#Envision-the-Invisible

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, they’re both such lil nerds…my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now 🥰 it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!

their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking that’s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings ㅠ it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too

them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender ㅠㅠ leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say 😭 "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar ㅠㅠ but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life

the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength ㅠㅠ and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed

the scene w minho in the rain 😞 i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies ㅠ i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another

"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationship—the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3

the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and more…the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose 😭💗 come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE it’s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3

the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible ㅠㅠ i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him 😭 they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now

"you were already on the other side, you realize. his eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey" oh my GOD!!! ㅠㅠㅠㅠ her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic ㅠ i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~

minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart ㅠㅠ i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally 😞 also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!

now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this ㅠㅠ the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence ㅠㅠ the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks 💔 as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear

and minho 😭😭😭😭😭 the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy ㅠㅠ and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.

"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her

i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic 😞 just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3

this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple ��good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[jinjeriffic]

Dan Phantom vs. the Justice League

Most DCxDP fanworks gloss over how Dark Danny/Phantom kills the JL, or argue that TUE wouldn't play out the same way in the DC universe, since there are tons of superheroes and some would have a way of beating Dan. So let us dig into this with a shovel!

I would like to point out that we have seen plenty of apocalyptic/dark futures in DC. Even without Dan, that superhero multiverse is constantly teetering on the knife's edge of catastrophe! It feels like every couple of months someone has to stop the end of the world. Dan is just one more possible future to avert.

Dan is not a mindless monster, he is capable of planning, subterfuge and working with/coercing others to work with him (i.e. Fright Knight). He has both Danny and Vlad's memories, so in a crossover setting there is no way he wouldn't know about the public superheroes and villains at least.

Speaking of, DC is obviously crawling with supervillains and world destroying entities. Nobody said Dan had to conquer the world alone! I can totally see him working with and manipulating other villains to achieve his goals, only to stab them in the back later (ho-ho).

Dan's powers of invisibility, intangibility, duplication, overshadowing etc. make him an ideal candidate for infiltration, espionage and sabotage. Unless a person or location is specifically shielded against ghosts with tech or magic, he can get in and out without anybody noticing. Sure, someone like Batman probably had his home proofed against supernatural attacks, but surely not most of them! I envision him taking down Earth's heroes by extensively spying on them first.

Consider: Dan causes a major disaster that requires superhero intervention (runaway train, high-rise fire, sinking oil tanker etc.) and waits for someone to show up. When they do, Dan uses his duplicates to follow the hero(es) home/to work etc. Learn their identity, their weaknesses, their loved ones etc.

Dan could strategically leak hero identities to villains with a grudge who have no problem going after their civilian lives. This could also act as a smoke screen so the heroes don't immediately realize someone is targeting all of them.

Overshadow a loved one and use them to kill the hero - "Oh, Hero X got in an argument with their SO and their SO shot them in a fit of passion? Their SO claims having blacked out just before they picked up the gun? Trauma will do that."

Use intangibility to plant bombs, nerve gas, radioactive materials, etc. in the homes of various heroes and set them off in a coordinated strike.

Probably the biggest threat to Dan would be magic based heroes or supernatural entities (Captain Marvel, Doctor Fate, the JLD, etc.). They would also be the most likely to have countermeasures in place against ghosts, or a way to detect him. But they're also mostly suited for fighting the supernatural. I admittedly don't know enough about a lot of these characters - would say, Zatanna think to have a shield in place against sudden sniper attacks? Dan could steal some money and hire Deathstroke/Deadshot etc to blow their head off when they're out in the open.

Have I mentioned what a nightmare Dan would be in terms of security? I can totally see him say, breaking into the CDC and unleashing smallpox, ebola and any number of virulent diseases on the world. Cause some nuclear meltdowns. Knock down a dam. Steal some highly radioactive isotopes! Would the magic heroes be protected against something that can give you a lethal dose of radiation within minutes?

What I'm saying is, a clever and ruthless villain like Dan could unleash enough chaos with his OP powerset to overwhelm the heroes and then pick a lot of them off. He's pretty much the definition of someone who just wants to see the world burn!

[dandelions-143]

Breeding - Chan

Kinktober Masterlist

Word count: 2869

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual content, breeding kink, this one’s sweet and short

No summary just smut under the cut

Chan perched on the high stool at the kitchen bar, the clock on the wall ticking just past midnight. His fingers absently traced the rim of his cereal bowl as he indulged in a late-night snack. His dark, intense eyes, like pools of midnight, followed your every move across the kitchen. You stood on the other side of the bar, gracefully loading dishes into the dishwasher, unaware of his captivated gaze.

Chan's eyes traveled slowly, appreciatively over your figure, drinking in every curve and contour. The soft kitchen light cast a warm glow on your skin, accentuating the gentle swell of your hips and the elegant line of your back. He particularly loved how you looked in your current attire - form-fitting black leggings that hugged your legs and a snug sports bra that emphasized your toned arms and shoulders. The contrast of the fabric against your skin was mesmerizing, and Chan found himself entranced by the subtle play of your muscles as you moved.

As always, Chan's thoughts drifted to the future he envisioned with you - a future where you were his wife and the mother of his children. You had discussed this at length, both agreeing that marriage was a shared goal. You were the center of his universe outside of work, and he yearned to spend the rest of his life with you.

What he hadn't confided in you was the intense physical reaction he experienced when imagining you pregnant with his child. The mere thought of it sent a rush of heat through his body, his cock hardening almost instantly. He fantasized about the moment of conception, of filling you with his seed and watching your body change as it nurtured new life. The possibility of you carrying his children ignited a primal desire within him that was both thrilling and overwhelming.

Chan's cock twitched noticeably in his boxers as he sat eating his cereal, lost in these vivid daydreams. The movement of the spoon to his mouth became automatic as his mind wandered through scenes of domestic bliss and passionate encounters.

"What are you thinking about?" Your sweet voice cut through his reverie, bringing him back to the present moment. Chan's eyes met yours, and you could see a whirlpool of emotions swirling in their depths - desire, tenderness, and something deeper, almost reverent. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to compose himself. The cereal in his mouth suddenly felt dry, and he had to take a moment before he could respond.

"Just thinking about our future together," he said softly, his voice husky with unspoken longing. The words seemed inadequate to express the depth of his thoughts and feelings, but he wasn't sure how to articulate the intensity of his desires without overwhelming you.

You couldn't help but notice the intensity in Chan's gaze. It was a look you'd seen before, but never quite this potent - a mixture of love and something deeper, more primal. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your heart rate quicken in response. Your mind raced, considering the implications of his words and the heat in his eyes. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you found yourself drawn to him, your feet carrying you around the bar as if pulled by an invisible force.

As you reached him, you wrapped your arms around his neck, the familiar gesture feeling charged with new meaning. Chan turned slightly on his stool, allowing you to stand between his legs. Your hands slid over his bare back, feeling the warmth of his skin and the subtle flex of his muscles as you pulled him closer. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension.

"What exactly about our future are you thinking of?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren't sure if you were ready for the answer, but you couldn't stop yourself from asking.

Chan's eyes darkened perceptibly at your question, the rich brown depths now resembling molten chocolate. He pulled you closer, his large hands settling on your hips with a grip that was both gentle and possessive. The heat radiating from his body enveloped you, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

"I'm thinking about us," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. The low timbre of his voice sent shivers cascading down your spine. "About making you mine in every way possible." His grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your hips. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

"As in getting married?" Your skin prickled at the way his hands gripped your hips possessively, his fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the waistband of your leggings. The warmth of his palms seeped through the thin fabric, sending a shiver up your spine. Chan's eyes smoldered as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing yours, the ghost of his breath hot against your skin.

"More than that," he whispered, his voice low and husky, the vibrations of his words sending tremors through your body. His dark eyes, usually warm and gentle, now burned with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. "I'm thinking about starting a family with you, about watching you grow round with our child." His hands slid to your lower back, his fingers splaying wide as he pulled you flush against him. The hard planes of his chest pressed against your softer curves, and you could feel the rapid beating of his heart echoing your own frantic pulse. The evidence of his arousal pressed insistently against your stomach, hot and hard even through the layers of fabric separating you.

Your breath caught in your throat as the implications of his words sank in. The idea of carrying Chan's child, of starting a family together, sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. A warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading outward until it felt like your entire body was tingling with anticipation. You pressed yourself closer to him, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you pulled him down to you. Your lips met his in a passionate kiss that conveyed all the love, desire, and anticipation for your shared future. His lips were soft but demanding against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that made your knees weak.

As you broke apart, breathless and flushed, Chan's eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. His pupils were blown wide with desire. "I want to make you mine," he whispered, his voice thick with desire, rough like gravel. "Right here, right now." Without waiting for a response, he lifted you onto the kitchen counter, the cool marble a stark contrast to your heated skin. His hands were everywhere at once, sliding beneath your sports bra, calloused palms rough against your sensitive flesh as his lips claimed yours once more in a searing kiss.

Your body instantly reacted to his touches, his heated kisses sending jolts of electricity through your nervous system. You arched into him, your hands pulling him closer, your nails dragging over the taut muscles of his back. The thin fabric of his t-shirt did little to mask the heat radiating from his skin. Chan's large hands kneaded and pinched at your nipples, the sensation bordering on the edge of pleasure and pain. With a swift movement, he finally pulled your bra off, the cool air of the kitchen making your nipples pebble instantly. "You're saying… you want to cum inside me," you breathed, more a statement than a question. Your voice was breathy with desire, barely above a whisper as he kissed feverishly down your neck. His lips traced a burning path along your pulse point, pausing to suck and nibble at the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder. The sensation sent sparks of pleasure straight to your core, making you moan softly and tighten your legs around his waist.

Chan's lips curved into a sensual smile against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Yes," he growled, his voice low and husky with desire. "I want to fill you up, to make you mine completely." His hands slid down to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings as he looked up at you, eyes dark with passion and longing. "But only if you're okay with that." His lust-filled eyes watched yours, waiting for your response. You could see the raw desire burning in his gaze, but also a hint of vulnerability, a silent plea for your consent. You knew if you said no, he would stop immediately and wouldn't be disappointed or act disrespectfully towards you or your decision. The thought of his unwavering respect for you, even in the throes of passion, made your heart swell with love.

As you sat there, perched on the cool marble countertop, you found yourself growing wet at the idea of Chan cumming inside you for the very first time. The possibility of carrying his child sent a thrill through your body, igniting a primal desire you hadn't known existed. You were on birth control and knew that you likely wouldn't become pregnant, but it thrilled you either way. The mere thought of Chan's seed filling you, of the potential life it could create, made your core throb with need. Your skin felt electrified, every nerve ending alive and hyper-aware of Chan's proximity.

You bit your lip, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation. The air between you felt charged, crackling with unspoken desire. "Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you pulled Chan closer. Your fingers traced the contours of his face, memorizing every line and curve. "I want that too. I want all of you." Your fingers tangled in his hair, reveling in its silky softness as you kissed him deeply. The kiss was passionate, almost desperate, as if you were trying to pour all your love and desire into this one moment. Chan's hands tightened on your hips. A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours as he pressed himself against you. The heat of his body set your skin ablaze, every point of contact between you feeling like a livewire.

With practiced ease, Chan lifted you off the counter, his strong arms supporting you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as if to ensure he couldn't escape. Not that he showed any intention of doing so. His lips never left yours as he carried you towards the bedroom, the urgency of his desire evident in every hurried step. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. The journey to the bedroom felt both endless and far too short, each step building the anticipation to an almost unbearable level.

As he laid you gently on the bed, his eyes roamed over your body, drinking in every inch of you. His gaze was a heady mixture of love and primal hunger that made your breath catch in your throat. The intensity in his eyes made you feel simultaneously exposed and cherished, desired and adored. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he began to slowly peel away your remaining clothes. His fingers trailed along your skin as he removed each garment, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The cool air of the bedroom kissed your newly exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Chan's body. Every touch, every look from him felt like worship, as if he was committing every detail of this moment to memory.

With tender care, Chan leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of his deep affection. His warm breath mingled with yours, sending shivers down your spine. His hands, calloused yet gentle, explored your body with reverence, his fingertips tracing every curve and dip as if committing them to memory. The feather-light touch of his fingers left a trail of goosebumps in their wake, igniting a slow-burning fire beneath your skin.

You arched into his touch, your body responding instinctively to his caresses. Every point of contact between you felt electric, charged with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. As his hands mapped the contours of your body, you felt a profound sense of being cherished, loved, and desired. The look in Chan's eyes as he gazed at you was one of pure adoration, making you feel like the most precious thing in his world.

Chan's eyes locked with yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. "I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. You returned his gaze, feeling the depth of your connection. "I love you, Chan," you replied, your voice equally tender. In that moment, you both felt the strength of your bond, looking forward to the future you would share.

Chan slipped out of his boxers, allowing you to see how hard he was for you. His strong, muscled body was ready, every inch of him taut with desire. The sight of him, fully exposed and aroused, sent a shiver of anticipation through you. Your eyes roamed over his form, taking in the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, the powerful lines of his thighs, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

He moved towards you with a predatory grace, his eyes dark with passion. As he reached the bed, he paused, giving you a moment to appreciate him fully. The anticipation built between you, the air charged with electricity. Your breath caught in your throat as he finally joined you on the bed, his skin hot against yours as he covered your body with his own.

Chan settled between your legs, his hard length pressing against your wet folds without entering you yet. The anticipation made your breath hitch, your body trembling with desire. A soft, satisfied sigh escaped your lips as he slowly rolled his hips, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

His lips found your skin, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine as he moved lower, his lips caressing the sensitive skin of your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair, encouraging him as he continued his sensual exploration.

Chan's mouth traveled further down, his kisses becoming more heated as he reached your chest. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, as his hands gently cupped your breasts. The combination of his touch and the warmth of his mouth made you arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

The anticipation built with each passing moment, your body aching for more. Chan's eyes met yours, dark with passion and love, silently asking for permission to continue. You nodded, pulling him closer, ready to fully connect with the man you loved.

Chan's lips pressed into yours, kissing you slowly as he very gently entered you. The sensation of him stretching your walls made you gasp softly against his mouth. He paused, allowing you to adjust to his size, his eyes never leaving yours. "You feel amazing," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "So wet for me, baby."

As he began to move, setting a languid pace, Chan's lips brushed against your ear. His warm breath sent shivers down your spine as he murmured loving words. "You're perfect," he breathed, punctuating each word with a gentle thrust. "So beautiful, so precious to me." His hands caressed your body reverently, as if mapping every curve and contour.

"I love you," Chan whispered, his voice filled with adoration. "I can't wait to build our future together." His words, combined with the feeling of him moving inside you, made your heart swell with emotion. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of his body against yours.

Chan's movements were slow and deliberate at first, savoring every moment of your intimate connection. His eyes, dark with passion and love, never left yours as he gradually increased his pace. The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure - soft gasps, breathy moans, and whispered endearments mingling in the air.

With each thrust, Chan seemed to be pouring all of his love and passion into you, his body expressing what words could not fully convey. His strong hands caressed your skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. The muscles in his back flexed under your fingertips as he moved, a testament to his strength and control.

The air around you grew thick with the heat of your bodies, the scent of your mingled sweat and arousal creating an intoxicating atmosphere. Chan's breath came in short, hot puffs against your neck, punctuated by soft groans of pleasure. Your bodies moved in perfect synchronization, finding a rhythm that built the tension between you to dizzying heights.

As Chan's pace quickened, the bed creaked softly beneath you, adding to the symphony of your lovemaking. The sheets rustled with each movement, cool against your heated skin. Every sensation seemed heightened - the brush of Chan's lips against your collarbone, the gentle scrape of his stubble on your cheek, the delicious friction where your bodies joined.

Chan's lips found yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he drove deeper. You could taste the salt on his skin, feel the slight stubble on his jaw as he kissed along your neck. His movements became more urgent, his breathing ragged against your ear. You could feel him swelling inside you, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "I'm close," he groaned against your neck, his voice strained with desire. "Are you ready for me, baby?" His words sent a shiver down your spine, the low timbre of his voice igniting a fire in your core.

Your body tensed with anticipation, every nerve ending alive with sensation. The feeling of Chan inside you, filling you completely, was almost too much to bear. "Yes," you breathed, pulling him closer, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Your heels dug into the small of his back, urging him deeper. "Chan..” you moaned his name like it was the last thing your lips would ever say. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, your hearts beating in sync as you both teetered on the edge of ecstasy. The air around you felt electric, charged with the intensity of your shared passion.

With a final, powerful thrust, Chan buried himself deep inside you as he reached his climax. You felt the warmth of his release coating your walls, triggering your own intense orgasm. Your body shuddered with pleasure, your inner muscles clenching around him rhythmically.

Waves of ecstasy washed over you both as you clung to each other. Chan's face was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he chanted your name like a reverent prayer. "Oh god, (Y/N)... (Y/N)... (Y/N)..." His voice was hoarse with passion, each utterance of your name punctuated by a shudder of his body.

Your own cries of pleasure filled the room, mingling with Chan's deep groans. The sensation of his pulsing length inside you, combined with the flood of his warm seed, intensified your orgasm. Your nails dug into his back as you arched against him, your body trembling with the force of your release.

As the initial intensity of your climaxes began to ebb, you both remained locked in a tight embrace, bodies still joined intimately. The air around you was thick with the scent of your lovemaking, your ragged breaths slowly returning to normal. Chan lifted his head to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with love and satisfaction.

With a deep sigh of contentment, you both held each other close, basking in the warmth of your shared affection. The room was quiet except for your soft breathing as you enjoyed the peaceful moment together. Chan gently stroked your hair, his touch tender and loving.

You snuggled closer, feeling completely at ease in Chan's embrace. The intimacy of the moment made your heart swell with love and contentment. A question crossed your mind, and you couldn't help but voice it. "Chan, what if our lives change dramatically in the future? Are you ready for that?"

Chan's eyes softened as he pulled you closer, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out together," he said softly, his voice filled with reassurance. "Your happiness and our relationship come first, always. We can adjust our lives and schedules if needed, but right now, let's just enjoy this moment.”

Taglist:

@rylea08 @syedazarintasnim @cashtonsbetch @pasaatimonarkin @tzeweiii05 @sincerely-sun @moonchild9350 @athforskz @babigriin @seunmong-in @cookiesandcreammy @rockstarkkami @bangchans-angel @salemluvsmusic @seungmincenteric @kpflyn @iovecb97 @juskz @sadrosessing @fawnpeaks @galaxy4489 @chuuyaobsessed @tirena1 @tsunderelino @kissesmellow21 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @nightmarenyxx @simpforleeknaur @ririwhiskers @satosugu4l @mihoonz @redlightsrachaaa @mintymintmint251 @velvetmoonlght @minniesverse @everythingboutkpop @yaorzu-blog

[halosdiary]

witch's brew | witch! t. fushiguro x magical girl!reader | 呪術廻戦

a/n: if I'm starting kinktober, I'm starting it right. Have some toji you animals. I personally blame @blkkizzat and @hoshigray for this.

wc: 2.5k

contains: masturbation, sexual fantasies, entrapment, kidnapping, unrequited love, possessive behavior, just horror themed based.

synopsis: it seems that you have an admirer in the form of a witch.

The night was unnaturally quiet, the air thick with an impending sense of doom. You’d been walking home from an uneventful evening, but something was wrong. The moon hung too low, too bright, casting strange shadows that seemed to follow your every step. Your chest tightened, anxiety gnawing at you like a parasite. Every rustle in the trees, every crunch of a leaf made your skin prickle with unease. You swore someone was watching.

That’s when he appeared.

Toji Fushiguro.

He was panting, stroking himself, his arm shielding away his eyes. the sight of you always in his mind. You were beautiful to him, you were everything he envisioned. Your smile, your innocent spirit, the way you just looked so perfect. His moans echoing his chambers as he slowly started to thrust more as he felt himself about to cum soon.

"Fuck...FUCK." He hissed out. His blacken hand feeling each inch of ecstasy.

As he arches his back, he yells out as he sprays out nice essence at the throat of you. An orb was glowing as he grabs it and looks into it. He saw you, you were finishing up something, and just wanted to go home. You were done slaying curses for one night and were heading home.

Tall, dark, and painfully handsome, his presence was as overwhelming as it was eerie. His eyes gleamed with a wicked intensity, and his lips curved into a smile that sent chills down your spine. You’d seen him before—once, in passing, and again in your dreams, where the world twisted into something nightmarish.

"Leaving so soon?" his voice was smooth, almost mocking.

Your heart raced. Every instinct told you to run, but your feet remained frozen in place. You tried to speak, but words caught in your throat.

Toji stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I've been watching you," he said, his tone casual, as if talking to an old friend. "You, with all your power... It’s fascinating, really."

You felt a surge of magic flicker within you, instinctively raising your guard. But before you could react, he raised a hand, muttering something under his breath. Darkness exploded around you, and the world spun into oblivion.

When you awoke, everything was wrong.

You were no longer in your world.

The room was unfamiliar—gothic, ornate, and suffocating. The air was thick with magic, dark and twisted, and you felt it clawing at your skin, seeping into your very soul. You tried to move, but invisible chains bound you in place.

Toji stood before you, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. "You're mine now," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "There’s no escape."

You struggled against the invisible hold, summoning every ounce of magic you had left, but nothing worked. It was as if the very air around you drained your power.

Toji chuckled, watching your futile attempts.

"You don’t understand, do you? You’ve walked right into my trap. This place... it bends to my will. And you?" He knelt in front of you, lifting your chin with a single finger. "You’ll never leave."

Panic rose in your chest, suffocating you. His presence was overwhelming, oppressive. You felt his magic wrap around your mind like a vice, tightening slowly, mercilessly.

"Let me go!" you gasped, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, amused by your defiance. "Why would I ever do that? I’ve been searching for someone like you for so long. A magical girl with so much potential... You’re perfect." His voice dripped with obsession, his eyes darkening with desire—though not the kind you expected. His obsession was something darker, more twisted, a need to control, to torment.

Days blurred together in that prison. Toji was always there, watching, waiting. He whispered dark curses in your ear, slowly unraveling your mind. You would wake to his voice in the dead of night, a phantom in the darkness, promising that you belonged to him. Every time you tried to fight, to escape, he would tighten his grip, his magic suffocating your own.

"You’ll never be free," he would say, his lips grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "No one will ever find you here. No one can."

You could feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece. He would keep you locked away, forever a prisoner in his cursed world. And the worst part? You began to doubt yourself. The walls seemed to close in, your reality slipping away. His voice became the only constant, his presence the only thing you could rely on.

Maybe you were crazy. Maybe this was all a dream. Or worse, maybe it wasn’t.

Toji's obsession only grew with time, his torment becoming more intimate, more invasive. He would appear in your thoughts, twisting your memories, making you question what was real and what was his doing. Every time you thought you had a moment of clarity, he would be there, dragging you back into his grasp.

"You can't escape me," he whispered, his voice echoing in the dark. "No matter how hard you try."

You screamed, but your voice was swallowed by the void.

Toji smiled.

You were his.

Forever.

The days stretched into weeks—or was it longer? Time itself had become a blur, an untraceable loop in this twisted dimension Toji had crafted around you. The lines between reality and nightmare thinned until they bled into one another. You couldn’t remember what it felt like to be free.

Every day, Toji was there, his dark presence a constant reminder that you were nothing more than his puppet. He never allowed you to be alone for long. You would wake to find him watching from the shadows, his piercing eyes drinking in every ounce of your fear, feeding off your helplessness. It was as if he relished your suffering, delighted in watching you come apart at the seams.

Sometimes, he was gentle, almost tender. He would sit beside you, brushing the hair from your face, his touch cold but oddly soothing. "Why do you resist, little one?" he would murmur, his voice low and seductive. "Don’t you see? I could give you everything. All the power you could ever want, all the knowledge of the dark arts... If only you would stop fighting me."

But you knew better. His words were poison, a slow-acting venom that crept into your veins with every passing day. He wasn’t offering you freedom. No, he was trying to mold you, break you, until there was nothing left of who you once were. He wanted to consume you, body and soul, until you were nothing more than a hollow shell, a reflection of his own twisted desires.

And despite your attempts to hold on to your sanity, you could feel the cracks deepening. You tried to remind yourself of the life you had before Toji trapped you in this dark purgatory, but the memories were fading. Your friends, your family, even your own reflection in the mirror had become distant, abstract things.

Sometimes, you questioned if they ever existed at all.

And Toji—he noticed. He always noticed.

One evening, when the suffocating darkness of his world felt heavier than ever, Toji appeared, sitting at the foot of your bed with that familiar, cruel smirk. "I see you’ve been thinking about escaping again," he purred. His voice was silk laced with malice. "You still believe there’s a way out of this, don’t you?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt raw from all the silent screaming you had done, your thoughts tangled and foggy.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"Do you know what I love most about this curse I’ve placed on you?" His smile widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "It’s not just your body that belongs to me. It’s your mind." He tapped a finger to your temple, his touch electrifying in the worst way possible.

"I know what you’re thinking before you even think it. Every fear, every hope, every desperate little plan to escape—none of it is a secret to me."

Your chest tightened with panic as his words sank in. It was true. Every time you had tried to break free, something had gone wrong—like he knew your thoughts before you could act on them. You had been playing right into his hands, and now, the despair was unbearable.

He tilted your chin upward, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You’re starting to understand now, aren’t you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, dark and intoxicating. "There is no escape from me. Not here. Not ever. I will have you, in every sense of the word."

Something inside you shattered at that moment. A sob ripped from your throat, and the tears you had been holding back for so long finally spilled down your cheeks. Toji only smiled, his expression one of triumph.

"Good," he said softly, brushing a tear away with his thumb. "Let it all out. The sooner you accept your place here, the sooner we can stop this silly game of resistance."

You wanted to fight, to scream at him, but your strength was slipping away, stolen by the relentless grip of his curse. Each passing day, each whispered word from his lips, eroded the pieces of you that still held on to hope.

There were moments, fleeting and cruel, when you thought you felt something stir within Toji—something softer, a glimpse of the man beneath the monster. But those moments were always brief, vanishing like mist under the sun, leaving only his malevolent intent behind. You were his obsession, his dark prize, and he had no intention of ever letting you go.

And as time stretched on, the worst part wasn’t the torment. It wasn’t the loneliness, or the fear, or even the way he toyed with your mind, unraveling you bit by bit.

The worst part was that you were beginning to believe him.

His whispers echoed in your mind, filling the void with sweet promises of surrender. Maybe this was your fate. Maybe he was right. Maybe you would never escape. And as the last fragments of your resistance began to crumble, you felt a sickening sense of relief—because at least in surrender, there would be an end to the struggle.

Toji’s voice cut through the darkness one last time, soft and full of twisted affection. "You’re mine," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "And soon, you’ll learn to love it."

And in the silence that followed, you couldn’t help but wonder if you already were.

The days slipped into a state of numbness. You had stopped counting the time, stopped fighting against the inevitable. The once-loud voice in your head screaming for escape had grown quieter, weaker. Toji’s presence had seeped so deeply into your mind that you could no longer distinguish his thoughts from your own.

And in those quiet moments, when he wasn’t watching you, you would feel it—the curse tightening around your soul like a noose. There was no escaping it. You had tried everything, but now… now, a part of you wondered if it was worth it to keep trying.

One evening, Toji appeared in your room, his silhouette framed by the dim light of a flickering candle. His expression was different, colder. His obsession hadn’t wavered, but there was a new edge to it, something more dangerous, more final.

"You’ve been quiet," he said, his voice smooth as ever. "No more attempts to break free? No more fighting?" He tilted his head, studying you with that unnerving gaze. "Have you finally accepted it?"

You stared at him, your body too tired to move, too drained to react. Deep down, something inside you still screamed, still begged for release, but it was so far away now, buried under layers of magic and madness.

Toji’s smile widened, pleased with your silence. "Good," he whispered, stepping closer, his shadow engulfing you. "You’re almost ready."

Almost ready for what? A flicker of fear surged within you, but it was fleeting, drowned out by the heavy, oppressive weight of his curse. You wanted to ask, but your throat felt constricted, as if speaking would unravel you entirely.

Without warning, he reached out, his fingers grazing your face. But this time, his touch wasn’t cold. It burned, searing your skin, branding you with his curse in a way you hadn’t felt before. You flinched, but the magic binding you held you still.

Toji’s eyes gleamed with something primal, something more than mere possession. "You don’t understand yet, do you?" he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "This isn’t just about keeping you here. This curse... it’s about making you mine, in every sense. Body, mind, soul."

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath sending a sickening shiver down your spine. "I’ve been patient. I’ve let you fight, struggle, even hope for a way out. But that’s over now."

A cold dread washed over you as his words sunk in. You tried to move, to scream, to do anything to stop what you knew was coming, but it was too late.

Toji’s grip tightened, and you felt the full weight of his magic flood your senses. Your mind screamed in agony as the curse dug deeper, sinking into your very being. Memories you had clung to—the faces of loved ones, the warmth of freedom—shattered like fragile glass. Your thoughts twisted and warped until they were no longer your own. The last remnants of your identity, the last pieces of you that had resisted him, were being torn away.

You gasped, choking on the darkness that swallowed you whole. Toji’s voice echoed in your mind, louder than ever, his whispers filling every corner of your consciousness.

"You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And now… you’ll never escape me."

The truth hit you like a dagger to the heart.

This was it. There was no escape, not from him, not from this place. Even if you could leave the room, the world outside would never be yours again. The curse had taken root, deeper than you had ever imagined. You weren’t just trapped in his world.

You were becoming part of it.

Your vision blurred as tears welled up, but even they felt wrong, foreign, as if your emotions were no longer truly yours to control. You could feel the walls of this twisted prison closing in on your soul, tightening, suffocating. Your heartbeat slowed, your breath shallow, as if your body itself was slipping away into the void.

And Toji stood over you, watching it all unfold, his eyes filled with a dark, victorious satisfaction. He had won.

The final, horrifying realization crashed into you.

You weren’t just his prisoner anymore. You were becoming him.

Piece by piece, your thoughts, your memories, your very soul were being consumed by the curse, by him. You could feel Toji’s presence growing stronger inside you, his dark magic replacing everything that had once been you. Your mind fractured under the weight of his influence, and a sickening dread filled your chest as you realized that, soon, there would be nothing left of you at all.

In the last moment of clarity before the darkness swallowed you whole, you saw it—the faintest flicker of yourself, disappearing into the void. And then, it was gone.

Toji smiled, leaning down to press his lips against your forehead, sealing your fate.

"Welcome home," he whispered.

And in that moment, you knew the horrifying truth.

You were no longer the victim.

You were the curse.

Forever trapped in Toji’s world. Forever him.

TAGLIST: @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @blkkizzat @buttercupblu143 @lowkeyremi @yung-notorious @arlerts-angel @honeeslust @nkogneatho @hoshigray

[honeybard]

I do not yet have the skills to capture this in the way I envisioned it in my minds eye, but I was really into the symbolism of everyone cheering for a fake Kristen doing a wacky chaotic stunt while the real Kristen suffered invisibly among them

it felt very on theme not only for her personally but also for the theme of junior year as a whole (specifically being forced to hide your problems and your stress in order to perform even as it gets worse)

(added bonus to the imagery was the jump being done at night; what would be Cassandra's domain if she wasn't. you know)

[infamous-light]

The Cuddle Conundrum

Agatha Harkness x Gender Neutral Reader

AO3: The Cuddle Conundrum

Summary: You were excited to show Agatha a new spell you had learned but when you mispronounced a word, you inadvertently cast a spell that left you both stuck together.

Agatha seizes the opportunity to mercilessly tease you about your magical mishap.

Word Count: 1.2K

You stood in the middle of Agatha’s cozy living room, excitement buzzing in your veins like a live wire.

You had been practicing a new spell all week – poring over ancient texts and experimenting with every incantation you could decipher – and now you were finally ready to show it off to her.

“Just promise me it’s not another attempt at making my tea taste like lavender,” Agatha quipped, amusement glinting in her eyes as she crossed her legs, the fabric of her coat shifting with the motion. “I still can’t get rid of that awful flavor you concocted out of my mouth.”

You could feel your cheeks warm slightly at her words. The image of Agatha grimacing after her first sip was etched into your memory, a mortifying reminder of your less-than-stellar tea-brewing skills.

“No, this is different,” you insisted, brushing aside her sarcasm with a wave of your hand. “It’s a spell that forms a barrier of warmth around you. Imagine it like a cozy shield that wraps around you whenever you start to feel cold.”

Agatha arched a single eyebrow, a playful gleam flickering in her eyes as she took in your serious expression.

“Really? A cozy shield?” She echoed, leaning back against the plush cushions of the couch, her posture relaxed. With a theatrical sigh, she added, “How quaint. I suppose next you’ll tell me it comes with little hearts and sparkles, too.”

You responded with a deadpan stare, refusing to indulge in her teasing. “Ha-ha. Winter’s coming soon, and I get cold easily.”

Her lips curled into a smirk as she tilted her head, a cascade of long, brown hair falling over her shoulder. “Is that so?” She enunciated each word slowly. “Well then, show me what you’ve got. I’m curious to see if it’s as delightful as you claim, or if it will leave me wishing for another cup of that dreadful tea.”

Determined to prove to Agatha that you’re capable of achieving this spell, you squared your shoulders and met her gaze with unwavering confidence. Carefully, you arranged the ingredients on the coffee table – some assortment of herbs, a delicate sprinkle of salt, and a few shimmering crystals.

Agatha watched with a raised brow, her expression somewhere between amusement and intrigue as she nestled deeper into the cushions. She observed your every move, her eyes tracing your hands as they glided over the items.

Once you’d finished combining the ingredients, you straightened back up, letting your shoulders drop as you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the moment.

With a steady voice, you began the incantation, the ancient words flowing from your lips like a melody. You closed your eyes, drawing in the ambient energy around you, feeling it swirl like a gentle breeze. You could feel it buzzing at your fingertips, eager to manifest the magic you were trying to conjure, and a thrill shot through you as you envisioned impressing Agatha with your newfound skills.

Her attention remained fixed on you, her curiosity piqued, but then her expression shifted from interest to alarm as she heard one of the incantations sound off.

“Wait–” Agatha interjected; her voice laced with urgency. “Are you sure about that last part? I don’t think–”

Before she could finish her warning, a blinding flash of light enveloped you both, drowning out her voice and leaving you momentarily disoriented. In an instant, the world spun in a whirl of colors, and an odd tugging sensation seized you, as if an invisible force was drawing your body toward Agatha's. When the light finally faded and the world around you sharpened into focus, you looked down in horror to find that you were completely stuck to Agatha’s side. Your arms were hopelessly entangled, the skin of your forearm brushing against hers while your legs were awkwardly intertwined. It was as though the spell had fused you together in a bizarre embrace.

“Well, this is charming,” Agatha drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She attempted to adjust her position, but the effort proved futile, only causing both of you to wobble precariously. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, pet.”

You couldn’t help but feel the flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks, hot and betraying. “I may have mispronounced a word or two.”

“A word or two?” Agatha retorted, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated flair. “I think you’ve accidentally created the world’s most inconvenient cuddle spell.”

As she spoke, you tried to maintain your composure, desperately fighting the flush creeping up your cheeks from the way your bodies were inexplicably linked. However, Agatha’s keen gaze flickered over your flushed cheeks, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You could feel the weight of her scrutiny, but you tried to ignore it.

Then, a spark of mischief ignited in her eyes, a glimmer that sent a nervous thrill coursing through you. Without warning, Agatha leaned back against you, the warmth of her body pressing into yours. The contact was electric, sending a shiver down your spine as you instinctively shifted beneath her, hyper-aware of the closeness that set your heart racing like a wild drum. Agatha seemed to revel in your discomfort, her laughter spilling forth like a melodic tease, light and airy. It was intoxicating and disarming all at once.

“You know, pet,” Agatha purred, each word drawn out in that dangerously smooth tone. “It’s adorable watching you squirm like this. You look positively flushed.”

You opened your mouth, stammering in response, “I-I’m not – I mean, it’s just… you–” But the words tumbled out in a disjointed rush, your voice wavering as the heat of embarrassment crept further down your neck.

The next action caught you off guard as Agatha wrapped her legs around yours, her grin widening as she caught the frazzled panic in your eyes.

“Aw, you poor thing,” she cooed, her voice dripping with playful mockery. “I didn’t mean to make you so flustered.”

As she nestled closer, a soft squeak escaped your lips, a sound of surprise that only fueled her delight.

“I don’t think you realize how much of a personal cushion you’ve become,” she mused, allowing her head to rest heavily against your shoulder. Her dark, loose hair fell around you in a silky curtain, the strands cool against your flushed cheeks. “You really should consider the implications of your little spell before casting it again.” She continued, her voice low and sultry.

The heat in your cheeks deepened. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. I was just trying to–”

“To what?” She interrupted, her smirk widening as if she were savoring the moment like a fine wine. “Impress me? Because I assure you, you have succeeded, my dear. A cuddle spell that binds us together? How utterly romantic.”

The playful lilt in her words only made your heart race faster, a wild rhythm you couldn’t control. It was astounding, really, how easily this witch could get under your skin.

“Maybe next time, I’ll just… stick to the basics.” You winced internally at the awkwardness of your tone.

“Or perhaps,” Agatha murmured, lifting her head to meet your gaze, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “You should embrace it. I find it quite cozy. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a soft, enticing whisper. “I could get used to this.”

Maybe this accidental cuddle spell wasn’t so bad after all.

[yourlocalcryptidbee]

⭐NSFW Alphabet with Lucifer Morningstar

Good old NSFW Alphabet with our favourite duck man. Grab some snacks and a beverage, get comfy and enjoy <3

Template can be found here

~1.4k words

GN! Reader, mentions of makeup Want the SFW one? Find it here!

Content Warning: NSFW, not proof read

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s attentive to your needs. The literal king of aftercare, whatever you want he can provide. A bath? You got it. Cuddles? A snack? A walk in the garden? Hell, more sex? You got it!  

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his tongue, plain and simple. The power he has over you with it is his favourite thing. Watching how you squirm just because of this one part of him, he’s ready to blow a load just thinking about it! You on the other hand, oh he’s tied between your thighs and your chest. The way your legs shake just that little bit when he’s doing something right? Or the way your chest HEAVES after you cum? It’s too good! 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Would eat your cum breakfast, lunch and dinner if given the chance. And trust, he’s tried to do that on multiple occasions. You stop him, saying something about having a “balanced diet” whatever that means…  

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Lucifer fantasizes about you riding him during a meeting. He’s caught himself thinking about you sitting on his lap, while he’s on the throne, bouncing up and down restlessly like your soul depends on it. He’ll sit and envision what everyone else’s reaction would be, although he isn’t the biggest fan of sharing so maybe this will have to stay a fantasy…until he can learn to hold that many clones of himself that is (;

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This man has been around since before the creation of humanity, over 10,000 years! At least 8,000 of those years having sex with either Lilith or Eve. So yes, Lucifer knows what he’s doing, and he knows he knows that he’s good at it. It’s named ‘The devil’s tango’ for a reason ya’ll. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Spooning or really anything where all of him is pressed into all of you. He just wants to hold you, whatever position that may be. He may be sexy but he is still damaged, and this is vulnerable. Just let him lay all his lovin on you ok? 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depends heavily on the foreplay, but on average he’ll start a lil goofy and turn more serious as the act goes on. But always be ready for a wayward joke here and there. Sometimes it’s just too good to pass up! (just like how having sex with you is too good to pass up)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s kept himself surprisingly well-groomed after his seven-year isolation. It’s trim and orderly the first time you see it, though it doesn’t matter that much because it’s such a pale blonde, that it’s basically invisible.  

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

My God, this man is bursting at the seams with love for you. His heart swells so much that it starts to hurt when he thinks about how he gets to participate in such a vulnerable and personal thing like sex with you. The most hated being in creation and you willing run into his trap, arms open and ready to envelop him in pleasure. Even if you can’t see it in his face or his words during the moment, he is always just so thankful that you could love him like this. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

At least once a day. He can’t help himself, plus he doesn’t have much going on most days sooo why not? No one’s stopping him, well you might but that's just cause you would rather help him than let him do it on his own.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

It is Lucifer, he’s got the words ‘corruption kink’ written on his goddamn head. (attached to the neck or the shaft, dealer’s choice) Like dirty talk is a lot of ‘What would your Father Even think of you now? On your knees for me? Hm? Darling, I can’t hear you~’. They want him to be the antichrist? Fine. Spread your legs and give him until the sun rises and he’ll show just how cruel he can be. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His Throne, it’s the one place where he knows that no other person could even sit, let alone have sex on. This is the Sin of Pride, of course, his favourite place is centred around his power. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you call him yours, my king, my love, my slut. The little choice in wording that shows that you understand just how much of his heart you own, and that is all of it by the way. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While you’ve never done this because you understand, it turns him off real quick if you bring up his past love, Lilith. They’ve been divorced for years and he’s moved on but still, it rubs him the wrong way if you were to ask if ‘Lilith could fuck you like this, if she could love you like this or make you moan the way I do?’ Just No.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

10s 10s 10s all across the board! 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, depends on the foreplay but also how his depression is. If he is slipping into or is in another episode than its all sweet nothings, slow and romantic. If not than he’s more willing to go as fast as your body can handle. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Lucifer rathers to not have quickies but it happens. To him, it feels like he can’t make sure that you’re both getting what you want and he’d rather sell his soul to Alastor than leave you unsatisfied because of a goddamn time constraint. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He may be skeptical but he’ll try it. You got to try to know if you’ll like it. Plus you got quite the funny story from failed attempts at some things but that's part of the fun aint it?

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s the Devil from the Bible! Lucifer is quite literally otherworldly, his stamina doesn’t run out, it’s allllllll on how long you hold on for, baby. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not the biggest fan of toys but if your adamant, he’ll give them a go again. Although ropes will always be on the table for him (;

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A constant tease! All day, every day honey. He thrives when teasing you but as soon as the tables turn he is melting like that! That being said, he’s learnt to be careful with how much he teases you, least he want a repeat of that day at that gala, and seeing as Ozzie still makes fun of him for it, he’d rather not. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

His bedroom is soundproof. That’s explanation enough.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves it when you leave markings on him, scratches, bites, hickeys or d) all of the above. Don’t get him started on when your lipstick stains his face or clothes. Minimum 30% of all of his shirts have a crisp kiss mark on the collar and Lucifer wouldn’t have it any other way.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Matches the rest of him pretty well, on the thin side as well as a blinding white colour while hitting a comfortable 7.8 inches. He knows exactly how to use it too. No wonder Lilith felt like That Bitch. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Need it being said? His sex drives rivals that of Angel Dust. Don’t start something you can’t finish.  

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If the two of you aren’t cuddling then he doesn’t fall asleep until it’s almost sunrise. If you do snuggle up on him then it’s lights out real quick. That mix of sex, your shampoo and your body against his is his ultimate melatonin. 

[recklessmark]

i can help

Pairings: Manipulative step dad Mark x Innocent afab reader

Summary: You're hurt by your breakup but determined to make your step father feel better after finding out that you’ve made him hurt almost every day for the past few months

Genre: smut

Warnings: unprotected sex (be safe!), infidelity, daddy kink, virginity sex, masturbation, coercion and heavy manipulation, degradation, dirty talk, breeding.

Word count: 4k

A/N: to the anon that sent the ask of step dad mark, this is not exactly what you imagined. i twisted the story a little bit... hope you like it :)

It had been a long fucking day. A long week to be honest. 

But today was an interminable marathon of work that left Mark weary. The clock struck 4 a.m. and he yearned for the solace of your voice, a lifeline amidst the storm. Despite the ungodly hour, he dialed your number, his heart praying fervently that you would answer. And when you did, a familiar rhythm of "hi" and "how are you?" began, like a soothing melody as he took off everything but his underwear and slipped under the covers. 

“When do you come back?” You asked, making him smile. 

"Just a few more days, my princess. I promise," he assured, his voice a balm to your restless soul.

"Okay," you replied softly, vulnerability seeping into your tone. Then, in a hushed confession, you added, "I miss you."

His throat emitted a low, smoldering chuckle, envisioning the delicate blush that surely adorned your cheeks. “I miss you too, sweetheart. What have you been up to though?” 

You rambled on about your day, telling him about how you  made cookies earlier for Henry—your idiotic boyfriend, and that you were quickly growing bored in the mostly empty manor and your completely empty apartment. His wife—your mother—had been out of town for five days, and even if she was present, it still felt like she’s invisible. Sometimes, Mark felt sorry for you, but he was also thankful for that because it meant he was the one that took care of you.

He tried to pay attention, honestly he did. But he hasn’t touched his cock in almost a week because of how busy he’s been on the business trip and he missed the sound of your voice. So what else was he supposed to do when his cock fattened up in his briefs? 

When you started talking about this argument you had with your boyfriend, he tuned out your words a little bit, just listening to the softness of your voice, imagining the pretty little whimpers you could make with it. Pushing the covers and his underwear down, he freed his cock and instantly took it in his hand, stroking slowly. His breathing started to change a little, growing heavier and faster, making you trail off in the middle of your sentence. 

“Don’t stop talking, princess.” He rasped, hand speeding up. 

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly. 

“I’m perfect. Your voice is just so soothing, baby. Keep talking.” 

“O-okay.” You continued hesitantly, telling him about how you were so sad after the argument, wishing he was there to give you advice, or just simply provide comfort for you. You also told him about how you’ve been having trouble sleeping since you can’t come to his room in the middle of the night after having a nightmare. God- he fucking misses that too. It’s one of his favorite things, being able to caress your body or grind against you while you sleep, never waking up because of how safe you feel in his arms. When he let out a quiet grunt, you stopped again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? What was that?” 

“I’m so good, princess. Keep going.” He tried not to moan through the words. 

“Okay…” He swiped a thumb over the tip and took in a sharp breath, making you stop again. “Why are you breathing weird, Daddy?” 

“Baby, I'm not.” He sighed. “I promise I'm okay. If you don’t want to keep talking, we don’t have to.”

“No!” You said quickly, because of his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that, I was just worried.” Instead of letting him reply, you continued talking about random things that have happened while he’s been away. Every once in a while he’d let out a sound to let you know he was listening, a grunt disguised as a sound of acknowledgement, but you bought it. 

He started tuning out your words again, just focusing on the soft lull of your sleepy voice. You being sleepy is probably his favorite thing, closely followed by you being scared or in pain. You’re so pliable, so easy to manipulate. He can caress your tit or your ass and pass it off as an accident, or even tell you that he can’t sleep in clothes, only underwear, and that it’s perfectly normal for your step father to sleep almost naked beside you whenever your busy mother is away. Sometimes, if he’s really lucky, he can convince you that you won’t be comfortable in those modest pajamas you wear and that you’ll be able to sleep much better in just his shirt. And you almost always agree. 

He stroked his cock even faster, quickly nearing his orgasm after so long without one, and when he cursed under his breath, then let out a long, quiet groan, you trailed off again. 

You did your best to keep speaking, stuttering through the sentences, but it fell on deaf ears as he came, thinking about how fucking hot it was that you didn’t even know.  When his noises quieted and he was slightly panting, you decided to ask again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m perfect, baby.” He sounded significantly more tired and relaxed, but he knew you’d be too stupid to put it together. “You’re so good for me- my good girl. Thank you, princess.” 

“You’re welcome…?” You asked, confused, but he wasn’t going to bother explaining. “Are you tired now?” 

“Just a little, but I can stay up for you.” He murmured, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand to wipe his come off his stomach, cock twitching as he imagined you licking it off him instead. 

“You don’t have to. I’m tired too.” He knew you well enough to know that was a lie. 

“How about we go to sleep, but don’t hang up. How does that sound?” 

“Okay, yeah. Thank you, Daddy. I love you.” You said quietly, but he could practically hear the smile in your voice.  

“I love you too, princess. Sweet dreams.”

He knew he would at least have some. 

"Mark?" you whispered, your voice trembling through the narrow gap of the door. He stirred in bed, the sheets slipping down, revealing his bare chest. Sensing your distress, he sat up, his eyes filled with concern.

"Another bad dream?" he asked softly, his voice a gentle caress that soothed your frayed nerves. Nodding in confirmation, you stepped inside, drawn to the comfort of his embrace. With a tender gesture, he lifted the covers, inviting you to slide beneath them. Curling up against his chest, you sought solace in his presence as his arms enveloped your trembling form.

"Did I wake you?" you whispered, your voice laced with guilt, your vulnerability laid bare before him. Whenever your mother is away doing god-knows-what, you always find yourself slipping into her bedroom. You didn’t know if it’s the right thing to do to sleep next to your mother’s husband without her knowing it, but it’s easier to fall asleep with Mark, especially when you have one of those nightmares.

"Nah, couldn't sleep," he replied, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back, an attempt to chase away your anguish. "Just had a lot on my mind. But let's focus on you. Do you want to talk about your dream?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you struggled to find your voice. It wasn't a nightmare that had shaken you to the core—it was something far more devastating. With a quivering breath, you finally managed to utter the words that weighed heavily on your heart.

"It's not... not a dream," you choked out, the truth hanging heavy in the air. "I... I broke up with Henry."

Mark's lips pressed together, a concealed smile tugging at the corners. Beneath the guise of sympathy, he masked his true sentiments, knowing all too well that Henry was a pitiful fool who never deserved someone as exquisite as you. But he had bided his time, refraining from openly expressing his disdain for the fucker while you remained entangled in a relationship. Now, as the truth spilled from your lips, he adopted a pretense of speechlessness, his feigned sympathy coating his words.

"Well, that's unexpected," he mumbled, his voice veiling his true satisfaction. "I'm sorry, baby."

The words lingered, a heavy silence stretching between you. And then, the floodgates opened, tears streaming down your cheeks as the weight of your decision crashed upon you. Mark held you tighter, his touch a lifeline amidst the wreckage of your shattered relationship.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice a seductive lullaby, its dark undertones weaving a tapestry of comfort. With tender care, he wiped away your tears, his touch a balm for your wounded soul. "I'm here for you, always. Let it out, let it all out."

Sobs wracked your body as you clung to him, your tears staining the fabric of his embrace. “I really like him…” you cried out, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and pain.

"I know," Mark grunted, his voice laced with a hidden jealousy that he fought to conceal. "But I don't think he's good for you."

Looking up from his chest, a slight frown etched upon your features, you questioned. “How do you know?”

He sighed, his thumb tenderly caressing the crease between your brows. “This is not the first time you cry because of him, is it?”

Your lips pursed, your gaze thoughtful as it rested upon him. Mark's words held an undeniable truth—your relationship with Henry had seldom been a source of genuine happiness. He craved excitement, always seeking something more, while you, plagued by fear, hesitated to embrace life's adventures. It had been a ticking time bomb, waiting to implode.

"Did I ever make you cry, baby?" Mark asked, as if seeking confirmation that your ex was a douchebag. A soft shake of your head earned a tender smile from him. "You see, he's not the right person if he fails to bring you happiness."

His words resonated in the air, mingling with the breathless silence surrounding you. Mark's lips brushed against the crown of your head, a gesture filled with an enigmatic tenderness. The nature of your bond remained a mystery, veiled in shadows, yet whenever you were near him, your stomach fluttered and your mind grew weightless. Whenever he touches you, it always feels good. Not a normal good though. It makes your core start to ache and you feel like you have to pee. The more you continued thinking about it, the more you started to feel it. 

"Daddy?" you ventured timidly, your voice barely a whisper. He emitted a low hum, granting you permission to continue and you tried to let the vibrations of his chest calm you. “How come whenever you touch me, it... it makes me feel... weird?"

His hand froze on your back, and a sudden tension enveloped the room, causing you to stiffen, worried you said something wrong.

"Weird how?" Mark's voice echoed with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Your cheeks flushed, warmth blossoming beneath your skin as you struggled to find the right words.

"Good weird," you managed to confess, your voice laced with uncertainty.

A silent pause hung in the air, before Mark's hand resumed its soothing motions on your back, as if trying to quell the charged atmosphere between you. With a voice heavy with anticipation, he asked, "Where does it feel good?"

Your breath hitched, your mind racing, as you summoned the courage to answer. "My tummy... and... and my..." This time, it was Mark who stiffened beneath you, his reaction palpable.

“Where, princess?” He urged you to continue, but you just whined softly and buried your face in the sanctuary of his chest. Sensing your hesitation, his free hand ventured boldly, brushing against your inner thigh with a teasing caress that sent shivers coursing through your veins. With a featherlight touch, he trailed his fingers upward, barely grazing the fabric that concealed the heat between your legs. You jumped at the sudden touch.

“Here?” He rasped. A nod escaped your lips, accompanied by a barely audible affirmation, "Mhm."

“Do you know what this is?” That made you frown— you’re not stupid. 

“Of course I do.” Your tone made him chuckle under his breath. 

"Have you ever touched here before?" His gruff words ignited a tremor within you, nearly eliciting a whimper as you confessed the truth.

"No... I'm not supposed to," you muttered, feeling your hips instinctively seek the pressure of his fingertips.

“Who told you that?” You knew if you looked at him, he’d be frowning. 

“School…” You said quietly. You never like to talk about the fact that you went to a religious school– people always make fun of you for it. He hummed in acknowledgment, then removed his hand, making you let out a needy whine and buck your hips forward. Instead of responding, he just took your hand, and gently moved it down, under the covers. When he placed it on his bulge, you gasped and tried to remove it, but he held you there, making you feel him. 

“You know what this is?” He asked and you bit your lip as you nodded. “Good. Do you know why I’m hard?” This time, you shook your head. “Because of you, princess.” 

“Me?” You lifted your head to look at him. 

“Mhm. Always you. Everytime you sit on my lap, cuddle with me, whimper when we spar and I go a little too rough– you always make me so hard, baby.” You stared at him with wide eyes, watching the his dark-browns almost completely disappear from the size of his pupils. “And everytime, I have to come in here or go to the bathroom and jerk myself off to make it better. And it’s all your fault.” That made your face tighten in a grimace. 

“I’m  sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He brushed some of your hair behind your ear then cupped your cheek, placing his thumb on your bottom lip. 

“It’s okay, baby. But if you want to make me feel better, you have to do something.” You wanted to help him, you wanted to make up for all the times you made him feel like this. 

“What? I’d do anything.”

Instead of answering, he just helped you on top of him, so your front was completely pressed to his. You placed your hands on his chest and he grabbed your hips, then started dragging your core over his bulge. 

“Anything?” He asked.

You nodded, holding down a whimper. “Just wanna make you feel better, Daddy.” 

“Good girl. You’re so good, princess.” He cooed, giving you a soft smile that made your heart flutter. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?” 

“Only once with Henry,” you said quietly, glancing away from him, embarrassed at your lack of experience. 

“Good.” He all but growled. Mark removed a hand from your hips and placed it on the back of your neck, then pulled you down, only stopping once your lips brushed his. Your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, you weren’t sure what to expect from this. 

Finally, he pressed his lips to yours, slowly kissing you to get you used to it. After a moment, he deepened the kiss. The warm, wet sensation on your lips made you gasp and he slid his tongue in your now open mouth. It was weird. But it feels good.

By now, your hips were rutting against his as you grew more desperate. He was barely guiding your movements anymore while you chased the pleasure. When he pulled back, your eyes fluttered open, lips still parted and chest heaving. You never knew kissing could feel like that. Your step father must have some magic because it didn’t feel like that with your ex. That thought made you freeze. 

“W-wait, we shouldn’t be doing this. You’re my step dad and– I was supposed to wait until marriage.” You said quietly. 

“I thought you said you wanted to make Daddy feel better?” He frowned, making your stomach drop. 

“I- I do, but,” 

“There’s no “but.” Either you want to help me or you don’t.” He had a look of disappointment and anger that was intensified by a frown. “You’re the reason I feel like this. You seriously just want to leave me in pain?” 

Pain? You didn’t know it was hurting.

“It hurts?” You squeaked, brows furrowing in concern. 

“You’ve never heard of blue balls?” You shook your head, so he continued. “It’s incredibly painful, sweetheart. Only feels better once I can bury it in a tight, warm cunt. And you’ve made me feel like this for months.” 

“I- I’m sorry, Daddy, I didn’t know…” You whimpered, chest aching at the thought of you being the cause of his pain. 

“I don’t forgive you. Not yet anyway.” Tears welled in your eyes from his words. 

“I want to help. Please,”

He shushed you and cupped your cheek again. “You sure?” 

“Please. Wanna make you feel better.” You whimpered and the corners of his lips turned up at your words. 

“Okay, princess. I’ll let you help me.” 

“Thank you.” Before you could even finish, he was rolling you both over so he was on top. He settled between your legs and leaned up on his knees. 

“First, this has to come off.” He said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pulling it off. “You’ll only really be able to make me feel better if you’re naked.” He explained, when he saw your confused expression. “These too.” He pulled your sleep shorts and panties down your legs, making you blush. Letting out a low groan, he swiped his thumb through your folds, then circled your clit lightly, making your hips buck into the friction.  

“You’re helping already.” He smirked and you glanced at the tent in his underwear. It didn’t look like you were helping. You whined when he removed his hand, but he quickly moved down to your hole and inserted a finger, letting out a low groan at your tight heat. 

As he fingered you, he debated what to do. While part of him wanted to prep you, make it as easy on you as possible, a larger part wanted to fuck your virgin cunt right now, before it could get any looser. He didn’t have to think about it for a second longer before he was removing his finger and shoving his pants down his thighs. When you saw his cock, your eyes widened as your lips parted in shock at his size. He took it in his hand and stroked it slowly. 

“Just the tip, okay? I promise, baby. Just need to put the tip inside, then Daddy will feel better.” He said, to ease your anxiety. You whined, but agreed anyway. He leaned over you and you wrapped your arms over his shoulders as he lined his length up with your hole.

“Relax, princess. It’s okay.” He whispered against your ear. You couldn’t help but obey. It took a lot of pressure before his cock was able to breach your hole. Once he pushed in though, you tensed up again. 

“Hurts, Daddy. It hurts…” You whimpered, eyes burning with unshed tears. Your pussy was trying to force him out, not used to the intrusion yet. 

“I know, baby. Just relax.” His voice was strained with arousal and he reached a hand down to rub circles on your clit, making walls flutter around his cock. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. 

“God- I know I said just the tip, but it feels so good. Can you take just a little bit more?” 

“Daddy please, it hurts…” You whined. 

“I know, princess. You gotta relax, it’ll feel good soon.” He slowly pushed in farther and you cried out, digging your nails into his back. “So fucking good. Your little cunt feels so good.” He said through a moan. He pulled back, then pushed in again, continuing the slow rhythm. 

“This is just what I needed, baby. You’re doing such a good job for me.” You tried to focus on his words and the stimulation on your clit, rather than the constant pain from the stretch. “Good girl. Good fucking girl- take it.” He growled on a particularly sharp thrust that made you let out a choked sob. 

“You fucking owe me for all the times you gave me blue balls. I’m gonna fuck you every night now to make up for it.” He hissed, voice getting progressively breathier as the speed of his thrusts increased. “Gonna bury my cock balls deep and fill you up with my come fucking breed you, every single night.” He growled. His pace turned bruising and you could barely release any sounds because of the way your breath was being punched out of you with every thrust. 

“You deserve to be my little breeding bitch after all the months you made me fucking come on my hand instead of in this tight, little cunt.” He spat, placing a hand on your neck and squeezing. “What’ll your mommy say, huh? When you go to her asking for birth control. Or are you just gonna let me knock you up?” You let out a whimper, feeling your cheeks heat up at just the thought of the embarrassing conversation. 

“Maybe you will just have to let me knock you up. After all, it’s not like you can tell her you let her husband fuck you.” 

“Daddy,” You sobbed, too overwhelmed emotionally and physically. 

“From now on, you’re going to come in here every night. And I’m going to use your little cunt until I fuck my load into you. Do you understand?” He growled, making you whimper. “This is your own fucking fault so stop bitching about it. You’re the one who decided to be a fucking tease around me.” You let out a choked sob, knowing that he’s right. You didn’t tease him on purpose, but you still made him hurt everyday for months. 

His thrusts turned frenzied as he buried his face in the crook of your neck again. Only a few thrusts later and he was pushing all the way inside, the pressure on your cervix almost painful as he forced his cock in. He let out a low groan and you could feel him twitching against your walls as started to fill you. He stilled for a moment, breathing heavy, then leaned up to sit on his heels. 

He slowly pulled out, eyes never leaving your cunt, and cursed under his breath when his come started dripping out. Ignoring the blood on his dick, he swiped his fingers through the mess and pushed it back in your hole. As he watched some of it leak down to your ass, he made a mental note to buy some lube so he can fuck that soon too. 

“Did- did I help?” You whimpered, making his gaze move to you. He eyed your fucked out face, the way your cheeks were still wet with tears and your hair was tousled, and gave you a small smile. 

“You did, princess. Thank you. But this isn’t a permanent fix, okay? I meant what I said about you coming here every night.” Despite the softness of his voice, it was still stern, letting you know that this wasn’t a request, it was an order. You let out a quiet whimper at the thought of having to do this again, but as long as you were making him feel better, any pain you felt would be worth it. 

He grabbed your underwear to clean his cock, then pulled them back up your legs. You already made enough of a mess on his sheets, he didn’t need his come adding to it any more than it already did. When he laid back down and pulled you into him, you hissed in pain as you moved but eventually got comfortable enough to sleep. 

“Love you so much, princess. You did such a good job for me.” He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, making you smile. 

“Love you too, Daddy.” You mumbled sleepily. 

[trashmouth-richie]

⁂ 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 + 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 || a mini series || eddie x you

“soul ties” based but with a spin — part 1

part 2: i’m your dream, make you real

chapter summary: back story on reader and the history of the ‘souls’, the girl sadly wonders why she suddenly can't stop thinking of eddie munson; eddie spends the night nursing a migraine and trying to remember what that girls name was… the same girl who he can’t seem to get out of his head. oddly enough, both eddie and the girl feel terribly ill— a symptom of rejecting the soul tie. also WAYNE! Yay!

 [series summary: reader and her lover are souls bound to one another for eons and eons, they always find their way back to one another no matter how long it takes or what bodies they might be in, but when reader feels the magnetic pull of her other half and wills the girl’s body she is in to find her lover— the body her lover belongs to is a boy— none other than the meanest boy in hawkins, eddie munson] 

trigger warnings: 18+ smut, bisexual! eddie, mean! eddie, shy! girl, smut. etc eddie the girl are both 18 in this story, drug use, talks of addiction, prison etc.

reader (you) are a “soul” in this story, meaning you are only bound to the body you are inhabiting during this lifetime. The girl will have features mentioned— but again— you (the reader) are a soul, which i imagine to be a flame of all colors. 

You had no control over how, when or where you would appear in a new body. It was never the same timeline. one minute you were floating in a sea of stars on a blackened canvas, the next you were viewing their world from the way they envisioned it. 

The body could be brand new, shiny and soft skinned, no marks of life on its petal-like skin. Sometimes the body was weathered, having seen many moons and decades and you arrived when they needed you most. Years before you had come here, the body you lived in was impaired, seeing nothing but marooned eyelids, navigating the earth with the four other senses. 

Shapes and colors could vary from one body to the next, but inside they all remained the same. The only difference were the souls.

Some of the souls you had encountered weren’t pure. They had a darkness rolling through them that made the bodies they live in do unspeakable, horrific things. 

The malum, as they were known were tainted with vile evilness. Instead of being made with licks of pretty sparkled flame, the malum were created with sharp edges, a singular dark hole in the center showing their emptiness. Compassion was lost from them, all they knew was destruction and how to use the body to their own advantage. 

They could change their appearance, tricking others into loving them.  And although it had been awhile since you’d come across one, you were always weary. Hence, the boy with the fast car from last year.

You were even thankful to come to this girl, the sad lonely girl who just wanted to be loved… her heart tie within reach…but then he rejected her!

That stupid boy and his dumb hair was ruining everything! This was wrong— this was all wrong! It never went this badly before. All it took from the others before this girl and this boy was to feel the “special” pull. The tug of that tiny invisible string that was nearly impossible to ignore. 

Different species, different sex, it didn’t matter! The pull always worked. You sat and stewed in the girl's brain, running laps around her mind, showing her images of the boy, the one she was destined to be with. 

It was deeper than love, stickier than the cotton candies of a carefully woven fate, her heart belonged with his! Plain and simple. You hoped your other half was doing the same with that long haired boy, making his head split and pop like a sunflower seed. 

You could bet that he didn’t know how sad she was. He wouldn’t know that she had cut her tutoring lesson short with Max because the concentration for basic algebra just wasn’t there.  

You could do this, you could make them both see how they belonged together, that they fit like a puzzle and complemented each other like the stars do the moon, despite their differences, or walks of life. 

Time was all you needed, and thankfully they both were guaranteed to be in the same building for almost eight hours a day, five days a week. 

“Are you okay?” 

Eddie had been staring at his mac n cheese for nearly ten minutes. Each tick of the clock squeezed his head like a vice. He had been fixated on something he couldn’t quite grasp. As if he were in a fuzzy dream where punches didn’t land and he coincidentally had the winning lottery ticket. 

A name. 

It’s all he was trying to think of, but he couldn’t for the life or death of him remember it. 

Beth? Kay? Maybe… Yeah.. Kay sounds right—nope Kay was that smokin’ hot foreign exchange student last semester. Jesus Christ, who the hell is that girl?

Wayne watched with his bushy eyebrows raised into the sparse bits of hair left on his head as his nephew drug his spoon counter-clockwise then clockwise through the cheesy valley of noodles, not saying a single word other than the occasional grunt or mumbling a series of consonants and vowels through the entirety of supper. 

His head had spun all day. A loose paper boat down a sewer drain to awaiting clown claws had a better success rate in survival than the absolute collegiate level of  nonsense he was trying to get his brian to spark. No matter what he did he couldn’t get that girl out of his head. 

Maybe if he could put a name to her face—he had thought that would settle it. Then he could finally fucking move on. But alas, it was as if his brain left on vacation… or maybe those drug scare ads were right and his brain cells were actually fried.  

“Something wrong with the food, Ed?” Wayne asked around a mouthful, “thought you loved dogs with mac n cheese.” 

Eddie went class by class in his head imagining the seats of every girl who occupied them. In Geography there was Tiffany, Alice, Wheeler, Robin, Barbara, and Chrissy. 

This is fucking stupid, he thinks. She could be a year or two below him in school, but goddamnit what was her name?

He could memorize DnD manuals, a whiz at math especially percentages for his.. hobbies. But a simple name to a girl he’s seen a dozen times falls short. 

Dropping the metal spoon with a loud clunk, he groans, throwing his head in his hands. “I’m fine, Wayne.” 

He wasn’t, along with his head pounding like the hammering tune of a chainsaw, he had felt nauseous all day. Like a hangover that never seemed to end, or that time he had the stomach flu last year and missed a week of school. 

But this wasn’t the flu, and it wasn’t a hangover. It was a nagging feeling in his head and a rip to his gut. 

“You sure?” Wayne tested cautiously, “Y’ know I don’t have many rules here.. and I don’t care that you smoke in the house, but son if you’re doing something… more than that… I…” Wayne shakes his head, his voice growing earnest, “I just don’t want you to end up like your old man ‘s all.” 

“Jesus, Wayne,” Eddie groaned, scrubbing his hands down his face, he hadn’t touched that shit his dad was caught with, and was currently serving a sentence for, ever. 

“I’m not doin’ anything like that, okay? I just… GOD—” he ran thick ringed fingers through his hair and cursed again when the rings got tangled, huffing through his nose like a bull, “I feel like shit!” 

Wayne relaxed a bit in his chair, a chuckle in his throat at his nephew's theatrics, “eat then, you’ll feel better.” 

Eddie shoved his plate away,  synchronizing the metallic dragging scuff from the chair’s legs across the cheap linoleum floor with a grumble of ‘m not hungry. 

His long legs seemed to tangle under themselves as he stood and he caught his shoulder hard on the wall, the drag of soft cotton down a plywood wall muffling his curses as he headed to bed. 

Face first he landed into the worn and spring heavy mattress, the smell of weed and spiced deodorant engulfing him. Leather scuffed boots still on his feet from when he drove to Rick’s for his weekly supply. The pounding against his skull was dull, twisting like a knife and it just wouldn’t quit.

Nose crushed in the misshapen pillow, Eddie throws his hand out hazardly to the nightstand. His fingers skid around the scattered DnD dice, a crusted half eaten sandwich from the night before and the sharp foiled  edge of a ripped corner from a Trojan from when—yeah, whew…that was a great night.

Finally, his fingers wrap around the cool steel of his zippo lighter. 

Without looking up, he flicks the pad of his thumb against the wheel igniting a flame to be sure there’s enough fluid. Groaning again he slides a hand into his jeans and pulls out the little bag he had gotten from Rick.

Movements that were taken for granted were now causing sweat to pool in the middle of his back, his temples dripped as a tickling bead of sweat wove a path down his chin. 

Whatever illness that was currently plaguing him was one like nothing before, and he only hoped his last vice of getting out of his mind with the sweet burn of a joint into his lungs would help. 

Slotting it between his lips he flicked the lighter and inhaled as much as his lungs could take. 

The girl drove home in silence. A salty drip of steady tears stinging her cheeks from the bite of the breeze that seeped through the cracked open car window. She didn’t understand why on this particular day he had burrowed so far under her skin, and even though he was rude, per usual—she couldn’t let it go. 

A horn honked behind her at the stop sign before she realized she had been staring at the steering column, foot pressed on the brake. Tears dripped onto the apples of her cheeks and she wiped at them with the sleeve of her cream colored cardigan, leaving flecks of mascara behind. 

Blowing out a blubbery sigh she eased her car forward and drove along the wet pavement of Hawkins, vision blinded by traitorous tears for the boy who didn’t deserve them. 

She ate her supper in a sad silence— fork balancing green beans gone cold. The girl sighed with a hand resting into her palm, watching the fall leaves plucking themselves free in the front yard. 

Her mind played that scene at Eddie’s trailer over and over. The way he practically bit her head off, how easy it was for him to dismiss her as a nuisance. She could feel the heat blossoming on her cheeks, how it had practically burned like his eyes did when they looked at her. 

Eddie was like that with everyone at school, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to her. But it was. And tears started again as she thought of why he was so mean.

“…see Mom! She hates green beans so much she’s crying about them!” 

The girl shook her head and blinked back the tears, “‘m not crying you little turkey,” she bites back, shoving her younger brother with her elbow, “just.. had a long day, ‘m tired.” 

“Well,” her mother protested, pressing a cloth napkin to the corners of her mouth, “why don’t you run a bath and go to bed early?” 

Nodding, she excused herself quietly from the table and walked the plush carpeted path to the upstairs bathroom. 

More tears began to roll down her cheeks as she climbed each step, a tingling in the nape of her neck made her skin feel boiling hot. The further up she went the worst she started to feel. 

I’m probably getting the flu. She thought to herself, Hawkins High had more than fifteen students out with it last week, and it would make sense that she too would fall victim to it. But the flu wouldn’t make her cry for no reason, no— a sickness wouldn’t have her feeling like she was nothing. 

But those dark brown eyes could. 

Thinking of her encounter today just made it worse, but she couldn’t turn it off. She welcomed the warmth from the water to seep through her bones after the tub was filled and she slipped gingerly into the water. 

Hoping the steam would will away the awful empty feeling in her stomach,  she let herself fully submerge, her wet brown hair feeling like the bottom of a silky moss covered lake. 

She laid under the water for what felt like hours, no sound, just her racing thoughts to keep her company.

Maybe I’m getting my period? She thought after taking a few winded deep breaths and sitting up in the water. 

It would explain why she was so irrationally upset about all of this. It was plausible. And maybe the burning flames of hell's butterflies in her stomach was because she had barely eaten anything for supper.

It definitely wasn’t the fact that Eddie seemed to radiate like a neon light in space the second he opened that door, and she was like a moth to his flame. One that was quickly swatted away. 

Eddie Munson. 

Standing and wrapping a towel around herself she hit the drain and stepped from the tub onto a peach colored bath mat. 

His face played like a movie in her head. A montage of him and only him. The cocky gait he strutted down the hallways, hollering at the jocks to get the fuck out of his way. The jingling swish of that chain linked wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, a soft black bandana in the other. 

Eddie. 

Wiping condensation from the mirror she shakes her head. What the hell? Never. Not once in her entire life had she thought about Eddie Munson. Even thinking his name made her stomach lurch like she might be sick. 

Wait. No, she was going to be sick. 

She makes it just in time to lift the seat on the toilet before she vomits violently into the bowl, tears leaking from her eyes with every retching heave her body produced. 

She hears her name buzzing in her ear. Once, twice, three times and she knows her mother is behind those calls on the other side of the door.

“‘m okay, Mom,” she gasps, “just the flu, it’s been going around—” 

And normally where her mother would have come in to rub her back, ask if she needed anything— she doesn’t. 

Flushing the toilet she looks over her shoulder, “Mom?”

No answer.

Rising from her knees she walks to the door and opens it, “Mom?” 

Nothing. 

Maybe she was hearing things, but she swore her name was said loud and clear. 

Smoke billowed around Eddie’s room, hanging like dense clouds from an oven fire. Either his tolerance was higher or the bud from Rick was skunked— because after smoking three joints back-to-back-to-back, he still couldn’t feel anything. 

Not even a tiny little buzz or the hazy droop of his eyelids forming into slits. That sickening pounding kept its beat along his chest and into every vein in his body, unrelenting in its ravage upon him. 

He thought of the times he had seen her. Where was he standing? What section of lockers was she shoving books into? 

Sandra? Beth… no he already said that. Fuck. 

It’s not until he laid flat on his back a few minutes later, the short remnants of paper flickering from the last bit of the joint burning close to his fingers. Eddie closed his eyes in complete solitude, and that’s when it clicked. 

Shuffling on what felt like broken legs to his closet, Eddie wedged the door open on its broken track. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony, he felt as if he had ran a marathon, backwards. 

His tongue was out between his lips as he concentrated on his task at hand. Rifling through heaps of clothes, old shoes, playboys with dog eared pages. He was elbows deep in the depths of his closet, searching for what he had tossed in here at the end of last year. 

The pads of his fingers feel the textured cover under a halloween mask and he yanks it free stumbling backwards and tripping over his amp, landing hard on the floor. 

He doesn’t wait to be in a more comfortable position on his bed or even sitting up straight before he holds the book over his face and flips open the cover of Hawkins High 1985 Go Tigers!, his yearbook. 

Pages and pages he skimmed through. Freshman class, Sophomore class, pictures of every sport from Fall to Spring, Band, Choir, The school newspaper… he was about to give up after he saw his own picture staring at him from Junior year.

And he would have missed it if his thumb hadn’t suddenly stung. As if a bee or a strike of lightning went through him and he had to adjust his hold on the book. Where his thumb had been pressed into the page, was the girl. 

Just a few down from his own school portrait, she sat smiling shyly at the camera with closed lips, silken voluminous dark hair, a sparkle in each eye. 

Eddie’s stomach plummeted, his pulse speeding up as each letter of her name danced behind his irises, and his lips tingle when he finally says her name. 

Mickey 

thanks for reading💋

taglist: @cinemabean @findmeincorneliastreet @pleuviors @boltonbritreads @nailbatanddungeon

@what-the-jams @aprisher @bbygh0st18 @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @joejoequinnquinn

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

HCs: Ken meeting a Human!Fem!Reader who owns a ranch

Wanted to write something for this movie bc it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past two days. So enjoy, lovelies! 

I’m taking requests for this movie so don’t be shy <3 

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

...........

After going back to the Real World to find a purpose for himself, Ken runs into you, a country girl who left the Mattel company to take care of your ranch.

You just stopped in the city to find new outfits..and instead found him rollerblading through the park, immediately recognizing him as a Ken.

You may not be in the company anymore but you just knew (especially with his vibrant outfit giving it away).

You two hit it off right away and eventually you go shopping together.

He gets a new cowboy outfit and is bashful when you pay for it (to which you reply that you..really didn’t have a choice in the matter, as he had no money).

He’s like “ohh that happened before when I was with Barbie..we got arrested for the second time that day :D”

You’re very concerned and decide that he should stick with you from now on (not that anyone at Mattel would ever care about a Ken running around to begin with...you just didn’t wanna have to bail him out of jail).

On the truck ride back to your home, you mentioned owning a ranch and Ken’s in a w e

You tell him more about it, and he’s so intrigued and can’t stop staring at you the entire time, especially as you go on about how a lot of women in your world are cowgirls and how they aren’t represented enough.

He bluntly states that he once believed “patriarchy” was all about the horses and you nearly laughed, but he seemed sad about it, so you assure him if he wanted to see horses, he made the right decision coming with you.

You introduce him to one of your favorite steeds and he’s SO overjoyed to actually see one in person. Like petting its mane and asking dozens of questions like an excited kid.

“Are you sure Barbieland didn’t have any horses of their own?”

“No, we just have the ones on sticks and our imaginations.” He pouts, mimicking the way he rode invisible horses with his hands. “But this? This is WAY cooler!!”

He tries mounting your horse, envisioning himself riding off into the sunset, free as a bird while shouting “yeehaw” at the top of his lungs-

Only for it to rear its head up and nearly stomp on his foot, with you having to calm it down as he snaps back to reality, looking utterly distraught and stressed over upsetting it.

“Alrighty. Ken. If you wanna ride a horse..the first step is earning its respect. Thought you would’ve learned about that in those books....but if you’ll let me, I’ll show you how to properly mount one. Luckily this one here’s accustomed to double riders.”

His face lights up and he listens to every instruction you give him, from placing the saddle on its back to climbing on, and finally how to control the direction he wants it to go.

For this one time, however, you take the reins and let him sit behind you, hugging you a bit too tightly for your liking, but you allow it as you show him around the rest of your ranch.

He just likes the closeness fr and you.

By the time the day’s over, your horse got better acquainted with Ken and let him ride around for a little while before you gotta put it in the stable for the night.

Before he could worry about where he was gonna go, you tell him he can stay with you as long as he wants.

He’s so happy he just,,,,breaks down ugly crying into your arms.

Though he quickly apologizes, admitting he’s still getting used to crying freely and being more emotional and-

“It’s okay, Ken.” You reassure him. “We need more guys like that around here who ain’t afraid to shed a tear or two.”

“Th-Thanks...Barbie told me it’s an amazing feeling. And honestly..it kinda is.”

After that small heart-to-heart talk, he gifts you his horseshoe necklace as a sign of his appreciation, that dopey grin returning to his face when you take it and wear it right away.

Yeah, you’ve only met each other for a day and he’s smitten the moment you started treated him as an equal. You let him have his own room, bed, wardrobe, etc. (and in time he'll have his own horse too).

All you ask is that he helps you manage the ranch, but at this point he’s willing to do anything for you now.

Finally, he realizes this was his dream all along.

One that Barbieland couldn't provide, but that was alright.

Patriarchy is overrated, anyways. This was all he wanted.

[nasa]

Caution: Universe Work Ahead 🚧

We only have one universe. That’s usually plenty – it’s pretty big after all! But there are some things scientists can’t do with our real universe that they can do if they build new ones using computers.

The universes they create aren’t real, but they’re important tools to help us understand the cosmos. Two teams of scientists recently created a couple of these simulations to help us learn how our Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope sets out to unveil the universe’s distant past and give us a glimpse of possible futures.

Caution: you are now entering a cosmic construction zone (no hard hat required)!

This simulated Roman deep field image, containing hundreds of thousands of galaxies, represents just 1.3 percent of the synthetic survey, which is itself just one percent of Roman's planned survey. The full simulation is available here. The galaxies are color coded – redder ones are farther away, and whiter ones are nearer. The simulation showcases Roman’s power to conduct large, deep surveys and study the universe statistically in ways that aren’t possible with current telescopes.

One Roman simulation is helping scientists plan how to study cosmic evolution by teaming up with other telescopes, like the Vera C. Rubin Observatory. It’s based on galaxy and dark matter models combined with real data from other telescopes. It envisions a big patch of the sky Roman will survey when it launches by 2027. Scientists are exploring the simulation to make observation plans so Roman will help us learn as much as possible. It’s a sneak peek at what we could figure out about how and why our universe has changed dramatically across cosmic epochs.

This video begins by showing the most distant galaxies in the simulated deep field image in red. As it zooms out, layers of nearer (yellow and white) galaxies are added to the frame. By studying different cosmic epochs, Roman will be able to trace the universe's expansion history, study how galaxies developed over time, and much more.

As part of the real future survey, Roman will study the structure and evolution of the universe, map dark matter – an invisible substance detectable only by seeing its gravitational effects on visible matter – and discern between the leading theories that attempt to explain why the expansion of the universe is speeding up. It will do it by traveling back in time…well, sort of.

Seeing into the past

Looking way out into space is kind of like using a time machine. That’s because the light emitted by distant galaxies takes longer to reach us than light from ones that are nearby. When we look at farther galaxies, we see the universe as it was when their light was emitted. That can help us see billions of years into the past. Comparing what the universe was like at different ages will help astronomers piece together the way it has transformed over time.

This animation shows the type of science that astronomers will be able to do with future Roman deep field observations. The gravity of intervening galaxy clusters and dark matter can lens the light from farther objects, warping their appearance as shown in the animation. By studying the distorted light, astronomers can study elusive dark matter, which can only be measured indirectly through its gravitational effects on visible matter. As a bonus, this lensing also makes it easier to see the most distant galaxies whose light they magnify.

The simulation demonstrates how Roman will see even farther back in time thanks to natural magnifying glasses in space. Huge clusters of galaxies are so massive that they warp the fabric of space-time, kind of like how a bowling ball creates a well when placed on a trampoline. When light from more distant galaxies passes close to a galaxy cluster, it follows the curved space-time and bends around the cluster. That lenses the light, producing brighter, distorted images of the farther galaxies.

Roman will be sensitive enough to use this phenomenon to see how even small masses, like clumps of dark matter, warp the appearance of distant galaxies. That will help narrow down the candidates for what dark matter could be made of.

In this simulated view of the deep cosmos, each dot represents a galaxy. The three small squares show Hubble's field of view, and each reveals a different region of the synthetic universe. Roman will be able to quickly survey an area as large as the whole zoomed-out image, which will give us a glimpse of the universe’s largest structures.

Constructing the cosmos over billions of years

A separate simulation shows what Roman might expect to see across more than 10 billion years of cosmic history. It’s based on a galaxy formation model that represents our current understanding of how the universe works. That means that Roman can put that model to the test when it delivers real observations, since astronomers can compare what they expected to see with what’s really out there.

In this side view of the simulated universe, each dot represents a galaxy whose size and brightness corresponds to its mass. Slices from different epochs illustrate how Roman will be able to view the universe across cosmic history. Astronomers will use such observations to piece together how cosmic evolution led to the web-like structure we see today.

This simulation also shows how Roman will help us learn how extremely large structures in the cosmos were constructed over time. For hundreds of millions of years after the universe was born, it was filled with a sea of charged particles that was almost completely uniform. Today, billions of years later, there are galaxies and galaxy clusters glowing in clumps along invisible threads of dark matter that extend hundreds of millions of light-years. Vast “cosmic voids” are found in between all the shining strands.

Astronomers have connected some of the dots between the universe’s early days and today, but it’s been difficult to see the big picture. Roman’s broad view of space will help us quickly see the universe’s web-like structure for the first time. That’s something that would take Hubble or Webb decades to do! Scientists will also use Roman to view different slices of the universe and piece together all the snapshots in time. We’re looking forward to learning how the cosmos grew and developed to its present state and finding clues about its ultimate fate.

This image, containing millions of simulated galaxies strewn across space and time, shows the areas Hubble (white) and Roman (yellow) can capture in a single snapshot. It would take Hubble about 85 years to map the entire region shown in the image at the same depth, but Roman could do it in just 63 days. Roman’s larger view and fast survey speeds will unveil the evolving universe in ways that have never been possible before.

Roman will explore the cosmos as no telescope ever has before, combining a panoramic view of the universe with a vantage point in space. Each picture it sends back will let us see areas that are at least a hundred times larger than our Hubble or James Webb space telescopes can see at one time. Astronomers will study them to learn more about how galaxies were constructed, dark matter, and much more.

The simulations are much more than just pretty pictures – they’re important stepping stones that forecast what we can expect to see with Roman. We’ve never had a view like Roman’s before, so having a preview helps make sure we can make the most of this incredible mission when it launches.

Learn more about the exciting science this mission will investigate on Twitter and Facebook.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[anniebeemine]

who i'd be- s.r. x reader

oh he's such a sweetheart

warnings: spencer feelings like he's not enough :(, slightly angsty,

Spencer stood in the dimly lit hallway of the BAU, his heart racing as he watched you laugh with the rest of the team. The warmth of your smile lit up the room, drawing everyone’s attention, but it was Spencer who lingered in the shadows, invisible to your radiant light. He wished, more than anything, that he could be the man you wanted—a brave knight, standing tall in shining armor, worthy of your gaze.

Each time you looked at him, his heart would stutter, as if caught in a moment of hesitation. He longed to be bold, to sweep you off your feet and take you on an adventure, to be the one who made you laugh so hard you could hardly breathe. But that wasn’t who he was. Instead, he was the quiet guy in the corner, lost in his thoughts, wishing he could find the words to express the way you made him feel.

He wanted to be the man who could turn his expansive vocabulary into poetry when he spoke to you. He imagined telling you how every glance you cast his way sent his heart racing and how the world faded away when you were near. But he could never quite find the right words, and as each moment slipped away, he felt himself grow smaller.

What would it be like to be quick with a joke, to have the perfect timing to make you giggle? He could picture your laughter echoing in his ears, like music he never wanted to end. It was a sound that made his heart ache with longing, and the thought of it kept him awake at night. But no matter how much he practiced in his mind, the jokes always fell flat, the punchlines lost in the depths of his insecurities.

He sighed, a quiet sound of defeat as he watched you mingle with the others. You were so full of life, effortlessly charming and engaging. Guys like him didn’t get to be with girls like you. He was a bookworm, an introvert, a man who preferred the solace of novels to the chaos of social interactions. He felt stuck on the sidelines, too afraid to step into the light.

If only his wish could be granted. He imagined a version of himself that was charismatic, witty, and brave. The kind of man who would take your hand and pull you close, making you feel safe and cherished. He could envision himself walking into a room with you on his arm, facing the world with confidence, the envy of everyone around him. But it would mean confronting the fears that held him back, and that was a challenge he wasn’t sure he could face.

As the evening wound down, Spencer’s heart sank as he watched you wave goodbye to the team. The way your hair caught the light, the smile that graced your lips—everything about you seemed to shine. He tucked his hands into his pockets, feeling the weight of his loneliness settle in his chest.

With a bittersweet sigh, he took a step back, allowing you to leave, his heart heavy with unspoken words. You had no idea how he felt, how you had captivated him from the very first moment. You were everything he wanted, and yet he felt as though he was miles away, an island of uncertainty in a sea of confidence.

He waited an appropriate amount of time, watching the door close behind you, a reminder of the distance between them. In the quiet of the hallway, he replayed every moment, every laugh, every glance you shared, wishing he could gather the courage to bridge the gap.

But as he turned to leave, a flicker of hope ignited in his heart. Maybe one day, he would find a way to be the man you deserved. Until then, he would remain the quiet observer, longing for the moment he could step into the light and finally claim the happiness that seemed just out of reach.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Family Affairs

Pairing: Dark Tom Riddle x (female) Muggle! Cousin Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: A family dinner is interrupted as a strange boy kills all your family. 

WARNINGS: Incest (cousins); Murder. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

"Marvolo, his son, Morfin and his daughter, Merope, were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins." - Dumbledore

You try crawling away from the young man, the skin of your knees digging into the floor as you try to reach towards the door. 

You miserably fail at your escape attempt when an invisible hand grabs you, pulling you by the ankle towards the tall boy that stands in the dining room.

He doesn’t even look bothered, a strange wooden stick in his hands. The coldness in his demeanor is disturbing and you only wish the police would appear quickly.

As soon as you near him, ropes unexpectedly appear in the air, wrapping themselves around your wrists and ankles. You hopelessly struggle against them, sweat dripping down your forehead as your despair grows.

This isn’t how you had envisioned dinner with your long-distance relatives, the Riddle family. It was all going amazingly until the boy barged into the dinner, murdering your family without even blinking an eye. Their lifeless bodies are still seated at the dining table, as if they are merely asleep. 

“Please, I won’t tell anyone about this. I-I promise!” you beg, ropes painfully digging into your skin as you struggle.

“Silencio!” you cease making any sounds, eyes widening with shock at this. The boy, however, doesn’t look surprised, his shouless eyes boring into you. 

You try hiding your face but with a simple wave of his stick, your face is rigidly facing him like you’re being held by an invisible hand. 

He’s handsome, you notice. His facial features remind you of someone, but you don’t recall who. You’re just forced to stare at him as he apparently avalues you.

He looks at you with such intensity, eyes analyzing each feature of your face and you’re sure that he’s planning to torture you or worse, the thought making your stomach twist with anxiety.

A small wrinkle appears between his brows, like he’s trying to understand a complicated fact.

“You’re a relative of the Riddles. My filthy father’s niece. My cousin.” he declares with a low voice and suddenly it hits you why he looks so familiar. He’s the living copy of Tom.

You vaguely remember your mom telling you that Tom had once been married to some vulgar girl many years ago but then left her. So, this is indeed his son. Your cousin, just like he said. It doesn’t serve much as comfort, given that he’s the one responsible for all the murders. 

His hand comes to softly touch your cheek, eyes blurry like he’s enchanted. You whimper, a bad feeling growing inside and you close your eyes. 

“You’re a Muggle but that doesn’t matter. When I have my throne, you will be my queen.”  

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 3

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

Chapter Summary: Returning to the forest the morning after Agatha’s outburst, you attempt to restore order. Agatha soon appears, sparking a tense confrontation. Tensions flare as past assumptions are shattered, and under the weight of vulnerability and unresolved questions, Agatha reluctantly begins to open up, hinting at a depth neither of you fully understands yet.

Word Count: 2.3k

As you enter the familiar woods, the cool morning air greets you, filling your lungs with the earthy scent of damp leaves and moss. Each step crunches against the carpet of foliage, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded here just the day before. But something feels different today, heavier. The remnants of Agatha’s magic hang in the air like an invisible veil, tinged with her raw emotion.

You shake your head, trying to silence the conflicting thoughts. "You’re not here to check on Agatha” you tell yourself, but deep down, you know that isn’t entirely true. You reason your apprehension is directed just at the sake of the forest, trying to remind yourself that the fragile ecosystem deserved better than the mess Agatha left behind. You’d been using this place as an escape and you refused to let it be tarnished by the fallout of someone else’s turmoil.

Finally, you reached the clearing, your stomach twisting into knots at the sight before you. There, piled high, was the wreckage of broken branches and uprooted plants that Agatha had carelessly discarded. Your disappointment morphed into anger as you approached the pile, an unimpressed scoff escaping your lips.

This is her idea of fixing it?

With a flick of your wrist, you summon your magic, the air around you buzzing with energy. You focus on the pile, envisioning it engulfed in flames. “Back to the earth” you mutter softly as you channel your frustration and, as the flames flickered to life, you feel a sense of satisfaction washing over you. You are watching the flames dance in a controlled fire, when a rustling sound echoes through the trees behind you, followed by a voice that cuts through the air like a knife and makes you turn immediately. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You hold her gaze and despite her coldness, or maybe because of it, there’s a part of you that refuses to back down. “I didn’t think you’d come back to fix it, Agatha” you reply, watching her closely. “Thought I’d finish what you started”

She narrows her eyes, clearly not amused. “I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want you here” she mutters, arms crossing defensively as if shielding herself from an unseen threat.

You cross your arms in return, mirroring her stance. “And yet, here I am.”

The silence stretches, tense and unyielding, you can feel her indifference trying to chase you away but you don’t move. You wait, watching the way her fingers twitch, the way her jaw tightens. This isn’t the same Agatha you’ve seen before in passing glances—poised, composed, a picture of confidence.

She stands there, the hood of her deep purple cloak partially covering her features and you can’t help but search her face, remembering fleeting memories of times you’ve crossed paths. She was always at the edge of your life, a presence looming just out of reach. You can clearly see her, walking through the coven’s halls with that same proud gait, her head high as if carrying secrets you could only guess at. In all those moments, she’d barely looked your way, barely spared a glance, addressing you only when necessary or required. And yet, you realize, you always knew where she was. Her figure was a fixture in your periphery, a silent reminder of the path you’d been expected to walk.

But in the last 24 hours, seeing her like this, almost brittle, that image started to shatter. You feel a strange sense of satisfaction in piercing her armor, but there’s something else too. A nagging feeling that makes you want to reach out, to make her drop the pretense. But why should you care?

She’s watching you with a mix of suspicion and something you can’t quite place, and for the first time, you wonder if she’s hiding as much as you are. Her shoulders seem tense, and though she tries to stand tall, there’s a slight slump that betrays her exhaustion. You wonder if she spent last night lying awake, haunted by whatever had brought her here to begin with.

“So, you’re here to gloat? To judge me for—“ she suddenly accuses, her jaw tightens as she looks down, studying the ground as if it could give her an answer.

“No.” you cut her off, surprised at your own intensity. “I’m not here to gloat.”

She meets your gaze again, and for a moment, the hard lines around her eyes soften. There’s a question in her stare, one she doesn’t seem willing to ask aloud. You find yourself wanting to answer it anyway, but the words elude you. What are you supposed to say? That her tears made her seem…human? That seeing her break apart the way you sometimes feel on the inside made you feel less alone?

“I didn’t tell anyone” you say, unsure why you’re bothering to reassure her. 

Her shoulders relax a fraction, though her eyes remain guarded. “Why not? I thought you’d use anything you could against me.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Believe it or not, Agatha, I don’t have time to waste on plotting your downfall. I have my own life, my own things to deal with.”

She watches you, skepticism etched into her features, but you can sense her defenses faltering, the slightest crack in her armor. You can’t help but push a little further, hoping to get to the truth, though you can’t explain why it matters so much.

“What happened yesterday?” you ask quietly. “What was so terrible that it…made you do all this?” you gesture around, your hands pointing outwards to the remains of her outburst.

Agatha’s face hardens again, but this time, the mask seems thinner, almost translucent. “You wouldn’t understand” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

You feel a pang of frustration, mixed with something else—something softer. “Try me.”

She lets out a sigh, and for the first time, you notice how small she looks against the towering trees, her defiance shrinking in the morning light. “It’s…complicated.” she murmurs, almost to herself. Her voice holds a vulnerability that for some reason makes you want to reach out, to say something, anything, to make her see you’re not the enemy she’s built you up to be.

You take a hesitant step closer, feeling the weight of her words pressing down on you. “We both know our mothers have their own agendas” you say slowly, testing the waters. “But that doesn’t mean we have to live by their rules. Maybe you don’t owe me an explanation, but…you don’t have to keep pretending, either.”

Agatha glances at you, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, then hesitates, her fingers brushing against the frayed hem of her cloak as if grounding herself. Your words settle between you, fragile and raw. You swallow, feeling your own walls begin to crack, pieces of yourself you’ve hidden away for so long resurfacing in the silence. You want to tell her you understand—that you, too, feel trapped beneath expectations that aren’t yours. But the words remain lodged in your throat.

Agatha seems to relax, if only slightly, her gaze lingering on yours as if searching for something she’s not sure she’ll find. You can feel the tension ebbing, neither of you says anything but there’s something that feels like an unspoken understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the burden you both carry. Finally, Agatha lets out a quiet breath. “I don’t need your pity” she murmurs, but her voice lacks its usual bite.

“I didn’t come here to pity you” you reply, and for once, the words feel entirely true. The moment hangs in the air, thick with tension, until you continue “I just assumed—”. Before you can finish your sentence, Agatha raises her hands, her magic swirling around her. With a flick of her wrist fire leaps from her fingertips, merging seamlessly with the flames you already conjured.

You turn back around just in time to see the pile bursts into a roaring inferno, both of your magics entwine feeding the flames with vibrant intensity, the fire still controlled yet wild. Entranced by the view, you can’t help but reflect on the striking contrast between the two versions of Agatha that now live in your mind. One is the girl you had seen yesterday—vulnerable, trembling, tears spilling as she mourned the chaos of her actions. And the other is the Agatha Harkenss you’re used to see around Salem, the version that everyone knows, radiating power and confidence with a fierce smirk on her lips. How can someone be so broken yet so … mesmerizing? It is unsettling, and you find yourself wrestling with the realization that maybe she is far more complex than you initially believed.

With the heat of the flames casting flickering shadows around you, you can feel your heart racing—not just from the exertion of magic but from the tumult of emotions swirling in your chest. You are angry, yes, but there is something else simmering beneath the surface: a growing curiosity about Agatha, about what makes her tick, about the real girl hiding behind the confident façade.

While you are lost in your thoughts, Agatha takes a few steps closer until she is standing beside you. The crackling fire roars around you, its brightness illuminating both your faces, creating an almost surreal atmosphere where everything else fades into the background. The ash dances in the air like tiny fireflies, swirling in the breeze, and for a moment, it feels as though the world has narrowed down to just the two of you.

You both watch as the flames finally begin to settle, turning into a smoldering pile of embers. Agatha huffs, snapping you out of your thoughts and brushing her hands together with a satisfied face. “There. I fixed my mess.” she states, a hint of finality in her tone as she turns to leave.

Suddenly, as she starts to walk away, an inexplicable urge wells up inside you and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out “How are you?”. The question surprised you as much as it did her.

Agatha freezes in her tracks, her back still turned to you, leaving a heavy silence hanging in the air between you. The moment stretches on, filled only by the soft crackle of the dying fire. Your heart races, anticipation coiling tightly in your chest as you wait for her response, not sure it will ever come, making you instantly regret the vulnerability of your words.

After a long pause, Agatha slowly turns around, her expression unreadable. “What does it matter to you?” she asks, her voice sharper than any blade. The defiance in her eyes sparks like the last embers of the fire, but behind that fierce façade, you catch a flicker of something else—insecurity, perhaps? A hint of fear? You can’t tell.

You feel frustration boil inside you again, igniting a fierce determination to break through her barriers. The words slip out before you can stop them, the image of her vulnerable figure holding the injured animal instantly surging back in your mind. “Yesterday I- I saw your face. I saw you crying. You weren’t okay.”

Her eyes narrow, the defiance morphing into something darker. “It’s none of your business.” she snaps, but the edge of her voice wavers slightly, betraying the vulnerability she is trying to hide.

You are tired of her games, of her dismissiveness “It is my business when it spills over into the only place where I can find peace!” You step closer, the ambers casting a fierce glow on your face, mirroring the intensity of your emotions. “You made it my business!”

Agatha shifts uncomfortably, the bravado slipping for just a moment as she glances away. “I’m not here to justify myself to you” she mutters, but the words lack conviction. You can see the internal struggle playing out in her eyes, as if she is caught between the impulse to retreat and the urge to reveal the truth.

“Then what are you here for?” You press, your curiosity sharpening your resolve. “To burn your problems away and pretend yesterday never happened?”.

“Pretend?” she shoots back, her voice rising. “I’m not pretending! You think you know me, but you have no idea!”

“I don’t think I know you, I know I don’t, I just want to understand.” you insist, your voice less sharp but equally steady and firm.

Agatha falls silent, and for a moment, it feels like the air itself thickens. You can see her breathing deepen, her eyes darting away, searching for something to anchor herself. “Why would you even care?” she finally asks, tentatively, as if your interest is a foreign concept.

“Because I don’t … I can’t, believe you’re just some spoiled girl throwing a tantrum” you reply, surprising even yourself with the fierceness of your conviction. “I saw you yesterday, Agatha. You were… real. Vulnerable. And it’s like you’re trying so hard to build a wall around yourself and pretend it didn’t happen”

Agatha’s jaw clenches, and she seems to shrink in on herself, the defenses she erected feeling more like a cage than a shield. “You don’t know what you’re talking about” she hisses, but you catch the tremor in her voice, the way it cracks just a little.

“Then tell me” you said softly, your anger dissipating like smoke. “What was it? What happened?”

The silence stretches out again and you can almost see the battle raging in her mind, the urge to spill everything battling with the instinct to protect herself. And then, as if she finally reached some unspoken conclusion, Agatha lets out a sharp breath and sinks to the ground, sitting cross-legged amidst the remnants of the smoldering fire.

“Fine” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You want to know? Let’s get this over with”

You follow suit, sitting across from her, the embers crackling softly between you. “I’m listening” you encourage, your heart racing with anticipation.

[anarchywoofwoof]

do u have posts where you talk abt prison abolition and alternatives to police? that'd be nice

so i've actually tried to approach abolition before multiple times and quite frankly, there are so many incredibly valuable insights provided by POC (People Of Color) and lifelong abolitionists that exist on the internet, it would be a tremendous disservice for my pasty white ass to sit here and try and educate anyone on this topic alone.

the last time i had this ask come up (you can find that post here), i deferred to FD Signifier for my thoughts on police abolition. i will do so again here for maximum visibility because he deserves it far more than i do. it is close to 2 hours long, but easily the best explanation or breakdown you'll find in such a relatively short time frame.

i'll expand on this by offering some of the more popular works that i'm aware of and a few works that i've read regarding abolition.

"invisible no more" by andrea j. ritchie provides an examination of how Black women, indigenous women, and women of color experience racial profiling, police brutality, and immigration enforcement. it aims to contextualize individual stories within the broader system of police violence and mass incarceration, calling for a radical shift in the way that we look at public safety.

"policing the planet" edited by jordan t. camp and christina heatherton combines firsthand accounts from activists with research from scholars and artistic reflections. it aims to trace back the global spread of the broken-windows policing strategy and its wide-ranging effects.

"our enemies in blue: police and power in america" by kristian williams addresses the history of policing in the united states, arguing that police brutality is intrinsic to law enforcement. it explores the relationship you've probably heard before between police and power from the era of slave patrols to modern times.

"the new jim crow" by michelle alexander extremely influential, you've probably heard of this one. it goes over how the u.s. criminal justice system functions as a system of racial control, particularly through the failed war on drugs, disproportionately targeting Black men and devastating communities of color (obligatory fuck nixon and reagan)

"violence work: state power and the limits of police" by micol siegel offers a new perspective on the police as the embodiment of state power, interconnected with the state and global capital. this one gives a unique examination of the u.s. state department's office of public safety and its influence on international police training.

"chokehold: policing Black men" by paul butler, who is a former federal prosecutor, examines the laws and practices that systematically target Black men, perpetuating institutional violence and societal fear.

"no more police: a case for abolition" by mariame kaba and andrea ritchie presents a comprehensive and practical plan for police abolition. it addresses current concerns while envisioning a future of reduced violence and enhanced justice. this is a cornerstone work and it's been lauded in many circles as being a definitive text on police abolition.

[slytherinslut0]

SEVERUS SNAPE ONESHOT- Starts Now

Tags: 18+, Spanking, Age Gap, Professor x Student, Sexual Punishment, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, DubCon, CNC.

In the deep of night, the castle of Hogwarts slept under a blanket of shadows. In this hushed, eerie atmosphere, you, a near-graduate student, driven by curiosity and a daring spirit, decided to venture into Professor Snape's potions classroom after hours.

Armed with your knowledge of advanced unlocking spells, you managed to bypass the locked door with meticulous precision, and your invisibility cloak concealed your presence. You had heard whispers among your fellow students about a secret storeroom hidden within the potions classroom, rumored to contain exotic ingredients and ancient potions, and your insatiable curiosity admittedly got the better of you.

You envisioned yourself becoming the talk of Hogwarts with your newfound expertise, being the first one to successfully break into the room and explore, knowing practically every fucking student in the school would want to know what you'd found. Your heart pounded as you entered the room, the soft moonlight filtering through dusty windows and casting an ethereal glow upon the desks and shelves.

The potions ingredients lined the shelves like an alchemist's dream, each jar containing something more wondrous and enigmatic than the last. Your heart raced as you began to gather these prized ingredients and transcribe notes on their uses. Your parchment rustled as you wrote, the quiet scratching echoing through the otherwise silent room.

Suddenly, the shadows seemed to stir, and before you could even realize what was happening, you felt a large, cold hand clamp over your lips, the other tightening around your neck, tugging you back against a strong, broad chest.

"Yet another student attempting to pilfer my secrets, I see...how utterly predictable..." he growled, lips pressed against your ear as he spit the words directly into your fucking eardrums. "Tell me, do you find yourself so exceptional that you believe the rules do not apply to you?"

You tried to shake your head, but his grip was so tight that all you could do was pathetically whimper, entire body trembling in fear as he held you against him. "I thought a student as mature as yourself would know better than this...you're almost twenty fucking years old for Merlin's sake..."

You whimpered again, wishing more than anything you could apologize to him, wishing more than anything you could beg him for forgiveness. Every second he held you, firm hand pressed over your lips, was another second in which you became filled with a mixture of terror and warmth, spreading across your skin like a raging wildfire.

"I believe you've demonstrated a complete lack of respect for both authority, and common fucking sense..." he growled, voice harsher with each syllable, rendering you utterly petrified against him. "Perhaps, I have to introduce you to one of my more merciless detentions...I'm certain it'll teach you a lesson that you won't soon forget."

And with that he released you, ripping the parchment from your hands, smirking as you spun around to face him with wide, pleading eyes. "I'm so sorry Profes-"

"Enough. Nothing you can say will fix what you've done." He spat. "You'll speak when spoken to, understand me?"

Your face flushed with heat, your entire body igniting into flame under the heat of his stare, and you nodded. "I understand."

"Good girl," he said, throwing the parchment down on his desk. "Your detention, starts now."

You parted your lips to question him, but he cut you off, advancing on you and crashing his lips to yours. Almost instantly, you melted into him, the fire that was kindling in your core erupting into complete and utter chaos, engulfing your entire body within seconds. You'd always had a thing for your professor, you'd always been attracted to his stern, no-nonsense demeanour, the way his intoxicating presence takes over a room the mere second he enters it; the way his eyes always lingered on your lips for longer than they should. To be kissing him right now, after you were certain he was just about to kill you dead, is a turn of events you'd never have expected to happen, not in a million fucking years.

Pulling back, he gripped your chin, yanking a gasp from your throat as he tightened his grip. "You've been a very bad girl..." he purred, something flickering behind his eyes that made your stomach jump. "I want you to face the wall...and lift up your skirt."

Your thighs screamed in need at his request, your entire body trembling as he held you there for a moment, allowing his words to linger--giving you a chance to refuse, to deny his demands if you so desired--before he released you, his grin widening as you slowly did as he said, without question.

The second you'd raised your skirt, exposing your bare ass to him, he was on you, hands gripping and smoothing the flesh--low groans leaving his chest as he pressed you into the wall, breathing hot breath over your ear.

"Such an obedient little thing...willing to do anything I say..." he purred, the approval clear in his tone, teeth nipping at the flesh of your earlobe. "I'm going to bruise this beautiful ass, and you're going to thank me for it, understand?" He gripped a palmful of your ass cheek, the other slipping up and grasping your throat.

Through the pressure of his grip, you nodded. "Yes, sir..."

"Good girl." He said. "I suggest you tighten your grip on your skirt, ensure that it's real, real firm..."

Without thinking, you spoke. "Why?"

A hard, firm smack to your asscheek ripped the oxygen from your lungs, a gasp escaping you as he tightened the pressure around your throat simultaneously.

"Because, if you try to touch me, try to stop me in any way, I will increase the pain and the total by generous fucking amounts that I know your innocent little body would never be able to handle...and you don't want that, do you, little girl?"

Your lungs were threatening to collapse under the weight of your desire, wetness almost undoubtedly weeping between your thighs. You'd never been spoken to like this, you'd never been treated like this, and admittedly, you were shamelessly fucking loving it.

"No, sir...I wouldn't..."

He hummed, releasing you. "That's what I thought."

Doing as he suggested, you gripped your skirt tight between your fingers, bringing your trembling hands in front of you to reduce the temptation to touch him. The room was silent for a moment as you felt him turn to his desk, pulling open a drawer and retrieving something from it before returning back to you, bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear once again.

"You better keep quiet...you don't want to risk someone finding you here like this, would you?" He purred, smoothing his palm over your asscheek.

With a low whimper, you shook your head. "No, sir..."

He hummed again, seemingly pleased. "Move your feet wider...I want them spread nice and wide for me..."

Gods, this was killing you, in the best fucking way possible. You spread your feet wider, only by a small amount, the feeling of vulnerability starting to eat away at you. Displeased by this, your Professor pressed against you, steadying one of his hands on the wall beside your head, the other reaching down and gripping your bare thigh, urging your feet further apart.

"I said nice and wide, little girl..." he growled, lips pressed against your ear. "Perhaps you're not familiar with what that looks like, hm?"

You whimpered, cunt clenching indefinitely at this point--you couldn't fucking help it, he was driving you fucking insane. You'd never known need like you did right then, your entire body screaming his name, screaming for his touch.

He huffed, amused. "Take your punishment like a good girl and perhaps I'll show you...”

And with that, he pulled back, smoothing his palm over your asscheek one more time before retreating his hand to your lower back, urging you to press your face against the wall as something hard, cold and fucking painful whacked your ass, sending immense amounts of pain throughout your entire body. You went to scream, but somehow you remembered that you couldn't--that you needed to keep quiet so that no one would hear--so you instead chose to bite down on your lip with enough force to split the skin, tears welling in your eyes as he pulled back and repeated the process on the other cheek.

"Mm. That's it..." he purred, smoothing over the welting skin. "You're being so good for me..."

Your legs trembled, breath sputtering as he whacked you again, and again, hardy giving you a second to even consider any form of response, not that he was really even looking for one. Your body was quaking, the overwhelming mixture of pain and pleasure growing to be so powerful your head was spinning, your cunt clenching with every single smack.

Smack. "You like that, huh?" Smack. "You like being fucking punished by your Professor..." smack. "Dirty little thing…”

You whimpered, the first audible noise that had managed to leave your lips, and your professor huffed, clucking his tongue.

"Keep being good for me..." he purred, nipping at your neck as he gave you a second to collect yourself. "Only two more..."

With a long, shaky inhale, you nodded, eyes rolling back in your skull as his teeth nibbled at the sensitive flesh below your ear, undoubtedly breaking blood vessels. His palm slithered down, from your lower back to your ass, grazing over the flaming skin before teasing your inner thigh, sparking heat in your blood so hot you were worried it would melt your flesh from the inside out.

As he grazed your panties, you mewled, and without giving you a chance to even process it, he whacked you two more times, a cry of pain slipping past your lips at the abrupt sensations. Professor Snape hummed, seemingly pleased, bringing both hands to your ass now, gripping and kneading the burning skin, eliciting even more pain, as though what'd he'd already done wasn't enough.

You broke, the agony unbearable. "Fuck, Professor, please..."

He groaned, gripping you harder. "Thank me." He spat into your ear. "Thank me for punishing your bad little ass."

You whimpered, knuckles popping with how hard you were holding the fabric of your skirt. "Thank you, Professor!" You squealed, desperation clear in your voice. "Fuck-thank you for punishing me..."

"Very good." He huffed, slowly releasing you. "Perhaps you should break into my classroom again tomorrow night..."

You spun to face him, slowly releasing your skirt as you met his hungry eyes. "Perhaps.”