about to fizzle out- you feel like your heart will closely follow suit.

"Minho..." you call out gently, careful not to startle him from the trance ensnaring him. He doesn't react to the sound of your voice.

"Minho, I…"

"Today was my birthday."

His tone is cold, like the darkening clouds before a stormy night. His words feel like lightning bolts piercing your core.

"It would be stupid to blow this candle out, wouldn't it? Because you and I both know my wish won't come true. Maybe it never will. And it's killing me, yn." His voice quivers as it utters your name, a slight shake taking over his lips. His cheeks are tear stained- glimmering reflections under the golden flame. You've never seen him this sad. You don't know how to comfort him in his sadness.

A rush of nausea overwhelms your being, a yearning to expel every emotion, methodically, until your heart transforms into a tranquil organ, solely pulsing life's crimson essence through your frame. Nothing more, nothing less.

"This shoe box is yours. You kept it under the bed, filled it with everything that reminded you of me. You told me..." he pauses, taking in a deep breath. "You told me that you wanted to remember everything about us, every single detail. But I... I don't care if you don't remember every date we went to. I just-" his forehead rests on his palm, as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I just want you to remember that you love me."

Hot tears are rolling across his cheeks, splattering across the table like a broken mosaic. He doesn't try to hide them or wipe them away. He's had enough.

"Minho, I’m-"

"I mean- that's not too much to ask for, right?" he finally lifts his head, locking his eyes with yours. A black abyss, a dark void. You are the one who sucked out all the light.

"You- you said you loved me. And I- I felt it, y/n, when you looked at me, when you touched me. I felt it, it wasn't- it wasn't just words, I-" he pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at his black locks furiously. "You loved me," his voice breaks. "Why- why can't you remember that you loved me?"

Your tongue bursts to flame in your mouth, its grey ashes choking you from within. What could you even say? How do you stop the bleeding of a heart when you carry knives for fingers?

Minho abruptly stands up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "We talked about marriage, a-about kids, you said- you said you'd choose me to be the father of your children, you said you wanted a big house w-with me and you-” he points at you, chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. “You said you wanted us to sit at the patio when we're eighty and you wanted us to hold hands still," he chuckles bitterly, his arms falling limp by his side incredulously. "And now you don't even remember me."

He grabs the box, rummaging through its contents furiously. "You see this?" he waves dried flowers before your eyes, their petals falling to the floor from the force of his agitation. "These are the flowers I got you for our first date. You dried them and put them here because you- you said you wanted to preserve it, to remember."

"And this, the cinema tickets from our first movie date. You were so tired you just slept on my shoulder all the time and then I- I carried you home and you kissed me." He's growing more frantic, rifling through the shoe box in a frenzy. You remain rooted by the kitchen's entrance, a sense of powerlessness holding you captive, an unbreakable vice around your being.

"This is the napkin from our favorite cat café, and look," he grabs your hand, clammy palm pressed to yours, pulling you toward the table." This is the receipt of the first time we went grocery shopping together and-" he waves it in the air, before slamming it onto the table. "And, you e-even kept this stupid rock I gave you right before I told you I love you for the first time, because you said it was the happiest day of your life, my god Yn how can you not remember?"

A broken, sob-laden chuckle escapes his lips, a sound so heart wrenchingly human, so painfully poignant that for an instant, it fills you with a bitter aversion to your own humanity- it was never meant to inflict this much pain upon someone else.

Your thoughts shatter as Minho tenderly cups your face, urging you to confront his turbulent gaze. He seeks something within your eyes, and you desperately hope he'd find it, whatever it may be, anything to stop the tremor in his hands as they anchor you in place.

"Why did you- why did you keep all of this if not to remember me.” He asks, unblinking, lip quivering. “Please, please, remember me, just- just try, okay?"

"I’m so sorry-"

"No. No. Don't- don't apologize like it's final like you could never love me again," his hands glide to your shoulders, shaking you slightly in place. "Don't you understand? I-I don't want an apology I want you to remember me."

"Minho..."

"Just look through this, it's our happiest memories y/n, okay?" he let goes of you, circling the table before shoving the box into your hands. He smiles- attempts to, it is an unnatural presence amidst his tears, so out of place it sends shivers down your spine. "Look at it, yn, please," he pleads as your hold on the box falters. "I can’t remember us alone. I’m crushing under the weight of everything we lived it’s exhausting me!"

His voice ascends pitch, the end of his words hanging into the air, searing themselves into the particles you breathe. His voice leaves a painful echo on his trail. You’re exhausting him.

You put the box down, taking three cautious step forwards.

And then you hug Minho.

He can't even hold you back, body trembling with the sobs rippling through him as soon as your chest presses to his. He sinks to the floor and you follow suit, arms enfolding his concaved shoulders tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Im sorry, I'm so sorry Minho. I- I wish I could remember."

You want the kitchen to collapse upon itself. There is too much grief in such a small room- it stains the walls like blood droplets, absorbs his cries like a saturated sponge.

You don’t think you could ever sit at this table again.

He finally clasps your back, drawing you even nearer to him. "Can- can you pretend, just today, please? For my birthday. Pretend you still love me."

"Of course. It's okay, I’m here, honey. I'm here."

"I love you. I love you so much," he whispers, lips pressed against your neck. "And it hurts to love you, so much." He brings your hand to his heart. "It hurts so much right here."

He doesn't let go of your hand, softly caressing your knuckles. His breath hitches as his thumb hovers over your ring finger. "I... I was going to propose, you know? I even bought the ring, stored it away for when the time is right. Do you think you would have remembered if you woke up wearing it?"

He knows your answer would've been yes. You know that too, in the matching cat mugs and the book annotations and the way Minho gently held your face, even in the depths of his despair. Everywhere you look, your answer echoes back- yes, the home chants in unison, that's what you would've said. Yes, yes, yes.

Day 17.

In the cracks of concrete sidewalks, tenacious flowers manage to sprout. Just how in the depths of Minho’s pain, small joys bloomed, nestled in the vacant spaces between you and him. 

You'd greet him each time he opened the door, your voice resonating through the apartment like the sweetest sonnet. And he would always pause by the doorknob, basking in the sound of your voice that hadn’t changed in the slightest. Your tone still held that same dulcet timber, a golden honey that once dripped freely upon his soul. 

But today, Minho swung open the door and an eerie hush greeted him instead. He ventured in, calling after you, only to be met with utter silence. He anxiously checked the rooms, opening the doors hastily one by one. But you weren't there. You weren't home. 

Minho felt the familiar tendrils of worry coiling around his heart, constricting it with each passing moment. He quickly grabbed his phone, dialing your number, only to fall into your voicemail, the robotic voice chilling him to the core.

In the past two weeks, you had made sure to text Minho each time you went outside- a precaution you took due to your fractured ribs which came with frequent fits of dizziness. It was a safety measure for one person, at least, to know where you are. 

But you didn't text him today. And he had no idea where you might’ve gone to. 

Minho tried to suck in a deep breath, willing the fear to relinquish its icy grip on his body so he could think properly. Maybe you had simply forgotten, he reasoned. Yet, he knew that you never back out on your promises. They were sacred for you since they were once senselessly broken.

For the second time in a mere three weeks, Minho’s deepest fears unfurl like a nightmare before him, ensnaring him in a tapestry woven with the bloody threads of everything that went wrong yesterday. 

He carried his shame akin to heavy bricks on his shoulders, causing them to hunch forward- a coward, leaving the house before you even rose, and on his trail, your breakfast and a hastily written note. He couldn’t fathom eating at that kitchen table with you, not when his sobs still echoed around those sage walls, as did your quiet voice as you tried to soothe his cries, holding him between your tender arms. 

Minho was scared. He was terrified you’d never come back home after everything that had happened, the words he said and the way he pleaded, nearly at your feet, consumed by a sadness grander than anything he’s ever known. 

So, he storms out of the apartment in a hurry, scouring the nearby playground. But you aren’t there. The grocery store is next, the library, the flower shop, the cat café tucked in a corner that you may have stumbled on. 

You were still nowhere to be found.

A dreadful sense of foreboding overcame him, akin to how he felt when his phone rang two weeks prior- the unfamiliar number of the hospital shining before his eyes. What if something happened to you, a fit of dizziness but no one was around to help? Life doesn’t grant you a second chance. No one has ever brushed against death’s shoulder twice and lived to tell the tale. What if he receives another call? 

He couldn’t survive another call.  

Minho stands in the midst of the road, clutching his head with a tight grip, desperately searching his memory for the places that once brought you solace during the months he spent knowing you. However, he quickly remembers that you no longer know of those places.

So where could you have gone? 

An epiphany dawns upon Minho- the bridge you had pointed out to him from a distance on one of your walks, the first place you claimed as your own in the city. It towered above the ocean, suspended several meters in the air. He couldn't accompany you there that day, bound by a paralyzing fear of heights.

He prays with all his might that he's right. 

He dashes towards the bridge akin to a madman, the desperate rhythm of his pounding feet mirroring the urgency in his heart. It looms tantalizingly close, a mere 15 minutes away, and Minho, in a state of disarray, knows he's not fit to drive right now. He was never fond of running, he didn't enjoy the searing ache in his lungs, robbing him of his ability to breathe. But he welcomes the pain today- it means that he's running fast enough to reach you. He hopes, he prays.

Minho spots you from a distance, a mere silhouette standing at the bridge's edge, your figure unmistakable with the red scarf tightly wound around your neck. Relief nearly brings him to his knees - you're alive.

Minho doesn't think as he sprints to you, eyes solely focused on you and not the void beneath his feet.

"Yn!" he calls out from afar, and you startle, snapping your head back to look at him. He wonders what he must look at you, disheveled hair, the wind knocking down his jean jacket. But he doesn't care. 

Minho stands before you without pause, instantly pulling you into the shelter of his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of your shampoo, a constant through the months of knowing you. He clings to it, to the familiarity of your scent and the way your heartbeat seems to pour from your body to his, speaking in a language only your souls can comprehend. His arms clutch at you tightly, rugged breaths escaping his body, dew tears gathering in his eyes and dropping down your shoulders. 

Your arms hang limp by your side, confusion etched across your face at the urgency, the frenzy in which he pulled you to his chest, an emotion you hadn’t known in him in these past weeks.

You tentatively raise your hands, patting his back slowly. "Minho, what’s wrong?" you whisper, and he shakes his head.

"You weren't home. I- I thought something happened to you." 

"No, I just went on a walk and lost track of time," you reassure him and he pulls away, warm hands cradling your cheeks. 

"You're okay, right? Tell me you're okay," he pleads and you smile, nodding your head. “I'm okay, don’t worry.” 

Minho drops your face, embarrassment flooding his being at his outburst. It morphs to panic as he realizes the expanse beneath—nothing but the vast ocean, the wind slamming into his body, making him lose his footing.

"Are... you okay?" you ask cautiously. "Minho, you're shaking," you point out, a frown tugging at your lips. "Are you cold?" 

He stays silent, unable to place a word beyond the stutter of his lips. 

"Here," you hurriedly unwrap your red scarf, enclosing it around his neck. "You're shivering, Minho," you grab his hands, rubbing his fingers, blowing warmth into them, an attempt to kindle fire into him.

"I'm not- not cold. I- I’m scared of heights," he admits through a stutter, eyes tightly closed. 

"Then why are you here?" You ask, surprised. 

"Because you are." 

His confession comes out quietly, softened by the blow of his fear. His eyes remain closed, missing the tears gathering in your eyes, the ones you swiftly try to blink away. 

"Let's go, just keep your eyes closed. Hold my hand," you entwine your fingers with his, squeezing it lightly to signal you're there, as you walk across the bridge. 

You don't let go until you finally regain solid ground. 

"You're safe. you can open your eyes," you say quietly. 

"You're okay, right?" he inquires again, stepping closer.

"Why are you asking me this when you're the one shaking?" you chuckle, almost exasperated, nothing funny in the sound.

"I was worried about you, and I thought you left… after yesterday."

"Why would you- My god Minho why would you even come running across this bridge? Why would you do something like that when you're afraid?"

"Because I love you," his voice is resolute, soft as a whisper, as he states a simple truth. It only makes yours reach new heights.

"But why- why do you love me? Why would you still love me after everything I put you through?" 

"You didn't put me through anything," he shakes his head, and you take a step back, facing away from him. He can see your body heaving up and down, the weight of unspoken words making your heartbeat race. And then you snap. 

"You broke down yesterday," you pivot back, pointing at his chest. "You broke down in my arms because of me. Why would you still love me after all this Minho I don't- I don't understand." 

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know I probably made you uncomfortable and I shouldn't have asked something like that out of you-" 

"No, no, Minho, you don't understand, you shouldn't apologize, I should. I’m the one who hurt you-"

"You didn't hurt me. It's something out of your control, you didn't choose this." 

“Stop- just stop being so nice and understanding for a minute. I don’t deserve it!" you shout exasperated, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. "You can't look me in the eyes half of the time you can't even fucking breathe in your own home. It's now a- a cemetery for our memories and it'll soon become yours too because I suck the life out of you, can't you see that?" 

"I'm not asking you to remember me,” he holds his hands up, in surrender, “I was wrong yesterday, you don't have to remember us." 

"There is no us!” you yell, hands thrown in the air, “Not anymore, Minho, maybe never."

You suck in a deep breath, shutting your eyes, willing your voice to ebb and flow into calmness. 

"I thought about it. It'll hurt less if you don't see me, time will pass and you'll get used to it, I'm not worth this."

"You are,” he interjects. “You don't get to pick for me, Yn." 

"Stop- stop talking like this is normal, stop being so complacent with your pain, Minho you shouldn't love someone who hurts you!"

"Then make me stop loving you. Spare me. Tear open my heart and bleed it dry at your feet or else it won't stop beating for you. Don't you understand? If you are near or if you are far, I will still love you. The only difference is that I'd worry more about you. I'd worry if you're eating, I'd worry if you're taking your medicine, I'd worry if you're drinking out of your favorite cup or if you have a spare shampoo in your drawer because you hate running out of it. I'd worry out of my fucking mind, Yn don't leave." 

It had been an encompassing sadness that made his true feelings surge yesterday, breaching the myriad of cracks in his heart. But today, it was fear that cast a revealing light upon his feelings, hidden in the recesses of his being. They surged forth in a transparency you were still not used to, the way the ocean throws on its shores the debris of sunken ships, allowing the grieving families of sailors to finally discover the terrible truth.

Still, his honesty, his soul bare at your mercy isn’t enough to make you stay.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just... I can't- I'm sorry."

You take three steps back, before turning your back to him and walking away. A numbness, like icy talons, seizes his limbs, his gaze fixated on your diminishing figure—carrying away everything he's ever loved. Paralysis envelopes his very essence, a haunting realization that the distance between you is more than a mere physical space. You're vanishing beyond the horizon of his reach, slipping through his desperate grasp. The fear of never seeing you again fractures the stillness, snapping Minho out of his trance.

"To love someone is firstly to confess, I'm prepared to be devastated by you." He shouts, making you pause in your tracks. "Isn't that your favorite quote, Yn? You told me this is what love is about. To place your heart in the palm of the person you love. And your hands are soft, Yn. I don't mind if I'm bruised by them." 

"I lied then!” You yell back, tears cascading down your cheeks akin to a waterfall, “Belcourt lied and I lied when I told you this and when I promised that I'd always remember you in that canopy bed-"

"What did you just say?” Minho quickly walks to you, chest heaving. “What canopy bed?"

“It doesn't matter now,” you speak in a small voice, avoiding his eyes, seeking refuge in the ground beneath. Yet, Minho, gentle and determined, cups your face, guiding your gaze to meet his.

“It matters to me, Yn, please. What do you mean?"

“We were in that white canopy bed, when I told you that my heart would always remember you.” 

“We were,” he whispers, eyes glazed over as the memory washes over him too. “Did you remember?”

“Not clearly, it was really hazy in my mind. But I remember that the windows were open, I was supposed to feel cold but… your hands on me, and they were warm. And I…” you suck in a deep breath and Minho smiles encouragingly, running his thumb in a tender caress across your cheek. 

“I remember feeling that I loved you,” you finally confess. “Even though I couldn’t see you. That's why I said that I'd always remember you. Because you filled every chamber in my heart, so much that it'd still hold your name even if you left it…that's how I felt.” You pause, as Minho forcibly swallows the lump down his throat. 

“But it didn't unlock any new memories and I-”

“It's okay, it’s okay. You still remembered,” he smiles and the gesture brings you to his lips, rosy, plump. Were they still as warm? Still as soft? 

“I did…” you trail off. “You also kissed me, in my memory. Your lips were everywhere and… they were soft.” You add quietly, eyes fixated on his mouth, the smile that once adorned it slipping away. 

A tentative warmth courses through your being, a subtle blaze that ignites your cheeks in a shade of crimson. In this moment, a need unfurls within you, a yearning that eclipses the delicate boundaries of restraint. The memory of his lips on your skin becomes a beacon, standing tall amidst the tumultuous winds of uncertainty. You want to taste the warmth again. You want to kiss Minho.

“I kissed you.” His hands, once gentle on your cheeks, now slip down with purpose, cradling your jaw in a gesture that speaks of both reassurance and longing.

“You did.” 

“And my lips were soft,” he repeats, his red scarf brushing against your throat. 

"They were," you respond, breathless. His mouth stands electrifyingly close, a mere hairbreadth away, as you contemplate the simple act of tilting your head, closing the tantalizing gap. All that stands between you and the echoes of the love that was is the lift of your head, a movement that could breathe life into the dormant embers of your heart.

"Yn," Minho speaks softly, his words a gentle brush against the canvas of your shared vulnerability. His minty breath tickles your nose, as you hum, a wordless acknowledgment that hangs in the air. Your eyes remain closed, your heart beating loudly in your ears, drowning out the sound of the waves nearby.

“Use me. Use me to remember.”

[zablife]

Earth Angel

Benny Cross x gf reader

Summary: After running from the one person who's ever truly loved him, Benny returns to see if you'll take him back, but there's a surprise waiting.

Warnings: language, pregnancy, angst but ends with fluff

A/N: A short imagine I couldn't stop thinking about. If you like it, pls let me know in all the usual ways. Comments are love 💕

No spoilers here!

Benny Cross Masterlist

Benny loved you. It had only ever been you. He knew that now that he was returning home as fast as his bike could carry him. The past six months he’d spent running from it were a mistake he deeply regretted and he only hoped you would forgive him.

If he was honest with himself, the unconditional love you’d shown scared him and he knew he’d eventually fuck it up, the way he always did. So he packed his shit and left in the night without explanation.

Afterward, you’d spent many hours crying for your lost love so when Johnny met him on the road, he relayed your sadness. The shame of it burned deep to Benny's core. It was only made worse by Johnny’s words of your continued devotion. “She still loves ya, kid…Always will.”

The chance meeting reminded him of your goodness, the nickname for you still on the tip of his tongue. Earth angel he'd always called you, a woman too good for this world. You deserved better than him, but if his presence made you happy, he would vow to try again.

That's how he found himself on the long stretch of highway toward home, eager to lay eyes on your beautiful face once more and see for himself if Johnny was right. Would you take him back? he wondered.

When his tired body pushed off his bike and out toward the back yard where you hung the laundry, he could hardly believe the sight that greeted him.

There you stood in the golden afternoon sunlight, hair piled atop your head and sundress flowing in the breeze. He called your name and you turned to face him, eyes wide with surprise.

His breath hitched as he caught sight of your swollen stomach, suddenly realizing all he’d missed in his long absence from home. Rushing to greet you, he swept you off your feet, a wide grin spreading across his face as you opened your arms to accept him.

“Careful, Benny!” you cried as he spun you in a circle, overcome with joy.

He placed you on the ground gently as a chuckle erupted from deep within his chest, a look of complete awe sparkling in his eyes.

Then as the adrenaline subsided, he pulled you close enough to nuzzle your neck, inhaling the floral notes of your perfume and the crisp clean cotton from the wash. One hand resting over your bump, he suddenly grew quiet, voice hushed as he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me, angel?”

You stroked the blonde curls at the nape of his neck as you shook your head sadly, “Didn’t have the chance.”

Benny raised his head to meet your gaze, tears in his eyes as thought of you scared and alone, “I would’ve never left you like this.” He let out a shaky breath as he added, “There isn’t a day I didn’t think about you, you know.”

With those words, you melted into his arms, head resting against his shoulder as you admitted, “I missed you too, baby. I’m glad you’re home.”

Hearing the sweet tone of your voice relaxed any lingering tension, his arms softening their grip. His large hand reached to cup your cheek, Benny’s blue eyes glistening as he begged for your forgiveness. “I mean it, I’m so sorry, angel.”

“You’re here now,” you told him, inhaling a deep breath which he emulated with steady resolve.

“And I’ll never leave you again,” he murmured, leaning in to seal his promise with a kiss.

[pseudowho]

Professor Higuruma: Part One, Star-Crossed

Leaving your job behind to study Law, you fall into the gravity of Professor Higuruma Hiromi. Soon, you find yourselves entwined in an affair so deep and alluring, you cannot see where Hiromi ends and you begin.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut from Part One, age-gap relationship (20s to 40s), 'thread of fate', tw- leaving an emotionally neglectful relationship, tw- alcohol use, wet dreams and daydreams

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The bottle would not draft his timetable, and as such, it remained corked. Hiromi's thirst extended past wine and warm bodies, to something altogether more elusive; an alleviation of his crippling loneliness-- that which ground him down to dirt.

Hiromi sat on his sofa, picking up the claret, rolling it in his hands, putting it down, running his fingers through his hair, clenching white knuckles against jittering thighs.

The week had been long. His Department was undergoing fresh demands for classes and time and curriculums and more, that Hiromi had not the staff to facilitate. With the new term about to start, and fewer professors than ever, Hiromi felt like the wick in the middle of a candle burning at both ends.

From the heated sneers that set to flame in the room around him, Hiromi wasn't the only one already balancing on a knife edge. He felt the frost crisp the earth around Nanami Kento, his Literature department already at the end of their tether.

If the rampant deep-seated loathing for the world in which he lived didn't kill him first, the stress would. The loneliness would. The drink would. The pressure would. The late nights would. The loneliness the loneliness the loneliness the loneliness--

Hiromi threw his bottle and responsibilities to the sofa. Too touch-starved for solitude, but too burned out for company, Hiromi grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed for his favourite bar.

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See you later? At the bar across the street.

Let me know when you'll be here.

Are you still coming?

Not dressed up, sorry. On your way?

Got you a drink. See you soon?

???

The Spring evening was too crisp for such chilly rejection. The sun had seemed hopeful, earlier in the day, and you hadn't brought a jacket. You felt the bite upon your exposed arms, a nipping punishment for your optimism. Whether he was here, or not, made no great difference; he had not given you his jacket in a long time.

He would come, you reassured yourself. You'd buy him his favourite drink, and he'd arrive late, all I'm so sorry baby, you know how it is, c'mere, I'll warm you up, with twinkles in his eyes like you'd hung his stars and his hand in yours and the life you had lived and shit don't cry you stupid bitch pull yourself together.

You scurried into the bar, embraced by your own arms, before ordering his favourite drink and yours, as if a summoning ritual. The bar had a happy thrum, warm with love and life, and you saw cherry blossoms drift across the torch lit balcony. It beckoned you. You remained, waiting for your spell to work, with your eyes on the door.

The torches dwindled. A barman went to refill them with oil. Your fiancé had not arrived. The ice in his drink had almost melted, and you sank into a sigh that shredded down to the very core of you. The first time you saw the man in the black suit, arriving on a thundercloud, and sitting a few barstools down from you, you registered him only briefly, past the knife in your gut.

Then, a pair of coal-dark eyes met yours. The torches on the balcony reignited with a whoomph, setting drifting blossoms to pink-spark ember on the Tokyo backdrop. Your breath caught halfway, the scent of smoky petals and spiced cologne on the sides of your tongue. The barest clink of ice cubes settling in the glass, cracked through the moment that time had paused.

The man in the suit opened his mouth, offering only the other half of the breath he had stolen. His hangdog eyes were so curiously expressive. A smile wrinkled his nose. You stumbled across yourself, pressing your fiancé's undrunk drink across the bar to the black-suit man.

"Would you like this? It's in need of appreciation." The black-suit man laughed, a breathy rumble.

"Is it indeed?" He took the glass with long fingers, and you followed the trail of a trickle of the glass's condensation, dripping down his finger's inner length, to pool at the junction between. "Will it taste bitter in the mouth of someone for whom it was not intended?"

You smiled, your eyes narrowing in tease. "It is a gift."

"Oh!" He uttered, laced with small joy. "Then it will be sweet." He took a sip, a vermouth-honeyed tongue darting across his lips with an appreciative hum. "Yes, quite. Welcome, little drink. There is joy to be found amongst the unwanted." You laughed, and Hiromi felt a curious yank upon his finger. He had fallen into your company, and could not get back up.

"I must be old," he laughed again, swiping commas of grey-streaked Inky hair from his temples, "because I've forgotten my manners. I'm sorry for pressing conversation upon you. Thank you for the drink."

You shook your head, without the appropriate words to express how a stranger had warmed you more in moments than you had been in years. Your black-suit man bowed his head, standing, and turning away before pausing. Fate rolled a dice.

"The balcony looks lovely. And, empty." Hovering on one footstep, his gait then steadied, and brogued black shoes clipped across the polished floor. You felt something fine and golden tug within your chest, as torchlight rolled across the black-suit man's disappearing shoulders. Another diceroll raised Fate's eyebrows.

You stood, hesitating between the balcony and the bar. The barman buried a scoop into some ice, watching two strangers interact with an oddly burgeoning certainty. He never interfered. Fate flipped a coin; how readily the stars did align.

"He likes red wine." The barman offered, nodding between your stuttering gape, and the void the black-suit man left in the doorway. You frowned, biting your bottom lip, unaware that your path had been decided before the words left your mouth.

"Then I like red wine, too." The barman smiled. He reached to a row of dusty wine racks above his head, pulling out a bottle with a glassy clink.

"Do you trust me?" The barman asked, placing the bottle before you with a muted thud. You felt a bubble of joy up your nose.

"I do, actually." You replied, awash with certainty as you paid, took two glasses, and headed towards the balcony. As you walked through the doorway, and firelight uncovered the gems hidden within your hair and eyes, your black-suit man smiled, and gestured to the rattan sofa opposite him.

As you sat, strangely comfortable under his gaze, in your state of plain dress, your black-suit man smiled over at you. He looked awkward for a moment, not trusting himself in his own shoes.

"...all this and I wasn't actually prepared for company." You both laughed. Your black-suit man watched you with a glimmer in his eyes, fingers plaited and clasped under his nose, leaning forwards on propped elbows. You struggled to open the wine. He huffed through his nose, your fingers brushing as you handed the bottle over with a scoff.

The man's eyes narrowed as the bottle opened with a brittle schtick; "Loosened it for me--" you laughed again, pinching your nose bridge, "--no no I mean it, I'm really very weak--" You rolled in your laughter together, with him babbling smiling reassurance, while he poured your wine.

"I have one condition to this rendezvous-- please can we not talk about work?" He groaned, clinking your two glasses together in his own hands before passing one to you, still warmed by fading laughter.

"Absolutely. I promise. No work talk."

He was older than you, by an uncertain amount, though you were no girl. You leaned on one palm, in easy silence as you smelled the petal-burst flames. He watched the aurora cast upon your cheeks, feeling his chest fill in a way he couldn't describe.

"...Hiromi." He offered. "My name's Hiromi."

"And it suits you. Should I remain a great mystery?" You gasped, melodramatic with one hand over your mouth.

"Appalling manners!" Hiromi shot. "You owe me a name."

"I gave you a drink! And a bottle of wine."

"Bullshit."

"I don't owe you a thing, in fact--"

The evening trailed away, all warm banter, easy laughter and lingering looks. The conversation grew sloppier, uninhibited, lubricated by wine, of which the bottles nestled, one, two, two and a half. Hiromi had laughed, as deep and rich and mature as the grapes, positively Dionysian, his laughter dying on his lips to catch you mid-shiver. He huffed into his glass, the scent of fermentation rolling back over his own face.

"Here." He dropped, lackadaisical as he sloped past on the way to the bathroom. You blushed to feel his jacket nestle, warm and homely, around your shoulders. He did not appreciate the enormity of the gesture, to you, as he walked away. On his return, you appeared muted, holding onto his jacket around with with two chilly hands. Hiromi felt a stutter in his chest, and sat down beside you.

"...are you alright?" He whispered, soft under the torchlight. Your head drooped onto his shoulder, your neck softened by wine, and he puffed his surprise, short and sharp across your cheek.

"I've had such a lovely time." You sniffed, feeling the clock tick far too late, and you had a busy day ahead, with the start of your new course, and you had to get home and prepare your mind for the beginning of a new life and--

"It...doesn't have to be over." Hiromi intoned, and your belly clenched as his voice rumbled through your core. Your head turned on his shoulder, your nose brushing his. Hiromi spoke again, stroking your nose with his until your eyes fluttered closed, having never felt more certain of anything in his life. "I...I've never done this, but...come home with me, just tonight, and--"

Your phone rang, shrill and piercing and you cried out, jolting away from Hiromi's touch. He chased your lips, his face twisting in a pain you didn't see, as you looked down at your phone screen, slurring.

"Shit...my fiancé..."

Hiromi's belly tumbled, sick with disappointment-- with something altogether more possessive-- and feeling that yank upon his finger, more insistent as he spoke, low and slow.

"Your...fiancé?" The words tasted rotten. Hiromi felt sick, bitter with the sudden loss, hobbled by the brutality of having gained the stars and lost them all at once. He watched you swallow, watched the flash of a wound reopening, piecing the puzzle together so fast now.

"The one who stood you up?" Hiromi toned, venomous with the injustice of the theft. You mistook the direction of his anger, and looked up, your face tight with apology. Hiromi shook his head, raising a hand. Your phone stopped ringing. A few moments passed before your phone buzzed. You read a message as Hiromi stood, turning on the spot, his hands cupped over his nose and mouth.

"You...shouldn't worry. I assume he's coming to pick you up, and I...thank you for such a lovely evening, it's been--"

You laughed without humour, eyes brimming with tears. You shook your head, and nodded, and shook your head again. Hiromi watched you, uncertain.

"I'll walk myself home. He's gone to bed." Hiromi paused, then scoffed.

"You're not walking home alone. Not a chance. Not like this."

He extended a hand to you. You took it, as if tied by the fingers. He held you, like this, all the way home to your cold bed.

You took each others' breath with you as you parted at the door. Hiromi was sure that his loneliness would not kill him first; the drink would not kill him first; the stress would not kill him first; the late nights would not kill him first; the pressure would not kill him first. Being taken to great heights, and then dropped in a dizzying fall, would.

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"Thank you for inviting me in." You whispered, smiling against the shell of his ear. In his bed, soft and open against his body, Hiromi sighed into your touch, your fingernails trailing across his scalp as he groaned. His cock throbbed, thick with promise.

"Couldn't leave you out there, naked." He mumbled against your lips, reaching under the covers to feel you and meeting only the cloth resistance of the mattress, but you were there because he could taste the wine on you, and you were opening yourself to him, he knew somehow.

"You're the one who undressed me." You said, your voice above him, but he was climbing above you, bracketing you to the bed while your voice whispered all around him. Hiromi felt his cock grasped, bucking forwards into the warmth and softness of it, chasing warmer and softer, and he begged you.

"Please you...never told me your name...let me in please, please--" He couldn't see your face with his eyes closed in this odd black moonlight, somehow within you and outside of you all at once. One more rock of his hips seated him within you, plush walls pillowy and smooth and all for him.

He groaned, low and desperate, rocking his cock inside you and he longed for you to welcome him with your arms, but any time he tried to draw them round him they flopped, useless, absent, so he urged you with his hips rutting faster, to pleasure you into holding him. Was it you crying out, or him? He couldn't tell, his pleasure mounting, pulsing through him in waves and why wasn't he trying to stop himself, he hadn't done anything for you--

Hiromi woke with a gasp, his pillow clutched between taut arms as he fucked involuntarily into the mattress, groaning into the mess of cum spurting between his sheets and belly. Hiromi's voice cracked, still lost in his dream, still spilling himself inside you in his mind. The blissful contractions of his cock dizzied him, surely the wettest dream he'd ever had.

Coming back to earth, Hiromi panted, face down in his pillow and a pool of his own sticky seed. His phone alarm rang. He groaned, feeling the catastrophic disappointment of the night before wash over him anew. Seeing the date on his phone in fumbling hands, sent another groan through him, and he buried his hooked nose in the pillow.

The new academic year began today.

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"Higuruma." More statement than question, Hiromi accepted Nanami Kento's proffered coffee as if being reminded of his own name. Hiromi took it, weary and silent, slouched at his desk beneath the crushing weight of having been scooped out in the middle.

Kento sat in Hiromi's visitor chair, regarding Hiromi with cool impassivity. He read the usefulness of any comments he could make, and set them aside for business.

"How do you plan on handling your evening classes? The high-school ones." Hiromi scoffed.

"Nanami, it is 8am on the first day of term, you cannot surely have a plan--"

"We'll offer assistant wages to one or two new First Years." Nanami said, before continuing, sniping and bitter. "If we must lose our Graduate Professors, and if we must host the accessibility courses ourselves, then at least the First Years can gain some income and some experience through teaching."

Hiromi rested his cheek on one palm. He stared Kento down.

"That...that's not a bad idea, actually, Nanami. I shall use that, I think." Kento and Hiromi inclined coffees and heads to each other, an easy camaraderie. Kento let the silence hang as Hiromi scribbled in his diary.

"I don't actually know how we'll do it, Nanami." Hiromi groaned, his face in his hands. "They make staffing cuts as if I can knit a new professor to take some of these classes. How much more 'self-directed learning' can I give these students? It's barbaric. They're being bled dry for this degree, and for what? So they can teach themselves? Shit."

Kento did not disagree, frosty again as the University Chancellors' departmental meeting montaged before his eyes.

"They're paying for a library, and the pleasure of our limited company." Kento sneered, as bitter as his coffee dregs. Hiromi sighed, trying to rub the alcohol away with his fingertips on his temples. Kento's eyes narrowed in cool regard, again.

"Home, or bar?" Hiromi grumbled, steepling his fingertips across his nose.

"Am I so fucking transparent?"

The faintest quirk lifted the corner of Kento's lips. He awaited an answer. Hiromi's head swam with the memory of you, interspersed with the false memories from the dream of being nestled between your thighs, and he felt his cock twitch. Hiromi shook himself out of it, sitting up and shaking his hands out with a huff.

"Bar, if you must know. It was...a late one." Kento hummed again. Hiromi did not elaborate.

"You should try harder to rest, before a work day. It is...irresponsible of you." Hiromi glowered over at Kento, Hiromi's junior by a good few years, quacking after him.

"Yes mother." Kento scowled.

"I could report you." Stony silence. Two chuckles in the office.

"No. You won't do that. You're my best friend."

"I don't have friends--"

"Shush."

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You recalled taking a day off work, on your fiancé's first day at University. You ironed his shirt the night before. You made him lunch, with notes and flourishes. You enjoyed a hot breakfast together, brimming over like the coffee pot about his future, while you worked to support him, and then your future, while he worked to support you. You had opened your arms to release him, and closed them around him on his return.

And god, you had worked, gruelling long hours for three gruelling long years, but despite the great chasm he had dug between you, you had brimmed over again when he landed his new job. A lucrative career. More than enough to pave your way, while he worked to secure your future--

He stayed in bed as your alarm went off. He accepted your affectionate nuzzles, before rolling away into the embrace of bed. Your fingers closed around nothing. You ate cereal. You packed your bag. You bubbled, low and alone. You wondered if he'd mind you slipping a banknote out of his wallet for your lunch. Your belly clenched with anxiety, and you packed a microwave meal instead.

You rocked, rhythmic with the clatter-back-and-forth of the train. Your eyes closed. Your music was soft. Though, not as soft as those coal-soft eyes, the gentle, brushing aquiline nose against yours, of the night before. Not as soft as the bittersweet ache of loss, of failing to know him better. The ghost of his touch soothed the stinging guilt, of wishing you had spent the night in his arms, instead.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hiromi was early to his first class, his nerves too frayed and electric to be anything other than hypervigilant. The lecture hall stretched up around him, an amphitheatre where he would slowly watch the soul and enthusiasm be sucked out of those wishing to learn Law.

He had held some optimism, years prior, that his own fractured soul (from years of systemic self-abuse in the Criminal Defense system) could be soothed by teaching the next generation of lawyers, solicitors, and barristers.

Alas, second to idealism, feckless optimism had oft been Hiromi's failing. Alas, the decaying state of education and academia could provide no such balm to his soul while it crumbled itself, and expected its professors to use their bodies and bones to prop up the teetering institution. The grind was different, but just as potent. Hiromi felt the crushing responsibility of leading his department through this storm, and wondered how many would remain on the ship once the rain cleared from his vision.

He resigned himself to filling his chalice with the immeasurable optimism of the fresh and uninitiated. Though under-subscribed compared to prior years, he was still excited to receive his first batch of students for the term. He hoped their passion could bounce off of him, and multiply, exponential.

While preparing his slides for the day, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, Hiromi heard the steady fill of the lecture theatre behind him.

He could not shake the ghost of your head upon his shoulder. He could not shake the taste of your skin from his dreams. He could not shake his regret, for not shaking you by the shoulders and insisting you deserved better, instead of delivering you back to the bed of a man who didn't appreciate the treasure within his grasp.

"I'll be with you in a moment!" Hiromi called behind him, waving one white-sleeved arm in a vague gesture. "Please be seated! I shan't be long."

The chatter crescendoed behind Hiromi, and he turned, clapping his hands together and affecting a smile and speech, gazing into the sea of new faces.

"Good morning everyone! Welcome to your first class. I'm delighted you have all chosen to study the Law-- it means the flow of the insane into our noble professions remains, as ever, consistent." A few smattered laughs from the audience. Hiromi grabbed his clicker, a slide slow flicking onto the great screen behind him.

"My name is Professor Higuruma, and while I will only be teaching you Case Law this year, today we shall talk about what to expect from your course, and--and..."

Oh, god. Those eyes, that haunted him. The body he had made love to while he slept. The shock, mirrored in your own eyes back at him, a participant in his new audience.

Hiromi's arm and mouth drooped, with the tug of the fine gold thread that you, too, felt. The night you had almost shared together passed across two pairs of distant, breathless lips. You felt every pulse, every nerve, every fibre of yourself skip a beat.

How readily had the stars aligned.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Part Two, Interpretation, coming soon!

[pochaccoups]

cw — minors dni, gamer!wonwoo, fingering

wonu <3: Hi love

wonu <3: I’m gonna stream in a bit

you: does that mean u need me? :3

wonu <3: Yes please :)

Within seconds, the soft patter of your boyfriend’s footsteps down the hall comes to a stop outside your bedroom door. He opens it slowly with a soft smile on his face, slinking over to your shared bed where you lounge with an anime playing on your laptop.

A shiver of thrill runs down your back as the gleam in his dark eyes drinks you in, his pearly teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

While this pre-stream ‘ritual’ of his is technically for his own benefit that is him warming up his fingers to game, you also get an orgasm, sometimes two, out of it, so it’s a win-win for both of you. He’s conditioned you to look forward to stream days, though that’s not to say he doesn’t touch you—he does, as soon as you bat your lashes and ask him so sweetly. Still, he insists that it’s a way of getting you “involved in his career” or whatever. (He’s just trying to be a good, inclusive boyfriend. You can’t complain.)

A giggle comes bubbling out of you as he kneels on the edge of the bed and pulls you into him, holds you gently by the back of your head so he can guide your lips to his and kiss you sweetly, yet with enough fervour for a dull heat to begin pulsing between your legs.

When his tongue finds its way into your mouth, your brain switches off in an instant, your mind attuned to nothing but the way Wonwoo’s hands are so warm on your waist and how your mouth melts into his like you were put on this earth to kiss him.

With you putty in his hands after just a few seconds, he lowers you to the mattress once more. Your legs part instinctively so that he can slot himself in between them and teasingly press one of his thighs up against your clothed cunt.

You mewl when, along with his thigh, Wonwoo brings a hand between your legs and strokes you through your shorts. His touch is soft in a way that’s teasing, in a way that makes you buck your hips and ask for more when he hasn’t even gotten you naked yet.

“Needy girl,” he coos against your lips, pulling away to mouth at your neck whilst his fingers tease at your centre.

“You love it,” you say.

He chuckles, raising his eyebrows in amusement at your smugness. Truth be told, your neediness does in fact fulfil something deep within Wonwoo. Your begging strokes his ego just right, and the sounds you make when he gives into your pleas heal his soul.

“Want me to touch you?” he asks, toying with the band of your shorts as he settles into the spot next to you because he knows you like to curl into his embrace. His question is not just to hear you whine, it’s a reminder that this being a ritual doesn’t mean a thing if you don’t want him right now.

You, however, are greedy, and your boyfriend is hot.

“Pretty please,” you reply, your bottom lip jutting out subconsciously at him. Without wasting another second, Wonwoo’s hand dips past your shorts, past your panties, until it finds its way to your awaiting clit. His fingertips brush against it lightly, and behind his glasses his cat-like eyes are fixed on the way your mouth parts in a soft sigh at the contact.

He inches further down, swiping through your folds, along your slit where your arousal is already pooling. It should be embarrassing, but when Wonwoo looks at you with his v-shaped smile and pride gleaming in his eyes, you can’t feel anything but warmth—heat. All over your body and in your cheeks and especially where his fingers are prodding at your entrance.

“So wet from a kiss, baby?” he says, his fingertips growing wetter and wetter with your slick with every second that he doesn’t put them inside you.

“I get wet from you looking at me, Wonwoo,” you whine, rutting your hips as impatience stirs in your core, along with your desperate need, mingling together into a feverish dizziness that can only be cured by your pretty boyfriend’s pretty hand.

He laughs through his nose—so mean when he knows he’s got the upper hand. Then he remembers that, technically, you’re doing him a favour, and at long last two of his fingers dip into your awaiting hole, and your back arches, and you give a honeyed moan that’s full of content.

Wonwoo slides his long, slender fingers in all the way to his knuckles, curling them upwards into your sweet spot so good that you see stars for a second. He gazes upon your face that’s scrunched up in pleasure and starts to move his wrist, feeling his dick stir in his pants as you whine and toss your head back into his shoulder.

He’s not teasingly slow this time—far from it. He’s doing this to warm up, after all. Before you know it, he’s moving his entire arm as he drags his fingers back and forth, in and out of your dripping pussy with a slick, obscene sound.

“W-wonwoo, please,” you whimper, peering up with him with sparkly eyes.

“Hm?” is all he replies, but the way he’s grinning with a mixture of something like pride and awe shoots pangs of pleasure to your core.

“More,” you manage through a moan.

He obliges with a peck to your temple, angling his hand slightly, then the pad of his thumb is drawing rapid circles over your clit and your noises grow even louder, even needier.

“Fuck, Wonwoo!”

Your hands find the fabric of his hoodie and you cling to him, bucking your hips wildly while his fingers set fire to every last one of your veins.

“So good for me, baby,” he mutters, giving a soft groan of his own when your cunt clenches around his fingers at his words. He loves how predictable you are—you’ve never been immune to his sweet talk.

“Can you kiss me?” you ask, grasping fistfuls of his hoodie by now.

Without hesitation Wonwoo leans down and meets your lips, kissing you hard this time, sliding his tongue against yours like he’s trying to claim you, and you’d let him. Meanwhile, his fingers piston in and out of you with vigour, and you can’t imagine it getting any better until he pushes a third one past the ring of your hole, stretching you out even more deliciously than before.

Wonwoo pulls away just an inch from your face, staring intently at you as you pout. With resolve in his eyes, he brings his free hand to your mouth— he needs to warm up both hands of course— and it’s only when your glossy, puffy lips wrap absentmindedly around his middle and pointer fingers and suck that he realises how painfully hard he’s gotten.

Deep in your abdomen, a heat blooms and radiates outwards to every last inch of your limbs. It’s a winding coil that’s begging to snap, and Wonwoo can tell.

“Gonna cum?” he asks, his breath biting at your ear. His voice has fallen deeper somehow, so husky that it’s nearly a whisper.

“Mhm,” you reply, your moan muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

He starts to pump his fingers in and out of you with abandon and his keyboard skills come in clutch because before you can even process it, the coil deep inside you snaps.

“That’s it baby, cum for me,” he utters.

Wonwoo pulls his fingers out of your mouth and watches the bliss overcome your face, watches your eyes roll into the back of your head as a string of high-pitched moans falls from your lips. Your cunt clamps around his fingers, sloshing from how much slick gushes from your hole now, as he’s intent on fingering you until you come back down to earth.

When you do, and you’re left quivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Wonwoo drags his fingers out of you just to pop them in his own mouth and lick them clean, though he’s not as shameless about it as you.

“Gross,” you quip.

“Yeah? I’m sure it was gross,” he replies, grinning at you. He has the patience of a saint and also the gall of a demon.

You roll your eyes in feigned contempt. “Don’t you have a stream to do?”

“Yeah, but I also have a needy girlfriend who needs to be held after she cums. Do you want ramyeon?”

You melt instantaneously, your head drooping against his chest.

“Pretty please,” you say.

Anyone would assume he’s grovelling from the way he brings you ramyeon and strawberry milk and gummy bears and your favourite chips. You know it’s just because he loves you.

He’s also trying to make up for the fact that he’s ditching you for the next three hours.

[muzansfangs]

How they eat you out.

Starring: Shunsui Kyoraku x f!reader; Unohana Retsu x f!reader; Zaraki Kenpachi × f!reader;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: nsfw, language, dom!unohana, dom! shunsui, dom!zaraki, sub!reader, switch!shunsui, oral sex (f!reader receiving), oral sex (unohana receiving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, overstimulation, male masturbation, size kink, creampie, dirty talk, vaginal sex;

Plot: they love you, they love you so much that giving you oral has become an art for them. But they all have a different style, their own unique way of doing it. How do they eat you out? What do they do to make you melt under their skilful tongue?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Shunsui Kyoraku.

A master of seduction and the seven deadly sins, he would spend hours eating you out for hearing the sweet chant of moans and whimpers you sang for him. There is not a position you have not tried before, but his unrestrained thirst for you and his untainted desire to make you climax on his tongue made him opt for one that granted him the chance to palm himself and jerk off while exploring the depths of your core, coating his fingers and lips into his personal favorite nectar.

Kneeling in front of you, with your back flattened against the wall, Shunsui grasped one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder, his eye flicking up to check on you as he pushed the soaked fabric of your underwear to the side. Sex with him was intense, but never rough. He took care of you, led you safely towards the apex of pleasure.

"Let me taste you, please" he hoarsely pleaded you, your fingers threading the soft strands of his dark chocolate hair in anticipation.

You sighed, his hot breath fanning your wet folds making goosebumps raise on your thighs. Your reaction did not escape his eye, his mouth latching onto your skin and leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way up to your pussy. Yet, he did not dare to touch you directly, not until you gave him your explicit consent. He needed to hear it from him.

"Please, please, darling, please... Just say the word and I will lavish that pussy until you have no more strength to stand without me supporting you" he purred, teasingly kissing your bundle of nerves.

Electricity coursed through your veins, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you delicately pushed his head back towards your pussy "Feast on me. I'm all yours" you whispered, watching in awe as the Captain Commander grinned mischieviously up at you and proceeded in running his tongue flatly down your folds, before wrapping his lips around your throbbing clit.

Your knees buckled, a throaty moan ripping from your chest as you closed your eyes and lolled your head back against the wall. You knew that practice had made him this good, an ounce of jealousy always seeping into your mind whenever he masterly brought you to Heaven and back on Earth, now he was doing this to you, he was down on his knees to worship your body.

"Fuck! — you whined out, when a soft grunt erupted from his throat — Did I mention your eye-patch is hot?" you breathed out, enjoying the sight of your man spreading your labia with the fingers of his free hand while the other was wrapped around his shaft, busy relieving himself from the aching bulge driving him insane.

Shunsui delved his tongue into you, your fingers pulling on his hair a little tighter to brace yourself.

"Stop it or I will come in my hand..." he groaned, teasingly tugging with his teeth at your slippery folds. He perfectly knew what he was doing, but the sight of his dick in his hand was making you yearn for more.

You did not care if the act could be labeled as rude, demanding, or as a deliberate selfish way to assure yourself your climax, but you pulled his head back by his hair. Panting, quivering legs and a lustful gleam in your eyes you removed your leg from the top of his shoulder and motioned for him to stand up. The Captain Commander stood tall, his large frame a blanket of warmness enveloping you into his arms.

His hands rested flatly on the wall at your sides, caging you between it and his massive body. His stubble glistened in the dim light provided by the lamp on the nightstand and you cupped hos cheek in your hand, running your thumb over his cheekbone.

"Shunsui, I need more. Now" you murmured, your lips nipping on his earlobe as he glided his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up.

He did not say much, he simply rubbed the tip of his cock down your slick to collect your juices and he gradually, smoothly sheathed himself into you with a guttural groan. Your legs were tightly wrapped around his hips, once he began to thrust into you at a sensual pace, your moans sending him on Cloud Nine.

"I love you" he hoarsely said, gritting his teeth as he felt your walls clamping down onto him.

Your mind was fuzzy, but you had enough energy to cling onto him for dear life. Oral sex always led you two to want more and scream each others name at the top of your lungs. Because after all, when have you ever let him come in his hand? Never. He always busted his load into you.

Unohana Retsu.

Calm and collected, radiating a loving aura, she only showed her true colors to you. Not everyone knew about her past. If the stories about how she used to wield her sword to lead the Eleventh Division with pride and unadulterated cruelty had not come straight out of her mouth, you would have probably not believed them. It was hard for you to depict your girlfriend as a blood-thirsted woman who sat on a pile of corpses, crowning herself the queen of a despicable crew of professional assassins. Now, however, as you began to explore your intimacy, you could see some glimpses of her dark side.

The ferocity of such a beautiful and majestic woman claiming her place on the top of the food chain always left you speechless.

She was an attentive lover, overall. Albeit she never forced you to submit, she was pleased by the way you obediently obliged to her requests and never ceased to praise your natural predisposition to feed her inner cravings. Not selfish in the slightest, though, when it came down to oral she was so dedicated to the cause of bringing you joy and satisfaction that she did not hesitate to ask you to lay down on your back and let her give you an extrasensorial experience.

How? A passionate sixty-nine, naturally. Giving and receiving, according to her, allowed you the chance to focus on both your lover and on the warming feeling she provided you by swirling her tongue around your bundle of nerves meticulously. The remains of her former cold personality tended to resurface, whenever you engaged sexual intercourses. She rarely let you top, therefore she was the one to sit on your face during the sixty-nine.

She smiled softly against your dripping heat, the moment your thighs began to quiver. She knew exactly which spots to stimulate, when and how.

"You are doing such a good job. Your body is always so responsive" Unohana chimed, her breath slightly labored as she tried to restrain herself from moaning out your name at the way you sucked on her clit.

You did not answer, instead, you bucked up your hips to let her know how needy you were and how much you craved her touch. Sex with her was always so sensual it barely allowed you the chance to think straight.

She hummed at your shameless display of eagerness,  her hands gripping the plush of your thighs as she buried her mouth back into the warm cave of your pussy. Her tongue lapped at your folds viciously, leisurely when she flicked your clit, and she enjoyed how you started whimpering, neglecting the task at hand to give her pleasure as well.

"Oh my gosh! Babe, wait, if you keep on doing it like that I'll end up—" you piped out, your breath erratic as you tried to get her attention by squeezing her ass warningly.

But the First Kenpachi was not going to stop. Gently lowering her pussy onto your mouth once again, muffling your moans and whimpers. There it was, her real self, the wild woman she used to be.

"Coming?" she cooed, smiling against your pubes as you shut your eyes as nibbled at the glistening, puffy lips plastered over your mouth.

You could not take it anymore. Delving your tongue deep into her, you let it go. Waves of pleasure engulfed your nether regions and you released onto her tongue, as she let out a small whimper herself. Your juices dripped from her chin, her eyes fluttering opened while she straightened herself up, glancing at you from up above. Her braid undone, long and raven long hair draped over her smooth back. She looked dashing like that.

"My pretty girl is so good for me. — Unohana crooned, rotating her hips to create some more friction with your parted lips — Now, why don't you focus a little more and make me come too?" she asked you in a slightly darker tone.

Anything. You would have done anything for her.

Zaraki Kenpachi.

He does not eat you out, he devours you. You are his woman, for God’s sake, you deserve the best. Along with protecting you no matter what, this man would do literally anything to make you happy. Even though he does not waste any given chance to have you underneath him, so perfect and small compared to his large frame, Zaraki can somehow sense when you need some good treatment. What does it consist in? Having you sprawled over the bed, folded in half, your pussy ready for him to lavish and suck dry.

“It’s lunch time” he croaked out, as he pushed your legs to your chest and shot you a knowing look, prompting you to keep them up for him as he glided his index down your slick to tease you.

You two had such a chemistry in bed it was hard not to read each others minds. His fingers mapped out all the right spots your body with expertise, they explored you until you were left writhing and shaking under him. Although he was not known around for being a gentleman, he was far from being rough with you.

You trembled, when he slowly plunged his digit into you, the stretch already leaving you breathless, but it did not last for two much. He pumped it a few times into you, eliciting soft whimpers and whines from you that made his chuckle in amusement.

“Look at you. So small to even take my fingers, yet so wet you are dripping…” he noted, your cheeks heating up at his unfiltered remark.

You loved him.

When he removed his fingers, the man quickly shoved it into his mouth and made sure to savour your taste. His visible eye boring into yours as he grinned and buried his face down onto your cunt, his tongue lapping and sucking on your clitoris hungrily, air knocked out of your lungs temporary. Recovering from his assault was almost impossible for you, everytime was like the first.

“K–Kenny! O my God… Don’t stop” you whispered, your legs quivering as you struggled to keep them up from his to enjoy his feast.

“Keep them up” he groaned, delving his tongue into your core and causing you to gasp and grip the back of your thighs a little tighter to push them more towards your chest. But he knew you were struggling, he knew you needed help and he wanted you to focus on your pleasure above anything else.

Keeping his mouth busy on your pussy, messily licking and nibbling, he swatted your hands away and gripped your thighs roughly. Moaning loudly, as he kept your folded in half, you felt a familiar pressure coiling on your lower abdomen, your mind going blank as your orgasm washed over you violently, like a wave crashing over you.

Kenpachi truly had his own special way to kill you softly.

Author note.

Hello there! I’m so glad I managed to post this second part to ‘how they eat you out’. A third and, probably,last one is coming and it will include Shinji, Isshin and Grimmjow. I hope you have enjoyed this one! As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @kr0wu @electronicwitchcollection @brittscafe @stygianoir @bleach-your-panties I dedicate this piece to you 💜

[monarchberrysblog]

DEARLY BELOVED

a short mini drabble that was HEAVILY inspired by a tik tok and it sparked the creative juices. (think of vampire! miguel while reading if you like) this might flop as this isn't a smut and this is a drabble that came to mind after seeing a silly tik tok

hope you all enjoy this — dia 🪻

A muse — Defined as a person or personified force that is the source of inspiration for a creative artist, it feels like a vexation for the man living in the dark corners of the castle where he called his home. The strong pull of this magnet, this attraction, weighed his cold heart down to the earth’s core. A weight on his chest. A feeling that should have vanished over the last century. But it abides and becomes middling.

Nonetheless, he didn't overlook it.

/

His warm palms rub your back in a slow, gentle action. The familiar sensation of his warm palms after holding his mug of tea was always your favorite feeling in the morning. The induced warmness against his fingertips provided a healing touch, similar to a heating pad against an aching cramp on the body.

“Desperta, querida.” The rasp in his morning voice vibrates your ear. You tossed and turned on the bed, staying in your blankets. You peer them open but shut them immediately and hide in the mount of soft Egyptian cotton. “No, no. Ya esta siendo tarde.” His fingers gathered a small chuck of your hair in between his fingers and moved your hair away from your face. (Wake up, love. It's getting late.)

His fingers brushed against the shell of your ear before he took note of a tiny mole in plain sight for his eyes to see. “You have a mole here.” You feel his finger tap on the alleged speck.

“No, I don't…” Your voice is muffled by the blankets, along with your barely parted lips. “I’m not lying, my dear.” His fingers work to move your hair away from your ear and tap on the speck once again. “Mmmh, your skin says otherwise.” His hand ruffles your hair in a playful gesture, leaving it to be a muss for you to brush out — officially giving you a task to do when you get out of the warm bedsheets.

“It's adorable.”

“I know what you're doing. And it's not going to work.” You continue to mumble on, making colorful words that make no sense to the human mind.

“Whatever you say, querida.”

/

A particular night always stuck out for Miguel.

A rainy, cold, stormy night. Thunder rumbled in the space around you two, following the flashing white light of lightning that lit up the room momentarily. The loud crash was enough to send Miguel back to a conscious state. He rubs his face with the palm of his hand and lets out a heavy sigh.

He glances over at you and sees a wet patch on the pillowcase next to your parted lips. If you wanted to, you could sleep through a tornado.

“Jesus…” His hand finds its way to your hair, gently massaging your scalp, his fingers lost in a sea of darkness known as your hair.

The pads of his fingers worked dainty patterns before gently cradling you close.

The clash of warmth made him melt like molten lava against the cold marble stone, crackling and oozing down the crevices with such grace.

“Miguel…” You squirm close to him and savor the warmth on his chest. His chest hair ticked your nose and cheeks, but the sensation of extra warmth never failed to send chills down your spine.

“Shhh, just go back to sleep.” The warmth of his hand runs down the length of your spine, stopping on your lower back and rubbing his thumb against the stretch marks. “Just go to sleep, querida.”

/

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” He probes this question at you every time you leave the Victorian manor. “Yes, Miguel. I’m going into town to get more rosemary and herbs.” You pick up your tiny woven basket and look over to your concerned lover. You sigh and make your way over.

“Don’t worry, no one is going after us.” Your smile is enough to smooth the aching worry in his gut. “Are you sure?” He pokes the question again, earning him a small smile. You hum a yes, walking back towards him and holding his hands. “Yes, Miguel.” You giggle softly and massage his knuckles with your thumb.

“I’ll prepare your favorite dinner tonight.”

Miguel forces a soft chuckle before pulling you into a warm embrace. “Just make it home before sunset. Hunters have been around the forest.” His voice vibrates into your chest cavity, sending another ripple of warmth.

“I'll be careful.”

Hours slowly evolved into days, then weeks, and you never returned to the manor. At first, it was simple glances out the window, hoping to see that familiar silhouette Miguel adores whenever you come home. But nothing, as if you had ceased to exist.

A hunter who had mistaken you for a deer snatched you from the forest's shadows, leaving you alone on the forest floor, gasping for air.

Your hand loosens your grip on the small woven basket, spilling the contents out of the tiny basket and onto the forest floor. You always purchased nothing but herbs and two pomegranates for Miguel whenever you came into town.

/

The cobwebs and sorrows on the manor weighed down the environment over the next few decades, collecting a thick layer of dust bunnies and spiders crawling about. The tiny spiders crawl away at a door opening, letting candlelight pour in.

The room in question was a space you used to frequent. In the art room, he found you lounging around with a book or looking at his works of art, specifically his sketches of you.

There was an abundance of sketches on every flat surface in the room, varying from sketch to sketch. Sketches of you, lying in bed and tangled in your bedsheets. Some innocent sketches of you holding up a rabbit, showing its fluffy stomach to the world.

But the sketches were brushed off. Instead, Miguel made his way over to a particular pillar. A limestone blanketed with a worn-out bed sheet. He tugged off the fabric and saw the carved stone before him. The limestone before him showed a portrait of a young woman, specifically you. The curve of your mouth and the intricate detail of every strand of hair caught his attention. He remembered the tedious nights of his mallet and carving tools, having to alternate every other moment to capture the texture of your hair or the way your dimples appeared whenever you smiled.

His calloused fingers traced the sculpture's ridges and curves, feeling the cool marble against his warm touch.

"It's been a while, querida." He forced a small smile, his thumb stroking the cheek of the stone portrait. The smile was a pathetic attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes, blinking them away as if it would contribute to burying those feelings.

"It's been a while."

[nrdmssgs]

CONGRATS ON 500, you 100% deserve it and more !!! 🥹🌷💐 i just love your art and work so, so much!!

if it's alright, can i request 37 with könig? my husband, i need him !!!! 😮‍💨

Masterlist List of prompts What? An author, who practically inspired me to come here and start writing? An author, who gifted me the biggest brainrot for many sides of König? Sends me a request? Orla, I am such a huge fan!!!!!! I love your style, love your bold, picturesque oneshots, love your eagerness to discover so many themes. I owe you so much, you don't have an idea. I made a text and a picture in case, you don't like the text. Sorry, I'm fangirling and I'm nervous)

Does it make you nervous, when I stare?

Pairing: KonigxReader Warning: this is NSFW. And König here is not the shyest guy on Earth, because this is colonel edition.

Oh, the things, you would let this man do to you. Unspeakable, ungodly things. Things so unhinged, you wouldn't mention them even after a few rounds of shots with your besties.

One sight of his fingers tapping the tabletop during the debriefing, and you can't think about anything other than the salty taste on your lips, left by his thumb. It would take him just one word, or maybe even one glance to make you cover his index and middle finger in saliva, as he would slide them against your tongue. You'd be so good - standing on your knees for him, sucking his fingers so eagerly, fighting your own gag reflex.

One glance thrown at his forearms, tightly hugged by black cloth, and you imagine his massive hands picking you up like you weigh nothing at all. You'd freeze, learn to hold your breath for as long as he wants, until you'd feel only the brush of his mouth against yours and the grumble of his impatience when he pushes in. The intoxicating thickness of his tongue against yours would be a taste that would rocket to your core and melt you from the inside, as he'd hover over you, pushing apart your legs with the brush of his massive thighs between yours. He'd take and take and take. And how obediently will you keep giving him anything, he demands.

Looking at his hips is a serious danger. Slick outlines of his muscles, his fingers brushing up and down his lap, black holster straps spanning his thigh make you go absolutely feral. You'd be standing still, feeling his low growl with your entire body. You'd hold your hands high against the wall and arch your back, so he can have access to every single part of your body. You'd accept him reminding you, with each his hungry thrust, where your place is: wrapped in his arms while he rubs you senseless, his teeth on your neck leaving you on the edge of pain.

All that fantasies you could hide from König, if it wasn't for his eyes: deep cold silver light, sparkling with interest, every time, he caught you staring. You couldn't make yourself look away: his stare was a predatory gaze, luring you closer, easing you into a thought of coming closer, stripping you of any bit of self-preservation instinct. Yes, when he caught your eyes - König took his time, ravishing in a sight of your desperate blush, letting go of you and turning his gaze away only when you were literally choking with shame, trying to drive away the visions that he awakened in your mind. This man was to become the end of you, and every next day it was only harder to fight that feeling off.

So when you hear, he is expanding his team, it feels only natural to surrender and use this ghostly opportunity to get closer to him. You know, your chance to join the team, his inner circle, is almost zero. By no means, you can be considered a poor professional, but the Colonel is a legend here. He doesn't want just 'the best' he wants those outstanding even from the best. And your personnel files scream 'just good' at best. But you have a motivation, the one so strong and specific, that maybe only you here have. Your obsession with König is pushing you to the darkest void, you were too scared to come to earlier - the threshold of his office.

"Come in." His voice at it finest: not too loud, not too harsh, all honey and slumber. When he wants, he can be mesmerizing as a siren.

You clench your hand into a fist behind your back, thus trying to calm the trembling that is rolling up to your knees.

"Just don't look him in the eyes, and it would be ok. Hands, yes, you can bear looking at his hands and not lose it. Afterward you can have whatever you want - your toys, your fingers, your cushions... Just look at his hands, breathe deep, and it all will be alright." Your inner monologue is interrupted only when he is pulling a folder from your hands, obviously tired of waiting for you to finally give it to him.

"What do we have he- oh..." Your breath hitches, you practically hear an uncanny smile spreading across his face.

"Die Kleine will in meinem Spiel?*" König sounds amused. And although you don't entirely understand, what he said - you get the message and nod, not daring to look him in the eyes.

"Very good. I could use such a treasure..." He flips the pages and clicks his tongue when some of your personal indicators impress him. And before you manage to exhale, he adds: "But I'll need to test you. See, if you are... ready."

"Anything, Colonel!" You blurt it out and immediately shut your mouth, realizing that it might sound ambivalent. But that's enough to make König raise from his seat and lead you from offices to firing range.

You blame it upon a rush of blood to your head, but you pass his test with flying colors. Physical tests, advanced weaponry, strategy, even sparing with König leaves you alive and just a little trembling.

The thing, that breaks you, is not even a test or a check. It happens late in the evening, when you two end up in the locker room. You just need to remove one layer of the tactical gear you were using, you'll still have your shirt and jeans on. But you stop, paralyzed, seeing out of the corner of your eye how König leans against the wall, arms folded on his chest. His gaze, you feel his gaze: lingering and hungry.

"What's wrong, treasure? Are you hurt?" You are afraid to answer and reveal your trembling voice, so you just shake your head.

"You don't know, how to loosen those straps? Want me to help you?" Again: you only shake your head, hiding your gaze.

"Is it my eyes, that make you that nervous, Schatzi*?" His accent thickens, voice drops low, as he steps closer.

You instinctively lean back, but hit the wall behind you. He takes one more step towards you and places his hand between the wall and the back of your head, so that you don't hurt yourself occasionally. But very soon, he guides you to finally look up at him. There it is: silver light, that you can never look away from, once you saw it.

"Talk to me. There can be no secrets inside my team." His voice is soft once again, but you know, it is a trap. And you fall for it.

"I just get distracted. Don't worry, Colonel, I'll learn to ignore it or to live quietly with it. Sorry..." Your voice, your entire body, is trembling.

"There's nothing to apologize for." Something sparkles deep inside his eyes. He moves his veil up, so you can see his lips, and leans right to your ear. "In fact, how about you come at the same time to my office tomorrow, treasure? After all, you've proven, you can be so good for me... It's my turn to convince you, I too can be good for you, Schatzi."

Die Kleine will in meinem Spiel? - Little one wants in my game?

Schatzi - little treasure

[apas-95]

one of the most annoying things about usamericans is that they'll discover a practice that they don't do, and, having known about it for a scant few minutes, come up with some supposed obvious flaw with it that the billions of people who've engaged with it their whole lives apparently haven't thought of, as a justification for why they don't do it. the idea is, when it comes to anything that they haven't been taught should be a point of pity, that the usa is basically right about everything, and that the practices of the usa are assumed to be the most logical and intuitive. even the more progressive among them, while having learned the humility to not say that the usa is the best country on earth, will still chafe at the idea that anywhere else in the world is better than the usa at anything - even if the entirety of humanity were united in a given practice, with only the usa standing against it. it is a legitimately brain-melting level of chauvinism afforded by the position of living in the core of the global empire

[bunnys-kisses]

Bunny!! Could i do a whisky and a banana and chocolate muffin with toto?

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? hit up the menu! there's ton to choose from and i hope you'll find something you love! thank you for submitting this order, i've been meaning to write more toto, there's something about him that just draws me in!

banana and chocolate muffins ("i'm only doing this because you need to learn how to behave, rules are rules, and you need to follow them.") + whisky (degrading language) served by toto wolff (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, dirty talk/degrading language, mean!toto, age gap (20s/50s), doggy style, jealousy, possessive!toto, spaking/punishment

he had been looking for you in the paddock. it was after the belgian grand prix, the celebrations were underway but mister wolff's precious girl was nowhere to be found.

"schatzi! schatzi!" he called out as he walked through the area. the worst he expected was to find you curled up in a mercedes driver's room fast asleep. all the recent traveling had taken a lot out of you.

what he didn't expect was you giggling at the jokes of none other than max verstappen.

maybe it was a jealousy thing, you and max were closer in age. he was currently a superstar, there was a pull to him that no one else on the grid could deny. the flying dutchman, mad max, whatever else they wanted to call him.

so maybe it was a little overboard with what toto did after the race in your hotel room. he watched your legs kick out as his large hand laid another slap across your ass cheeks.

he kept you pinned to his lap by resting his other forearm on the center of your shoulders. he groped your ass a little rougher than normal and said, "i'm only doing this because you need to learn how to behave, rules are rules, and you need to follow them. i don't need you running off with some pretty boy, schatzi. you're mine, remember?"

you whimpered a little bit, "i wasn't going to run off with him. i'd never, honey. i love you too much."

he palmed your bruised cheek, he sighed, "drivers nowadays only think about one thing, my love. they'd eat you up and spit you out." he landed another smack across your cheek, "you're safer with me. someone who actually knows how to be with a woman. you need a man, not a boy."

you whimpered, "i know, toto. i know that, that's why i only want to be with you. max was just telling me a funny story and i lost track of time! i'm sorry!" then yelped when he brought his hand down once more.

toto really couldn't be mad at you for too long, even with envy nipping at his heels. it wasn't like you were naked on top of his car and letting him fuck you. or worse, wearing the red bull logo across those pretty tits.

but verstappen would never see you naked, not while toto still haunts the earth. no, no, that was for his eyes only as he admired your backside across his lap. your poor cheeks were going to be purple come the plane ride back home.

he dragged a finger across your slit, and said, "you'd never let another man touch you, right? you're not going to whore yourself out to the paddock, right? i need to hear it say it." he said as he sank two fingers into you.

you squirmed, but didn't get far. toto was bigger and stronger than you, you nodded and toto sank a third finger in which made your breath get caught in your throat.

"what was that, schatzi?" he asked, "i need you to use your words. can you use your words for me, or if your little brain not working?" it was so patronizing. but it made you hot all over.

his words melted in your brain and spread along the neurons that connected your head together. it was like spreading warm honey. you panted, "no one else, i promise. i promise no one else. i don't want leclerc or verstappen or norris." you were almost in tears. the stimulation left your core shaken.

toto made a pleased noise, his erection in his slacks pressed hard against you. he gave his fingers a few more pumps before he took them out and said, "then i never want you alone with any other driver that isn't on my team. alright? i know russell and hamilton, i don't trust the likes of verstappen. horner doesn't keep his boys in check." maybe it was because max had declined any and all offers to come to mercedes.

you nodded, "i'll be good."

toto chuckled and pushed hair out of your face. there was a bit more affection in his tone as he said, "good girl. that's what i like to hear. you're so good for me."

you squirmed a little, but were soon moved with ease as toto got you on your hands and knees with your bruised ass in the air. you looked divine, like the apple of temptation right before his eyes.

he took off his shirt, and you wiggled your behind at him. he leaned over and grabbed one of your cheeks which made you arch your back further. when he pulled away, he took his belt off. eventually he was naked and on the bed behind you.

he rubbed your hip with his nimble fingers as he loomed over you like a comforting shadow. he loved feeling this close to you, "you're beautiful." he said, "the most beautiful thing on the paddock. more beautiful than the girls that those boys bring around. more than the cars and the champagne, all of it." he kissed the back of your shoulder, such a tender moment considering only moments earlier he was bruising your ass.

"please, toto." you moaned as you felt his blunt cock head up against your slick pussy. you held onto the pillow under your head tightly.

he chuckled and rubbed his cock up against your entrance, "so pretty." he said, "but, you know that. you know how beautiful i think you are." he sank his cock into you and you moaned deep into the covers.

you felt the heat thump in your chest as you took his entire length. quite an impressive feat for someone of your size. but, you were beyond all else, toto's good girl.

he placed both of his hands on your hips and really moved against you. he watched how your body moved with every hard thrust. oh, you were beautiful. angelic, you were beyond amazing and you made toto's body feel flushed.

you whimpered, "i love you, toto. i don't want anyone else. none of them can compare to you." you bent your back to looked up at him. the sight made him shudder as he continued to move against you. fucking you into the hotel room bed.

the bed wasn't like the one back home, but it was a soft surface for him to thrust up into you. toto loved fucking you, he loved the feeling of your wet cunt around his painfully hard cock.

he'd joke and tell you that your pussy was the fountain of youth. it kept him young as he bullied the blunt tip up against your gummy soft cervix.

you rubbed your face up against the pillows and shuddered, "please, honey. ah! shit, you feel so good." you whimpered.

toto tensed up for a moment at your sweet words. he might be a jealous, possessive old bastard, but he loved you. he loved you so deeply, you were his pulse that kept him going everyday.

he kissed at your back as he continued to move against you. you felt like a dream. he continued to go as deep as he could go, his hands held onto your hips as he bullied his cock into you.

the entire thing left your core dripping,

he knew you from every angle, every inch of your being. he knew exactly how to make you scream. so it wasn't hard that you were so close to finishing.

and he didn't let up. he continued to press against you, his cock buried inside of you. his heart was in his throat, even if there was a twinge of pain in his hip. (maybe he wasn't as much of a young stallion as he thought he was).

"so beautiful." he purred, "do you like that, schatzi, when i fuck you the way you deserve?"

you let out a small moan in response and it made toto feel hot all over. god, you were perfect.

"please!" you came loudly, clinging onto the bed under you. you panted heavily into the pillows. orgasm claws through you and made you feel heated all over. only he could make you feel that good. he was right, those little boys on the grid could never do what he did.

how he could pull every orgasm out of you, how he had you wrapped around his fingers like a cute garden snake. he loved you so, which was why he had to make sure those idiot drivers didn't hurt you. only toto knew that he could take such good care of you.

"toto." you whimpered.

he gave it a few more hard thrusts before he leaned over you and finished inside of you. he had you pressed into the bed with your hips angled with his cock.

you whimpered and felt the after waves of the intense orgasm. your body was achy but in a great way. even though your cheeks were to be bruised come morning. you knew that toto would kiss away any and all pain. just as he always did.

he laid out beside you on the bed and got those long arms around you. he made you feel so small when he spooned you from behind. you could feel his cum up against your inner thigh.

between soft pants you said, "no one can take you from me, honey." you pressed your face against his chest. your fingers grazed across his chest hair.

he chuckled, "good. that's what i like to hear." he curled around you and placed kisses on your face. he said, "a woman like you needs a man. not a boy."

you giggled and looked at him, "and you're more than man enough for me. plus, i don't think that any of them could compete in the downstairs department." you covered your face at your words.

he pulled your hands away from your face then held them while he kissed you. it was true, a woman like you needed a man. and the man you needed was him (sorry, verstappen!). <3

[aqua-reeus]

shelter

a/n: i've literally been listening to this song on repeat and the way it makes me sob, it inspired me to write this little thing. cw: talks of body image

"no matter the cost of rain, i will shelter you all the same."

simon sees all your flaws and still finds you perfect.

sometimes you're clumsy, tripping over thin air and cursing under your breath as you steady yourself. but he finds beauty in the way you stumble and chuckles under his breath when he hears your words. "careful, love."

sometimes you're stubborn, never taking 'no' for an answer. he simply smiles, shakes his head and finds a way to make you happy. even if that means going to the ends of the earth for the smallest thing to make you smile.

sometimes you're quiet, holding back and hiding behind a timid smiles. but he cherishes your quietness and in those moments becomes quiet too.

sometimes you're scared, afraid of what lies ahead. but he stands beside you, providing shelter and shielding you from the storms that may come. he whispers deep promises in your ear, each whisper soothing your fears.

sometimes you're lost, when your mind becomes filled with doubt and bad memories, and you hide yourself as you try to hold back the tears. but he sees the strength in the way you figure things out. and when you're on the verge of breaking down, he wraps his large arms around you, calming the storm within. and his touch becomes the anchor that steadies your trembling soul.

sometimes when you rant at him, you're met with his silent gaze, his eyes fixed on your face. and you question if he's truly listening, he simply nods, a little white lie to keep the peace.

sometimes you misplace things, scattering them around the place. but he silently gathers the pieces, each and every single one of them them and puts them back where they belong, like a never-ending puzzle.

sometimes you're indecisive, actually all the time, especially when it comes to food. it may annoy him momentarily, but he ensures you never miss a treat. he goes the extra mile, always cooking up something you love.

sometimes you hide your body, concealing it from the world, feeling self-conscious and vulnerable. but he sees the beauty in every inch of you. and when his touch, his rough calloused fingers brush against your skin, it's as if a gentle flame ignites within you, burning at the centre of your core, melting away any walls of insecurity. "you're beautiful."

sometimes you wonder if anyone could truly love you, doubting your worth. but simon does.

[girlgenius1111]

make it better

a cure for frustration: part 2

warnings: angst / hurt comfort. smut. 18+. thanks for reading :)

2.3k words

If you had to pick a favorite part of Alexia's body, it would be her lips. Or maybe her abs. There were a lot of options, as you were reminded as you laid on top of her, lips meeting hers. This kiss was different than the ones before, less hungry. The first round had relaxed you both, and your mouth moved against her full lips, little sounds leaving her when your tongue entered her mouth. You loved her best like this; hands softly holding your face as she kissed you, her love for you evident in her gentle touch. You had no doubt that things would turn definitively less gentle soon enough, but you didn't mind. Anyway Alexia wanted you, she could have you.

You broke apart, both of you gasping for breath having gone far too long without air. You leaned your forehead down to press against hers, your eyes meeting her green ones. In the dim light of your room, her eyes were warm. You couldn't explain it, but they gazed up at you with such softness, you felt yourself melt. Her gaze was intense, and suddenly you were blushing, the light brush of your nose against hers, hot breaths mingling together. You move lower on her body, ignoring the sensation of your core sliding against her for now, pressing your face into her neck.

Almost overcome by a sudden wave of affection for the woman underneath you, you mumbled a soft "Te amo" into her neck.

Her chest rumbled under you with a small laugh. She was always amused by how much she affected you; both of you felt like the other was potentially the most perfect being on earth. Enjoying your spot against her neck, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and something else that was just so Alexia, you felt her hands drift lower on your body, until they were gripping your waste tightly, as she adjusted your lower half to settle over one of her thighs, and began to rock you against her. She bent her knee up slightly, planting her foot on the bed, and tensing the muscles of her quad. A moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You slid against her easily, still incredibly wet from your previous orgasm, only getting wetter as she guided your movements against her. She turned her head into your neck and began to suck lightly against the skin she found there. Her lips pulled away slightly as she spoke in a raspy voice in your ear.

"You're making a bit of a mess there amor" she whispered, and you shuddered. "Do you like to ride my thigh, hmm? You like it when I move you against me, and all you have to do is what my hands tell you?" her words were filthy, and you felt yourself pressing down harder against her, shifting slightly until the pressure on your clit was perfect, her muscles tensing even more up into you. You nodded against her, gasps falling out of your mouth, but she kept going. "Tell me. Tell me how much you like it" her fingers tightened on your hips, rocking you faster.

"Love it. Shit. Love how good you make me feel Ale, so good" she seemed satisfied with your response, as breathless as it was, and you chased your high, hips moving frantically against her. You could feel how wet her thigh was underneath you, her hands roughly moving you back and forth, her lips returning to suck a new mark on your jawline. It was perfect, all so perfect. "Gonna come. Please don't stop," you barely got the words out before Alexia did stop, suddenly flipping you over, your body now under hers.

Her legs were achingly far away from where you needed her, and you whined, opening your eyes to see her smirking down at you, her eyes hungry as they gazed down at you, clearly enjoying how ruined you looked. Your hips rose to search for any friction they could find, which proved to be a mistake as she lifted off of you completely, sliding off the bed, and taking her time to open the bedside drawer, searching for the perfect item.

Your eyes followed her hungrily, finding her ass as she bent over slightly, hands rifling through the many toys you had. You couldn't help yourself, the sight of her turned around being one of your favorites, sliding a hand down your body to rub harsh circles over your clit. The noise your hand made against you was very audible, and very obscene, and she turned, eyes narrowing as she saw what you were doing.

"Cuidado" she said quietly, the warning in her voice clear. The look on her face was enough for you to pull your hand away, but not enough for you to stop egging her on completely. Instead, you moved your hand up to your breast, squeezing tightly before pinching your nipple in between your fingers, keeping your eyes on hers. She quirked one eyebrow at you, but turned back to the drawer, finally pulling out a strap and fastening it around her waste. You were slightly unsettled by her lack of response to your actions, but quickly got distracted, noticing she'd picked the the dildo that had a smaller part that slid into her when she put it on.

She turned back to you, walking slowly towards the bed as you let your hand fall away from your chest. You gazed at her mesmerized, convinced she was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Her hair fell messily around her face, the blonde a sharp contrast to her tanned skin.

You were truly distracted by her beauty, and you let out a gasp, startled, as she grabbed your legs, yanking you down the bed to meet where she stood at the side of the mattress. She leaned over you, concerning breaking through the mask of dominance she'd put on, her eyes searching yours. You could only nod up at her, and she pressed a light kiss to the tip of your nose, before leaning back, straightening up and looking down at you with a pensive expression.

"Show me how much you want me, bonita " she paired her words with her her hand grabbing yours, guiding it between your legs. Instead of listening, you reached for the toy strapped to her waste, trying to pull it against you, eyes falling shut. You were normally much better behaved than this, but something told you Alexia didn't really want you to be good. At least not right away.

Gripping your wrist, she pulled your hand away from her and back to rest against your core. Her voice was harsh when she spoke.

"Are you being shy now? You were so eager a second ago. Venga mi niña bonita, show me how you fuck yourself." She guided your fingers into your cunt. "Show me how good you can be, and i'll let you come." Her words were still harsh, but tinted with a hint of praise, everything she knew you liked, everything you ached for.

You slid your fingers in and out, not wasting time as you curled them against your front wall. You let out a loud moan, deciding that if Alexia wanted a show, she'd get a show. You were absolutely dripping, and the sounds your fingers made paired with the sounds falling out of your mouth were pornographic. You whimpered Alexia's name as you neared the edge, not sure if she would let you finish.

Grabbing your hand and pulling your fingers out of you carefully, she hummed, softly running her hands up and down your thighs as your legs shook pathetically. You were a mess under her, and you opened your eyes to gaze up at her pleadingly.

"Not yet, bebe. Want you to come on my cock, vale?"

With that, she guiding you to flip over, lifting your hips into the air, and pressing your face into the mattress. She palmed your ass, before sliding the plastic dick into you painfully slowly. She let out a deep, long moan as she bottomed out inside of you, the little piece inside of her pressing just right, as the strap pressed against her small bundle of nerves. You gasped into the mattress. Deciding she'd dragged it out long enough, she began to fuck you, pulling the strap out all the way before pushing it back into you in one fluid motion.

"Fuck. Ale. Fuck." You were a mess under her, hands fisting into the sheets as moans of your girlfriend's name joined the filthy sound of her sliding in and out of you, the sound of her hips meeting your body loudly. Her moans above you only turned you on more.

"So good for me, bonita. Taking it so well, such a good girl," her words were breathless, her own pleasure catching up to her fast, still focused on making it good for you, making sure you knew how happy she was with you. You let out a loud cry as she pounded into you, one which she recognized as the sound you made just before you came. She wrapped an arm around your chest, pulling you up until you were pressed back into her. She thrust into you faster, moving her hand up to wrap around your throat, applying light pressure, moving her other hand to rub frantically at your clit. The new angle put more pressure on her, and she felt herself nearing the edge.

"Come with me bebe. Make a mess for me," she managed to gasp out the words, and suddenly you were trembling against her, screaming her name. The sound you made pushed her over the edge, and she thrust up into you one last time, holding you tight against her body. Your orgasm seemed to go on forever, until you were resting limp against her, head on her shoulder as she moved her hand away from your core and gently pulled out of you. She collapsed onto the bed, pulling you with her, as you both fought to catch your breath. Your eyes fluttered shut, her hand rubbing softly on your back, as you let the sound of her heartbeat bring you back down to reality.

----

You both had showered, put on pajamas, changed the sheets and climbed into bed an hour later before you decided to bring up her odd behavior in the locker room. You were resting in Alexia's arms, back to her chest, as she pressed light kisses against your temple, occasionally whispering sweet words into your ear.

"Ale?" your voice was soft as it broke the peaceful silence.

"Hmm?"

"You seemed upset earlier. In the locker room, when you looked at your phone." She hummed noncommittally at your words, neither agreeing or disagreeing with your statement. "Do you wanna tell me whats wrong?" At this, she sighed, resting her head against yours.

"It was nothing. Just. Everyone always has something to say. About my knee, about my contract, about the fucking goal. What was I supposed to do? Not make sure it went in?" You turn your head slightly, heart breaking a little bit at the tears pooling in Alexia's eyes. "I kiss the Barca badge and people still feel the need to question where I'm gonna go. It's just so much. All the time, it never stops." Her voice broke on the last word, and her eyes squeezed shut, trying to stop the tears from falling.

You rolled off of her, laying down next to her and opening your arms without a word, just tugging her hand lightly. She got the message, scooting down to bury herself in your warmth, face tucked against your neck. You felt tears hitting your neck, and you stayed quiet for a moment, holding her tightly.

"People are always going to have something to say, baby. I wish they wouldn't, but they will. They don't matter, what they say doesn't matter. What matters is how you feel, how the team feels. The team knows you, they know you wouldn't steal a goal, they know you aren't being a diva about contract negotiations." You pause, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. "I know you, and I know your heart. And I love it. You're my Ale, no one else's. What they say, what they think, doesn't matter. All that matters is you and me."

You hold your breath as you finish, hoping you said the right thing. Alexia was a very strong individual, and it wasn't often that you found yourself in this position. Often, it was the other way around. She always knew what to say, what to do. You hoped your words would be enough.

She pulled back, her watery eyes meeting yours as her bottom lip trembled. Her gaze searched yours, as if trying to determine whether or not you were being honest. You wiped a tear off her cheek with the pad of your thumb, before she pressed into you, her lips meeting yours in a wet kiss. She pulled back again after a minute, looking at you through her long lashes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Thank you. Te quiero. Te quiero mucho." Her voice was tired, but you could tell she felt less weighed down. You pulled her impossibly closer into your body, legs tangling beneath the sheets, as you pressed a kiss onto her forehead.

"Always, amor. I love you," you whispered against her forehead feeling as she relaxed into you, the long day finally catching up to her. You felt yourself drifting off too, completely surrounded by her warmth. Your last thoughts as you dozed off were that you felt incredibly lucky to be the one to get to be there for her.

-----

thank you for reading :) i hope this was what people were hoping for.

sidenote. i barely know how to work tumblr but let me know if you have anything specific you want me to write. smut or not smut. ill probably write for most people you request. finals are coming up so obviously i need something to do instead of studying.