#kinda hurt/comfort ig

[a-little-unsteddie]

Admiring the Ocean

I promise this is fluffier than the last thing I posted. Kinda. It gets there, in the end. Enjoy!

———

Eddie was never what anyone would consider a ‘quiet kid’. He did everything so loudly — so himself — and without reservation. It’s one of the things that Wayne insisted he loved most about him. He didn’t hold back, ever, and Wayne thought that kind of being, that kind of loving, was beautiful.

Unfortunately, the world would not agree with Wayne Munson, because Eddie was only eight when he first started getting into Dungeons and Dragons. Someone at school had lent him a guidebook, and he had taken it home to read. Occasionally, when he read something particularly intriguing, he would turn to his dad and repeat exactly what he learned. At first, he got patient smiles and nods. Then his dad would roll his eyes before turning to listen. Eventually, he would audibly scoff as Eddie required his attention. This would lead to his dad eventually growling out, “For god’s sake boy, shut the fuck up before I make you.”

That would be the first time that Eddie learned that sometimes he was too loud.

It wouldn’t be the last time.

Eddie was ten when he came home to tell his dad about his crush. He was ten when he learned that he should be quiet about that part of himself. He was ten when he was almost killed for loving a boy. He was ten when he left to live with his Uncle Wayne. He was ten when he decided he wouldn’t talk anymore. He was too loud.

It didn’t last, however. It lasted about as long as his uncle found out he decided to stop talking. It lasted maybe two hours. And then his uncle was telling him that there was nothing wrong with him. That the way he loved was magnificent, so completely and irrevocably perfect. It would take longer for Eddie to believe it. To embrace it.

Even then, though. Eddie decided he would love boys quietly. From a distance. He knew it was dangerous for him to love openly. So he didn’t. He made every other part of himself so loud it drowned out anything else. No one noticed the quiet yearning Eddie felt. He hid it from everyone.

Well.

He tried to hide it from everyone.

But Wayne must have known, must have been told, must have somehow seen, because he took Eddie close one day and whispered into his ear gentle reassurances.

“I know. I know, it’s okay. It’s okay to love boys, y’hear me?” Wayne had gruffly spoken, firm but quiet. “I know it’s scary, but it is okay. You are allowed to love boys. I love you. You are mine, y’hear me, boy? My son. And you can love whoever you want.”

Eddie still hid it. He just hid it with Wayne, letting his uncle hear about whoever he liked. He couldn’t help it, really. But other than that, he was quiet. He never showed signs in public. He was still loud, but he used it as a cover. He used it as a shield. Threw himself into being so wholly and unequivocally himself so that he could watch, yearn, admire from afar. Used his speeches at lunch to give himself a chance to look at whatever pretty boy had captured his attention.

Eddie loved pretty boys.

He did so quietly, observing from afar, content to love them from his mind, doing nothing to show for it besides the occasional longing look. He never expected any of them to love him back, how could he? Loving them was never about getting loved in return — no one expected a sunset to watch them back. He was happy doing what he was doing.

And no boy was as pretty as Steve Harrington.

Loving Steve Harrington wasn’t something that Eddie had expected. It had happened suddenly, without a warning. Eddie had been unaware of the fact in one moment, one breath, and in the next one, Eddie knew he would love Steve Harrington until he died, probably. He also knew he would do so silently. The one thing about himself he would ever do quietly. He watched as Steve healed and became more himself, admiring the way that he had been building muscle strength. He watched the gentle happiness return to Steve, how it radiated from inside of him and brightened the entire room. He was breathtaking. Still, Eddie loved without expectation. Without planning to tell anyone. Other than Wayne. Wayne heard it all.

Heard about the way Eddie is certain he could create constellations if he concentrated hard enough on the moles and freckles dotted across his skin. He heard of the way Steve’s laugh brings a smile to anyone who’s around to hear, the noise so gentle and fond it’s impossible to ignore. The way that Eddie is convinced that Steve was art, a sculpture carved from stone, appearing soft and forgiving, but actually sharper than he lets on.

Except.

Eddie got comfortable. When Eddie got comfortable, his self preservation goes down, apparently. Eddie and Steve were hanging out, and Steve was looking at Eddie curiously, searching for something. Eddie wasn’t scared of what he was looking for — at first. Then, the longer Steve looked at him, eyes growing ever fonder, Eddie realized what Steve was looking for. Maybe not what he was looking for, exactly, but what Steve had found. Eddie was terrified of whatever it could be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, looking at Eddie in soft confusion. Not accusatory, just curious. Worried, maybe. It soothed Eddie enough to just start talking.

“I learned from a young age that sometimes I love things too loudly,” Eddie started, unsure where he was going until the words were spilling out, “But I still loved so much. Everything. Dungeons and dragons, art, theatre, math on a good day. I just didn’t know how to be quiet about anything I admired. And well, some people didn’t like that, so they tried to shut me up.” Here, Eddie paused for a second as he contemplated something. “I guess, in a way, they won. Because I stopped loving boys out loud, but god, do I love them. Especially pretty ones, like you. But I learned that just because I can’t be loud about it, doesn’t mean I can’t do it. So I did it from a distance. Never straying too close. It’s a bit like loving the stars, y’know. Or how a sailor loves the sea,” he paused, smiling softly, “in the way photographers love a sunset. With my entire being and no expectations to be admired, to be loved, back. You don’t look at the ocean and expect it to look back at you.” He ended his ramble, trailing off and feeling his cheeks heating up. He said a bit mire than he meant to. Well, he supposed, he was never really meant to love quietly.

Eddie opened his eyes when a hand touched his cheek, not realizing he closed them. His eyes met Steve’s, who was looking back at him so softly, so lovingly, that Eddie was struck with the absurd thought that this is what it must feel like to be admired, to be loved by the ocean in return.

[oatsynalliums]

Mistakes do happen.

//tldr: reader looses a hand, aiden was barely there to catch them

It happened very quickly.

TOO quickly, i might say.

I was opening a crate at first because it had caught my attention, much to my companion, Aidens, dismay.

The next thing I knew, something had jumped out - it took me a few moments to process what had happened but when I did all i felt was pain. Excruciating pain.

All i could do was stare at my hand, or i suppose i should say, lack of hand; whatever had jumped out made a point of removing it completely.

I must have started hyperventilating- struggling to breathe, because I remember Aiden trying to ask me something although I couldn't hear him over the sound of my thoughts and rapidly rising heart beat; I remember him sounding concerned though.

The next thing I remember is me trying to take a few steps back, and losing my balance and falling - I expected to hit the hard floor but I was surprised to land on something soft. Aiden must have hurried over at this point due to my lack of responses because I had fallen onto his lap. He was kneeling.

There are holes in my memory so i don't remember too much but i DO remember getting picked up, i believe they call it a bridal carry? I'm unsure, but I do know that my head was on his chest because I am very certain I heard his heartbeat - it was calming, I barely remember falling asleep. Most likely due to blood loss.

I woke up a little while after this, maybe a few hours. I could barely hear or see anything for the first few minutes, but when I did finally come too I took the time to look around.

I was in the security office, on the couch covered by Aidens vest; he must've not been able to find anything else. I did take note of my arm, which was patched quite well; with a lot of care - I bet it was aiden.

The next thing I noticed was the smell of the room. I know this smell - it was vanilla. I remember Aiden asking about what smell I liked the most, I never expected him to remember it, though.

I must've been making a little too much noise because I heard movement. I looked over to where I heard it to watch aiden sit up, I took a few seconds to examine him and sure enough it was my aiden - the one with the cracked lens. He looked horrible as a light way to put it, i could see how exhausted he was by the way he sat up and looked around drowsily.

It took him a moment to wake up fully, but when he did he got up almost immediately and rushed over to my side, he must've seen I was up.

He said a lot of things at once, talking over himself as he looked me over to make sure I was relatively unharmed while he was sleeping, calming down enough to sit on the edge of the couch next to me - visibly worried though.

I sighed, reaching my one good hand over to cup the bottom of his head, moving it to face me - making eye contact with his lens, speaking in a low voice akin to one you'd use for a scared animal;

‘’ aiden, aiden.. See, im fine, neither of us would've known it was there - you patched me up really well, i'm still here and well, aren't i?’’

That didn't seem to sway him though, it only made him more upset, causing him to lift out of my hand as to not hurt me before looking away; grabbing onto his sleeve and messing with it. I have noticed that he does that when he gets nervous, it's very cute.

I would sit there to think a bit, moving onto my knees to lean over him - which startled the other a considerable amount.

‘’Aiden, you know it isn't your fault, i should've listened to you when you told me not to wander off’’ i spoke, with certainty - receiving a response that was low, barely above a whisper

‘’I should have been over there with you, though - to make sure that didn't happen, like I promised..’’ he stopped a bit suddenly, i could tell his voice was wavering - he was about to cry.

I took a minute to examine him before I exhaled, shuffling a bit and getting off the couch; of course this got aiden attention, mostly him trying to get me to sit back down because I was still incredibly dizzy from the bloodloss.

I was stubborn though, he always did call me that.

I handed him back his vest, to which he slipped back over his shoulders, before having him sit further back onto the couch so i wasn't worried he was about to fall off; i then sat back with him, i had his full attention now.

‘’Aiden, big guy, im fine, neither of us could have been prepared for it, like, at all - and you WERE there, you caught me, i remember that’’ i spoke, taking a pause ‘’ you did what you could, whatever took my hand ran off afterwards as to not have anymore conflict, it probably didn't mean too’’ the last sentence got a skeptical look out of him, which made me chuckle a little bit - causing him to turn away, probably embarrassed.

‘’What i'm saying is -’’ i started to speak again ‘’ don't beat yourself up over it, thats other entities jobs, you'll put them out of work’’ i snickered a bit, gently punching his shoulder

‘’ [y/n], please don't say such things,’’ he responded, looking over to me - visibly embarrassed.

‘’And why shouldn't i? I'm right.’’

‘’ goodness, you really are headstrong, aren't you?’’

‘’ maybe, but you like that about me, don't you?’’ I retorted, teasing. - of which it got a snort out of the latter.

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he leaned over and pulled me into a hug, firm yet gentle; like I would break any further if he was too harsh - the hug didn't last long before he pulled away, reaching somewhere and pulling an almond water over. He opened it before handing it to me, knowing I would have had a problem with the task, he was very sweet.

I took a much needed drink of it, sure - it was a bit weird to be watched while you drank but i became used to it, it was just aiden after all. My aiden.

‘’Sweetheart, are you feeling any better?’’ he asked, the sentence take a moment to register

‘’Sweetheart?’’

‘’Im sorry, it just sli-’’

‘’SWEETHEART?’’

[waywardsalt]

anyways. holding linebeck gently

[byanyan]

the way byan displays and accepts affection differing between literally every single person they interact with... it's hitting me tonight

[boobchuy]

It’s interesting to see people say that it’s easier to imagine fanfic scenarios for the trio than the Plantars, b/c the wacky adventures in S1 were what inspired my interest in fanfic in the first place: it felt like a sandbox where anything crazy could happen. Also, I guess I connected more to the family aspect of the Plantars than the trio since I didn’t have any friends that were that close growing up- I related more to the heartbreak of Spranne separating than Marcy leaving her friends.

Funny u should say this bc I was thinking about it in my own case a couple days ago, wherein, I am more likely to write a fic about calamity trio than the plantars, and that's because I'd rather draw my fic ideas w the frogs- bc I am shit w drawing sasharcy lmfao. The only con about that is that both of these, whether drawing or writing, takes hell of a lot of time.

Moreover, I guess it's easier to brainstorm or fill the in-between w the girls bc they have a lot of untapped potential! and that's what I do w the plantars in my comics too :)

[tu-es-gegg]

Sometimes I feel like I peaked with my Snow fic and then also peaked with Someone Else's Name

[whomturgled]

yrkeby4ur8

[candyunicornsateme]

uuggh listening to smth new and almost immediately adding it to my k2 playlist and just internally reeling.... REELING... you ever have those moments,...

[sapsolais]

/

[wnbnny]

we can't be friends - l.mh

genre: idol!minho x reader, lovers to exes to lovers

tw: angst, hurt, breaking up, erasing of memories (almost) , mutual pining, did i mention angst, reader is kinda depressed, like two kisses ig

status: delivered !

word count: 4.0k

author's note: aaaa omd it's finally done >< reblogs + likes are appreciated!!

lee minho. your muse, your life, your heart.

he broke your heart one stormy sunday night and you hated him as you watched him leave with tears in both of your eyes.

granted, he did break your heart for your own good, to save you from the dangers of being with him. but you didn't care, not when he was your universe, your world. you would gladly take a bullet for him.

just as he would take a bullet for you.

minho knew leaving would break you, just as much as it would break him, but he needed to do it. life as an idol was already dangerous enough with all the death threats and saesangs, but the moment 'fans' caught even the slightest whiff of you they would hunt you down and hurt you, and minho simply couldn't let that happen. he knew you wouldn't care about all the danger as long as you were with him, but he did. minho would never forgive himself if something happened to you all because he had given in to his innermost wants and kept you by his side.

so he left.

november 8th, 2019, 8.46 pm.

"i want to break up." he said, one sunday night. the rain was pouring outside, flashes of thunder and lightning ringing through the sky occasionally. in the quiet and comfort of your shared apartment, with the dim glow of lamps illuminating your features, in that moment, for a split second, minho wanted to stay. he wanted to pretend everything was alright, to have you stay by his side and be happy together, but he knew he shouldn't. the two of you were eating dinner, sitting at the small round dining table in your kitchen tucking into your homemade kimchi stew. god, he would miss your kimchi stew, he thought miserably. 

"what?" your world felt like it had stopped, your hand frozen in place as you slowly tilted your head to look at your boyfriend sitting across from you.

"i... want to break up." he repeated robotically.

"minho, where is this coming from? did i do something wrong? please... just talk to me," you begged, panic starting to flood your mind as tears threatened to spill over. you couldn't believe what he had just said. the both of you had been perfectly fine before, the both of you were happy, why was he doing this? were you not good enough for him? did he fall in love with someone else? the thought alone made you weak.

"i just... it's for the best. i'm putting you in danger every day, fans will hurt you if they find out i'm with you. i can't let that happen."

"i don't care if they try to hurt me, minho. as long as i'm with you, it’s- " you reached for his hand, and could feel your heart finally sinking to the bottom as you saw his face, screwed into an expression of hurt and resignation as he shook his head.

"just... don't forget me in the future, okay?" before you could say anything, minho was already out of his seat, grabbing his coat and his phone, already reaching for the front door.

"wait! minho-" you jumped out of your seat in alarm and desperation, clinging to his arm as he looked back at you with a pained expression. 

"please- we can work this out, just don't leave me," you pleaded, tears already cascading down your face. you must've looked a pathetic mess in that moment, sniffling and sobbing, yet minho still thought you were the most beautiful person to ever exist as he memorised your face for one last time.

finally, minho turned around, cupping your face in his hands. your hands reached up to hold his, as he memorised your every detail for the last time. minho's lips found their way to your forehead, then the corner of your eyes, then your lips as he kissed you tenderly for the last time as you sobbed in his arms.  

"i'm sorry." he whispered, before pushing you back as you cried out and stumbled backwards, opening the door, walking out of the apartment and out of your life.

december 25th, 2019, 11.28 pm. 

your diary.

i still think of you, you know. i still see your face in the windows of that cafe shop we used to go to whenever i pass by. i know you're not in there, and i'm hallucinating. i can't go in there anymore, not without thinking of you. i can't even watch the television anymore without having to see your face. listened to your new comeback. that song was about me, wasn't it? 

it's christmas now. i adopted some presents for you. you would love them, the three cats. i named them soongie, doongie, and dori. quite fitting, they're playful like you. they'll never meet their father. i still wore your hoodie, the green one i always wore every christmas. you used to wear my red hoodie, but i guess you won't be here to wear it anymore. it still smells like you. 

i still wonder why you left. was such a pathetic excuse as me potentially being hurt the only reason why you would leave me? you knew i didn't care if i was hurt, so long as i was with you. you still left. i hate you for that, but deep down i could never hate you. i still love you.

january 7th, 2020, 2.35 pm.

you strolled down the busy streets of seoul, a long oversized fluffy coat resting on your shoulders and your nose pink from the cold. a sigh of relief escaped your lips when you finally stepped foot into the cozy ambience of a random cafe alongside the road, the warm air blowing gently at you helping to relieve the coldness settling into your bones. ordering a latte and a small cake which were promptly delivered to your table, you settled down to scroll through the news.

new technology developed, scientists say new machinery can effectively target and erase memories of specific people and objects. is now being offered at multiple mental health clinics nationwide at a low cost, guaranteed 90% success rate. for sign-ups and further information, please contact...

you raised your eyebrows at the news, marvelling slightly at how advanced technology seemed to be developing at this rate. thinking nothing of it, you simply continued scrolling.

january 7th, 2020, 12.02 pm.

you sighed as you flopped onto your bed, tired from a day of work and countless emails sent. feeling a warm, soft head poke it's way under your arm, you smiled softly, hand reaching out to scratch doongie's head as he meowed in content. smiling softly, you felt two large lumps jump onto your bed and settle on you, soongie choosing to settle on your feet and dori choosing to burrow his way under you arm as you giggled. 

"soongie, you're so heavy," you laughing light-heartedly as your oldest cat let out a 'meow' of indignation at your words. 

minho would love the cats so much...

your smile drooped, feeling that warm familiar sensation pricking at your eyes again. 

god, how stupid. it had been two months already and you were still hung up on him. everywhere you went, you saw his face, on advertisments at the bus stop, billboards in the shopping districts, to even advertisments on youtube, and every single time your old memories with minho would surface and you would miss him again.

memories...

oh. the news of the memory erasure experiment.

would it hurt to try? you tried imagining forgetting minho. for him to just be another face on the billboard, a random k-pop idol to you. to forget you had ever even loved him and forget that he ever loved you. the pain would be gone. your heart would no longer ache each day, you would no longer think of him and he would no longer cloud your mind.

picking up your phone, your finger hovered above the 'call' button.

"hello? this is the seoul medical psychiatry clinic speaking. how may i help you?"

"i..." you paused, gnawing at your bottom lip.

"i would like to make an appointment."

january 19th, 2020, 1.28 pm.

"welcome! do you have a booked appointment?" the receptionist greeted cheerfully as you stepped into the reception and seating area of the clinic, a large box full of items in your hands. the hallways were filled with posters and quotes, the beanbags and seats painted in warm and soothing colours. 

"yes, doctor kim at 1.35pm." you answered, watching as the receptionist typed a few words into her computer.

"ah yes, under the name yoon y/n, right?" she clicked her tongue, "for... memory erasure?" she glanced at you with a look full of sympathy, as if you were some lost wounded puppy. 

"yes." you confirmed, lips pursing together slightly as you stared down at the box.

"good, and you've got your box of items already. do double check to make sure they are linked to that specific person only, we wouldn't want any erasure of other memories woth different people."

you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"yeah, i have." 

"great, we'll be calling for you later, the doctor will run you through the procedure and then the operation will commence. take a seat first," she gestured to the seating area. not long after, you heard your name.

"yoon y/n?" 

you hurriedly stood up, making your way towards the nurse and following her into the operation room. the operation room was white and cold, lacking any warmth and colour, filled with odd looking machinery and lab coats and tools. you were sat down on a chair, and your box of items given to the nurse who began taking them out one by one while another nurse attached a few wires to your skin to a machine on the right which measured your heart rate, a steady thump-thump-thump. the first nurse began to place your items in a row, scanning each one under a machine.

beep.

minho's green hoodie.

beep.

the snow globe the both of you had bought together at a winter festival.

beep.

polariods of you and him.

beep.

a cat plushie you had gifted him in celebration of his lastest comeback before he had left.

beep.

matching mugs the two of you had bought.

minho. everything, everywhere, everyone reminded you of minho. it felt like you were drowning, consumed by him.

"alright, i'll be placing the device on your head. the device will take you through individual memories of the person, but you will have to re-experience certain bigger core memories again as those take a longer time to process. if at any point should you feel distressed or want to stop, please press the red button beside you, and should you want to restore your memories we will reload them back into your brain. however, if you choose not to restore the memories, we will automatically delete them after 30 days." the doctor explained, showing you a strange contraption with two pulse points connecting to either side of your temple.

beside you, the heart rate measured by the machine started beeping faster.

you nodded. 

the cold, tingly terminals of the device connected with either side of your temples, the unfamiliar feeling odd and alienating. 

then all turned black.

"min! look, they have matching mugs! we should get them," you pointed excitedly to two mugs at a stall in a summer fair you and minho had just happened to pass by. you watched as your old self pointed to the mugs happily, "the world's best boyfriend" and "the world's best girlfriend" written on each mug respectively. "that's so cheesy," minho said, a grin on his face as he pulled you close to him by your waist. well, the old minho in your memories. it felt like a punch in the gut yet the cure to your pain as you stared at his face again in your re-lived memory, his oh-so-familar grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face. "yeah, but it's cute!" you exclaimed, turning to face minho. "pleaseeee," you begged, lips downturned in a pout and your eyes shining hopefully as you tugged on his arm. "fine," minho groans, eventually giving in into your request, feigning annoyace by rolling his eyes yet still smiling at your delighted expression. 

god, you missed him so much.

the memory shifted, warping into another blurry picture.

this time, it was another memory that faded in, a memory of you and him sitting in the living room unwrapping your christmas presents. minho tore open his box eagerly, laughing as he held up a green hoodie from his favorite brand gifted to him by you, coupled with some other things like perfume and a brand new wallet. "oops... might've gifted you an accidental matching hoodie by accident," he smiled sheepishly, as you opened your present, some jewelry with . "a red hoodie! now we can match," you snickered, pulling the soft hoodie over your head and slipping it on. "hey, we look like the christmas colours!" you laughed, pouncing on him and tackling him down to make him wear his one as he whined in protest. eventually you did managed to get him to put it on and pose for some pictures, albeit him being disgruntled but still giving in to you anyways.

a tear trickled down your face, landing on your lap as your hands on the chair tightened, gripping the armrests so hard your knuckles started turning white.

the memory started to fade away.

"min! the new comeback was so good, i watched the music video just now," you exclaimed, bounding up to him the moment he opened the front door to your shared apartment. "thanks baby," he smiled, leaning in for a quick peck but suddenly finding a soft plushie being thrust into his hands. it was a plush of a brown and white striped cat, soft to the touch and extremely squishable. "what's this for?" he raised eyebrow, cocking his head in confusion as he stared at you. "it's to celebrate your comeback, I figured i'd give you something to cuddle when i'm not around you," you smiled, "i named the cat mr sprinkles." "who names a plush toy mr sprinkles?" minho laughs, watching as you huff at him about how the name was cute and he was being mean. "thank you though, i appreciate it," he kissed you softly, smiling at the small act of love.

no, stop-

you started to whimper and thrash around.

fade to black again.

"min, look," minho turned to you as you were admiring the ornaments at a booth, the both of you coming across a christmas market and deciding to explore it. "it's a snow globe of us," you pointed out to a small snow globe, with a man and women as figurines in the center of the snow globe and fake snow swirling in the water around them. "it does look like us, doesn't it?" he hummed, pressing a soft kiss into your hair as you subconsciously leaned into him. "we should get it," he suggested, smiling at how your eyes lit up and how you pressed a kiss to his cheek. the two of you purchased the item, and then bought some hot chocolate to sip on to relieve the cold setting into your bones. "jagi-ah," minho called, prompting you to look up at him before gasping in surprise. the first snow of the season. "you know, they say the person you witness the first snow with will be with you for a long, long time." minho grinned, leaning down to kiss you tenderly before intertwining your hands. 

you didn't want to forget him, you realized, as you gasped for air, heartbeat skyrocketing as you tried to open your mouth to scream. no, you would never want to forget minho. you would rather cling onto those memories and deal with the pain forever than never having remembered him.

the memory faded.

you gasped in surprise as you ripped open the box, holding up a brand-new, shiny polariod camera wrapped in a gift box, its paper shreds used to cushion the camera hapazardly strewn about the floor.  minho watched you with a small smile on his face, eyes sparkling as he happily obliged to any pose you wanted to do with him, groaning half-heartedly but still laughing at the silly faces you made.

the memory started to fade again.

"STOP!" your finger found the red button, desperately pressing it in an attempt to get the machine to start working. all of a sudden, you were jolted back into your consciousness in the middle of the white sterile room again, heaving and gasping for air as you tried to adjust back to the surroundings. 

"are you okay? do you need to stop the operation?" the nurse asked, a concerned look on her face. beside you, the machine was beeping, a erratic rhythm.

beep. beep. beep. beep.

your hand reached up to fiddle with your necklace, looking left and right. you swallowed, a lump in your throat.

"yes."

----------

you stumbled out the clinic, hands clutching onto the box of items tightly as your eyes adjusted to the bright light of the sun. 

hands shaking, you pulled out your phone.

'my love,' the contact at the top of the screen read. you hadn't called him in months, ever since he had broken up with you. you has tried for a few weeks, but day after day of missed calls was heartbreaking.

you pressed the button.

one ring.

two rings.

three rings.

four rings...

"hello?"

a voice you hadn't heard for months. a voice you had only been hearing in your dreams.

"minho-" a strangled sob left your lips.

"please." you could only force out a choked plea, tears falling rapidly, stumbling onto a nearby bench. people started at you as they walked by, a woman breaking down in a random street in seoul oddly disconcerting.

"where are you? i'll come get you." the moment you heard the concern laced in his voice, your eyes brimmed with more unshed tears, stifling a sob that threatened to escape. in the background, you could hear the sound of things being knocked over, presumably minho rushing to get to you.

you told him your location in between shaky breaths, occasional hiccups interrupting your sentence. 

"just wait for me, ok? don't move anywhere," minho firmly instructed, voice soft and calming.

a few minutes passed, and he was nowhere to be found.

he would hate you for this, you realized. you didn't deserve him. he tried so hard to keep you safe, and how did you repay him? by almost erasing all memories of him. the thought of it just broke your heart even more, for if he knew what you had tried to do he would never want to have anything to do with you again.

"y/n!" you heard a voice yell, whipping around only to see minho running to you at full speed.  you had never been more glad to see him, your knees instantly buckling as you collapsed into his arms, crying into the crook of his neck as you clutched onto him like a lifeline. 

you didn't think you would ever get used to this feeling, you thought. his touch, warmth, his gentle strokes of your hair and whispered sweet nothings were like music to your ears, his hand coming up to rest on your back and his other coming up to gently stroke your hair as he swayed you back and forth. he had clearly just ran from dance practice, you realized, slightly sweaty and panting ever so slightly. 

"what's wrong, jagi?" he murmured, soft brown eyes searching your own red and teary ones.

"i- i didn't want to remember you because it was too painful, and then i tried to erase my memories of you, but i realized i didn't want to and i really, really, really fucking miss you and it hurts-" your rambling was cut off by a hiccup, lips quivering as you stared back into his eyes.

here comes the part where he realizes your a disgusting bitch and hates you forever, you thought miserably.

"shh, it's ok," minho pulled you closer, engulfing you in his warmth as his hand rose up to cup your cheek.

what?

he was supposed to hate you, not do... this. you literally tried to erase all memories of him, he should be angry and offended, so why...?

nonetheless, you would take what you could get in what you assumed to be your last moments with him, so instead you leaned into his touch, memorising his every detail again. his soft brown eyes framed with delicate lashes, sharp nose and jawline, the pink rosy tint to his cheeks as the winter wind whipped around you.

"i'm sorry," you begged, "just don't hate me."

"i never did, silly." minho laughed softly, a wistful smile gracing his lips.

"but you left me." you said, confused.

"i left you because i loved you. it was just for your own safety, i didn't care about anything else," minho explained, brows furrowing slightly.

oh.

minho stumbled backwards as you crashed into him with a force, nearly knocking him over as you crashed your lips onto his, hands threading through his soft silky hair and teeth knocking against his. it was a heated, messy kiss, teeth clashing and tears streaming down your face, yet minho didn't seem to mind as he deepened the kiss with a fervour, all seeming to pour out of him, pain and regret, relief and want. it is only when you seperate with a gasping breath of air that you finally see his swollen, reddened lips.

“i’ll figure something out, i’ll talk to the company, make a statement or something- i won’t let anyone get to you, i promise,” he rambled, a giddy smile on his face. right now, minho could care less about the repercussions, even if he had to move mountains just to be by your side and keep you safe at the same time. 

you giggled, an infectious laugh bubbling out of you. the both of you, crying in the middle of a street, hands intertwined and both a mess, yet you had never been happier with the person you truly loved. 

“we'll be alright now.” you whispered. it wasn’t just a statement but a promise, one to keep forever.

december 25th, 2020, 1.43 pm.

“min! come look!” you squealed in delight, eyes lighting up when you were finally done. minho glanced over, and sure enough, you were up to mischief again, the three cats dressed in ugly christmas sweaters with cartoonish designs on them and matching hats on their heads. doongie let out a ‘meow’ of indignation, protesting as minho roared with laughter to scoop him and his fellow cats up. laughter bubbling out of your lips, you quickly grabbed your phone to take a picture of minho and the three cats, his face lighting up in amusement as he watched them try to squirm out of his grasp. 

“i love you, you know that?” minho says that night, the two of you cuddled up on the couch with the cats, watching your favourite seasonal christmas movies together and snacking on popcorn.

“i don’t say it enough, partly because i’m not good at expressing myself, but i love you. your smile and personality and everything. just thought you should know.” the tips of his ears are red as he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

you smile, a red tint blossoming across your cheeks as you lean in to kiss him softly.

“i love you too min.” 

how did you ever get so lucky? you think, leaning in to rest your head on minho’s shoulder as you resumed watching the movie, one hand absentmindedly scratching dori’s head as he purrs in contentment. here, in the dim light of the cozy apartment with minho, love heavy in the air around you two and christmas lights twinkling merrily, you think you have everything you have ever wanted in life.

after all, it didn't really matter where you were, as long as minho was by your side.

taglist: @starseungs @missmajdastark @jazziwritesthings @layviyu @lailac13 @ana-marais98 @foxinthewild @dandelions-143 @rylea08 @linocz @minseongsworld @realrintaro @kkamismon12 @felinows @baribaaari

[itsbeeble]

Enchanted

Summary: You lost each other once, holding out in hopes of crossing paths again. It's almost fate that you do, and Wonwoo doesn't want to let you leave him again

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, exes to lovers

Pairing: Idol!jeon Wonwoo x afab!reader

WC: 4.5k (i got REALLY carried away yall im so sorry)

Series Masterlist

18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

WARNINGS UNDER CUT

Warnings: hurt comfort, ex high school sweethearts to lovers, mentions of someone trying to get a little too touchy feely with reader so if you aren't comfortable, don't read it (nothing bad happens AT ALL, the guy is just a dumbass, but i figured i would put a warning for all of you), unprotected sex, making out, fingering, choking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, begging, kinda dom/sub themes again, mentions of drinking, swearing, marking, spanking, Wonwoo likes boobs, sexual tension, mentions of chemistry, idk there's a lot so let me know if i missed something important

Listen to Enchanted by Taylor Swift <3

A/N: Guys i wrote this all today/last night and i'm really proud of it. It's also the first smut fic that's like...i wouldn't call it intense but it's more than what I'm used to ig. I hope yall like it though <3. Also thank you to Fawn for beta reading again. teehee

You had always hated gatherings: holidays, work events, family reunions, weddings, you name it. You always hated being the only person there without a partner. Not that you felt the need to have one, but it got annoying when you got the same questions over and over and over again.

When are you going to settle down and marry a nice boy?

Your parents aren’t getting any younger, don’t you want them to have some grandkids?

What are you waiting for?

The truth is, you had the answer to only one of those questions. What were you waiting for?

It has to be some stroke of luck when the answer walks right through the door to your high school reunion decked in an all-black suit and the same nerdy glasses he’d had his whole life. 

Jeon Wonwoo. Your high school sweetheart turned drunk sob story to your best friends after a few too many cocktails. 

It’s ironic how the root of all of your relationship problems just so happens to hate your guts. Not that you blamed him for it. Everything that happened between the two of you, everything that went wrong in your relationship was because of you and your insecurities. Because you didn’t trust that the idol life wouldn’t ruin the two of you. If you were him, you’d cut contact and disappear as well.

Eunchae, your best friend from high school, nudges your arm, her eyes flicking between you and the man who hasn’t spotted your wide-eyed stare. 

“Did you know he was coming today?” She whispers harshly, jerking you out of your dumbstruck trance. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, awfully reminiscent of a goldfish.

“I— no, no I didn’t.” You feel out of breath, your heart beginning to pound against your ribs so hard that you fear the bones might snap. “Hana said that— that he didn’t RSVP.” 

You look up again, and your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s looking at you, through the crowd of people around him. Wonwoo had his eyes locked on you, his gaze unreadable from where you stood. It feels like he’s cast an enchantment on you, freezing you under the weight of his gaze. 

Your hands are shaking, and the drink in your hand almost spills before Eunchae grabs you. Someone steps in front of Wonwoo— a man, from here you can’t tell who— and your view of him is cut off.

You don’t see him try to gently nudge the man to the side while talking to him, trying to get a better look at you. You don’t see the disappointment when he finally gets him to move and you’re gone, out of his view. 

~

“Wonwoo,” one of his old friends, whose name has slipped his mind (Seonkyung maybe?), claps him on the shoulder. “You really have grown up, huh?” Wonwoo smiles politely, adjusting the expensive watch on his wrist. 

“I mean seriously,” another man comes forward, someone Wonwoo knows very well and for all the wrong reasons. Lee Jongdae, the man who planted seeds of doubt in your ear. The man who ruined something good, something that would have lasted. “You used to be like,” Jongdae raises his hand, waving it flat in the air next to his shoulder, “this tall? And now you’re a giant!”

“You must be getting all the girls, eh?” Seonkyung teases. Wonwoo wants to scream, wants to get out of this situation as fast as possible. “The idol life must make things easy, right?” 

“I don’t really go out much,” he shrugs, still holding that polite smile on his face. “The idol life is busier than you think.” Seonkyung scoffs at this. Jongdae narrows his eyes, but the near-mocking smile returns to his face.

“Come on~” Jongdae presses, “there’s gotta be some idol woman that you’ve snatched up. Someone has to have grabbed the attention of the great Jeon Wonwoo.” 

He hesitates. Yes, someone has grabbed his attention but it isn’t another idol in the industry. 

“Or, wait,” Jongdae’s hand collides with Wonwoo’s chest, something similar to malice appearing in his eyes. “Are you still hung up on that Y/N girl?”

Wonwoo goes rigid, and beside him Seonkyung gets quiet. Jongdae bursts into laughter, the sound ringing around the room and gathering the attention of a lot of people. Wonwoo feels his jaw tick in annoyance, fighting the urge to roll his eyes or knock the man to the ground. 

“No way are you still hung up on her!” Jongdae huffs out between laughs, seemingly uncaring that he’s the only one laughing. “Ten years, and you’re still going after someone who couldn’t care less about you anymore?”

Someone inside of Wonwoo breaks a little bit. Something inside him cracks, and his resolve crumbles slightly. He hadn’t expected the jab to hurt as much as it did, but god did it sting. 

“I never said I was hung up on her.” Wonwoo folds his arms over his chest. “Like you said, it’s been ten years. If she’s moved on then that’s her business.” 

“So it wouldn’t bother you if I got with her?” Jongdae takes a step forward, an eyebrow arching in challenge. “Because I won’t lie to you, she’s looking good.”

Wonwoo’s jaw ticks again, but he keeps a pleasant smile on his lips. Don’t say yes, don’t say yes. “Like I said, not my business.” 

That clearly isn’t the answer Jongdae is looking for, and a puff of pride fills Wonwoo. 

And then dread. He just gave the one man he would hate to see you with permission to do whatever he wanted. “Permission”, as if he has any control or say in the things, or people, that you do. 

~

When Jongdae approaches you, there’s an immediate pit of despair in your stomach, like some princess waiting to be saved from the tower she’d been locked in. There’s a menacing look in his eyes, and he walks with a swagger telling you that he’s used to getting what he wants out of a situation. 

“Hi, gorgeous.” You almost cringe at the first words out of his mouth, your lips twisting into an awkward, tense smile. 

“Hi…?” 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Jongdae continues, not waiting for you to say or do anything. He’s only focused on getting what he wants, that much is obvious from the way he smirks and glances around to find…someone. Who, you aren’t sure. “You sure have…grown up a bit, haven’t you?” 

“I mean…yeah I’m 27. I would hope I’ve grown up a bit.” He laughs a bit too hard for something you hadn’t intended to be funny. 

“Say,” he leans closer to you, and you press yourself back against the wall. His hand comes to rest on the side of your thigh, right near the slit in your dress. “Why don’t we get out of here? You know, go somewhere a little bit more…quiet? Maybe Mrs. Ji’s old chemistry lab?” 

Your body is tense, and you try to pull away from him. 

“No, thank you.” Your hand tightens around the small plastic cup of cheap wine in your hand. “I think I’m fine where I am.”

“C’mon, don’t you wanna loosen up a bit?” He coos, and his grip tightens on part of your dress. Your body tenses.

Then his grip was gone, and his body is hitting the floor, and people were beginning to surround you and Jongdae and…Wonwoo? 

Wonwoo is standing next to you, his black jacket seemingly gone, and the sleeves of his black button-up are rolled up to his elbows. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pulled into a thin line. 

“What the hell was that for, Jeon?” Jongdae pulls himself to his feet, trying to approach him, but another man steps forward. “Thought you said it wasn’t your business?”

“It wasn’t,” Wonwoo agrees, “but that was only until you tried to do that.” 

Something about Wonwoo being this protective over you, even after what you did, makes your stomach twist into knots. You have to remind yourself that he’s just doing this because he had to. Because this is what anyone would do, and your heart sinks into your stomach. 

“We were just trying to have some fun,” Jongdae snaps, “right Y/N?”

Wonwoo looks at you, and when you return his gaze it’s like you’re back in high school again. 

Do you want to leave? His head tilts ever so slightly toward the door. 

Get me out of here. You hope your eyes are portraying that thought perfectly, but the tight smile on your ex’s lips tells you all you need to know. 

“She’s not going anywhere with you, Lee Jongdae.” Wonwoo’s hand finds its way to the small of your back, and you find yourself tucking your body into his side just like you used to. 

Only this time, it’s like you fit perfectly under his arm. His very…very…very muscular arm and slim waist and when your arm wraps into the back of his shirt, you can just barely feel the tight muscles and—

Oh god, you’re gonna do something you shouldn’t if the two of you don’t leave right now. 

You’re lucky that Wonwoo is able to guide you away, and that Jongdae doesn’t try to come after the two of you. You figured that, while the man was stupid, he wasn’t going to try and harm someone making more than triple his annual income and with enough power to ruin his life with just one click of a button. Probably literally. 

~

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo has his hands wrapped around the headrest of the driver’s seat in his car, watching you as you pick at the skin around your manicured nails. You turn your head to look at him, pursing your lips. 

“I mean…I guess? He didn’t really do anything, thank god.” You let your hands drop to your lap and a heavy sigh escapes you when you let your head fall against your headrest. 

“I’m sorry that he did that.” Wonwoo’s voice is gravelly, and you have to take a moment to calm yourself before speaking.

“It isn’t like it’s your fault. You do know that, right?” Wonwoo shrugs.

“It kind of is, though. The only reason he went up to you is because of me. Because he wanted to get under my skin.” Oh? You arch an eyebrow, turning your body to face him. The slit in your dress shifts ever so slightly, exposing your bare thigh. Wonwoo turns his head away from you, his cheeks heating. 

“Why would he want to do that?” In your heart, you already know. The way the two of you easily slipped back into your old habits, the way he didn’t even hesitate to help you despite protesting that anyone would have done it. You knew, now, that he didn’t hate you. You just wanted him to admit it. 

Wonwoo lets out a heavy sigh and rolls his head to look at you. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” You nod, leaning your body across the center console to get close to him. You can tell he’s nervous, maybe embarrassed. 

“You know me, Wonwoo. I always get what I want.” You grin and Wonwoo turns to look at you again and suddenly you’re aware that you aren’t dating him anymore. That it’s weird for you to be that close to him. 

Your smile drops and you sink back into your seat. Wonwoo watches you, a frown replacing his previous smile. 

“I’m— I’m so sorry.” You press yourself as close to your door as possible. “I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Wonwoo fights the itch in his brain that tells him to grab your hand and place a kiss on the back of it. He hadn’t realized just how enchanted with you he was until he saw you across the room for the first time in ten years. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed having you pulled against his side, although you fit much better now that he’d filled out and grown into his body. Wonwoo hadn’t missed the way your breathing hitched when he pulled you against him, hadn’t missed the dazed look in your eye when he looked down to ensure that you weren’t hurt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I just— I shouldn’t have touched you like that—” 

“Y/N,” Wonwoo cuts you off. “You did nothing that I didn’t want you to do.” Your mouth snaps shut, and you look at him with wide eyes. He takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “I…I still— fuck this is harder than I thought it would be. For a songwriter, you would think I’d know how to confess that I’m still enchanted by you.” He laughs nervously, and when he turns to look at you, you’re smiling gently. You understand.

You stay quiet and then turn to him again. He’s facing you too, and your faces are inches apart. 

“I was enchanted by you too, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

And then your lips are on his, and it’s a searing kiss that leaves him breathless from the moment it starts. His hand rises to your cheek, gently pulling you even closer to him. Your hands wrap around the fabric of his shirt, and you whine when his tongue hesitantly prods at the seam of your lips. 

You open your mouth for him, and his hand slides to tangle in your hair and pull you impossibly closer, nearly across the center console. He roams your mouth, his tongue licking at every inch, sliding against your own as if this was the last time he’d ever be able to kiss you. Your hand slides down, tracing down to his tie, then to his abdomen and you can feel the muscles tightening wherever your nails trace. 

Your hand trails even lower, and you feel him freeze against you when you place your hand over his crotch. He forces himself to pull his lips from yours, a string of spit connecting your tongues, and his eyes flutter shut again when your hand squeezes lightly around his hard-on. 

“Don’t do this to me,” he pleads. “I’m supposed to be a gentleman.” You smirk, raising your lips to his ear. 

“What if I don’t want you to be?” A gentle kiss was placed to the corner of his jaw, and his grip on your hair tightened to the point of near painful. This draws a whimper out of you, right in his ear. He pulls you back, not harshly but enough for your jaw to drop. 

“Tell me you’re sure,” he practically begs. “Tell me that this isn’t going to be a one-time thing, that you want me as much as I want you. Tell me that you aren’t in love with someone else, that there’s no one waiting for you at home.” 

Tell me you love me.

Your hand slips to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing just under his eye. 

“You know that you’ve always been it for me, Jeon Wonwoo.” You promise, and your lips are against his again. It’s sweeter than the first but still filled with ten years of words left unsaid. “Take me home.”

~

The moment Wonwoo locks the door to his apartment, you’re pressed against the wall with so much force you’re surprised there isn’t a hole in the shape of your body. His hands are on your hips, your thighs, your shoulders, and your chest. Every time he pulls away from your lips, he catches one between his teeth, nipping at the soft flesh before shifting his focus to your neck.

“Wonwoo,” your voice is shaking, your hand tangled in the dark strands of his once neatly styled hair. “Wonwoo, please?” Another hickey blooms across your neck, another on your shoulder, then your collarbone. 

“Please what, baby?” He rasps, tugging the strap of your dress to the side until it slips down your shoulder and exposes more of your breast. “What do you need from me?” He slides the other strap down, and you gasp when his cold hands reach up and grab at the soft mounds on your chest. 

“Wonwoo— Wonwoo, I—” Your brain has gone to mush the moment his mouth lands on your nipple, sucking at it and nipping at the bud. You breathe out soft moans, your hands struggling to move to the back of your dress to reach for the zipper. 

It’s impossible to function with Wonwoo flicking his tongue against one nipple, his fingers kneading and twisting and pinching at the other. Your hands shake as you finally catch the zipper, yanking it down as quickly, yet gently, as possible. 

Wonwoo pulls away from your chest, breathing heavily, eyes filled with nothing but lust. He examines your body, entirely nude from your choice to go braless and pantiless tonight, and his cock twitches in his slacks. 

“God, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” He hisses. You peer up at him with eyes so innocent, but you both know that isn’t the case. “Did you know I was gonna be there? Hm?” He grabs your chin in one of his large hands, yanking you toward his face until you’re struggling to even stand on your tip toes. “Did you know that I was gonna give in to you?”

“No— Wonwoo, I didn’t know—” His free hand collides with your ass and you cry out, stumbling toward him. “Fuck, Wonwoo!” His hand strikes your skin again, and a gush of arousal practically drips down your legs. 

“I think you’re lying to me,” he hums thoughtfully. “Lying isn’t nice, you know.”

“I’m not lying— Oh, Wonwoo please—” His free hand has slipped down to your core, delicate fingers brushing against your sopping wet cunt. “Please touch me, please, I need it.” 

“Yeah, baby?” One finger pushes between your folds, and your knees almost buckle. Your nails dig into his biceps, squeezing the taut muscle as he sinks two long, slender fingers into you. “Need it so bad, don’t you? Had you waiting for so long. Did you miss me, baby? Miss this?”

“Missed you so bad, Wonwoo,” you arch your back into him, your hips jerking against his fingers. He slips a third inside of you. “Miss— Missed the way you t-touched me.” He hums, curling his fingers up into you and you emit a desperate cry of his name. “Right there, Wonwoo! Fu—fuck, right there!” 

“Tell me how much you missed me, pretty girl.” He continues to curl his fingers inside of you, watching you and enamored by the way your eyes roll back, the way your jaw is dropped, and the way your chest heaves. “Tell me how much you need me.” 

“N-Need you so–o bad. No o-one makes me fe-feel this good— oh god,” you clench around his fingers, pulsing and dripping down his wrist. “No one el-se made me c-cum like you d-do.” A swell of pride in his chest, and his thumb presses hard against your clit. You spasm around him, your moans growing louder and higher in pitch. “So close, Wonwoo.”

“It’s okay baby,” he purrs, “you can let go. I’m here now, gonna make you feel good. Gonna make you so good, never gonna have to turn to anyone else again. Just let go.” 

You spasm again, and your body sags as your orgasm rocks through you. Wonwoo has an arm around his waist, his other hand still working his fingers into you and easing you through your high. 

It takes you a few minutes to come down, and by the time you do, Wonwoo has removed his shirt and kicked his shoes off. He’s watching you as you try to step forward, catching you when you stumble. You reach for the button of his slacks and he stops you, smiling when you pout. 

“I’m not fucking you here, baby. You deserve to be fucked in an actual bed.” You let him guide you to his bedroom— correction try to guide you. It’s like you’re addicted to the taste of him, your lips practically gluing themselves to his biceps, licking and biting at the salty skin. You can feel every one of his breaths as he walks, and his pace picks up until he’s flinging open his bedroom door and shoving you in front of him. You stumble a bit, and he pushes you again so you fall face down onto his bed. Wonwoo isn’t far behind you, his body leaning over yours and his hand on the back of your neck and preventing you from pushing yourself up. 

“Do you know how much I missed this? Being able to fuck you wherever, whenever, and however I wanted?” He hisses into your ear, and you feel his free hand slip down your back as he reaches for the button on his pants. His hips keep rolling into yours, and the little grunts and moans that he releases are almost enough to get you to cum again. “Do you know how hard it was to not imagine that I was fucking your sweet little cunt every time I found someone to spend the night with? No one matched up to you, sweet girl. No one got me to cum like you do, got me as hard as you do.” You whine when he kicks your ankles apart, your nails gripping the duvet for dear life. 

When you feel his tip prodding at your entrance, it takes everything in you to not grind into him. He’s breathing heavily into your neck, slowly slipping in. Your body twitches and you fling your hand back, frantically searching for his own to squeeze and distract yourself from the pain of him stretching you out. 

“So tight,” he presses his forehead against the back of your neck, his body shuddering. “Fuck, it’s like nobody has fucked since me.”

“N-nobody else felt as good as you,” you gasp out. “No one could stretch me out like you do. Just fuck me, please.” 

“Gotta let you adjust, baby,” he argues. “Still got about half left.”

You whine again, jerking his arm in front of you and letting your face fall into it. He groans when your teeth sink into his skin, biting and sucking and gasping against him until you feel his hips connect with yours. 

“You ready?” He rubs your back gently, and you frantically nod your head.

“Please, please, please, please—” His hips pull back and you release a guttural moan as he slams his hips into yours. Again and again and again and again. Every thrust sends the tip of cock full force into that soft, pleasurable spot inside of you and it feels so good, and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, and you don’t ask him to. Your mouth has fallen open, a neverending stream of cries and moans and begging leaving your lips.

His hands reach forward, and you feel a finger hook into your mouth on either side. It stings, the stretch of him holding your mouth open, and you feel your back arch, his cock somehow hitting even deeper inside of you. Drool slips down your chin and it’s so nasty but you can’t form the words to stop him. The only things that leave your mouth are nonsensical babbling and you feel Wonwoo begin to rise, taking you with him. One of his hands leaves your mouth and slips down to the base of your throat, and the other’s thumb hooks into your jaw and holds your mouth open. His hand squeezes around your throat, and you squeeze around his cock

“You close, baby?” Wonwoo coos into your ear but you don’t have the brains to form words. Your hips press back into his, one of your hands slipping down to frantically rub at your clit. You’re clenching rapidly around him now, almost in time with when he pulls out of you and you can feel him twitching inside of you. “Gonna cum again?” 

You try to tell him that, yes you’re so close and it feels so good and oh god Wonwoo please—

Your body shudders and a sound similar to a scream escapes you, your free hand gripping his forearm tightly and you can feel the skin tearing beneath your nails but neither of you cares as he pumps white-hot cum deep inside of you. His hips are still rolling, adding to the sensation of his cum inside of you. Your core begins to sting with overstimulation, and you try to pull away from Wonwoo with a whine. He just laughs, his hands settling on your waist and lowering you down onto the bed once his cock has softened. 

~

Your back is against his in the tub and he’s running a soft cloth along your body, along the marks on your body and the bruises on your hips. 

“You doing okay?” His voice is tender. “I know I was a little bit harsh on you.”

You chuckle. “Not like you haven’t done that before.” 

You play with the suds that float in the water, humming quietly. Wonwoo takes a deep breath, letting his head fall back a bit. 

“Why don’t you hate me?” You lean your head back on his chest, and he frowns at the question.

“Why would I hate you?” 

A shrug and you drop your arms into the water. 

“I threw away a nearly perfect relationship just because someone said you’d drop me the moment you found someone better in the idol industry.”

“So?” Wonwoo traces shapes into the skin of your thigh. “That’s not your fault. I get that it was scary. Neither of us knew what was gonna happen, you were already stressed about how things were gonna work with you being in college. I’m not gonna blame you or hate you for that choice. What matters is that we found each other again.”

Your cheeks heat up and you turn your body around in the tub to sit on his lap. He looks up at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Did you mean what you said?” You ask. He raises an eyebrow. “In the hallway. That I’d never have to turn to anyone else. Are we gonna…” Your voice trails off and Wonwoo raises his head to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I meant every single word I said tonight. I’m here to stay, Y/N.” His nose nudges against yours. “I was enchanted from the moment I met you, and I want to be yours again if you’ll let me.” 

You play with the strands of his hair, smiling like a madman. 

“And I meant everything I said as well,” You let your forehead rest against his, your eyes falling shut. “I want you to stay with me. Please.”

Wonwoo exhales softly. 

“Always. I will always stay.”

~

Taglist: @juyeonszn @leejihoonownsmyheart @nobraincellmode

[literalizutsumi]

Dear Diary

Today sucked.

I woke up to laios crying like stfu nobody wants to hear that. Then when I told him to shut up Marcille just kinda went "Izutsumi no!" Like what the hell?! Shut up! And due to that the Half-foot guy, (turns out his names Chilchuck btw) started yelling at me because I'm "not comfortable to sleep with!" Such an excuse. Then we found some mandrakes. They were really loud and hurt my ears but the old Dwarf guy fixed up some carrot broth for us (it was Okay ig).

Then Marcille found some yarn in a chest with Chilchuck and started trying to play with me. How dare they! I'm not an animal! It was so belittling and horrible. But then we went off.

After like HOURS Chilchuck found us a new place to sleep AND THERE WAS A SPARE BED FOR ME! But I'm gonna go to bed now.

Good night stupid diary ××

(Not my art!!! || in fact this art is made by @sabertoothwalrus . They make some good stuff.)

[stargirlrchive]

── FINE LINE w. SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

gender neutral reader

angst, hurt to comfort (kinda ig), smut, gif not mine

NSFW ✩ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)

GENERAL MASTERLIST

simon’s steps echoed through the cobblestone as he walked aimlessly through the city he had become so familiar with. the lit cigarette warming him from the inside out as his thoughts ran wild.

his throat ached as memories of you continued to filter through his brain, like an old movie. vivid in the way that he could still feel it, still feel you.

his fingers gripping at your back as the two of you clung onto each other, touching and undressing to push back all the unspoken turmoil. his face tucked into your neck as he nipped and kissed at your throat. your body always so soft and fragile compared to his.

the two of you took what you needed from the other, and he was gone before you could both start to rationalize that this wasn’t good, it wasn’t healthy. not when you craved intimacy on a much grander scale and he was unwilling to give it to you.

your thighs wrapped around his waist as your lips parted and your soft mewls and moans rung loud in his ears. his cock rutting in and out of you in the way he knew you loved, in the way that made you sing for him.

his lips trailed upwards, towards your mouth and you tensed under him. no matter how wrapped up the two of you were with one another, he never kissed you.

always grunting about how it was too intimate, but as his lips fell flat against yours, your eyes filled with tears.

he was saying goodbye, you both knew it.

for so long this was all he could give you, only truly knowing him when your legs parted and he coaxed pleasure out of you. your tears were hot and thick as you clung to him. wishing with all your might that he’d realize in the last moment that he needed you just as much as you needed him.

he could be so cruel.

a soft sob broke from your mouth and he swallowed it down, kissing you harder. in his own way, trying to comfort you.

he built you up, coaxing body-numbing orgams out of you, making sure to leave you satiated since he knew this was the last time he was going to have you this way. this was the last time he’d let himself be tempted by you, by the promise of something constant and only his.

he couldn’t afford to keep you around, not when you had begun to weasel your way into his skin.

your fingers trailed all over him, as if trying to commit every scar and ridge of muscle to memory. you were far too good for him.

his thick ropes of come filling you as you trembled beneath him, your orgasm ripping out of you just in time with his as he held you close. he gave the two of you a few more seconds of closeness, nuzzling his face into your chest to press lingering kisses before he pulled away.

his eyes glazed over with indifference as he began to dress himself.

“you don’t have to go.”

“you know i do.”

it had been months since then, and simon was still unable to pluck you out of his thoughts, you had buried yourself into his very being and you refused to leave.

simon stopped as he finally made it to his destination, and maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him but everything looked brighter, he felt lighter.

the familiar building caused his heart rate to pick up, trying desperately to get to where he needed to be. back to you.

he didn’t give himself time to think about it too much, he knew if he did he wouldn’t have the courage to face you. his fingers in a tight, tense fist as he knocked on your door.

it took a few seconds but he could hear the soft patter of your feet, he would recognize them anywhere. the louder they got, the more nervous he grew.

as the door swung open his stomach dropped. the smile that had been on your face wiping away to one of complete shock.

your voice called out his name in question and simon’s eyes stung. your perfume hitting him and he swore he’s never smelled anything so sweet.

god, he fucking missed you.

his arms were wrapping around your waist before he could stop himself, his face digging into your neck as he trembled in your arms.

he was grateful that you didn’t tense, he didn’t know if he could handle that. instead your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, welcoming him home.

[gamarancianne]

Azriel x reader - In Between part 2

Part 1

Summary: trying to regain your confidence after your broken heart, you met someone in the same position as you and developped one of the best friendships you had ever had. A genuine and sincere friendship. But this person may be closer by other ways to you than you thought.

Warnings: still angst, alcohol in a not healthy way, heartbreak again, hypocrite Elain (kinda slander ig), Lucien being the best.

Note: well maybe a part 3 ig 😅, I was really inspired tbh. Thank you all for having loved the part 1 and shared it with me ! Ily 💗💗 and don't hesitate to ask me something or chat with me in my inbox or dm, or in the comments !

You had been a crying mess for two weeks now, sometimes you went out in a bar to drink so much you would forget even your name. That was the point, forget the constant sting in your heart and you head. Forget him, his beautiful Hazel eyes and inked tattoos on his broad and golden chest. And here we go again: the tears flooded themselves on your face. It was a day to drink today, or tonight, you didn't really have a time notion for the past two weeks: waking up at dawn or dusk, eating, crying and sleeping. You had to forget about all those beautiful things about him, you had to empty your brain and heart. You didn't want to feel something again.

As you were walking to the nearest bar, you thought about those letters elain had sent you, saying you were her dearest friend and asking if your confession went well. You knew she knew that it was you in her apartment that cursed day, but she still pretended and even was saying the complete opposite of what she had said to azriel, falsely comforting you. Was she ever was your friend at this point ? Or has she always criticised and stabbed you behind you back ? Anyway you had decided that it was way better for you to ignore her and keep living your life, if you could still call what you were living a life, without her.

You didn't even noticed when you had arrived in front the door of the bar, but you did and entered, going directly to your now favorite spit in front of the barman : the alcohol was there easier to get. You didn't see then, the redhead man who was at the exact place you had been the few days prior. How dare he steal your chair like that ? Approaching slowly you stilled and you understood that this man was surely in the same situation as you, a heartbreak, seeing his bent frame and the many empty glasses in front of him. They could only have been his because no one was seated near him, and everyone was judging him. They were all avoiding the poor man whose name you didn't know.

"I was almost mad at you for stealing my favourite seat" you stated, seating next to him as his head shot to your side wondering if you were really talking to him.

"Yes I'm talking to you"

"Ah, I'm sorry for your seat do you want it back ?" He asked, genuinely embarrassed, his cheeks flushed.

"No I'm fine here, I can speak with you ...?" You asked ?

"Lucien".

"I'm yn, and as I was saying, I can speak with you here Lucien" he nodded.

"Nice to meet you yn, but you don't wanna talk to me, don't you see all the glares everyone sends me here ?" He drank in a one shot what seemed to be whisky and stared again at his now empty glass.

"Oh gods you men !" He looked at you confused "I know what I'm doing fuck ! I'm a grown up woman and I can make my own choices ! You re the second on in two weeks who tells me what I want or not." You snapped.

"Oh I'm sorry, then stay if you want." He apologized quickly.

You asked shots to the barman and stayed silent a bit nefore you both asked in one voice "what are you here for ?". You two chuckled a bit before you said "you first".

"Well I've kinda learnt that my mate, who knows that she is my mate is dating someone else. And I feel like I'm not allowed to have just once an ounce of happiness." You were hurt for him as you heard his story that he told you with a careless demeanor. He must really be at his lowest.

"Ouch that hurts, I'm sorry man. She's a fool if you want my opinion." He smiled sadly at your answer and pointed you from his chin asking you silently your story.

"Well im heartbroken as well, my best friend encouraged me confessing to the man I love, but he rejected me, and not in a nice way. But as lucky as I am, I learnt that he is dating my best friend who is a back stabber." I emptied my glass in one drink.

"Ouch that hurts too, I'm sorry." He said echoing my words.

We spent the night drinking, and drowning ourselves in alcohol but in a more joyful way than usually.

I then went more and more at the bar to see him, but we drank less and less, leaving place to real conversations between us. It became quickly a routine, and Lucien became one of my best friends, well my only friend of the time actually. And I was one of his only friend as well. Two broken hearts healing parts of eachothzr then didn't even break. Lucien had explained to me his family problem, and how his former male best friend was a toxic man in relationships, how he had been poorly treated in his biological family, and how his actual best friend was his mate's sister so he didn't know how to approach her anymore. He came a lot in my appartment to spend time with me, he even slept in sometimes, because he couldn't face his current family. He practically had his room in your home, some of his stuff never really left.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After 2 knocks on your door you unwillingly got off your couch and opened it letting a wild and out of breath Lucien appear in front of it.

"Lu ? Are you okay ?" That was his new nickname, he loved it, because he felt like he was loved for once in his life.

"Yes.. no ? I need you to come with me like right now ! "

"Oh okay let me get me keys and I'm coming" you trusted Lucien too much to ever doubt about him, if he needed you then you were there for him.

You left your apartment and went to the direction he indicated. After a while you panicked a little, seeing that you were going to the high lord's house.

"Lucien you know I love you but where are we going?"

"To a family dinner, I can't go alone. See, my mate's relationship got complicated and she always complains to me when I'm alone, which is all the time. So I feel like I'm just a plan b and I'm really uncomfortable when she does it. Don't worry I've told them that someone was going with me."

"I understand Lu, but at the high lord's ?" You asked sceptical.

"Well yes, because my best friend I told you about is Feyre."

"What ?" Lucien, had never told the names of his family members, and you neither, so discovering that his friend was you high lady so that you were going to see Azriel made you weak to the bones.

"Lucien ? Your mate is Elain ??"

"What, yes ? How do you know ??" He exclaimed as he stopped on his tracks.

"She is the fake friend I told you about !" You answered on the same tone.

"So it means that.."

"I am in love with Azriel... yes."

"Oh gods" you both sighed.

"Hum yn ?" He asked unsure of what to say.

"Mmh"

"Have I told you that Cassian and him were the ones to get us to the house?"

"No, no, no. Please no ! But what would we even need to be picked up ?"

"We can't winnow so it's either that or climb 10 000 stairs".

Both fearing the fast approaching dinner, the last part of the walk was silent and the air heavy with tension. You held your breath when you saw two winged big figures, Cassian and Azriel. The first one shot his head in your direction and smiled confused.

"Yn ?" Azriel stiffened as he heard your name. "What does owe us the pleasure to see you ?"

"I'm the one to go with Lu today but I didn't know it was with you...". Azriel froze completely still turning his back to you. He wasn't sure it was you but now it was certain and he couldn't face you after the mean things he had said to your face. He hadn't talked about it to anyone except Elain and he kinda regretted it now. Things had got complicated between them because after your love confession she had grown so much jealous! He couldn't bear it anymore, he was a free man, he hadn't wings for nothing! They would argue a lot more and he hated that because it triggered bad memories in him. Plus he felt a bit bad about you. You hadn't done anything to him to deserve to be treated that way, he was ashamed of his actions because he knew that, as insecure as you seemed to be, you might have been spiralling since. That wasn't him, that wasn't how he was supposed to be. When he got Elain, she changed him a lot, and he wasn't sure anymore that it was for the good. She crushed all of his efforts to keep the bad parts of him inside. He was meaner, colder, he wasn't himself. Rhys have scolded him a little about that and he had really reacted in a bad way. An evidence of what Rhys had advanced. Azriel was sure he had made you feel bad, and he didn't want it : you were a nice and smart female, a little clumsy but still beautiful and lovely. As he finally turned to you, all of his regret splashed on him when crossing your look and seeing you pained eyes. You quickly put your head down and he felt even more bad to have made lose enough confidence for you to fear to hold his gaze. Thinking about it, he didn't understand you insecurity of the beginning, before the altercation. How could you, a very beautiful female, ever doubt about yourself ?

Realisation hit him, that he would have to take you flying because it would be awkward if he took Lucien, his girlfriend's mate. He knew she was complaining to him, and he felt even sorry for the poor Lucien. But a question lingered in his mind: how did you two know eachother ? And why the fuck would Lucien bring you to a family dinner ? Were you dating ? Fear crossed his eyes for a second before regaining his composure. You couldn't be dating Lucien, it was impossible, you had just said two weeks ago that you loved him. Could you have moved that fast ? It frightened him, knowing that he had grown to like you when thinking of your shared moments at training, where you two had laughed, sometimes until crying joy tears, and regretting the mean rejection he had given you in return of something so intimate and innocent as your love and devotion for him. Damn him he had even insulted you ! He cursed himself more and more until he got out of his head when Cassian called him.

"Azriel wake up ! You take yn." He said when shooting in the sky Lucien in his arms.

You both stayed in an awkward bubble, without moving an inch, avoiding the gaze of one another, for 30 long seconds that felt like hours.

"I'm sorry" and "so how are you doing" came at the same time from him side you. You awkwardly chuckled but he stayed still so you stopped finally having the guts to look at him in the eye for more than a millisecond.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, louder this time. You froze. You didn't want that to happen. You didn't want him to face you abut what happened. It would made it real, and you still hadn't enough courage for that.

"What for ?" You asked, your voice breaking.

"You what for".

You hesitated a lot before responding. "No actually I don't. Was it for mean rejecting me without an ounce of regret or nicenessin your words ? Or maybe the fact that you destroyed my confidence? Oh no ! I know, it was for the time you mocked me in front of my friend, who is in fact your girlfriend, and a fake friend!"

"You weren't supposed to be there that time." He said, suddenly finding the floor really interesting.

"Maybe but I was, so it's the same result and the same mean words that came out of your mouth."

He knew you were right. You were completely allowed to be mad at him for the way he treated you. But it was still hard. Azriel had never been in proper relationships nor had he ever been confessed to. It wasn't a proper excuse but it still made it hard to accommodate to those things for a boy deprived of love for all his life. He didn't know how to react, so to him, the better solution was to stay silent. You sighed, disappointed and he came awkwardly closer to you to hold you and shoot in the sky, following Cassian and Lucien, long arrived and waiting for you worried (especially Lucien).

Elain was waiting for Azriel, or Lucien, no one knew, on the balcony of the House of Wind and almost fell when she saw you. You in Azriel's arms, accompanying Lucien. Azriel struggled to let you go, especially after your conversation, but the second you were out of his hold, Elain held you in a crushing hug. You rapidly got out as well, feeling uncomfortable after her hypocrisy. You gave her a sad smile and Lucien introduced you to Feyre and Rhysand who had already told you to call them by their name, and to Mor and Amren. They all welcomed you warmly except Elain and Azriel of course who both looked like ashamed puppies with their tails between their legs.

After dinner, everyone went out in the garden for a tea and you found yourself on a couch behind Lucien sat on the floor. Automatically, because it was something you were now used to do, your hands found his head and started playing with his hair. Everyone had their eyes on you, confused on your proximity but you didn't notice and kept going on braiding his hair.

"I'll do yours later I promise" Lucien said, looking at you from above.

"I hope so !". Leaving everyone even more confused now.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

When you were ready to left with Lucien, Elain caught you and asked you to have a word with her.

Lucien gave you a worried look and you nodded making him understand you were okay for now.

She led you to a private room and paced in it awkwardly. She opened her mouth twice and closed it almost instantly like she wanted to say something but didn't know where to start.

"So, you ans Azriel ? Huh"

"You have actually no right to be mad at me." She cut you off.

"Excuse me ? But I have every right to be mad at you right now ! You have treated me poorly faking to be my friend and laughing at me when you should have been comforting me !" You snapped, angry.

"Well, it's not like someone could ever treat you well."

"What, what do you mean ?"

"Look at you yn, nobody would ever really be with you. You're not ugly but you're not beautifu, you're not dumb but you're not smart, you're just.. Well you. And that's clearly not enough." She looked at you disgustingly.

"But Lucien is treating me well.." You said tears welling in your eyes.

"Don't be blind, yn, he's a man, and like Azriel he will ran to me when he'll see that you're no longer interesting. You were nice and all, you listened to me but I guess I just got bored of you, anyone would." And with that she left the room, leaving 8 pairs of eyes on you as she opened the door. They instantly approached you, Feyre apologising a thousand time for the mean behaviour of her sister and Azriel staying in the back, his eyes full of worry and apology. He was trying to make you feel like everything she had said was false, that you were so much more than that, worthy of the stars,of two shining stars. Because yes they had heard everything. Lucien made his way to the crowd of his family surrounding you and hesitated before he hugged you out of nowhere. Azriel clenched his jaw and his hands turned into fists. When Lucien released you of his grasp, your expression hadn't changed, its like you were empty, just one single tears had escaped your eye. Cassian and Azriel flew you to the ground of Velaris and the last one had kept his hand on yours to make you look at him.

"I'm sorry, for what she said. It's not one bit true."

"Don't worry, she's surely right..." You had answered your gaze falling on his hand. You had never noticed the scars an them, they were so beautiful, so textured, so unique. You eyes widened at the sight and Azriel quickly hid them behind back before keeping going.

"No she wasn't, please don't doubt yourself because of what came out of her mouth because of jealousy. Because that's what she was and still is, jealous."

"Thank you Az really." You sadly smiled at him before joining Lucien who was waiting for you.

He didn't know why, but something clicked in him seeing you walk away under the arm of Lucien and hearing again his nickname from your mouth. He thought it rolled well on your tongue and really wanted to hear it again, as soon as possible. And it tensed him a lot to know that this man who touched you, was probably sleeping at yours tonight, maybe in your bed to comfort you after this emotionally hard day. It puzzled him a lot and didn't even know why, until his shadows came to his ears and murmured repeatedly "want to be him".

Tag list:

@kalulakunundrum

[bell4donn4]

“TOO SWEET” -Luke Castellan

Tags: lowkey loser!luke, Hades!reader, mention of drinking, not established relationships, reader’s mean and lonely, Luke likes to be used? Ig, kinda toxic dynamic between the two

life at camp was always so boring, so empty.

the only fun thing you could do was corrupt the forest’s satyrs to get a bottle of wine.

Truly, being at camp was exhausting, especially as you got older.

Everyone excepted the older kids to help the new. But that was none of your concern, you were more than convinced that maybe camp could’ve invested into a teacher or two instead of forcing children to take the lead on other children.

Chiron was barely around, and Mr. D was anything but a role model.

The only person at camp who seemed to enjoy being helpful was Luke Castellan.

Head counsoler of the Hermes’s cabin; he seemed to be the closest thing to a dad figure kids could have in that place.

He was always doing something, always busy giving a helping hand to whoever needed.

Camp’s golden boy for sure. Bright and nice, funny and sunny.

You didn’t believe any of the reassuring words that came out of his mouth.

There was absolutely no way he liked being used like that, forced to take responsibility for kids that were not his.

You remember vividly the one time, years back, when you stumbled upon a crying kid. Luke was kneeled infront of him, patting on his head as he comforted him. “Its going to be okay” — “don’t worry, okay? Everything is going to be fine”

He was barely 15 when that happened.

You wouldn’t know how to comfort anyone now, let alone at 15.

Somehow, you hated Luke for it. You hated the way he would simply let everything slide on him, the way he allowed everyone to abuse his niceness.

You would never let anyone do that to you. You hardly talked with anyone, actually; preferring to be on your own instead of hanging around the loudness of the other campers, which all seemed so happy to be there.

In fact, the only person who you would occasionally “talked” to was Luke. Many times he caught you breaking the rules, and many times he allowed you to go and redeem yourself instead of telling Chiron. And many other times he found you doing the same exact things, even tho you told him you’ll never do em again.

He was sugar-rotting sweet. Never telling on you.

You hated him for that as well. Why couldn’t he just report you instead of looking at you with his puppy like-eyes? Almost begging you to go sleep and make his job easier instead of getting drunk almost every night.

You wondered why he still covered you, even after years of this routine happening. But you just figured it was his nauseously king heart.

You wish he’d rebel for once, even to you. You wish he’d just tell you to fuck off and go to bed- but he never did.

“It’s not good for you y/n”

It surprised you he even knew your name.

“You know- getting constantly wasted. I feel like this is not the right way to cope” — “with whatever you’re dealing with”

“I’m dealing with shitty parents Luke, the same thing you’re dealing with”

Your sarcastic remarks often burned on his skin. He wish you’d just listen to him for once- instead of making it so hard for him.

“Oh”

Your infamous smirk would hit him hard as a brick, every single time.

This was an example of the nightly conversations you had.

Sometimes you would go as far as asking him if he wants a sip, other times you’d just tell him to piss off instead. Depending on how you felt.

During the day, you simply didn’t speak at all. Weird, anyone would find it, but when the sunlight was out you wouldn’t acknowledge his existence; even ignored him, perhaps.

He didn’t mind- not that he’d show it anyways, but it was pretty in character for you to do something like that.

The moody daughter of hades- what else could he expect from you?

Yet sometimes it’d hurt.

Maybe he did care more than he should’ve. But again, wasn’t that in character for him? To be overly good and kind and caring towards the unworthy?

Only very few times you’d spare him a words. Usually when someone needed him and you happened to be the one sent to call him.

Perhaps it was okay to him; he grew rough and unloved- he didn’t care if he wasn’t more than a secretive nightly swing to you.

As long as he could have you, he was willing to be used. Because that’s all he knew anyways.

[hatsukeii]

冬に死ぬの方がいい (I'd rather die in the winter) / denji x reader

genre(s): strangers to friends to lovers??? not fully lovers yet because it’s at the end so it's like kinda ambiguously romantic ig, angst with a not too angst ending!! hurt/comfort SO heavy on the hurt/comfort omg... also despite the tldr there is no death here like for the most part

warning(s): spoilers up to the end of public safety saga, canon divergent and timeline inaccurate at points because i haven't read csm in AGES, explicit depictions of SA and like near-death poverty because denji actually cannot catch a break um????? no explicit nsfw tho also not fully and completely proofread i will be editing as i go when i spot mistakes

wc: ~6.6k

tldr; dying in the winter doesn't seem so bad after all

Do you know what it feels like to die?

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he thinks he does, as the planks of termite-infested wood and sheets of metal collapse into his shed without warning in the dead of night, the blizzard of winter snow unrelenting in its advances. He dreams of the coldest winter he’s survived, a splinter of decayed, rotting wood knocking him awake from his half-slumber, before crumpled rubbish attacks him from all directions. His arms scramble around Pochita to hunch over his motionless, sleeping body as boulders of wood and rusted metal hammer at his back. Purpled, blistered fingers swat and claw at the rough patterns etched into the planks, skin ripping as Denji crawls into a foot of snow. 

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he curls up against his temporary home- the glass window of a convenience store, too afraid to enter. People come and go, crinkling bags of plastic shrugging into protective arms, parents tugging a little harsher at their children, who point and slobber at his ghastly figure, partners who hold each other’s waists a little closer as they pass.

“What a poor guy.”

“Fuck, that scared me.”

“Is that guy dying or something?”

Dying. Do they know what it feels like to die? 

Denji’s head is hung low when plastic wrap lands on the back of his skull. His fingers, frozen stiff, swipe at the glossy packaging, before a fleeting moment of warmth graces his frozen fingertips. He doesn’t look up to the sound of plastic ripping, or to the hand that slips a heat pack into his arms. He doesn’t look up when someone kneels to his level, and his vision trains further into the ground when they offer him half of a steaming red bean bun in a paper packet beside his body, their eyes peeking through the gap between his knees. 

“Sorry, that’s all I have.” 

He doesn’t make a sound when a bottle is twisted open, doesn’t move when they grab his hands and begin trickling water from their thermos onto his fingers. He only winces as the blisters begin to thaw, steaming as the remnants of wet snow melt beneath his feet. 

“I hope we never meet again.”

Denji only looks up as you turn to depart the store, etching into his mind the person that moves further from him with each step, and the eyes that meet his own, but only between his knees, and the fleeting touch that may have just saved him that night, in the seventeenth winter of his life. The person who had to see his shrivelled, curled up figure, and had to feed his dried, crusted mouth with half a red bean bun that still sits on the ground beside him, and had to touch his bleeding, puss-filled, blistering fingers to thaw them.  

He too thinks he would rather die in the cold of this winter than meet you again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Die, Denji does, but only in the eighteenth spring of his life, when the blisters on his fingers have scarred into hardened skin, and he has found himself a new shed to spend his nights in. He dies with a chainsaw cord through his chest, and it’s a million times less painful than he once believed, at least until the dying pump of Pochita in his heart almost begs for mercy. Suddenly, his chest feels just a little too heavy, and he realises he’s never known how warm blood was until it drowns him in pools of sticky, metallic red. When two strong arms reach out to hold his collapsing body, he’s sure that he knows what it feels like to die. Denji’s limp figure hangs motionless in your grasp, and you frown at the mess of dried blood that paints his toothed head in specks of brown. This is not somewhere safe for him.

Denji opens his eyes with his head in someone’s lap, bumpy roads jolting him awake from his unconsciousness. He stares into the back of the front passenger seat, warm fabric beneath his cheeks as he inhales the air freshener of the car and raises his hands to his eyes. The hardened skin of his fingers seems to have scabbed and fallen off, leaving him with hands more akin to that of a teenager. A normal teenager. He senses something else, something toying with his matted strands of golden hair. Fluttering touches stir and spread on his scalp, a whole palm nuzzling into the top of his head and eliciting a satisfied sigh from his lips. 

“We’ve got another hour to go. Sleep more if you need to.”

There it is, the voice that haunts him in his sleep and chases him in his waking hours. The voice that tells him he did a good job after every hunting gig, snickers with him when he cheats the yakuza out of a sleazy hundred yen coin, lulls him to sleep at night with the promise of bread, and butter, and honey, even some jam. The voice that he remembers all too well, and can’t seem to run from, no matter how hard his mind races. 

His mind freezes, but his body betrays him as his head turns in your direction, vision meeting the full face that hid behind the cover of his knees on that winter day, when he swore he knew how it felt like to die. He once envisioned his death to be silent, frozen in his final breaths into the winter sky. Then, he thought of it as a mess of red, putrid blood flooding his orifices as he drowns in a dumpster of sliced up human remains. Now, by some miracle, he lies in the lap of a familiar stranger, staring back at their gaze that remains unchanged from the one they shot at him between his reddened, shrivelled legs, exactly one hundred and fifty four days ago.  

Denji isn’t completely sure if he knows what dying feels like anymore.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

There is vomit in Denji’s mouth. There are mouthfuls of grainy, soured bile that barge through Denji’s lips as he sits on the ground of a restaurant, arms pulled into his chest. Himeno’s grip on his jaw is unshakeable, no matter how hard he thrashes and gargles, doing anything he can to separate himself from her. She pulls him closer to her as she continues spewing all the food she’s consumed throughout the day into his throat, and his eyes dart toward you, who grimace in disgust at the horrific scene that ensues before your very eyes. 

Do you know what it feels like to die while still breathing?

Denji wants to die. He wants nothing more, than to really die here on the ground, somebody else’s vomit spilling from the corners of his mouth. Yet the way your eye twitches at his pathetic attempts to free himself, and the wandering of your gaze between Himeno, who just refuses to let go, and Denji, who can’t seem to force her off, sends him to the depths of hell before he’s even lost consciousness. There is no empathy in your gaze, only disgust. Denji once thought that having to touch his frostbitten, rotting body in the winter was the most shameful thing that he could put you through. He thinks this is tenfold worse. He glues his eyes shut, praying for this all to be over, and just misses the slam of your soda can into the wooden table, and the shuffling of your feet towards the combined bodies of himself and Himeno. The weight of Himeno’s suffocating grip lightens, and Denji is just able to wriggle out of her grasp, before he’s falling again and his head hits the ground. 

You watch the pool of puke that spreads beneath Denji’s cheek, seeping into his hair and sticky with bile and spit. Himeno babbles on, half a jug of beer in hand, and eight empty ones in front of her. You wince, tugging at Denji’s sleeve. He is motionless, blacked out, and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. How did he, of all people, end up here? You look around at the people that surround the table, all of which bear lines of jagged scar tissue beneath the rolled up cuffs of their shirt sleeves, across the skin of their faces, along their huffing chests. You touch the scar on your shoulder through your shirt, scratching at it through the fabric. The itch does not fade, gradually becoming more and more intangible, yet so obviously present. This is not a place for people like Denji, or you, or anybody with half a will to live. If eighteen years of training and living under the public safety sector has taught you anything, it is that you never want to be near this place. You did not save Denji’s life last winter for him to let something as wretched as this line of work ruin it once again. You did not reminisce about him on the way home, half a red bean bun in hand, praying that he might find solace in this perverted world, only to have him return to the root of all things depraved. You did not scream for three days straight, the speech devil clawing open the skin of your esophagus at every breath you took, just to watch him jump into the stomach of another devil, giving up whatever little shred of sanity he had left. 

Your hands come up to form shapes, fingers twisting and jabbing at each other in sentences of sign. 

Makima, should I take him home with me to Aki’s?

“I’ll taaaaaaaake him…!” 

For somebody who is clearly far gone, Himeno is quite perceptive of what others around her are planning. Makima smiles, waving you off, and you frown. Grabbing your soda, you leave the restaurant without a word. Nobody else follows.

In the eighteenth spring of Denji’s life, he wakes up in a bed for the first time. His body sinks into the soft, linen sheets that cover the plush mattress, and there’s a weight that sits comfortably above his chest. He isn’t sure what it is, yet it wraps around his sweaty body like a cloud, threatening to lull him into slumber against the midnight that settles in a blanket of blue and ribbons of silver through lidded blinds. He does not want to die here. For once, Denji decides that he will bask in the rare warmth of a quilt on his chest, and the smoothness of silky fabric beneath his arms, his body finally relaxing after eighteen years of endless running, reluctant hunting, cold slumber on planks of wood and chewed up, moulding mattresses. That is, until, a familiar body crawls onto him from where his feet lie.

“Hey… Denji.” He freezes, the bed transforming into a bed of nails and pinning him down like needles that stab through fragile, fluttering wings of butterflies on framed planks of wood.

“Wanna sleep with me?” Himeno’s hand comes up to hold Denji’s cheek, creeping impossibly close to his flushed chest. 

This is what he wanted, right? Every night, as Pochita drifted to sleep on Denji’s shrivelled chest, he would tell him that getting laid would be the greatest honour of his life, wouldn't he?

But Denji wants to scream and cry, until his throat goes hoarse and his ribs crack under the pressure from the sheer exertion of his lungs. Himeno comes even closer now, and he can smell the bitter beer and putrid puke that laces her mouth. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. He can’t speak either, as her lips begin to pepper across his face, and along the shaft of his neck. Her kisses send his throat in a frenzy, panicked wheezes and groans vibrating into her mouth as she takes his Adam's apple in an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t breathe, and his legs won’t move to save him as her saliva dribbles down his neck, into his frantically heaving chest. Denji is frozen in place as Himeno peels off her sheer shirt, and he almost chuckles dryly, the concussion from before throbbing at the side of his skull. Safety? Comfort? A roof over his head, a house that won’t collapse even from the strongest of winds, a place to sleep in that won’t end up twisting his back? How audacious. Who is he kidding?

Denji thinks he should have just chosen to die when he woke up in this bed. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The day that Makima catches wind of Denji’s incident with Himeno is the day that he is moved to Aki’s residency. At the click of a key turning in a lock, you walk out of your room groggily to see a figure in the dark, who drops a half-empty duffel bag onto the ground at the doorway. Denji shrugs backwards as you flick the lights on, arms coming up to cover his eyes. The flat is warm, smells that he doesn’t know wafting into his twitching nose as he removes his hands from his vision to look around. You stare at Denji, who wanders around the kitchen counter, eyes searching every surface for something, anything. 

“We have leftover curry, if you want it.”

There’s that familiar voice again, calling out to him, offering him food, and safety, and a roof over his head. He turns to you, and you nudge your head towards the fridge, hands in the pocket of your hoodie. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t make a sound, or say a word. He simply glides towards the fridge, pulling it open and rummaging the racks for a plate of leftover curry rice. The clanks and clinks of glass dishes on plastic stirs the Hayakawa residence awake, Power swinging the door to your shared room wide open as the handle slams into the wall with a thud. Aki’s room remains closed, but you hear an abrupt hiccup from the other side of the door.

“What is this thing doing here! Why is it taking my food!”

“He needs food, Power. Plus, it’s not even yours. Go back to sleep.”

“No!”

Power huffs, and you forcefully shove her into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking the lights back off. Denji unwraps cling wrap from the dish, balling it in his fist and tossing it aside as he searches for a spoon, metal utensils clashing against each other in wooden cabinets as his impatient fingers sift through forks, and knives, and chopsticks. Upon finding one, he travels to the couch, where you are sitting with your legs manspread lazily. The black screen of the television reflects the two of you on the couch; Denji’s tired arms reeling spoonfuls of cold curry and meat into his mouth, and you watching him eat, hands clasped and elbows propped up on your thighs. He lets each bite linger on his tongue for a little longer than it has to, savouring this new sensation of proper food in his mouth. Then, he wipes his mouth on his rolled-up sleeve, and sniffles at the realisation that his stomach is no longer throbbing and growling dully.

“Do you want to sleep?”

Denji doesn’t respond. He thinks you have hidden away the last two words to that question. He would rather die than hear confirmation of it.

“You can take my bed if you want. I can take the sofa for now.”

He doesn’t get up from the couch. Instead, he drops the spoon onto the empty plate, and feels his body tip sideways. His head lands in your lap again, the same way it did in the company car, on the day that he died for the first time. Your arms shoot up to accommodate him, body tensing as his hair hits your leg. He sighs, small snores eliciting from his nose as he passes out on you, still clad in his work suit. You tug the windsor knot of his tie loose, before running your fingers through his blonde locks, and rolling your head back over the edge of the couch. You can only take a guess at what happened with Himeno the night before that rendered him so unresponsive. So unlike the brash, boisterous version of him that beamed at Himeno’s offer of a french kiss, before having puke forced into his mouth. You cringe at even the thought of it, taking note of Denji’s little hums in his slumber, limp arms hanging off the couch and feet dangling off the edge. Swiping a thumb across his lip, you collect the curry that remains around his mouth, and he jolts unconsciously in his sleep, before relaxing against you again. Wind whistles past the glass windows of the living room, and it’s almost as if Denji shivers at the sound of coldness, even if it is blocked by the four walls that surround him. Your hand on his head moves to cradle his jaw, which shifts periodically as he breathes in, and breathes out. You hope that he can stay like this forever.

Another hiccup sounds from Aki’s room, Power kicks and flails at blankets in muffled thumps.

You bring your other hand to your mouth, parting your lips against your thumb to take a first taste of the untouched plate of curry that was supposed to be your dinner.  

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“She even touched my shoulder! My shoulder, guys!”

On a windy night of Denji’s eighteenth autumn, he beams at the dinner table, grains of rice spewing from his stuffed mouth as his chopsticks wave and swing in the air. He hits you in the face, a piece of limp spinach slapping onto your cheek from his utensils, and Power screeches, jagged teeth bared in her maniacal laughter. You side eye him, picking the vegetable off your face and silently shoving more rice into your mouth. You’ve noticed the skip in Denji’s step upon his return to the Hayakawa residence, the dusty blush that lines his cheeks as he grabs at the fabric of his shirt around the shoulders, and sniffs it, the bashful giggles he gives himself when he waves you off for asking him what’s got him in such a good mood. Knowing your line of work, that won’t last, no matter how hard you try to speak it into existence. 

“Yeah, she touched your shoulder. We get it.”

“No no no, you don’t. I think she likes me! Like, really likes me!”

Denji slams his hands onto the coffee table now, shooting up to defend his proclamation of love on behalf of some random girl. You sigh, opting for a piece of beef from the plate in front of you. On your tongue is soft meat, savoury sauce, sour, putrid dread. Aki shoots you a glance from across the table. He watches your eyes widen for just a glimpse of a second, and nods, a mutual understanding clearly reached between you two. You take a fistful of Denji’s shirt, yanking him back down to ground level, and he pouts as you shove bundles of spinach and ladles of sauce into his bowl. He bites his thumb, gnawing and nibbling as his chopsticks pick aimlessly at his meal.

“Stop biting your finger, Denji. That’s gross.” You grab his wrist and pull his thumb out of his mouth.

“Nah, I made a promise to Makima.”

“Makima?”

Aki chews on his rice silently at your question. Denji stares at his nail, jagged and peeling from biting on it constantly. 

“She’s the one for me. That’s why she told me to remember how it feels when she bites my thumb.”

At that, your palm makes contact with the back of his head, knocking it forward. Denji wheezes, the wind knocked out of his windpipe at your sudden attack. Aki shovels individual grains of rice into his mouth, clearing his bowl. Power joins in your antics, hands chopping at his body even after you’ve stopped to glare at him. She gets bored of your inaction quickly, scratching her ass as she leaves the table for the shared room. Denji’s eyes are trained onto his bowl, the food looking less and less appetising by the second. 

“She did what?”

Denji stretches his palm in front of his face, inspecting it as if it was some antique object. His chest sinks, feeling your eyes burn holes into the side of his head. Makima promised him love, and sex, and everything he has ever wanted. He isn’t sure why it seems so wrong to you. You once told him you wanted him to find someplace safe, no? Where do you think he would be, if not for Makima bringing him in on that fateful spring day?

“Well, she let me cop a feel because she cares about what I want. Even said she’d grant me any wish if I got the gun devil.”

“She does not care about you, Denji!”

Denji scowls, hands waving erratically as he searches for his words. Aki leaves for the kitchen sink silently, the sound of running water serving as a backdrop to your wordless fury. You slam your hands onto his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. His eyes meet yours, and he sees something that Makima, that other girl from today, Himeno, Power, Aki, none of them have shown him before. Desperation. Fear. Worry. 

“You know what? Go back to that girl you met in the phone booth. Do what you want, just don’t get me roped into your shit. And remember, I told you so.”

You shove him away, retreating into the shared room. That night, Denji sleeps on the couch instead of you. He doesn’t think about the girl from the phone booth, or Makima. He dreams about the day that you thawed his frostbitten fingers outside a convenience store, the day that had him thinking he knew what it meant to die, but really had no grasp on it. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Denji learns the taste of flowers in the eighteenth autumn of his life, when he shoves an entire bouquet of them into his mouth in a cafe. The petals turn into mush on his tongue as he chews and swallows them. He waits for some girl that tried to bite his tongue off and murder him two days ago, sitting alone on a bar seat in a bustling coffee shop. Stares and murmurs ensue behind his back, couples and friends alike glancing at his pathetic figure that waits for a fabricated promise, flowers stuffed in his mouth. He tastes the bitterness of the flowerbuds, the type of bitterness that seeped through his veins when she kissed him, and ripped his tongue from his mouth. The type of bitterness that he can’t seem to fully carry, even after she tried to blow him up. The type of bitterness that is covered by the sweetness of flora, which somehow still makes its way through to his sinuses. Like recollections of how she showed him how to swim, laughed at his awful jokes, taught him to read and write, and turned all shades of red and pink at his flirtations. Rose-tinted recollections of a military trained spy, whose very purpose was to blush on command, laugh on command, lure him into emotional investment, before biting his tongue off, slashing his wrists open, and ripping his heart out of his chest. 

He doesn’t like the way these flowers taste. He throws the half-eaten bouquet onto the ground of the cafe, and pushes his way out of the shop. 

When Denji returns home, you are squeezing whole bottles of throat medicine into your mouth on the living room sofa. He points at his throat, and pretends to pull a pin from his neck. You nod, clawing at the air around your throat. He shoots you a thumbs up, unsure what to say as he faces the consequences of his fortunate victory against the bomb hybrid from the night before. You wave him off, eyes never meeting him as you mouth, it’s fine, I’ll be good. From across the living room, he catches the blood that coats your entire bed of teeth, the dark, deadly shade of crimson splattered across your lips. He hears your screams again, and again, and again, as he stands in the doorway. Blood curdling commands coming one after the other, he can almost feel his throat rip open with every word, taste the blood that you cough up after finishing the bottle of throat medicine. 

Walking towards the couch, he plops down beside you, his weight creating a dip in the soft fabric. You pretend to pull a pin at your throat, and point at Denji, who sighs hopelessly. You falter, brows furrowing at his disappointment. For the weeks leading up to today, Denji had not removed himself from Reze- some unknown girl he met in a telephone booth. He had beamed about his advances to you- namely regurgitating a saliva coated flower from his mouth magically, and you had listened patiently, fists gripped by your sides. He told you he wanted to run away with her, after all this mess and carnage was over, only for her to become the root of another senseless massacre. Your hands move to form shapes, sign language that Denji has picked up on throughout the past months of living and working alongside you. His skills are scarce, yet he just makes out what you are asking.

Beach, girl, run?

He shakes his head, back hunching in defeat. She didn’t care about his heart, only the Chainsaw devil’s. Even her blushes and laughs were rehearsed to perfection. 

“She didn’t show up to the cafe anyways.”

You frown, hitting Denji’s chest with the back of your palm, eyes still not meeting his own. He bites his thumb, and you slap his hand away from his mouth without even looking. Signing furiously, your fingers contort into a flurry of shapes. Shapes that Denji can barely decipher, but understand just enough to feel your disdain. 

No biting… unbelievable. Makima, Reze. Gross... 

Denji smiles weakly, wiping his thumb on his blood-stained uniform. Your teeth are bared until the tips of your canines just peek through the opening of your lips, before you retract them and gnaw your bottom lip meekly. He takes in the corners of your worried eyes and irked brows, and he thinks that even Pochita feels a little guilty in the way that his chest seems to beat agonisingly with every pang, like a nail burying itself into his heart at each pump. You punch his shoulder, finally taking a good look at his haggard figure, before reaching for another bottle of medicine and twisting the cap open with a click. You gargle and cough at each swallow, splatters of blood spitting into a white tissue from your throat at each sound you make. Suddenly, Denji wishes he didn’t throw the flowers away at the coffee shop. Maybe a few petals could ease the pain too, because he’s sure it’s the petals he ate that are making him feel a blooming warmth in his chest right now.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Plus, you saved my life out there yesterday. So, thanks.”

You smile at him with your lips pursed, and Denji hopes that he doesn’t die before you find your voice again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the beginning of Denji’s eighteenth winter, he slashes a chainsaw through Makima’s body. He watches her cut up, mutilated organs fall to the ground, throwing the chainsaw next to them. There is no pity, or rage, or overwhelming sadness. All he can do is stare, coated head to toe in her blood. He takes her skin, and bones, and organs in a plastic bag, inhales blood that smells akin to rat shit and bile. He walks into a new apartment, devoid of the Hayakawa name that was once engraved into the tin mailbox of his old home. It is empty, no one greets him on the couch as he walks in. 

He throws the bag of remains onto the counter of his new kitchen, bought with the money left in Aki’s will. He’s sorry, he thinks, because he doesn’t feel anything right now. Not anger, not worry, not fear. Aki is dead. Power is dead too. He should feel something, at the very least for you, who was wheeled onto an ambulance as he picked up the remains of Makima with his bare hands. 

Denji eats dinner alone at his new coffee table, also bought with the money from Aki’s will. He shuts his eyes, and pretends that Power is bickering with him. He can almost hear her frenzied shouts, feel her hands slap his back, and his head, and his chest. Aki should be sitting across the table, sipping his tea mindlessly, or lighting a cigarette and filling the room with nicotine. He shoves Makima’s flesh into his mouth, swallowing without so much as chewing on it. The idea that he is shovelling human flesh into his stomach while fully human makes his skin crawl and stomach flip. He wants to throw up. His eyes water at the grooves and fibres in the meat that etch themselves into his tongue. 

He squeezes shut his eyes even harder now, instead envisioning you beside him. You, who force strings of vegetables into his meals at dinner. You, who speak only when needed, and rarely in sentences that drag on for more than you deem the need to, and showed him how to live on with half a red bean bun and a thermos. He has never known the curves of your body like the rest of his prospects, never thought to try and learn them either. He doesn’t know of your past, or your present either, really. 

Despite that, you know the shrivelled figure of his past, his habit of thumb biting, his fear of sharing a bed, his disdain for spinach over any other vegetable. And when you spat at him, I told you so, you were right. Himeno wanted him to fuel some petty, one-sided feud. Reze ripped his tongue out of his mouth, only to apologise, before snapping his neck and leaving him in the dust. Makima, the one who swore to give him sex, and love, and safety, and purpose, everything he could have ever wanted, binded him in a dog’s collar so he could watch as she tore Power in half from the torso. All Power wanted was to give him a cake. 

You confuse him to no end, but something sits between the two of you for certain. Something that shrouds his heart in a warm glow, one that almost calls out at him to keep it there. A glow that creeps up to his mouth when you can’t speak, threatening to spill out of his lips and into yours so he can heal you, for once. But the glow always seems to turn into poison that leaks back down his throat. He swallows his words, bites his lip, bites his own fingers. He doesn’t know how it feels to die, only because you’ve shielded him from it all along.

The remains of Makima have been consumed. Denji throws the plates and bowls into the sink carelessly, his chopsticks following suit. When he swings open his cabinet to two new boxes of throat medicine, he can’t help but stare at his purchase. He really only had you in mind when he filled the cabinets of his new apartment with the only familiar thing a grocery store could offer. Maybe he should give you a visit soon.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the eighteenth winter of Denji’s life, you learn that he is afraid of living. Your backs against the sheets of your hospital bed, the two of you stare at the ceiling light that blinks periodically, just as it has for the past week that you’ve been here for. Its flickers have gradually become more erratic than the days before. You stare at the familiar cracks that spread from beneath the light bracket towards the rest of the ceiling, arms behind your head. 

“Does it still hurt to talk?”

“Just a bit.”

He hums in understanding, continuing his aimless staring. The hospital television whirs in static and vague sounds of people speaking behind the two of you, and you shift in place, the bed sheets wrinkling and shuffling beneath your body. 

“Can I tell you something?”

You nod wordlessly.

“I’m starting to think I can’t live anymore. Like this whole devil thing has made me less…human, I guess.”

“Why?”

Denji clicks his tongue, hissing a sharp inhale through his teeth. 

“I don’t really see the point in touching tits, or having sex anymore, you know? Like, all those things that I thought I wanted so badly, they didn’t make me feel how I wanted to. But then, I’m not sure how to live. Shouldn’t I live so someone can love me? Is that not what everyone lives for?”

You glance at him, the messy blonde hair that presses into the mattress, lousily tucked white shirt that creases around the waist, eyes that once were zealous turned tired, unfeeling. You pull one hand out from beneath your head, the one that doesn’t have an IV drip attached to your index finger. It travels to Denji’s crossed arms, untangling them from each other so you can grab at his hand. His fingers are unresponsive until you give him a squeeze, then another, then a third, and they finally relax against your own. He turns, meeting the eyes that peeked through his knees in his seventeenth winter. Eyes that look at him with worry, whether he is sitting at a dinner table, beaming about some girl whose flirtations have blinded his rationality, or if he is curled up against the glass door of some convenience store at midnight, breath stagnant and frozen in the winter air. 

“Do you think they loved you, Denji?”

His vision travels to the mattress beneath him. He thinks they did, or maybe they didn’t, or it was somewhat in between love and indifference, or whatever that’s supposed to feel like.

“I don’t know. They all wanted chainsaw man’s heart. But nobody wanted mine, you know? Nobody ever wanted Denji’s.”

You give his hand another squeeze, and he feels another pang in his chest. This is what it feels like to die, Denji thinks. Not blood gushing from his chest, or being frozen solid as people walk past his crouched body, but knowing that his efforts to become worthy of appreciation have only amounted to being used for his power. This is what it feels like to die, a hollow boy with nothing left in his chest but a devil that pumps blood for him. Even his heart is a contract that he has to follow. 

“I didn’t save you a year ago today for you to think that, Denji.”

Your weak elbows try to prop your body up to look at him from above, before they collapse back into the mattress and elicit a hiss of pain from your mouth. It’s by some miracle that you’re even alive right now, and that your throat has healed enough to make out short sentences. Short proclamations like this, that you’ve waited so long to make. Denji catches your fall, a palm cushioning your elbow. His hand is still in yours as he shifts to look at you properly. 

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to know?”

He opens his mouth, and his scrambled words get caught in his throat. So, he nods, the bags beneath his eyes relaxing. You let go of his hand, instead running your fingers along his chest and laying your palm flat on his heart. It beats in rhythmic thumps, steadily pulsing on the lines of your hand. 

“What are you feeling right now?”

Denji’s mind is a jumbled mess, yet he can clearly tell what he is feeling. “Warm.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Your hands move to the back of his head, scratching and rubbing at his scalp with the pads of your fingers. Denji leans into your touch, eyes still trained onto your own. His heart continues to beat steadily, and he feels something building up around it. Something that has his breaths getting heavier, and his vision of you becoming even clearer than it already is. 

“What does this feel like?”

“Nice.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Your hand makes its advance to his cheek, cradling it gently. Dusty pink scatters across his face, and Denji has to remember to breathe. In, out, in, out. Your thumb swipes across the dark bag beneath his eye. He thinks this is bliss, so unlike the drooling, panting mess he used to be for Makima, or the bumbling, fake persona he played up for Reze. He is more sober than ever, and his hand hovers over your body. He doesn’t want to just cop a feel. He wants to touch every inch of skin that you inhibit, trace over whatever scars you might have accumulated from the trials of time, plant kisses wherever you want him to, whenever you want him to. 

“What does this feel like?”

“Can you stay like that?”

“Sure.”

He reaches for your wrist, holding onto it like a lost boy in a crowd. His fingers feel for smoothed scar tissue in your palm, around your knuckles, on your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his face to take a look at the lines that etch themselves into your skin, lips hovering just above your fingers.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod. He starts on the scar of your palm, one that you earned during a fight in the early days of your work. He kisses the fleshy scar that slashes across your hand, peppering along its length. 

“Can I keep going?”

“Yeah, keep going Denji.”

His head dips to the faint white lines that decorate your arm, from your wrist to the connection between your forearm and bicep. His hair tickles the sides of your arm as fluttering kisses plant themselves into each poisoned, torn open line of your skin. You squirm, hospital gown coming loose on one shoulder as the cool air of the room hits the scar that reaches from your shoulder to the dip between your collarbones. Denji notices, and pulls your arm away from him.

“Can I?”

You wince, the scar beginning to itch and throb.

“Please, do it.”

His fingers trace along the jagged scar, before he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, and moves along to the centre of the dip just above your chest. You roll your head back to give him space, and he kisses up your neck and onto your jaw. He’s inexperienced, nose bumping into your flesh when he comes up to look at you again. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you answer his question for him as you pull him into you. The glow in his heart rushes from his chest to his mouth, but his teeth bump into yours, and you pull away. It tastes like your blood, the blood that has saved his life more times than he can count as you rip your throat open for him. He wants to taste it again as much as you want him to.

“What does that feel like?”

Denji knows what it means to die now, but he thinks he’s starting to understand how to live too. If this day, in the eighteenth winter of his life, is what dying and being reborn feels like, he would rather die in the winter when his time comes.

“I think it feels like love.”

author's note:

guys this took SO LONG i really do not have what it takes to do a longfic in 2 days anymore after that tsukishima one... but im so proud of this tho like i had so much fun writing it and i love my baby boy denji so much omg also wishi i am so sorry it took this long to come out but i hope you like it sososoosososososos much

anyways tags!!

@wishi-selfships @staraxiaa @kuroppiii @akaakeis @iiwaijime @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @catsoupki @wyrcan