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astraystayyh · 8 months

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Invisible Thread- two.

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

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

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

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

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

word count: 17k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You should go with them."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

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

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"37," he replies instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

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

Selfish.

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

Selfish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You are being distant.

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

And it's his fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?"

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

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

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

"Mm. I will too."

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

✹✹✹

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

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

Four months ago.

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

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

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

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

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

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

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

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

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

You should've known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you meet my mom?"

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

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

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

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone rings again.

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

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

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

"Your mother died in a car accident."

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

Your mom. Gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

"I can try."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How's that death warrant going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1K notes · View notes

thegoldensundreamer · 3 months

Text

Love At Last

Onyankopon x black!reader

Warnings: exes, use of n word, squirting, fingering (f receiving), eating out (f receiving)

Word Count: 6.2k

He was a little older than me. A junior, and I, a sophomore. In college, you only had two focuses: have fun and study, and truthfully it helped me. No matter what anyone told me I had control to do whatever I wanted in life and didn't want anyone's opinions on how I'd be living it.

Honestly, that's what made my other ex's love me and even some, hate me. But I mean it wasn't like he was always putting his expectations too high for me. Onyankopon just wanted to see me as my best self. When we broke up and I told him the reason as to why I couldn't do it anymore, it all really didn't make sense. I wanted to tell myself that I knew the reason as to why he was just so terrible but subconsciously I knew I didn't. And it was hard for me these past months. Really hard. I been seeing him on campus like a thousand times and he just keeps getting more beautiful and glowin like the sun.

He's the head of his team now and it never helps me that he didn't ever have any girls he just messed around with. Especially bonding and having a real relationship with his exes. Including me. And Its painful seeing him just living his life and me not hating him for any reason because he is really a great guy. So whenever I see him I make sure to shift my eyes to the complete opposite direction of where his head is at. Or even cover my face with a book or a water bottle to not have that awkward walk past. But I kind of wish he chased after me... and although I know its selfish I'm just as confused as when I left that boy. But I guess we all just have to move on.

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

"The assignment is still due this Sunday at 11:59 on Blackboard. I don't want any emails, text messages, or conversations next class about an extension. Period."

I honestly think Professor Rodriguez is tweaking now. No excuses? What if someone is sick or something?

The whole class groans as we pack all of our stuff. I mean, it's just a paper so I'm not tripping or anything. I just got to make sure to do it before the Que party this weekend. There's never been a problem before so I don't think I have anything to worry about.

Me and my girls have been planning to go to one of the Que parties we keep infamously hearing about. It's always wild, lit, and memorable till you graduate. All of a sudden when you get that degree they don't exist no more because you don't want no one to know of the hoe tales.

I haven't been to one of their parties yet, but Im excited. I haven't been outside in a while especially since I ended things with Ony. A few kickbacks here and there were going on this past semester for me but that's about it. I like being inside just as much or even more than I like being out.

When I walk down the university building, I put in my headphones ready to blast some Sexyy Red. That woman music got something in it I swear.

"I'm looking for the hoooesssss" I mouth to myself while I nod my head. Shit, I forgot how hard that bass goes. As I bob my head I can't remotely hear the voice behind me trying to catch my attention.

It was Jaden, one of Ony’s teammates, and he's also in Professor Rodriquez class. He gave up calling my name and just let me go.

•••

When I finally left the building and head to my car I instantly switch my music over to the Bluetooth aux and look at my assignment before I pull off. You see... he assigned it to us last Friday and I for real have just been procrastinating till now. I would say my time management is usually really good but its not.

"Ok so I got to just write about 500 words. I could do this tonight no problem."

I put down my phone and start adjusting my rear view mirror only to find light grey clouds of the day turning darker grey. I really hope it don't storm when I'm on the road.

Driving out of the lot and onto the highway, I continue blasting my hoochie playlist. Shrugging at the random pain in my heart I'm feeling, I call one of my girls talking about how much I think this party gon cut all my feelings from Ony and revive the party girl in me.

Im pulling into my apartment complex excited . I haven't been this joyous to go to a party in a while. The mere thought of shaking ass is bringing me serotonin. Just a sweet release of stress. Plus, it's Friday and the party is Saturday night so I'm definitely geeking.

When I stumble up the steps right before the entrance to my residence giddy and jovial, looking for my key, I slightly looked up. The scream in my head is definitely showing me how much I'm not over this feeling in my heart.

I stopped my movement and fought the urge to back step all the way back into my car and hide. I'm not sure why hes here at this time. It's 5:30 which isn't late for real but just a bit confusing enough to make you question why the hell someone is at your door uninvited. Especially since its here. At my apartment. And it's him. With his aura and skin glistening like oil on a hot body.

He was in some black muscle shirt with matching jogger pants. Shyly smiling at me at first but then noticing my expression, he looked down at the state of his body and cringed before looking back in my eyes. Clearly embarrassed. "Sorry you seeing me like this, I just came from practice so I'm still a little sweaty"

I secretly moaned in my head. He looks so good I had to catch my breath and his voice is still captivating up to now. I still can't forget the way he used to t-

I'm getting sidetracked. Let me regain this composure.

"Is there something you need?" I quietly ask. This is no good. The whole point is out of sight out of mind. You know how you want to block somebody on everything and really go out of your way to not see them in person so you won't have to think about them or double back? Well I feel like I'm breaking that right now. It's not my fault sure but the shame still feels the same.

Ony pulls out an object from his pocket. A white, slightly long but thin figure. He looks at it for a moment before looking up at me again and holding it up.

"I came here to give this to you. Im pretty sure it's yours. At least that's what Jaden said."

I squint my eyes in confusion at what he was holding and hurriedly looked through my tote bag to find that I did not have my Apple Pencil for my iPad.

So that's why he's here.

Apple pencils are expensive so I'm not mad. I would've been more upset if I only figured out I dropped it when I got inside and tried to start my paper. But how did he even get it?

He reached his arm out as I began to walk up to him for my pencil. I thanked him for bringing it to me and awkward silence overtook the little rain droplets that noted the thunderstorm about to take place.

Our hands touched ever so slightly as I grabbed my missing pencil. I withdrew immediately and he did the same faintly after. After a few long seconds, he broke the silence.

"Jaden gave it to me at the locker rooms after practice. He said he tried to give it to you after class but couldn't catch up or something so I guess he just wanted me to carry out the deed especially with some paper he mentioned."

I grinned and slightly nodded in understanding, quickly glancing at his eyes before staring at the Apple Pencil. It's strange. He can't really look me in the eye. I mean, I can't either but he's 6'2" so my excuse is good. On top of that, the nonchalance in his tone doesn't sit right with me. It's either he's forcing it or a part of me wants to believe he is just to delude myself that he still cares. It's unfair of me, especially since I probably broke his heart, but it's the real.

"I'll thank Jaden when I see him next class. Thank you for bringing it to me." I quip and walk past him to my door, beginning to find my keys in my bag with the pencil still in hand.

Damn when did I get this shy?

Onys attempt at being nonchalant somewhat was breaking. He stared at the pencil smiling as he spoke and pointed.

"I'm surprised you still have Chowder on there".

I turned my head around, mid-hand in bag. He was referring to the little sticker I had on my ex-missing item. The one that would help me differentiate my pencil from everyone else's so no one would take it. The one he gave me as a funny gift for the love of our mutual favorite childhood show.

I'm surprised he still remembers these little details about me. About us.

"Well it's still my favorite show. I don't think that's ever going to change." I giggle looking back for my keys.

It's hard to do this. To face him. How do people talk to their exes? This isn't even my first but damn. Now my minds all over the place with him and us all over it. All those memories we share. Good and bad.

I stop fiddling in my bag and spoke under my breath with the same thought, caught up in the idea. "I'm surprised you still remember." I mumbled to myself.

I can feel his presence and his eyes on me, not exactly sure what his actions are. But his voice speaks up with a small sense of fervor in his tone. Something undeniably him. The tone I always craved since it left me.

"Y/n, you can't tell me you don't call to mind how Ive remembered every single thing I've been blessed to learn about you"

I still my hands from roaming once again after I found my keys. At this point, I don't know what's going on. But as I motion my mouth to find what to say a grand lightning bolt flashed down from the sky, hitting somewhere nearby. Thunder that sounded like an earthquake erupted, immediately pouring heavy rain down with it. With that, we instantaneously saw lampposts shut off. All electricity in the area immediately being gone in an instant.

"Ain't no way" I groaned. I can't believe this. I look around at all of the dark areas surrounding the complex except for the emergency lights powered from the generator. Putting my keys in the door, I heavily sigh opening up my residence.

Slowly walking in to the dim natural light from the blinds I turn around to Onyankopon, standing still at the doorstep, and tell him he can come in.

"Are you sure? My car is all good and everything I can still drive."

"In this storm?" I ask raising my eyebrow. I rolled my eyes, "You not gon get nowhere the way this storm going right now. It's fine. Plus, your place is probably out of electricity too."

He nods, "Well thanks, I really appreciate it" He awkwardly steps into the 3 bedroom apartment. My girls usually have class during this time last I checked so we're the only ones here.

I grab some candles to light across my home hoping for some sort of spark to brighten up the place.

Once I withdrew a breath and looked around, the rooms seemed to be lit up enough comfortably outside of the insanely romantic essence it gave off. I stood up from where I was crouched by the living room table where I made eye contact with him sitting up on the couch.

"Soooo could I get you anything?" I awkwardly stand there and he's just sitting... menacingly.

Ugh who am I kidding he looks so geeked out right now.

"It's honestly fine. Once the storm passes I'll be right out forreal you don't have to go through any trouble." He laughs.

With that in mind I obliged and went to my room setting up my laptop and iPad with my now found Apple Pencil. Since the electricity's gone that means I shouldn't have any distractions on focusing on my work.

"Right y/n, focus on the goal. It don't matter that your ex is in the other room. Get on your zoom!" Mumbling to myself as I type in my username to blackboard to view the rubric.

"What the-"

Shit. Of course blackboard and the wifi is down too if all the electricity is out.

As I groan and leave my room to get a glass of water, I'm getting Ony one too. Seeing him roaming on his phone and placing the glass in front of him on the table I sit on the sofa opposite of him.

He looks up from his phone, "You did not have to do this", he began to grin to himself as he lifted the cup and started to drink.

As I began to speak we both got a notification.

ALL UNIVERSITY STUDENTS: ELECTRICITY IS DOWN ON CAMPUS AND ON AND OFF CAMPUS HOUSING DUE TO A SEVERE WEATHER STORM. MORE UPDATES WILL COME SOON. CURRENTLY, AN ESTIMATION OF 3 HOURS WILL BE NEEDED TO REPAIR DAMAGES TO ELECTRICAL UNITS.

"Fuck" I groaned.

"You're not gonna be able to finish that paper huh?" He questioned.

"No and it's due Sunday. I was hoping to knock it out today before the weekend really starts. I don't need to procrastinate anymore than I already have."

"Oh trust me I remember." He laughed. "I can help yknow. There's nothing else we can do here."

"On what though? Blackboard is down."

"Not google docs or notes app though." He smiled, "As long as you know what you're supposed to write about you're set."

"But I like looking at the rubric when I write to make sure my grades solidified"

"I'm hearing a lot of excuses misses honors student. If you wanted to do it you would at this point. Plus, my specialty is writing papers so I can definitely help"

I remember oh so well. This reminds me of when I procrastinated on a paper last semester the weekend before it was due just like this one and we stayed up till 3 AM writing it. So many laughs and double shot espressos from that time. His specialty really is writing essays and all sorts of papers. That assignment was 5000 words and we started the Saturday and still got an A.

"Shit, why not. It's only 500 words anyway" I joke.

He smiled and we got to work. The first hour went by like nothing. It felt like old times. 200 words were typed but the only thing holding us back was that I actually need to have proper cited sources. Professor Rodriguez do not play around either so it's been a painstaking amount of time trying to find anything with no internet and a on and off personal hotspot.

As Ony and I sit next to each other working on the paper, he lifts up his glass and it accidentally slipped out of his hands onto the table.

"Ah damn I'm so sorry. Let me-"

"No it's cool." I put down my laptop and got up to get a paper towel. When I sat back down and handed the paper towel to him our hands touched again. That once jovial, funny and somewhat relaxed mood we had was now gone. We're exes. This isn't what exes do. We're not friends.

But shit we were . That was exactly what we were like before we started anything or knew there was something there. Even during our relationship we felt just like this at times too. Where the hell did we go? Why did I let us go?

The awkward touch we had became more intimate as I decided to gently grab his hand. The eye contact he made was confused but willing. It spoke "why haven't you done this all this time while I'm right here?" Or at least that's what I think.

Our hands interlocked letting go of the paper towel at this point. Eye contact on something serious as we ask questions to each other with them. As I began to lean down on the couch, Ony couldn't stop staring between my eyes and my lips. He eventually and quickly took the dive, trying not to lose the moment. Embers burned and flowed through the air as he began to shift from my power to his. He embarked on leaning my back onto the couch rather than his. Hands splayed in my locs and taking small breaks to breathe before going back in.

Small moans escape my mouth as he's working me. Kisses pressed on my lips were coming down my chin... then my neck as he suckled on my skin. His hands roamed my body slowly. One on the side of my stomach nearing my ass and the other beginning to feel my breast under my shirt. At this point, he's starting to get more vocal, groaning and whispering sweet nothings along my body.

"You know how much I've missed you y/n. How much I've missed this pretty face... this pretty body... and this pretty pussy" he hissed one kiss after another. "Is this all ok? If you're not fine with this of course I'll stop. Tell me what you want."

His asking for consent was always so sexy and those words... damn I missed him and this.

I looked at his lust blown eyes as he looked up to mine from my stomach as he briefly stopped from going lower and lower.

"I want you Q. I'm all yours." My composure is definitely done at this point. He's got me right now.

"Don't worry. You know I will always take care of you." He slurred, slowly sliding my bottoms and panties down and kissing my inner thighs before locking them in his arms. It's been a while since I've been in this position and I've missed it since forever ago.

Slow pecks from my thighs came closer and closer to the apex of them. He must could tell how nervous I was since his thumbs gently rubbed where they laid at to comfort me. Im in love with the way they feel on me.

"So as you can see I do have some hair ri-"

He side eyed me. "Y/n I'm a grown ass man. You know I like my peaches with some fuzz on it. Now can I have my dinner please?"

He can get so forward like this it's making me shy. I rolled my eyes and laid my head back. I never thought I'd be in this predicament.

"Good girl. Just stay just like that baby."

He nestled his lips on my bundle, wrapping them on to gently suck at a slow and smooth pace. His rhythm was gradually fastening and shortly, his lips unattached from my clit to lap at the bundle once more flicking his tongue. He remembers. He always remembers what I like.

Beginning to close my legs from the sensation, he parts me once again lapping at my cunny fervently. Like some undying need that he can't let go. As a "punishment" for me not taking it, he inserts a finger and then a second to make me break even more than I already am.

I plead and moan, "Ony, baby, I'm leaking"

I can barely control my body now. My breath getting fainter as I breathe heavy.

"Good. You know that's what I want." He keeps pumping. Squelching ensues as he becomes infatuated with his doing. "Look at that shit. All for me huh" He asks looking at my fucked out face.

I disappointedly moan when his fingers leave me but he swipes my essence from its trail and sucks his fingers while maintaining eye contact with me. I whimper and squeeze at the sight.

I guess he wanted to finish the job though. I tried to reach over to slip my hand in his boxers just for him to grab my wrist and pin both of my hands down to finish what he started.

It's always like a switch in him when he's like this. So different from the sweet Onyankopon from everyday that everyone knows. So nasty. I love it. I miss it.

He mischievously watches me. "You feel this?" I moan as he pumps his fingers back in me. I roll my eyes to the back of my head and he chuckles. "I'm gonna take that as a yes. Let me make you cum, princess."

He lowered his head down again as he continued pumping into me. Licking a stripe up my honey and continuing the mess he was creating previously. Languid strokes of his tongue were hitting me just right and my moans started turning to desperate whimpers.

Building me up for a while, he then dipped his muscle into my pussy and interchanging with his fingers, curling them with each stroke. His other hand left my thigh and his thumb began rubbing my clit. Faster and faster he went I started to find my stomach tensing and the air becoming hard to breathe.

In between heavy pants I slip out "O, stop, I'm gonna make a mess!" my eyes rolling to the back of my head and legs lifting and coming together.

He didnt stop and pinned me down pressing on my lower stomach. My moans became octaves higher and higher. He lifted his head from my cunny, "you gon take it and make a mess all over my face. Don't hold back nothing."

With that, he continued his ministrations. My grip on his hair became as tight as it could as I could feel my voice go weak. My legs began to shake as clear liquid lightly sprayed out onto his face and a white ring began to form on his fingers. My pants were beginning to rapidly slow down as I came down from my high, un loosening the death grip I had on his head.

He came back up kissing my cheek then licking my essence off his face and fingers, "Always taste so good." Proceeding to take a rag from my bedroom to clean me up and carrying me to my bed.

Before we even got the chance to speak about what happened, my eyes fell. A nap took over both of us and hours that felt like minutes rolled by.

His arm around me as we slept on our sides felt like old times. Like something right that I just ripped away from my body. It's so comfortable.

After a dream I couldn't remember, I wake up in a daze, looking behind me to see him knocked out and his arm still around my waist.

Gently moving it off of me, I slowly get up and walk to the bathroom.

"Shit I might as well take a shower"

To be honest, none of this has settled in my head yet. My ex boyfriend who I'm clearly not over in my bedroom after being nasty on the couch is sleeping on my bed... crazy. Real fanfiction kind of shit.

Pushing the light switch up, I notice the bulb illuminate the room. Thank the Lord almighty. I put on my shower cap and get in. I feel myself let go of a breath I didn't know I had when the hot water hits my skin.

This is insane. I shouldn't be hooking up with my ex. I cut it off for a reason... I think. It's gotta be this way for the both of us so nobody gets hurt.

"Bitchhhh" I think to myself in the shower holding my head.

Leaving the bathroom with my towel on, I see my ex looking over at me from his phone, arm now holding his head up to stare me up and down in awe.

"It's been a while since I seen this view"

I cut my eyes and stand in front of him on my bed. "Look we need to talk- " and my head turned immediately when I heard the front door of the apartment open. Thankfully, my room doors closed, but my girls walked in the apartment gossiping when they called out my name to have our daily debrief of the day.

I cuss at myself and know they probably see the cups of water, candles, and his shoes at the door as they fell silent. Whispering to themselves with words I couldn't make out, I eventually hear a knock at my door.

I looked at Ony, mortified with a finger to my lips, then took a deep breath, opening the door so they can only see me still in my bath robe.

"Heyyy" I greeted with the awkwardest get out and don't make this weird smile I know.

"Hey mookie, we just wanted to check on you and see if you're good with the electricity going off and everything earlier." One of them said, clearly peeking inside my bedroom to see who's here, eyes widening that it was him before he could move himself. She gave me a look and I gave her one back like we telepathic or something.

"Girl yknow I'm good, just trying to finish this paper" I say hoping she takes the message that I know she's getting from me right now.

"Yeah I'm sure it's realll hard" She said acting like a real smart ass.

With a few more exchanges they go to their rooms to settle down for the night. After hearing both of their doors close I rush back to my room.

"Yeah, you gotta go" picking up his clothes and pushing them to his chest.

"But-"

"Look, I wish there was a better time to talk, but you have to go. This... is strange. We broke up. There's a reason why this ended. I know it was probably stupid of me to let you stay here during the storm, but this wasnt my intention." Pointing at the both of us.

I picked his arm up before he could get a word out to reason with me, clothes just tussled onto his body. If he sweet talks me again I really might not double back this time.

We get to the door and with the least amount of strength he has, he turns his body towards me and gently grabs my hand before I could open the door placing it back by my side.

"Y/n...why are you letting go of us... again? This still doesn't make sense and you know that."

I still. I remember this feeling... this sense of regret. But just like last time, I can't tell if it's the wrong choice or because I don't want to let go.

In truth, Ony feels... familiar. He'll always feel like a memory and I don't want to get too comfortable in his light of nostalgia. He brought such a level of solace in my life that I never wanted to replace. It was even more so after we became official....I don't want to become stagnant because of it. I have my own dreams, my own endeavors, and my own goals that I want to reach. It would be so easy to be a trophy wife to him... and he'd gladly let me. As a woman, I don't want that to be the tell all be all of my life when I know that I had a life before him. I didn't know if I could escape from it then and I definitely don't know now. That's the real reason why I keep shutting him out and probably why we broke up... but he can't know that.

"Because I know we won't end well. We're two different people Ony and this idea that you can just up and think everything is picture perfect for us has to stop now"

He looks in my eyes with such disappointment, then slight anger as his eyebrows pushed together. He opened his mouth to speak again but thought about it and decided not to, closing his eyes in the process. With a heavy huff from his chest, he looked at my eyes one last time for the night before turning away and leaving the complex.

When I shut the door, My girls came out immediately like paparazzi.

"You were over him huh?" One of them snarled at me. "It don't seem that way to me love. Maybe you shouldn't even go to the party tomorrow."

I looked down at the ground and they both took notice of my state. We all went to my bedroom and I explained everything that happened tonight. Their eyes looked at mine with frustration and awe. I held my head knowing their reaction just like they've been telling me for the past 3 months.

"You are not over that boy y/n"

"I think you're confused"

And they're right. I am. But I tell them the same thing I told them every time.

"But when he makes it to the league, what am I going to do? Wag my tail like a dog after him and have niggas tell me that I want his money or that I don't have half his talent for anything like them bitches was saying when we were together? And what if he cheats? He gon have hella girls at his disposable and I'll be feeling stupid like "I really wasted my time on this nigga". Y'all know how much I love Ony and I was just getting over him too. This is for the best for me right now y'all know that"

They gave each other a look and got up to hug me.

"Whatever decision you choose to make girl you know we got you. Just remember to listen to your heart sometimes"

With that, we said our little goodbyes and retired for the night. Ony on my mind, I went to bed.

Waking up, he is still on my mind. Getting my laptop, I tried to continue the paper but had no will power to do so. The whole morning and afternoon felt like that... no volition and all a blur. Wasting away in my bed after the three different times my girls checked up on me throughout the day I just can't escape him. It doesn't help having the daydream engrained of what could've been present with our past. In that same thought, I hear a buzz on my phone, too in tune with the delusional reaction thinking it could be him.

I look at it to see the ticket for the party tonight that one of my girls sent. I groan and get up, finally deciding to start my day and also prepare myself for tonight.

Hype hoochie music is playing on my speaker and I hear Looking For the Hoes again. I'm thinking of how good everything was before all that happened yesterday. Do I even regret it? Am I blocking my blessings?

I can't let a man distract me from my life though. There's a life before and after him and I have to remind myself of that.

Finally finished with my look and it finally being an hour after the party started, me and my girls head out for the wild night we been planning for months.

What I didn't know was that the line would feel like 3 miles long and realizing we need our ID when we're finally 5 feet before the security. Why are parties this complicated? I don't know. But luckily we all at least have pictures of our ID and got in.

When we step foot into the party, the first thing we see is purple lights illuminating the entire venue. People are scattered everywhere and in every other corner we see the Ques barking and hopping to their stroll.

"Lawd have mercy" one of my homegirls say in love with the ques. Me and the other laugh and roll our eyes.

After some time just standing, we decided to find a small table and sit down with our small get ups. Our drinks from the pregame were starting to kick in after 10 minutes and we were laughing our ass off drunk when we hear "Girl the way you move it got me in a trance-", and that was it. All of us pulled each other to the dance floor and start to turn up. I'm throwing ass on my home girl and catching from the other.

I needed this. Seriously. I forgot how fun it is to be outside in the streets. Seconds later, we hear a scream and laugh from a girl and gasp from the crowd. One of the Ques picked up a girl and started acting like he was eating her out.

We all looked at each other with our jaws dropped. Ain't no wayyyyy. They were not lying bout it getting wild.

Right behind where I see the spotlight shining, about 30 feet away, I saw a face I didn't think I'd see at all. Just as his eyes set in on the scene before him he also saw my eyes and we made eye contact for a brief second.

I turned my body so fast that I almost knocked my home girl over. In the middle of her fussing me out she asked what happened. Naturally, I told her that Ony is at the party.

"Why is a nigga at a Que party is the real question though?"

"Girl unimportant can we please move somewhere else"

We all move to a separate section of the party venue. This can not happen. I'm drunk and I been dancing? I can not see or be around that man right now.

Before I could even get the nightmare out my head, I hear a "Y/n" near my head. I turn around mouth slightly agape to see him once again. Even finer in his put together party get up than his athlete clothes from yesterday. My mind all caught up in him just like last time I'm in a blur of what he's actually saying to me.

"Y/n, why are you here right now?" He whispers yells in my ear from the loud music blasting from the speakers.

I look to my left and right and my homegirls dashed off like the road runner... traitors.

Looking at him once again, eyes low from the drink in my system I ask, "Ony, why would it matter to you? I'm not your girl and you not my man. We single. The real question is why you're at a Que party." Remembering what my homegirl had said to bite back at him.

He fixes his face, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek looking at me clearly frustrated. Just looking at his face he can't leave me alone. Sorry that's just drunk me talking I don't know whats on his mind.

"Y/n, why the hell you been drinking so much? Don't you got a paper to finish?"

"Ony you are not my daddy get up out my face!" I yell at him. "I'm out here having fun with my girls trying to get over YOUR ASS so why can't you just mind yo business!" Oops. My eyes widened, that last part wasn't supposed to come out. Fuck.

Shit, how did he react to that?

Without time for me to look up and see his face or even hear him utter a word, he has my hand in his and leading me somewhere and fast. I'm trying to keep up but it's kind of hard to have good foot and direction coordination in a party like this and off my ass.

With all of the movement feeling like a blur, I found both of us outside of the party venue from some back door. It's slightly raining by the building and the night sky showed a bright orange street light that was our only light source.

He takes off his jacket and puts it over my shoulders to warm me. It's a bit cold. What a gentleman.

"Y/n ... what did you say?"

He stares directly in my eyes with a sense of fervency and hope. One that I can't deny now.

Part 2?

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

Authors Note: Hi y'all! I haven’t written fanfic in soooo long but never stopped reading lmao. I loveeee this one so much. It’s Literally the best fic ive done period thus far. I’m trying to think if I should start writing again fr esp for my fictional anime men.

#onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon smut #onyankapon #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x reader #ony x black reader #aot x reader #aot smut

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runningfrom2am · 4 months

Text

the wedding // LTPF

summary: the wedding of the year, i can see it now.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. she's a bridezilla for REAL and i wish i included more of that energy, protective!coryo, idk people are drinking alcohol? (its a wedding, so duh), also TW for Livia and r's dad just existing p much.

based on this ask and this ask!

series masterlist // playlist

Everything was perfect. Absolutely everything you had dreamt of your whole life when it came to your wedding. Coryo had told you money was no object, and therefore, you spared no expense. You had a strong theory that your father was being sent every last bill, since you knew neither of you had anything more than what the Plinth's were providing for school, but that was the farthest thing from your problem. It was the least your father could do.

The hardest part of the whole thing, even before deciding who would give you away without your father, was deciding on your maid of honour. You didn't have many good friends, or friends at all, outside of your new husband. At one point, you wondered if had things gone differently, would you have chosen Lucy Gray?

Clemensia Dovecote was a fine enough choice. "Let me just say," Her speech began, hitting the side of her overfilled wine glass with a fork. "I have called this wedding for years, and no one believed me." She shot a smile over to you at the head table. "For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Clemensia. Y/N's Maid of Honour." She had just thrived on the title since you offered it to her which, while annoying, was good because she took her position very seriously. She was the perfect choice- she looked nice, presentable in a dress you had picked out, but the colour clashed with the yellow in the whites of her eyes and the few scales that were yet to fall off after the snake bite. She looked fine, but she also made you look better. "But like I said, I knew this would happen."

She was drunk, repeating things in a way that made you cringe internally but nevertheless, you had to watch. The lights spread across the large backyard of the Plinth's mansion lit up the night beautifully, bouncing off every white and red rose you had spread about. You were very grateful to them for allowing you to host the reception there. They had done a lot for you in the last year since you returned from Twelve.

Mrs. Plinth was very involved with planning the wedding- she loved the winter wedding and leaning into it as a theme. It worked out nicely because it gave her something to think about other than the death of her only child, and she was a tremendous help and support to you. You were truly grateful, but this day was hard on them without Sejanus there. She had mentioned on more than one occasion that Sejanus would have been the best man, and you only slightly doubted that. You wouldn't want it to be anyone else- but Coryo would have had different thoughts, you're sure.

"How much longer will this go on for?" Your now husband whispers in your ear, fake smile on his face as he also has to listen to Clem's rambling.

"I really don't know." You reply with the same fake smile, knowing that eyes were on you just as much as her.

"Some choice for a maid of honour." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, well, I would have gone with Arachne Crane but, you know..."

"Fair enough." He mumbles, sitting back in his seat. "Are you really the only woman in the Capitol who isn't insufferably annoying? You should have been your own maid of honour."

"Well it was her or Tigris, and Tigris is prettier than me so she wasn't really an option." You hum, grabbing his hand under the table as you keep your eyes focussed on Clemensia, not paying attention to a word she says.

Coryo laughs. "Tigris is not prettier than you."

"She's your cousin, your opinion is invalid." You shrug it off.

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm right." He argues, squeezing your hand.

You don't reply, and you let his hand go to clap once Clem is finally finished. You had already eaten, so now it was supposed to be the "fun part", as Clemensia so aptly put it in her speech. You found it rude, yes, but it wasn't a big deal and after tonight you wouldn't have to see her again for a while.

It was brisk out, being a winter wedding you should have expected that, but you still had another dress to change into so you excuse yourself from the table, kissing your husband goodbye as he gets up as well.

You hadn't allowed him to see any of your dresses, and this would be your third one today alone. He loved every one, and did not expect to be disappointed by the next. Or the one after that.

"Hey, congrats, Coriolanus." He tears his gaze away from your retreating figure to whoever was talking to him.

"Thank you, Hilarius." He nods, smiling politely at him and reaching out to shake his hand.

"I saw this one coming miles away." His classmate laughs. "You remember that though, right?"

"When you said that if I wasn't going to go after her you would?" Coryo asks, eyebrow raised. "I do remember that. It makes me wonder who let you in..." It's meant as a joke as he makes a point of looking past him toward the security they have at the entrance.

He furrows his brow when his eyes catch on your father standing there, arguing with one of the security guards, his wife by his side.

"If you would excuse me..." He says, walking toward them before Hilarius could even respond.

"Ugh, I know. Why did you even invite her, Y/N/N?" Clemensia complains as Tigris helps you step out of your gown.

"Who?" You ask, unsure what she was even talking about.

"Livia." She states, yet another glass of red wine in her hand.

"Oh, I kind of had to. Connections and all that." You shrug. You weren't Livia's biggest fan, she had a "greater than thou" attitude that drove you up the wall, but who in this city didn't?

"Ah, yes. Of course." She hums. "She had a lot of audacity to show up in that dress though..."

Your head whips around to look at her. "What dress?"

"You haven't seen her?" She gasps. "I thought you saw her! It's this white-based floral, really questionable for someone else's wedding. Looks like a tablecloth." She accentuates the statement with a sip from her glass.

Your jaw ticks and you look toward the door, already seeing red.

"Hey, Y/N, it's okay." Tigris rests her hands on your shoulders, prompting you to look at her. "We'll tell security, they can escort her out if that's what you want."

You take a breath, forcing a smile on your face. "Let's not bother them. I'll just go chat with her." You smile, stepping out of the dress in bare feet, quickly grabbing Clemensia's overfilled wine glass from her hand on your way out the door.

"Y/N, Wait! Don't!" Tigris calls after you, well aware of your notorious temper by now, but you don't listen.

You're in your white slip when you storm back out to the reception area through the back patio, immediately and quickly scanning the crowd for the guest in question. You know you have seconds before Tigris likely tries to stop you, but you know Clemensia won't. Then, you see her.

You're seething already. That's practically a wedding dress on its own. You would kill her.

You stomp across the ground, tunnel vision locked on her as she raises her glass to her lips, laughing, and talking with other guests, completely careless to what she had done wrong. Well, she would learn today.

"Livia Cardew!" You grin, walking up to her. "I don't recall sending you an invitation, but here you are!"

Immediately, she's taking in your appearance, giggling at your lack of appropriate attire and shoes. "Y/N! Congratulations." She says, eyes finally locking with yours again.

"May I have a word?" You ask, already grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

"Is there a problem here?" Coriolanus asks, addressing only his security as your father stands there, red-faced with anger.

"Yeah, they've got no invite." He nods, showing Coryo the list in his hands which he quickly pretends to look over.

"Oh! Sorry, yes. There you are..." He says, pointing down at the bottom and your father visibly relaxes. "Under the title there that says 'not welcome under any circumstances'... Well then." He looks at your father now for the first time, tilting his head at him.

"No, this is my daughter's wedding and we will be let in!" He demands, raising his voice.

Coryo clicks his tongue, slightly shaking his head. "No, sir, I thought we were clear on this."

"No, you said the wedding. This, if I'm not mistaken, is the reception. I made my sacrifice. Now, I'm here."

"And only about two hours late." Coryo hums uninterestedly, looking down at his watch. "Father of the year."

Your father's fuming, and it's hard for Coryo to not laugh in his face. "I paid for everything here! You can't deny us entry!"

"I can." Coryo says. "Well, actually, my apologies. Mrs. Y/L/N, you are welcome to come in, if you'd like." He smiles at her, polite demeanour flicked back on like a light switch.

Your father quickly pulls her back behind him. "It's both of us or neither of us. Go ask our daughter." He states, gripping tightly on her arm.

"Oh, no. I won't be ruining our wedding." Coryo shakes his head, firm in his decision. "I'll tell Y/N you send your love, Ma'am. Have a good night."

"No! You will let us in right now or-" Your father's tantrum is interrupted by a commotion across the yard, drawing Coryo's attention. People gasp in shock, and then he sees you, about to absolutely lay into Livia Cardew, who now has red wine all over her face and the front of her dress.

"I must be going, now." Coryo tells them, turning back to the security guard and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt to be able to roll up his sleeves. "If you don't mind, call for peacekeepers to escort him from the property. Thank you."

He doesn't have time to hear your father's angry disagreement as he walks away.

"So," You drop her arm, turning to face her. "I'm not sure if you are aware, but this isn't your wedding." You spit, gesturing to her dress. "And listen, I get it! You're jealous. That's fine, but it's extremely tacky and honestly embarrassing for you to wear a white dress to a wedding that's not yours."

Livia's lips fall open in shock, looking down at her dress before she laughs. "Y/N, come on. It really isn't that serious, you realize that, right?"

You stare at her for a moment, weighing your options. You could smash the glass over her head like you wanted to, demand that she leave immediately, or, you could 'accidentally' spill the glass on her. Before you complete the thought, you're throwing the contents of Clemensia's glass at the front of her dress, smiling as it splatters up over her face and in her hair, dripping down the front of her expensive-looking gown.

"Oops."

Livia gasps, wiping the red substance from around her eyes and flicking it off. "I thought that for one day you could be normal! God, you are vile!" She's practically screaming now.

"This is entirely your fault, you do realize that, right?" You tilt your head at her, a slight laugh under your tone. "If you wanted my husband just say that."

"I- ugh!" She groans in frustration and anger, swiping her hands over the liquid on her chest and flicking it all at you, staining the perfectly white satin of your slip. You look down at it, and then back at her. You were about to go through the roof.

The amount of people watching in the immediate vicinity is the only thing keeping you from grabbing her hair and shoving her head into the dirt. You decide to scream instead.

It turns into more of a wail, pumping angry tears into fake sad ones. Coryo is there in a second. "Darling, what's happened?" He asks, horrified as he looks between the two of you, grabbing your shoulders.

"I-" You sniff, pointing to the girl in front of you. "I just came to offer her something to change into because that is out of dress code and I tripped and-" You hiccup as he's rubbing up and down your bare arms. "It was an accident, and then she... It was just an accident! Now my dress is ruined and, and-"

He turns his gaze to Livia who just looks pissed while you ramble on about having had a little too much to drink, that was all. He's sure that's not what happened, he knows his wife better than that, but this show was not for him. He looks her up and down, visibly disgusted by her choice of dress. It honestly looks better now.

"Coriolanus that's not-" She chuckles with the shock of the accusation, shaking her head as she pleads with him.

"It's time for you to go." He tells her, looking toward a member of security who's not busy with your father, quickly waving him over.

Livia looks at the approaching security man in shock. "I didn't do anything!"

"That dress and causing a scene over it is more than enough." He states, wrapping an arm around your waist and wiping your tears from your cheeks. "Let's get you some water, Darling. It's okay..."

"It's not!" You cry, gesturing to the few small drops of wine on the front of your dress. "It's ruined! She ruined everything!"

Just as she's about to be escorted out, you make eye contact with her, offering a smug smile. She scoffs, which earns her a grab on the arm and a more forceful expulsion from the reception.

"Y/N!" Tigris is rushing across the lawn toward you, careful not to stumble in her shoes and bridesmaids' dress. "What happened?" She asks, addressing her cousin now.

"She's okay, there was just an accident with a glass of wine. We're just going to take a few minutes. I'll help her change." He explains to her.

She nods, looking worriedly down at the small stains in your dress. "I should be able to get this out, alright?" She assures you, rubbing a clean spot of the fabric between her fingers to make sure.

"Okay, thank you." You sniff, leaning into your husband's side as he guides you back up to the house.

You get inside and upstairs to what has become your dressing room and secondary bedroom over the last year. As soon as he shuts the door behind you, you can't hold your laughter back anymore. You're practically doubled over with it, and immediately Coryo understands. He chuckles, shaking his head at you.

"What a show..." He grins fondly, pulling you into a hug which you happily return.

"Oh, you liked it?" You giggle, coming down from your laughing fit.

"It was wonderful." He agrees, kissing the top of your head. "For a moment I was worried about you."

"Aw, really?" You look up at him, jutting your lip out in a pout.

"Definitely." He hums, kissing you softly. "Now come on, let's get you changed, huh?"

"Please." You nod, kissing him again before pulling back to pull your next dress from the closet. "I was supposed to wear this underneath, but now I can't." You sigh, hanging the full dress on the door before pulling the wine-stained one over your head.

"Just that will do, I suppose." Coryo mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you toss the slip onto the ground.

"Oh, you suppose, do you?" You chuckle, reaching up to pull the new dress from its hanger.

"Mhm." He nods, planting a kiss in the crook of your neck. "Makes my job easier later."

You laugh, blush spreading over your cheeks and flushing your chest while you unzip the back. You carefully balance as you step into the opening in the fabric, pulling it up around your waist.

"Don't rush, Darling. It will probably take you a while to recover before we can return to the party." He says, watching you adjust the skirt before you plan on zipping it up.

"Good point." You agree, but make no effort to stop until Coryo places his hand over yours.

"What should we do with all this time we have to kill, hm?" He's already leaning down to kiss over the back of your neck.

"I feel like you have an idea..." You mumble, tilting your head to adjust to his presence.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" He asks as he gently pushes the fabric back down to drop in a pool around your ankles.

"You may have mentioned it..." You turn under his palms as they land on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "And I love you too. More than you could ever imagine, Coryo."

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey , @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

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holywizardheart · 11 months

Text

~Astrology observations~

Don't copyright my

The pictures aren't mine

Enjoy the reading

★How Aquarius/Uranus dominant aesthetic in my opinion looks like ^_^

★Moon/Mercury negative aspects they're bubbly only with close people. But they're usually quiet at first in my view.

★Sun/Saturn negative aspects can represent a detached or disinterested father. It can also mean that your father was absent throughout your life.

★Mars/Saturn negative aspects I noticed that they're quick to cut people off without explanation.

★Scorpio moons expect you to spill your guts and expose your vulnerable side but they won't do it themselves.

★Saturn in the 3rd house it's such a pain in your ass when it comes to school. Even if you try so hard to be the best student and always receive good marks people won't be satisfied especially teachers they will say like "You need to try harder" and lower your scores because they think that's not enough.

★Lilith in the 3rd house can mean in your school life you said something inappropriate and for that people shamed you. After that incident, you can be scared to express your opinion.

★Venus in the 10th house can also mean that you can't hide your relationship from people. Someone is going to find out and everyone will know about it anyway. I think having a secret relationship with someone may be impossible.

★Having Pluto in the 6th house is exhausting. Always overworking yourself and being a perfectionist at the same time. Also in childhood, you can be criticized for your mistakes and actions so as a result you may be scared of making mistakes.

*By the way, I have this aspect and my mom was so critical of me that she judged everything from my clothes to my behavior.*

★The north node in the 10th house and the south node in the 4th house can represent a distant relationship with the mother but a close relationship with the father.

★Capricorn placements are nostalgic as cancer placements. They can listen to their favorite old songs and just remember these memorable situations. Honestly, my dad with Capricorn stellium does that at least one time a year. Also, his playlist is filled with 80-90x music :)

★I think the sign who mostly has a victim complex is not Pisces but Leo

★Mars in the 10th house loves competition and challenges

★Pisces placements & Stockholm syndrome

#astro community #astrology #astro observations #astro notes #natal chart #astro memes #tropical astrology #astro posts #astroblr

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hengqarae · 1 year

Text

reckless driver

PAIRING ❄ kim mingyu x afab!reader WORD COUNT ❄ 10k words GENRE ❄ street racer au, angst, romance, smut (minors dni), the teeniest tiniest smidge of humor WARNINGS ❄ swearing, illegal activity (drag/street racing), making out, extreme pining, whirlwind romance, smut (fingering, protected sex), not proofread, brief hospital scene

you hate racing and you don't date racers. kim mingyu loves racing, and he finds out that he loves you, too, from the moment that he first lays eyes on you.

PLAYLIST ❄ reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine (ft. ben kessler) / yards / gardens by kate bollinger / btbt by b.i. & souljia boy tell 'em (ft. devita) / notice me by sza / nothing but the love by wrabel / with my eyes closed by cults / anyone by seventeen / angel eyes by abba FROM THE AUTHOR ❄ mingyu, crawling up my bias list because of my own fic that i wrote about him... i am a lizzy stan before i am a human, and the first time that i heard reckless driving, i knew that she was singing about mingyu (or, at least, the mingyu that i would one day write about). i hope that you enjoy reading this, and i hope that you are having a wonderful new year <3

You didn’t know what you were getting into when you visited the track that very first time.

To your credit, you did not visit with the intention of falling in love. Your roommate, Lee Chan, had begged and pleaded for you to accompany him, to indulge, even just once, in this newfound passion of his. He had started racing to pay his bills, but quickly figured out that he enjoyed it. The rush of adrenaline made him feel alive, he’d tell you. You would always follow that up by telling him that he was chasing a high that could kill him one day.

You didn’t support his racing. You hated saying goodbye to him when he left for races. You always found yourself anxiously awaiting news, tossing and turning whenever you tried to sleep, forced to occupy yourself with something to distract you while you waited for a call, a text, anything to assure you that he had finished the race safely and that he would be coming home at the end of the night. The possibility of getting arrested didn’t really scare either of you; you were mostly afraid that you would lose your best friend, and because of your own stubbornness, you weren’t going to be present if, and when, that happened. That’s the only reason that you started attending races with him. You’ve made sure that you’re abundantly clear about that, too.

“It’s s'posed to be a really good race tonight!” Chan was practically bouncing in his seat. You hummed quietly in response, eyes trained on his speedometer. He was prone to driving fast when he was excited, and you were nervous enough at the prospect of him racing at all – your nerves didn’t need to be exacerbated by speeding down the interstate en route to the track. “All of the circuits are having their championships tonight, so if I place, I’ll get to move up to C! All the S racers will be there, too. Choi Seungcheol, Joshua Hong, Kim Mingyu – they're, like, gods in the downtown racing circuit.”

“And which one do I have to thank for bringing you into racing?”

Chan groans quietly, hands shifting their positions on the steering wheel. “Don’t talk to anyone. Even though I love and adore you, and your opinions are very important to me... I don’t know if your anti-racing agenda will be met very favorably tonight.”

“What? I said I was going to thank them.”

“Right.” Chan forces a smile. “Please do not talk to anyone tonight.”

You huff quietly in response, shifting in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. You hope that your phone has enough battery to get you through the night. You were definitely not going to watch Chan race, and you doubted that you were going to meet anyone at the track that could offer titillating conversation; that is, you weren’t interested in talking about racing or cars, and it was unlikely that you’d find anyone that could offer much beyond that. You’d likely spend your time in Chan’s car, scrolling through Tik Tok while you waited for him or until your battery died and you were forced to be alone with your own thoughts.

At least, that had been your intention. When you and Chan arrive at the track, you’re quickly reminded of that saying about best laid plans.

“Mingyu! What’s up, man?” Chan barely bothers to turn off his ignition before he’s bounding out of his car, greeting another man. One look tells you that this guy – Kim Mingyu, you’re assuming, as Chan had already mentioned him – is a racer, too, and you’re spurred out of the car to give him a piece of your mind. Chan only realizes that you’ve come up behind him once Mingyu’s gaze travels to you, and he’s quick to try and jump on offense. “M-Mingyu, this is my roommate. They... don’t race.”

“They don’t like racing, either.” You offer, crossing your arms again, leaning against the hood of Chan’s car. You’re uncomfortable with the way that Mingyu is sizing you up, and you don’t miss the smug countenance plastered on his, admittedly handsome, face. Still, you find it difficult to peel your eyes away from his. He’s... hot. You had made it easier to villainize the sport by picturing all other racers to be stout, middle-aged men with receding hairlines. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Mingyu doesn’t fit that picture.

“Roommates. Is that code for something, or is this actually platonic?” Mingyu keeps his eyes locked with you as he asks, even though you get the sense that his question is directed at Chan. You feel warm under his gaze, unsure if it’s because you’re uncomfortable, or if it’s because you’re finding yourself more and more attracted to Mingyu as you stare at him. Every few seconds, you have to remind yourself that he’s another stupid racer, and for that reason alone, it’s out of the question.

“N-No, we’re just friends. Nothing like that. Why do you— oh, shit, hold on. Hoshi!” Chan pulls away before he can finish his own question, chasing after another man, leaving you and Mingyu still locked in on each other. His smirk seems to grow even wider, and you shift your weight. You wish Chan had stayed and finished his question. You, too, would like to know why Mingyu had asked.

As nice as he is to look at, though, if you don’t speak to anyone else tonight, you’ll at least have told Kim Mingyu how you feel about his and Chan’s stupid racing. You won’t back down, even under the warmth that’s blooming across your skin. “Are you the one that brought Chan into this shit?”

“Dirty words comin’ from such a pretty mouth.”

“A-Answer the question.”

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jackets, Mingyu offers a shrug. “He was already into it when I met him. It was probably...” He looks around after he trails off before focusing back on you. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He only mimics your expression, raising his own eyebrows back at you.

“Well? Who was it? Is he here?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

You scoff. “I-I’m not going to hurt them. I just want to yell at them.”

“Yeah, that’s why.” You knit your eyebrows together and Mingyu’s smirk grows even wider, turning into a full grin now. “I’d rather you yell at me instead. You seem like you’d be hot when you’re mad.”

You’re at a loss. It’s been a while, if ever, since you’ve been flirted with so shamelessly, and as badly as you want to stay mad about your current situation – your best friend refusing to quit racing despite your constant protests and you, inevitably, getting dragged to the track with him – you're finding it hard to keep it together when Mingyu is looking at you like he wants to devour you. “I don’t fuck with racers.”

“I think I could persuade you.”

“I don’t want to be persuaded.”

“I like a challenge.” Mingyu bends at the waist, meeting you at eye level from where you’re leaning on Chan’s car. You scrunch your nose when you catch a whiff of his cologne, telling yourself that no, you do not like how he smells. “God, you’re so pretty.”

“Stop flirting with me.” You snap.

There’s that smirk again. “Okay, angel.”

You groan, rolling your eyes and throwing your head back. When you lift your head back, Mingyu seems to have gotten closer. If you reach out, you could grab the collar of his jacket and pull him even closer. Your fingertips tingle at the prospect, but you refrain. Instead, you take the opportunity to study his face up close, his smooth, tanned skin and his deep brown eyes and his plump lips. You must have been looking for a while, because Mingyu feels compelled to finally break you out of your trace.

“You can look and touch, y’know.”

“Pass.” You scowl, snapping out of it and leaning back, attempting to create some distance between the two of you. “Don’t you need to warm up or something?”

“I don’t race for another few hours.”

You set your jaw. What is this guy doing? Why is he wasting his time on you? You’re sure that, somewhere else within the track, he could find plenty of other people willing to swoon over him, ready to fall to their knees and offer him some pre-race stress relief. You weren’t one of those people. You hate racing. You hate that Chan fell into it, and you hate how you become too worried to function sometimes. You had met him in college, and for him to forsake the degree that he earned for the quick, easy money that he was getting now made your emotions flare. His business degree wasn’t going to kill him. Racing, eventually, will.

The scent of Mingyu’s cologne is making you feel dizzy, enveloped in the scent of him, and under other circumstances, you’d already have him pressed against you. This was one of Chan’s races, though. You get enough of this shit at home from him; you aren’t going to bring any pieces back with you, too, even though you can imagine it would feel really good to touch Mingyu, and to have him touch you.

Mingyu is perfectly content in standing and looking at you. He thinks you’re the second most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on, only behind his mother, and if today is the only day he’ll ever be able to see you, he wants to burn the image of you onto the back of his eyelids.

You finally reach out a hand, pressing your palm against his chest and pushing him back. Nevermind how firm his chest is and how strongly you’re urged to grip his black t-shirt and pull him forward instead of pushing him back. He smiles even as you widen the gap between the two of you. “Is this what you want? You want me to go?”

You open your mouth to respond to him, to tell him that yes, he needs to leave, but the words won’t come out. Maybe you don’t want him to go. Not yet, anyway. Maybe you like the way that you feel when he’s looking at you, feverish, skin prickling with a sense of urgency that doesn’t make sense to you. Your insides twist uncomfortably when you look into his eyes, and yet, you don’t want to look away.

Fuck, you wish that he didn’t race.

“Just tell me to go away and I will, angel.”

You can’t. You don’t want to. There’s some kind of magnetic pole within Mingyu’s body, compelling you toward him even though you wish that you could get away. You’re stuck in his orbit, and it’s a little scary.

“You should stop racing.” You respond, finally remembering yourself. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Duly noted. How ‘bout a kiss, just in case I do get myself killed tonight?”

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu laughs, running a hand through his hair and pushing it back at the forehead. “I’ll definitely be dreamin’ about you.”

Your body moves faster than your brain, finally giving into the desire to have him closer. Instead of pulling him toward you, you’re stepping forward. You like the feeling of having your body pressed against his, but more than that, you like the feeling of your lips pressed against Mingyu’s. He smiles that same insufferable, self-satisfied grin against your lips, but even that doesn’t make you pull away. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, fingers twirling in his hair.

He puts his hands, big and warm, on your hips, holding you against him as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip. Mingyu groans in response and you take the opportunity to swipe your tongue against his top row of teeth. His grip becomes impossibly tighter, and he slides his tongue fully into your mouth, alternating between licking the inside of your mouth and massaging your tongue with his. Only when your lungs feel tight and burn from the lack of oxygen do you finally detach yourself from him, chest heaving up and down as you try to catch your breath. Mingyu flutters his eyes open, and the look in his eyes makes butterflies erupt in your chest.

You untangle yourself from him immediately, running your hands through your own hair this time. “I--we—that--”

“Was that you givin’ me material for my dreams?”

“W-We shouldn’t have done that.”

“We didn’t do anything. You kissed me.”

“I-I know.” You’re still breathing heavily, your mind jumbled with thoughts of how you kissed Mingyu, how you should not have kissed Mingyu, and how much you liked kissing Mingyu. “That w-was a mistake. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Mingyu juts out his bottom lip, red and puffy and tantalizing enough that you almost disregard your hesitation and dive in again. “You’re breakin’ up with me already? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Stop making jokes!” You snap at him. “I-It isn’t funny! That—we--”

“All we did was kiss. There will be plenty of opportunities to do it again.” You’re grasping at straws, trying to navigate through the fog that’s collected in your brain for a retort, when Mingyu’s phone goes off. He pulls it out of his pocket and, for the first time, you see him without a smile. “Call me, okay? Promise?”

He backs away without waiting for a response, holding out his pinky finger toward you. You watch him retreat with a scowl on your face that only deepens once he blows a kiss at you, turning his back to you and taking off in a jog toward the racetrack. Once he’s been out of sight for long enough to ensure that he’s actually gone, you groan loudly, covering your hands with your face. Your face is hot, and your hands are clammy, and you keep thinking about how good it felt to kiss Mingyu, soft lips slotting between and sliding against yours, his fingers leaving your skin feeling scorched wherever they touched.

You don’t know why you kissed him. You had been doing so well, holding yourself back and exhibiting some enviable self-restraint. Still, something in you had snapped, and you don’t know how you’ll be able to recover. On the bright side, you might never see Mingyu again. On the other hand, though, he’d shown a determination that makes you doubt he would let you go so easily. You can only hope that he’s just some playboy; that you’re the latest target of his conquest, that he’ll find somebody else and forget all about you.

He told you that he liked a challenge, and unfortunately, you like being chased.

+ + +

Mingyu can’t stop thinking about you. He knew that this was going to be a problem when he first laid eyes on you and, lo and behold, he was lying in bed for the fourth night in a row, staring up into the dark, consumed with thoughts of you.

He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again. He doesn’t know if he’ll see you again. What he does know is that he’s seriously lovesick, and you’re the only thing that’ll be able to cure him. This is not the type of person that Kim Mingyu is, though. Usually, he’s suave and charming, and he gets exactly what he wants... and then some. He’s so good at flirting because he does it so often, and yet, he wasn’t able to charm you completely. You’d kissed him – yes, you kissed him – and then, after his race, disappeared without another word.

He is not a bad kisser. That’s a fact. And, yet, when you had kissed him, you had reacted like you’d committed some kind of grave sin. Mingyu has been with people that think he’s bad news, but that’s never served as an actual obstacle before. This is uncharted territory. He wants you. He wanted you before he even spoke to you; he wanted you as soon as he got his first glimpse of you.

Your actions say that you want him, too, but your words have contradicted that, and Mingyu doesn’t know what he’s supposed to trust. He’s on the hook either way.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he reaches for his phone on his nightstand. He doesn’t even know if this will work, but he’s got to try something. His sanity, and sleep cycle, depends on this.

“Hey Siri, call Lee Chan.”

The call gets picked up on the second ring, and Mingyu’s heart rate picks up, too. He releases a breath that he doesn’t even realize he’s been holding when he identifies the voice on the other end of the line. “Chan isn’t here right now. What do you want?”

“I was calling to ask for you, actually, angel.” Mingyu sits up in bed, grinning into the phone.

The silence on the other end of the line drives up his heart rate ever more, but when he hears shuffling, he’s able to relax a little. You haven’t hung up. “I’ll ask again. What do you want, Mingyu?”

“Say my name again.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“N-No!” His face burns at how eager he must sound, but he doesn’t care to play it cool. Maybe with somebody else, but not with you. He has too much to lose to try and impress you. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I wanted to ask you to remove the spell you put on me.”

His words cause your stomach to somersault. Truthfully, you’ve had a hard time since meeting, and kissing, Mingyu, too. You know that chalking it up to love at first sight would only exacerbate things. You don’t think it’s merely lust, though, either – you've always been able to restrain yourself. You’re careful with your feelings and your emotions, and there’s something there between you and Mingyu. You don’t know what, exactly, but you know that it can’t be there. You have enough on your plate, constantly worrying about Chan. You can’t add someone else, someone that does the exact same stupid stuff, into the mix. You need this to stop, for his sake and for yours.

“I-It’s late and you’re probably just horny. Call someone else.”

“What?” Mingyu’s incredulousness comes through clearly over the phone, and you nearly cringe at how harsh your words were. Still, you can’t indulge this. You shouldn’t.

You want to.

“N-No, I... I’m sorry.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair, frustrated. “Mingyu, I don’t fuck with racers. I told you that.”

“Your roommate races.”

“Yeah, and I hate that he does that, okay? I worry myself sick over him when he’s off racing. The only thing that I can be thankful about is that he does drag and not streets. But you do streets, too, don’t you?” Mingyu doesn’t respond, and you scoff quietly. “Yeah, I already know that you do. I-I can’t get involved with someone that risks their life all the time for money.”

‘It’d be different if I were a cop, though, right? Or a firefighter? That’d make me a hero, right? This--” You hear him pause to take a breath. “I'm in love with you, okay? Completely and utterly smitten with you, to the point that it’s takin’ over my life.” Your breath hitches quietly at his confession, but Mingyu makes no indication that he heard you. “This isn’t my career. We can’t all tolerate cushy bureaucracy jobs. This is what I do now, for money, so that I can stop racin’ one day and retire, then and there. I want to enjoy my life. It’ll be more enjoyable if you’re in it. There is nothing else that I can say except for I’m sorry, and I love you.”

“W-We just met, Mingyu. It hasn’t even been a week.”

“I like to go fast.”

You don’t know what else you can say. You can’t proclaim that you love him, not right now, but you’re sure that in a few weeks’ time, that’s where you’d be, too. Still, you know better. Mingyu is here today, but he could be gone the very next time that he has a race. That terrifies you.

“I-I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Mingyu’s at the end of his short rope. He had called in the first place so that he could hear your voice, thinking that maybe it could help him get to sleep. Now, though, he wishes he hadn’t called. He should’ve just suffered through his insomnia and continued suffering through it. It was better than the rejection he was facing. “Nevermind. Just forget it.”

“Mingyu--”

“No, angel, I—you kiss me, and then you push me away. You tell me to fuck off, then you tell me that under different circumstances, you’d be interested. I’ve shown you all of my cards, and you’re not interested in anteing up, so just forget it, okay?”

You end the call before Mingyu can hear you cry. It’s all too fast, and you’re overwhelmed. You want him, but there’s one part of him that you just can’t accept. You aren’t reckless. You like to think things through, and you don’t do things on a whim. Kissing Mingyu had catalyzed a panic within you that you had lost control, and if you lose control once, you’re bound to do it again. It feels like you’re being backed into a corner with two options to get out: take Mingyu completely as he is or swallow your obvious feelings and leave him as he is. You clutch Chan’s phone tightly against your chest as you sob quietly, hot tears rolling down your cheeks even despite your attempts to stifle them.

Mingyu, similarly, can’t believe what just happened. He’s too reckless. He bared himself to you too early, and the consequences that he’ll reap will not be good ones. He can’t help how he feels about you, and nobody feels more intensely than Kim Mingyu. He knows that he fucked up. He knows that he can’t come back from this, and he needs to cut his losses and find a way to get rid of his feelings for you. He doesn’t know how he’ll accomplish it, but if he never sees you again, that’ll probably be the fastest way he’ll be able to heal. He’s never cared for someone so deeply before he met you. He’s never known so immediately that he’s been in love. You’re it for him, and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s already lost you.

+ + +

You shouldn’t have come. You knew that before you got into Chan's car, but now, with Mingyu’s gaze practically burning a hole into the side of your head, it’s been made abundantly clear.

“Why is he looking at you like that?” Chan whispers while you shift your weight. “You never told me what happened between the two of you.”

“I don’t want to get into it.” You mutter, willing yourself to look forward and not over at Mingyu, watching you from a distance like a predator observing its prey. It’s been weeks since your phone conversation. You were no less convinced that you were going to be able to forget about him, and a small part of you had hoped that you would come tonight and see somebody else draped around his arm, shocking you back into a state of rationality.

That isn’t the case though, obviously, and you had to beg Chan to keep to you so that you aren’t vulnerable. You don’t know what you should expect from Mingyu. He’s reckless and volatile, and the way that you feel when you’re around him is... scary. As brief as your first interaction had been, you left with the sense that, if enough time had passed with you in his proximity, he would have replaced the necessity of air with himself; he would’ve become your air, and you would’ve suffocated without him.

There’s something fantastic about the way that Mingyu has made you feel like you’re breathing and drowning at the same time, with just one little kiss and a simple love confession.

“He's looking at you like you murdered his dog. Now he’s-- okay, now he’s looking at his phone... he’s looking at you again.”

“I don’t need the play by play, Chan, thanks.”

“Tell me what happened!”

You shake your head. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine, then I’m leaving.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to grab Chan, to pull him back and to keep him as your wall against Mingyu, but he’s out of reach before you’re able to react. In a matter of seconds, Mingyu has crossed the way and is standing in front of you, arms crossed tightly over his chest. You stare at him, horrified.

He just scoffs. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I-I’m not here--”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re not here for me.” His hostility takes you aback, even though you know it’s deserved. You can tell from body language alone that Mingyu is still hurting. His words and tone of voice merely confirm that for you. “I-I don’t know how I’m supposed to get over you when you continue to show up to my races.”

“It’s been weeks already, Mingyu.”

“Yeah? And has the passage of time made you feel any better?” You don’t respond, turning away so that he can’t notice the tears brimming at your waterline. You’re biting your cheek to keep them from spilling. Mingyu knows better, though, and softens. Just a little. “I told you that I loved you, and I still do. I’m willin’ to do anything for you – anything except quit.”

That’s the only thing that you need from him, though. “We barely know each other. You don’t love me.”

“You don't know how I feel. You haven’t bothered to ask.”

“B-Because you tell me even if I don’t ask! You don’t know me well enough to say that you love me.”

“I can say whatever I damn well please.” He scoffs, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “There is somethin’ between us, you can’t deny that, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to foster this spark that we have. That’s love, isn’t it?”

“That’s--” You cut yourself off, groaning in frustration. His words make your knees feel weak, but you’re not ready to let up the fight. “You’re too nonchalant about this for it to be love. It’s supposed to be something bigger. You can’t just look at someone for the first time and decide that they’re it for you!”

“I can, and I did.”

You shake your head, wiping away a stray tear with the heel of your hand. “I-I don’t love you.”

“You don’t, or you won’t?”

“You’re a danger to yourself! If you loved me, truly, then you wouldn’t put me through the risk of losing you every time you get behind the wheel.”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to shake his head. “That’s all I am, then, yeah? I’m just a stupid guy that drives fast for money, and that’s all I’ll ever be?” Even when you open your money to respond, he ignores you and continues talking. “You’re doin’ this on purpose. You don’t want to admit to yourself that I’m more than what you’ve chosen to see. You won’t even give me a chance to be anything else.”

The conversation is starting to make you dizzy. You press your middle finger to one of your temples, rubbing small circles against your skin. “It was just one kiss, Mingyu.”

“Then kiss me again and show me that I got worked up over somethin’ that I shouldn’t have.”

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You know exactly what needs to happen in order to prove to him that you aren’t the one, that he should back off and keep searching for the true love of his life, and you also know that you aren’t going to be able to fake it. You don’t feel your emotions as intensely as Mingyu does, but you’re never going to be able to escape this whirlwind if you kiss him now.

You kiss him anyway.

Your hands are trembling as you hold his face, pulling him in and pressing your lips against his. He lets you take the lead, slowly slotting his lips between yours only after you’ve initiated movement. Your actions are impossibly calculated as you try to exercise restraint, but, once again, you forget yourself. Your hands work their way into Mingyu’s hair – it's gotten longer since the last time that you did this – and you grip the strands tightly as you pull him closer. He, on the other hand, remembers his manners. He smiles against your lips before he pulls away, and the soft whimper that he hears from you nearly makes him dive right back in.

“You’re so full of shit.” He whispers, eyes still closed, his lips ghosting against yours. “You love me.”

“I-I don’t.” You respond, breathless.

“Yeah?” He presses his lips against yours again, pulling away when you try to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He’s taunting you, and you hate that you like it. You hate that he knows exactly what he needs to do to keep you wanting more. “Then we’re done here, I guess.”

“No, we’re not.” Whispering against his lips draws a shiver up your spine. “Don’t go.”

“You don’t love me, remember?”

“Come home with me.” Mingyu stills against you, swallowing thickly. He hopes that you can’t hear his heart thumping loudly against his ribcage. “Skip your race and fuck me instead.”

His chest tightens, as does his grip on your hip. “You’re---that’s not fair.”

“I’m in love with a guy that does everything that I stand against. Life isn’t fair.”

“R-Right.” Mingyu presses his forehead against yours, his eyes shut as he resumes his ministrations against your skin. He can’t believe how the tides have turned, but he’s not going to ruin it. Not again. Both of you are quiet as you even out your breathing, but finally, Mingyu cuts through the silence. “Counteroffer. I fuck you after my race when I’m ten grand richer.”

“Get a real job, and then I’ll be impressed by you making money.”

“Like a cop, right?” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss. “Or a firefighter?” Another kiss. “Aren’t men more attractive when they have money?”

You exhale deeply as you pull yourself away from Mingyu. “Look, I—we—there need to be rules if we’re going to... be something. T-Together.” Mingyu raises his eyebrows in anticipation, and you sigh again. “Sex is a reward that you get when you skip races.”

“That’s a punishment for both of us.”

You ignore him and move on. “I don’t want to know details after the fact. Let me know as soon as possible if you’re alive or not.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Okay, I promise I will let you know as soon as I can if I die.”

“That’s... all. For now.” You clasp your hands together, tilting your head as you look at him. “So? Are you skipping tonight.”

“Baby, it’s ten grand.” Mingyu whines, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his. Your heart skips a few beats while he laces your fingers with his. “I’ll skip the one I have tomorrow. Promise.”

“Maybe I won’t want to have sex with you tomorrow.” You lilt your words, looking to the side.

Mingyu sighs loudly, swinging your hands gently. “I’d be content to sit and stare at you, too.”

+ + +

As expected, Mingyu wins his race and the ten grand. As promised, he skipped his race on the following day and came to see you instead. That’s why you’re in his lap, and why his shirt is already off, and why you’re sure that he can feel how wet you are through your shorts. You opted to forego underwear in favor of easier access, and you made sure to encourage Chan to go out for dinner after his own race, too.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease.” Mingyu rasps, sliding a hand under your shirt. His hand travels against the expanse of your abdomen before cupping your breast, settling there to squeeze and knead your flesh as he continues sucking bruises against your collarbone. “Playin’ hard to get but wantin’ me just as bad.”

“D-Dirty words coming from a p-pretty mouth.” You gasp, paying homage to something he’d said to you the first time that you met.

Mingyu smiles against you, the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender spots of your skin making you shiver. “It gets dirtier, angel, don’t worry.”

You roll your hips against his, eliciting a groan. That spurs you on to do it again, pausing to gyrate against his erection, whimpering quietly at its contact with your core. There are layers of clothes in the way, but you know they’ll be gone soon enough. For now, the sweat collecting on Mingyu’s forehead, the parting of his lips, and the grunts and groans spilling from them are enough to keep you occupied. He squeezes your breast in response to the friction, using his other hand to cup your neck and pull your face down for a kiss.

You sigh against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, languid movements that correspond well with the rhythm that you’re using to grind on his lap. He pulls away after only a few minutes, eyes following the trail of saliva connecting the two of you until it breaks, and then he looks at you. His pupils are blown out – probably just like yours – and your stomach flips at the wicked grin that blooms on his face.

“Can I fuck you with my fingers first?”

The words ignite a fire that quickly spreads across the expanse of your skin. You grip Mingyu’s shoulders and lift yourself off of him, hovering above his lap so that he can pull your shorts off. He groans when he sees that you aren’t wearing underwear, and his mouth waters at the prospect of tasting you. Today, he’ll go easy and prep you with his fingers. Next time, though, he wants his tongue buried in your folds until you’re begging him to stop.

“Such a tease.” He says again, laughing to himself. “Turn around.”

You do as he says, and he eases you against him with gentle hands on your shoulders. Your back is pressed against his chest, your heartbeat can be felt so strongly that someone could take your pulse by pressing just about another, and when Mingyu hooks his legs under yours to keep them wedged open, you know that you’re done for.

He drops his chin and lets it rest on your shoulder, watching as best as he can as he slides his index finger up and down against your entrance, collecting your arousal. “I can’t believe you tried to keep this pretty little pussy from me. It’s mine now, though, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes,” You stutter out, gasping once Mingyu inserts his finger. He’s only partially inside, only to the second knuckle, but his fingers are so much longer than yours, and every other time you’ve fingered yourself doesn’t compare to how good it feels to have him inside instead. “It’s yours.”

“Yeah, it is.” He coos, sliding his finger out and then back in. His rhythm is slow, and his movements are shallow, but as soon as he feels you relax, he’ll give you more. Normally impatient, Mingyu has all the time in the world to fuck you properly. He presses kisses against the side of your neck while he builds up a faster tempo, strands of hair falling over his eyes and tickling the underside of your jaw. You exhale quietly, and once he feels your shoulders drop, he inserts his finger completely on the next thrust.

You whimper against him, back arching, and he uses the opportunity to wrap an arm across you diagonally, cupping your other breast through your shirt. “Don’t run away from me. I want you to be all stretched out and ready for my cock. You want my cock today, don’t you?”

“Fuck.” You groan, tilting your head back to rest against Mingyu. He’s gradually picking up speed, and the way that you clench at his words only encourages him to do more; to say more, and to add another finger. So that’s what he does, slow as he brings in his middle finger, starting at just the second knuckle so that you can adjust to the feeling. “I want your c-cock.”

“I know you do.” He presses his cheek against the side of your head, his lips positioned right against your ear. “You’re gonna get my cock. You’re gonna take it, all of it, everything that I give you tonight.” He punctuates his words by sliding both of his fingers into you fully, and the curl of his fingers makes you cry out involuntarily. He grins to himself and goes again, reaching for that same spot inside of you, grinning even wider when you cry again. “There we go. That’s where my baby likes to get fucked, yeah? Wish my tongue could go that far.”

“Y-Your cock can reach.”

Mingyu laughs out loud, stilling his fingers inside of you to stroke your g-spot again and again. “That’s true. I’ll make you cum with my cock next. Sound good?” You’re trembling in his arms, your legs having tried to clamp shut several times. He falls into a rhythm of cramming his fingers inside, hooking them and nudging your g-spot with them, and sliding them back out, and he gets so focused on making you cum that he furrows his brow, lips parted in the concentration.

You’re panting loudly now, thrashing as best as you can in his hold, unable to run from the pleasure that’s edging closer and closer. “M-Mingyu--”

“Fuck, say my name again, baby.”

“K-Keep—fuck—M-Min--”

“You’re doin’ so good. My pretty baby, such an angel.”

It’s the praise that finally sends you toppling over the cliff; that, and his thumb kneading your clit, which you hadn’t even noticed until he stills his movements. You clench around Mingyu as you orgasm, and his ego grows three sizes at the ironclad grip that your pussy has on his fingers. He brings his free hand up to stroke the side of your face as you come, still pinning you against him with his forearm to keep you from slumping forward. “You don’t wanna let me go, huh? Want to stay like this forever?”

“N-No.” You sigh, the stars in your vision finally subsiding. Your chest heaves up and down as you work to catch your breath, leaning back against Mingyu and turning your head to place a kiss against his cheek. “You promised to fuck me properly. Unless you’re too tired...”

“Angel, if you’re implyin’ that I’m all speed and no stamina--”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m wondering why your dick is still in your pants and not inside of me.”

Mingyu stares at you, then blinks, and then smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile, not his signature smirk or crooked, self-satisfied grin. He tilts your chin up to place a proper kiss on your lips and then reaches behind him, blindly feeling the top of your nightstand until he finds the condom he’d brought. He eases you off his lap and fully rolls off the bed, offering you reprieve while he brings his cock out of his shorts. You watch with half-lidded eyes as he pumps himself, rolling on the condom with haste you haven’t seen from any of your previous sexual partners before.

“We’re gonna go slow, okay?” He asks, slotting himself between your legs. He’s careful as he maneuvers himself around your limbs, groaning to himself once you wrap your legs around him and cross your ankles. You’re so eager now, but just yesterday, you almost rejected him for the second time. “Th-- y-you’re not going slow, angel.”

“I thought you liked to go fast.” You draw out your words, lilting your voice. Mingyu ignores your comment, just this once, and grips you by one of your hips. He’s concentrated as he lines himself up at your entrance before letting go of his cock and swiping a finger against your folds again. You furrow your brows, sitting up as best as you can to look at him.

He has the finger in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. He only notices you staring at him once he pulls it out of his mouth. He grins, a little bashful, as he looks back down and grabs his dick again. “I forgot to taste you.”

You clench around nothing at his words, groaning softly, but when he finally presses the tip of his cock against your slit, it feels like a jolt of electricity. You do your best to lay still as he inches inside of you, stopping every time that he feels resistance against him, but the tip of his cock nudges against your g-spot when he finally bottoms out and your back arches. Your hands flail around, looking for something to hold, something to keep you anchored, but you just have to settle for gripping the sheets on either side of you. You crumble the fabric in your hands, eyes squeezed shut, letting yourself adjust the feeling of Mingyu inside of you.

Maybe today will be fine, but you can easily foresee having an insanely hot boyfriend with a big dick as being a problem in the future.

“Let me know when I can move, baby.”

“Can’t we just stay like this forever?” You sigh, lolling your head to the side and looking up at Mingyu. The sight makes your heart flutter; his hair is sweaty, pushed back at the forehead but with strands still obscuring parts of his vision; the different scratches, bruises, and bites that you’d given him while making out were finally starting to bloom red on his skin. He’s looking back at you, and the look in his eyes makes you think that he’d be content with that, too. “You can quit... y’know, your job... and just become my trophy husband. Keep the house clean and fuck me through my Zoom meetings.”

“Sounds like a dream. Did we really go this far just so you could cockwarm me, though?”

“No.” You laugh, reaching out for Mingyu. He meets you halfway, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You can move now.”

You don’t hear it clearly, but you swear that Mingyu whispers Thank God to himself before he slides his hands just above your ass, hoisting up your hips for the best angle. His initial pace is slow, painstakingly slow, but the string of moans that falls from your lips spurs him to speed up. At first, he sheaths himself completely inside of you before pulling almost completely out, leaving just the head of dick inside before thrusting back up into you. As he continues, though, he’s more urgent. He wants to minimize the amount of time he spends not inside of you, so his thrusts become shallower. He’s soon thrusting into you at breakneck speed, slowing every so often to make sure his angle is right and that you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

“How we doin’, angel?”

“I want to ride you next time.”

“Fuck.” Mingyu groans, sliding a hand up to caress your calf. The room is quiet, save for the squeaking of your bedframe and the sound of Mingyu’s balls slapping against you with every thrust. Every so often, he thrusts perfectly, and you’re brought up from the bed again. Mingyu curses himself that he didn’t ask you to take your shirt off – this would all be even better if your tits were bouncing in his face. “A-Are you close? What do you need from me?”

You hold out your hand, and he grabs it. You’ll be able to show him better than tell him. You lead his hand down, pressing his thumb against your clit again. He immediately gets to work, rolling the nub between his thumb and index finger, and you hold onto his wrist as you gasp for air. His touch is cool against your feverish skin, and you tell yourself that you’re royally fucked just as Mingyu’s thrusts become staccato.

“I--I’m--”

“Inside, Mingyu, p-please.” You sigh, using your free hand to caress his bicep. “Cum inside of m-me.”

“A-Are you s-s--”

You draw him in closer to you, and the squeeze his body against yours, and the squeeze of your pussy around him, does exactly what it should. He’s loud as he cums, his body spasming as he shoots inside of you. You’re disappointed at the lack of warmth, warmth you would’ve felt if he hadn’t worn a condom, but there will be time for unprotected. For now, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself to orgasm while Mingyu rides out his own.

You’re afraid that you’ve lost it, but Mingyu recovers quickly enough to resume his ministrations against your clit. For good measure, he leans down and kisses you, and all of the sensations – his cock still inside of you, his fingers on your clit, his tongue shoved down your throat – are enough to bring you back up and back over the cliff. Your whimpers are drowned out by Mingyu’s grunts as you squeeze around him. He lowers himself onto you completely as you ride out your orgasm, trembling and spasming underneath him until you’re finally able to go still. He finds enough energy to lift his head and look at your face, laughing when he notices the tear that’d rolled down your cheek.

“Cute.” He reaches up and brushes it away with his finger, letting his arm drape across you. You don’t know how long the two of you lay like that; Mingyu, pressed on top of you, his cock still nestled inside of you, one arm draped across your body with his face nuzzled into your neck and you, pinned against the mattress, one hand caressing his back while the other cards through his hair. It feels like it’s been mere seconds, but an eternity could pass, and you’d still feel like it wasn’t enough time.

+ + +

It’s the call that you always expected, but simultaneously, always hoped you’d never get.

You’re numb as you rise from your bed, rifling through your drawers in the dark for clothes to change into. It doesn’t feel like you’re responsible for moving through your bedroom, getting dressed as best one can when they can’t feel anything. Chan is already waiting for you at the front door, unwilling to look at your face as he leads you out, locking the door behind the two of you and following you into the elevator just as the doors start to close. He must’ve gotten a call, too.

It feels right to drive in complete silence. You’re unable to convince yourself to bring your eyes into focus. Maybe, if you don’t look, then this won’t be real: you aren’t actually en route to the hospital’s emergency room, and you didn’t actually get a call from an unknown number, telling you that Mingyu had crashed during his race and that he was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. Chan isn’t actually driving you, speechless and quiet for the first time since you’d met him. You aren’t actually being led through the tiled corridor of the hospital, harsh fluorescent lights guiding your venture down the endless hallway toward your boyfriend’s room.

Mingyu is drinking from a juice box when you finally set eyes on him. That little fucker.

All things considered, he looks fine. His left arm is in a sling, and there’s a deep horizontal gash underneath one of his eyes, and there are bruises starting to bloom along the crook of his neck. Otherwise, though, he’s fine. He isn’t intubated, and actually, the only other things attached to him are an IV and the heart rate monitor clipped onto his finger.

Chan enters the room a few seconds after you, letting out a huge sigh of relief at the sigh. He holds a hand to his forehead before swinging back around and stepping outside. He knows that he doesn’t want to hear the words you’ll choose to say to Mingyu.

“I love you. I love you so, so, so much.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, drawing in your arms and crossing them over your chest. He knows that he deserves this, but he still winces at the venom dripping from your words and the daggers that you’re shooting at him with your eyes. “I thought that you died, you fucking asshole! You—I am so fucking mad right now, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m sorry. I-I was careful, I promise.”

“You’re a fucking liar! You’re in the hospital, Mingyu. Careful people don’t go to the hospital!”

You sit on the chair in the corner, purposefully away from your boyfriend, even though you didn’t miss the way that he scooted to the side in his bed to make room for you. You’re able to see his face better from this angle. He looks... tired. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced, and for the first time since you’ve met him, he doesn’t look happy following one of his races. Figures, since he’d crashed his car. Still, there’s something different about him today.

“You must’ve been worried. I’m sorry, my angel.”

You sigh loudly, shaking your head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be my boyfriend that works a shitty job. Hell, you don’t even need to work. We can survive on my income, and I can come home to you every day and that’ll be enough, because I’ll be happy, and you’ll be alive.” You take a breath after your monologue, exhaling slowly. “Because that’s the bar that you’ve set. I’m just happy that you’re still breathing.”

“I have somethin’ to say, too.” You look up at him, raising your eyebrows and clasping your hands together. Mingyu chews on his bottom lip for a few moments before he sighs, too. “I’m a racer. I’ve been racin’ for... God, I don’t know. I’ve been racin’ for a long time.” You let your head fall, anticipating what he’s going to say. “All that I’ve ever cared about is going fast and makin’ money. And then I met you, and my priorities... shifted. A little.” You squeeze your hands together, willing yourself to calm down. Mingyu was proving your assumptions wrong with his words, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“You... I think I’d rather die than lose you. I-I guess, if I died, that I would lose you, but th—that's not the point. I started fallin’ in love with you the very moment that I first saw you, and since then, I haven’t wanted to take my eyes off you. You’re everythin’ to me now. Racin’ is... I’ll quit. I’m sorry, and I love you, and I’ll quit if it means that we’ll stay together.”

Hot tears are already rolling down your cheeks, and as hard as you try to keep that from Mingyu, your sniffling gives you away. He coos from his place in bed and starts to throw his blankets off to approach you, but you hold your hand up and he stills. Offering another sniffle, you rise from your chair, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed. He looks at you, expectantly, and you, begrudgingly, reach out a hand. You weren’t expecting to forgive him so quickly.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

“Not right now.”

“Angel, please.” Mingyu takes your hand, trying to tug you closer to him. “Look at me. I just... you’re doin’ that thing again, where you let me bare my soul and then don’t really respond.”

You shake your head, tears flying from your eyes and landing on the hospital blanket covering Mingyu’s legs. He scoffs, using his other hand to reach forward and tilt your chin up. Seeing you cry makes his heart split and shatter, and tears start to form in his own eyes.

“I’m so fucking mad at you, Mingyu.”

He bites his tongue to refrain from cracking a joke, as he normally would. Instead, he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “And I want to stick around, so that I can keep makin’ you mad.”

“You promise?” You ask, searching his eyes for any hint of dishonesty. “You’re really done racing?”

“I don’t break my promises. Not the ones that I make to you. I promise, I swear, that I’m done.”

+ + +

“Baby, it’s late. Can we just go to sleep? Please?”

“I’m making room in your closet for my clothes, Gyu.” You scoff, pulling out another jacket. You glance over it before flipping it around, showing it to your boyfriend. “Do you wear this?”

He furrows his brows, thinking it over before dismissing you with a wave. “Not really.”

“Okay.” You toss the jacket into the box you’d designated for donating, dropping the hanger on the closet floor. Mingyu yawns loudly, stretching out in the middle of his bed. You know what he’s doing; he’s trying to entice you into joining him. He wants to persuade you to stop doing the task that he’d already put off for weeks in favor of crawling into his lap, maybe going to sleep or maybe not. Still, you’re not ready to quit yet. You pull out another jacket and repeat your actions, holding it in front of you for Mingyu to inspect it.

“Donate.”

You nod, silently agreeing with his decision. You reach back into the closet, reaching for the next jacket to pull out, but your fingers freeze when you realize what you’re touching. You pull out the leather jacket slowly – Mingyu's racing jacket. It’s the one that he was wearing the first time that you kissed him, and the second time. He wore it for your first date, claiming that it was ‘good luck,’ and he even wore it that one time that you let him fuck you against the hood of his racecar. You hold your breath as you turn around, and Mingyu’s expression darkens when he realizes what you’re holding.

He doesn’t know how to play this. It’s been months since his accident, which means it’s been months since he quit racing. He misses it sometimes, but you’re more important to him. He lets each day drag on so long as they promise, that at sundown, he’ll be able to come back to his apartment and you’ll be waiting, smiling, happy, healthy. That jacket means a lot to him.

“Donate.”

You mean more to him.

“Aw, really?” You whine, looking back down at the jacket. Mingyu scoffs and pushes himself further up on the bed, watching closely as you run your fingertips along the leather. “You looked so good when you used to wear this. I think my mouth was watering the first time we met.”

“Fuck off.” Mingyu laughs, waving you away again. “You keep it then, angel. I looked good in the jacket because I’m good looking. Please don’t attribute my good looks to my jackets.”

You put the jacket back into the closet regardless, finally shuffling across the room to the bed. You sigh as you let yourself fall onto the mattress, groaning as Mingyu rolls you onto your stomach and then tugs you closer to him. You let him do all the work, only shifting once he’s positioned underneath you. You let one of your hands snake underneath his shirt, resting on his abdomen and applying pressure, just for good measure.

“Do you miss it?” You whisper, cheek smushed against his cheek.

“Sometimes.” Mingyu whispers back, tracing shapes against your back. “I think it suited me. I was good at makin’ split-second decisions, and it worked because the only person affected by those decisions was me. And then...” He trails off, considering his next words carefully. “Then I met the love of my life, and they tried so hard to hate me and push me a—hey!”

He whines as you pinch him, prying your hand off him. He tsks at you, shaking his head before continuing his story. “As I was saying, the love of my life wanted to push me away ‘cause they didn’t want to be attached to someone with so little regard for their own life. And I couldn’t blame them, y’know? I wasn’t happy about it, though, so I kept tryin’ and, somehow, it worked.”

“I already know the story, Gyu.” You grumble. Still, you’ll never get tired of hearing him refer to you as the love of his life. You still have no idea how he knew, from that very first moment, that it had to be you, though. “I love you too. I don’t think I say it enough.”

“I didn’t want this to become sappy.” He sneers, pinching your cheek. “I was actually hopin’ that you’d ride my face.”

“I’m tired.” You yawn, replacing your hand on his chest, over his shirt, and rubbing up and down along his abdomen. “I could give you a hand job, though.”

“Don’t want that.” Mingyu groans.

You lift your eyebrows in surprise. Your boyfriend, turning down a hand job? You lift your hand up and press the back of it against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, though.”

“You’re annoying.” He scowls. “You just told me that you don’t want me to eat you out, and I’m not makin’ a big deal of it.”

You let your hand drop from Mingyu’s forehead, tracing your fingertips along his jaw. “If we’re both tired, we can just fuck in the morning.”

“We don’t fuck in the morning.” You offer him a quizzical look. He wraps both of his arms around you, squeezing you and rolling both of you until you’re on your back and his cheek is pressed against your stomach. “In the morning, we make love.”

“Didn’t you call me a slut the last time that we made love?”

He lifts his head up, narrowing his eyes at you. “You liked it.”

“Yeah, I did.” You sigh, easing your fingers through Mingyu’s hair and forcing his head back down, onto your stomach. “Where do you think you’d be if we hadn’t met?”

“Wildly unhappy.” He scoffs. “Dead. What about you?”

You hum quietly, scratching against his scalp. “Probably... also unhappy. Well, I don’t think that I wasn’t happy before I met you, but I think, right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been.”

The two of you lapse into silence. The sounds of the neighborhood – dogs barking, cars honking – seep through every so often, but you hardly noticed, aware, instead, of your boyfriend’s presence. When you first met Mingyu, you knew that he would find a way to infiltrate your life, to become the oxygen that you needed to breathe. When you first met Mingyu, you felt like you were breathing and drowning at the same time. Nowadays, you don’t feel like you’re drowning, but you aren’t breathing normally, either. It’s the same for him, you’re sure; it’s all about him, even when it isn’t. You could be focused on something else, but you’ll never be able to fully attend to anything else.

It’s for this reason that you’ve had to scold him, on so many occasions, to keep his eyes on the road when driving. He just can’t seem to focus on anything but you, and somehow, his recklessness has worn off and you find yourself in the same predicament.

Just as you finally shut your eyes, you feel Mingyu twitching against you.

He’s laughing. “It’s a good thing that you decided to fuck with a racer, huh?”

#mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #svt x reader #mingyu scenarios #kim mingyu scenarios #svt scenarios #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #hengqarae #1k #1.5k

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hwaslayer · 2 months

Text

project: make you love me (jyh) | sixteen.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3.6k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, seonghwa, physical fighting, mingi calling his friend out on his stupidity, crying, sorry if i missed anything.. quickly edited this lol, yunho is just mad and overwhelmed with his feelings rn 😭

yunho: baby

yunho: wait at the science building later, please? i'll come get you so we can walk to my car together

you: okee ☺️

yunho: ☺️ see you later? enjoy the rest of your classes

you: you too, my bighead!

Yunho smiles at his phone before tucking it away, slowly following Yeosang to their group study session.

"Should I even ask why you're smiling like that?" Yunho looks up at Yeosang and chuckles.

"Just Y/N."

"Of course. Is she in class?"

"Yup. She's in the back row being all distracted."

"Perfect way to pass time in my honest opinion." Yeo clears his throat. "I've been meaning to ask you out of curiosity."

"What's up?"

"Have you guys told each other 'I love you' and everything?"

"Mm, no. Not yet at least."

"Not yet?" Yeosang smiles. "You feel that way for her, don't you?"

"I do. I just.. I don't know? I don't know if it's too soon. What if I scare her off?"

"Nah, doubt that. You can't put a timer on these things."

"True. Plus, it sounds cliché and like it's out of a movie, but I truly wanna wait 'till it feels right to say it to her."

"That makes sense."

"Trust me, I really do feel that way for her." He lets out a breath as they look towards the library building, the sun from behind slightly blinding them as they approach the doors. "She has literally become my bestfriend. It's crazy how life works."

"I know. I remember when you first told me you were helping her out for literature." Yeosang chuckles. "Or when you'd save her in the back lot."

"Still can't believe that was even real." Yunho does a tiny head tilt. "He's really something."

"What was up with Y/N's birthday thing? How did he even know?"

"I don't know. Word gets around fast. Why wouldn't Seonghwa know? Especially since it has to do with Y/N."

"Can't wait till the day he leaves you two alone. Must be fucking annoying to deal with."

"I try not to mind it. Though, I think he's been getting bolder lately and I can't put my finger on it."

"Has Y/N said anything?" He shakes his head.

"No. Maybe I'm just overthinking. She just seemed a little weird about him at her birthday party."

"Well, yeah. It's Seonghwa." Yeosang waves at their study group sitting at the far end of the library in the loud section.

"Yeah, but, I don't know. It was different. She seemed bothered about something but she hasn't told me anything. I assume it's not a big deal."

"Hm. Well, I'm sure it's not either. Just Seonghwa being himself, maybe."

"Mm, whatever though." Yunho greets the study group as they approach the table. "She's my girlfriend now, and that won't change." Yeosang gives him a small smile before they settle with the group and begin their long study session together.

"Remember, we have a test next class. Make sure you study everything I included in the study guide. Don't skip on anything just because you think it's a minor detail! Nothing is minor!" Your professor says before dismissing the class. You let out a sigh, already stressing over the next test. You didn't do bad on the first test, but you also didn't do the greatest. Thankfully, you're still at a good point in the semester, which gives you enough time to pull your grade up.

Once the initial rush of people leaving the classroom dies down, you pack up your things and head out the door. You hurry out of the classroom and down the steps, excited to see your boyfriend after yet another long day. For a split second, the building is crowded with other students leaving their classes and heading to their next destination— whether it be the next class, the library or to their cars. It's a sudden swarm of people that you don't even realize Seonghwa had stepped out of his own class, following you down the corridor.

"Y/N." You hear Seonghwa's voice behind you. You try to mind your own business, subtly rolling your eyes as you walk out of the science building to reunite with Yunho.

Except, he isn't exactly there yet and Seonghwa grabs you by the wrist.

"Y/N." He repeats, turning you to face him.

"What are you doing?" You question him.

"Just a second." You let out a loud, heavy sigh. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you ignoring me. You haven't answered any of my texts or calls—"

"Why do I need to?" You raise a brow. "You're not actually serious, right? I have no reason to respond to you, Seonghwa. Don't you have places to be, people to see?" You pause. "Don't you realize you're a little too late? This was something I needed from you way before. I don't need it from you now."

"I know it's late, but I don't wanna give up on this."

"This? This has been done for a long time, you and I both know that. You're only worried about losing the only safety blanket you've ever had. Why can't you just move on and let me be happy?"

"Happy?" Seonghwa almost scoffs. "With him? Okay, baby." He shakes his head. "Listen. Enough of this for real. Can you please just hear me out, I'll explain and apologize properly—"

"Seonghwa, stop calling me that. What don't you understand about no?" You say almost at a whine, his hand still having a grip on the edge of your wrist. You truly don't want to entertain this, but Seonghwa almost gives you no way out, no way around his bullshit, and unfortunately, that'll be the root of everything that unfolds tonight. Yunho is happily [and eagerly] making his way down to you after the long, heavy study group session, while Yeosang decides he's gonna stay behind in order to hit the gym and get his workout in. Yunho is a few minutes late, but he knows you'll still flash him that beautiful, million-watt smile he adores so much before wrapping your arms around him.

He can't wait.

But, Yunho slows in his steps just as he's close to the front doors; familiar voices filling the surprisingly empty, quiet space. It's you, and he already feels himself boiling with anger when he hears who else is occupying your time right now.

"Why haven't you even said anything about the flowers and the card I gave you? Did you even get them?" Yunho overhears Seonghwa ask you, and he furrows his brows. What flowers and card? You don't answer right away, and Seonghwa is quick to follow up. Yunho doesn't even get to hear your response about it and the most upsetting part of all this— is that this is how he finds out about everything.

Not from you, but from Seonghwa.

"You couldn't even send me a text? I was worried you didn't get it. I wanted to talk to you afterwards."

"What is there to talk about?"

"Yeah, what is there to talk about?" You and Seonghwa turn towards Yunho, who stands there with his hands dug deep into his pockets. His jaw is slightly clenched, head titled to the side while he waits for a response. Seonghwa lets out a pathetic chuckle, hand slipping down your wrist as he fully faces him.

"Loverboy sounds upset over a little talk."

"A little talk? Is that an add-on for the flowers and card you sent her?" Yunho sounds more stern, more angry. You can't even blame him, but at the same time, it's unusual for you to hear him this way. You're not sure what could come out of this and you don't necessarily want to find out.

"I'm sorry, should I have sent you some, too?" Seonghwa steps closer to him and the panic starts to settle in for you. You wish someone, anyone, was around to help. Because although you don't think Yunho will let this blow out of proportion, you aren't 100% about your answer. You're not sure how Yunho manages his anger in these situations and you're not sure what triggers him; what tips him over the edge and is the 'cherry on top.' Seonghwa has always rubbed him the wrong way and you don't think this could end remotely pretty. "I'll take note of that for next time so you don't have to sit there and stare at Y/N's."

How you wish Seonghwa had just gotten the point. Why couldn't he just let you be? Why was he out to ruin your happiness so badly?

"Seonghwa. This is done. Let it go." You warn him, but it doesn't clear anything. You aren't getting through to any of them.

"Back up. I'm not asking." Yunho clenches his jaw as he comes face to face with Seonghwa, making him give off a small scoff.

"Aw. Loverboy's mad—" And that's exactly the tipping point for Yunho. He's not sure why, he usually has a lot of patience. He usually brushes things off easily, doesn't hold a grudge or stay angry for long. But, Seonghwa? He was a different story, especially because of the history you have with him. Every little thing about Seonghwa pisses him off— down to the way he moves, breathes, acts like he can always get his way so easily, so quickly. Before he can even think about the consequences, or how you'd feel, Yunho swings at him, making Seonghwa stumble backwards.

"Yunho!—" You gasp, Yunho's initial punch is pretty rough that it had Seonghwa in shock before being able to register what just happened.

"Fuck you—" Is all Seonghwa spits out before going at Yunho. The two continue to go at it, pushing and gripping at each other's shirts, rough attempts at landing punches;

They're almost successful with tearing each other's heads off until you step in between and get involved.

"Stop!" You step in between to try and prevent the fight from escalating even more. "Stop it!" You push Seonghwa back when he tries coming for Yunho, a campus security guard dashing towards all of you to completely break up the scuffle.

"Knock it off! The hell are you two doing acting like this on campus? I suggest you two part ways now before we call the cops over!"

"Yo, what the fuck?!" Mingi comes from around the corner, grabbing at Seonghwa's arm to pull him back. "The fuck are you doing, dude?" He looks at his bestfriend in disbelief.

"Why don't you ask your friend who fucking started it—"

"Me?" Yunho spits, while Seonghwa wipes the blood at the corner of his lip. "I wouldn't have had to if you just knew how to back the fuck off!" Yunho is angry, continuing to raise his voice. "Let me catch you sending shit to my girlfriend one more time and see what the fuck I'll do—"

"Yunho." You say softly, tugging back at his arm.

"Are you serious?" Mingi looks at Seonghwa. "You don't go messing around with people's relationships, Hwa. You need to let this go, you look crazy!"

"Oh, so all of a sudden you're sticking up for your friend?"

"Yeah, because he is my friend and it's just shit you don't do! What the fuck don't you understand about that?! You fucking deserved that shit!" Mingi shakes his head before pushing Hwa forward, pulling him off to the side to continue talking to him.

"Babe." You turn to Yunho after Mingi and Seonghwa create good distance, hand coming up to cup Yunho's cheek. But, he turns, slightly shaking his head at you. You pull your hand back and feel your heart drop, the look in Yunho's eyes being one that you've never experienced before.

Sadness, hurt, anger.

Mostly sadness, hurt.

"What flowers was he talking about, Y/N?" His chest is still rising at a somewhat uneven pace, doing his best to calm down after the adrenaline rush.

"H-he left them at my doorstep after we came back from the snow. I'm really sorry, Yunho, I didn't tell you because I tossed it out and—"

"But still, it's the fact that you didn't tell me after all this time." Yunho's brows are tightly knitted together, and the look causes your heart to sink even deeper. "Why did you have to let me find out this way? Were you going to tell me about this too if I hadn't come right away?"

"I just didn't get around to telling you because I didn't think it would matter— Seonghwa doesn't matter."

"If he didn't, then wouldn't you be able to tell me without questioning it so much?"

"Yunho, no. I'm sorry, no." You repeat, tears pricking your eye lids. "I didn't mean for it to seem like that. I really didn't mean to hide this from you."

"Did you think about keeping them?"

"I—I, no. I thought—" Yunho hears you stuttering and his throat suddenly feels dry. Why can't you just tell him? Even if Seonghwa didn't matter to you, why couldn't you trust him enough to tell him?

Why couldn't you feel comfortable enough to tell him?

"Be honest with me, Y/N. That's all I've ever asked. Did you or did you not think about it keeping it?" Silence. And god, it is the most gut-wrenching silence Yunho has ever endured.

Yup. Got it.

The answer is clear.

You did think about Seonghwa. You thought about accepting the flowers as his apology, you thought about the possibility— even if it was for a brief, splitting second. Seonghwa did matter for one fucking second, and that's what bothers him.

"Yunho, please. I just thought—" You can barely get through your sentences.

"Did you, or did you not?"

"I thought about keeping it, but it was so stupid. I was just blinded for a second, and I realized it didn't matter to me. He doesn't matter to me. At all. I promise. Everything just caught me off guard." You try to grab for his hand but he steps back. "Yunho, it was all stupid. I tossed it out so quickly. I wasn't going to do anything, I wasn't going to text, nothing."

"But, why does it feel like after everything he's put you through, you still believe he'd genuinely change? Why does it feel like a part of you is still actually holding onto that?" Well, when Yunho says it to your face like that, you feel dumb. Not once did you ever think about running back to Seonghwa and leaving this behind. But, you were blinded in that quick second from your history with Hwa, being close and sharing moments for months. Asking Seonghwa for little gestures like this, for more attention; even though it was a ride, you still had history.

And yes, maybe at one point you wanted to be the girl that changed him.

But today, you can't even imagine going back to that point. Not after being with Yunho, not after the happiness he's brought you.

Not after you realize how much you genuinely and truly love Yunho.

You don't wanna lose him.

This is all so stupid, and a huge misunderstanding. But, you're the only person to blame here— if you hadn't given Seonghwa the time of day, if you had just told Yunho right away without second-guessing it, if you hadn't hesitated; you wouldn't be here right now.

"I'm not!" Your tone raises and it sounds like a whine at this point. "I'm not, Yunho. Please."

"Look, tonight was a lot." He sighs, running his hand through his hair before wincing and looking down at his knuckles. "I was excited to see you after a long day, Y/N. I was really looking forward to being with you. I wasn't expecting all of this and honestly, I don't know what's worse? Stumbling upon all of this the way I did, or not knowing at all."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was stupid and fucked up of me, and I'm sorry." You repeat, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Maybe you just need to think about what you really want." Yunho shrugs. "I thought you were over the whole thing with Seonghwa, but clearly not if you're still considering on giving him the time of day."

"No, no, Yunho. Please don't. It's not that." You try to lace your hand with his, but he gently brushes it off with a shaky sigh. He doesn't wanna leave you. He never wants to be without you. But, tonight was a lot for him to handle, and it is overwhelming. He hasn't really felt this protective over someone. Of course, it's only natural since you're his girlfriend. He'll always protect you. It's just that Seonghwa brings something out of him that he doesn't necessarily like, and he wants it to be gone for good. It feels unhealthy and icky;

The anger, the frustration, the anxiety.

He hates it. And he doesn't want this to be a thing in your relationship. Plus, he still feels himself fuming with anger and he just can't possibly talk to you while he feels that way.

So yes, he's overwhelmed and he needs to get over this.

"No, seriously. You really should think about it. I know where I stand but I'm not so sure you do." He lets out another disappointed sigh. "I'll take you home, but we should probably just be in our own places tonight."

"Okay." You say close to a whisper, sniffling as you wipe away at your face. You don't even try to fight it anymore simply because you know Yunho needs his space right now. He begins to walk off with you slowly trailing behind, head hung low after everything that happened tonight. Everything happened so fast you're also having to process it all on this walk over to the lot. Suddenly, you're pulled out of your thoughts when you hear footsteps picking up behind you, followed by a familiar, deep voice.

"Yo, wait up!" Mingi says. "You good? I'm sorry about him, he's actually losing it."

"You're sorry? Mingi, when the fuck is your friend gonna grow up so that you're not apologizing on his behalf?" Mingi lets out a breath as his eyes dart from you, back to Yunho's. "Seriously. I don't mean to throw that your way, but it's not even just about tonight. Your friend knows no boundaries and that's crazy to me."

"I know, he's got things to sort through but that's his own problem now. I already told him multiple times. Me and San did." Mingi shakes his head.

"Doesn't take much to grow the fuck up and take ownership of your own fuck-ups once in awhile."

"Let him keep learning the hard way. He will, eventually. He deserved that tonight."

"He can try all he wants, nothing's gonna change between me and her. Hope he understands I'm not going anywhere after tonight."

"Of course." Is all Mingi could respond with because of course Yunho wouldn't go anywhere— why the fuck would he let Seonghwa get in the way? He shouldn't. And Seonghwa needs to know that. "Anyway, just wanted to see if you two were okay. For real." Yunho sighs.

"Mmyeah. Thanks." He responds as Mingi daps it up. "We're just gonna head home."

"Drive safely. Text me if you need me." Mingi gives you a small smile before running off to tend to his friends, San now also getting dragged into all his mess.

The walk over is quiet, but Yunho still opens the passenger door for you when you finally get to his car. You hate the silence that falls between you two, but you understand Yunho is upset and needs his own time away from everything, from you, even. You can't help but cry even more into your hands when he pulls into the apartment lot, Yunho letting out a breath as he puts the car in park. He looks over at you and his heart breaks because he truly hates to see you cry, and he never wants to be the reason behind you being sad or hurt.

"Hey. Don't." He says softly, hands coming up to pry your own hands away from your face. He gently wipes the tears away, making sure no drop is missed.

"I'm sorry, Yuyu." You repeat.

"I know, it's okay." He says, even though right now, it's not.

"Is it?"

"Let's get you home, okay?" He just looks at you with a soft expression before unbuckling his seatbelt. He comes over to open your door, locking his car when you step out and slowly make your way to your apartment. When you get to the steps, you turn towards him with a small pout. Yunho pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head, wiping any remaining stragglers from staining your cheeks. He's not happy, but he's trying to send you off on a calm note— hoping this could at least ease you for the night. "Get some rest."

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" He doesn't say anything before he pulls away and takes a few steps backwards. "Yunho." You call for him in that tone of yours that always makes him so weak.

"Y/N, please. I just need to shake this off. That's all. Goodnight." All you can do is simply walk away before running up the steps and into your apartment. Chaery is the only one home, cleaning her dishes after cooking a good meal for all of you to share.

"My love is home! I cooked!" She says happily, but her smile dies when she sees you set your bags down and cry into your hands. She drops everything and rushes over, throwing her arms around you while guiding you to the couch. "Hey, what's wrong? What happened?" She brushes the hair away from your face while you continue to cry. You don't respond for a bit, signaling for Chaery to just hold you and let you be.

You cry, and you cry.

Because you already miss Yunho, and you feel so dumb for overthinking the entire thing, for not being honest with him. It was a stupid mistake, but you hope Yunho knows you truly weren't out to hurt him.

You hope he can forgive you and move past this— with you, together.

Because today and so on, he's all you want. You love Yunho, and there's no one else that completes you the way that he does.

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