#I want everyone to see this I’m fucking serious

[moonmunson]

hello my old heart

a/n: wally clark has invaded my brain space and i cannot seem to rid him from my mind his himbo charms have seduced me. just in my mind this is set in the late '90s, but mr. martin isn't evil. none of the other kids are really mentioned by name, but this would be a few years after charley's death. as always i'm writing with a plus sized!reader in mind but anyone can read it.

summary: struggling with becoming comfortable in death, wally has made himself your new buddy.

cw: general angst and sadness over being dead, wally is a sweetheart who just wants to help. hurt/comfort with a sweet ending and a little bit of kissing. gn!reader, theatre kid x jock

wc: 2.1k

You think you’ve been dead for a little over a week. It’s hard to tell - time moves so differently here. It feels like static on the skin, the way the TV screen feels fuzzy when you touch it after it's been turned off. You haven’t spoken much, and the other dead kids don’t expect you to for a while. They’ve all told you that everyone reacts differently to their death, that there’s no right or wrong way to cope. 

You’re worried that if you open your mouth, it’ll be difficult to stop crying. Or screaming, or both. So you sit quietly in the circle in the gymnasium, listening as Mr. Martin leads the support group meeting. You’re appreciative of his trying to get you to open up, but you’re only capable of responding in nods and shrugs. When it’s over, you go to make your way back to the auditorium. It might be weird to some, considering you died there, but it’s still the place you feel the safest.

A few steps out of the gym, you hear pounding footsteps coming up next to you. It’s Wally, because of course it is. He’s dubbed himself your ‘Unofficial death guide.’ He’s the sweetest, and you wish you could actively participate in conversation with him. 

“You goin’ back to the auditorium?” When he talks, you have to crane your head to the right and all the way up because he’s so fucking tall. You nod, and he parrots it. 

“I don’t know how you can go back to that place. I couldn’t even look at the football field for like a week after I died.” Even when you don’t respond, Wally keeps going. “I also don’t know how you stand sharing a space with Mina. She's, like, totally scary.” He makes a face then, pinched up, like he’s imagining being trapped in a room with the other, objectively more aggressive theatre ghost.

It makes you giggle. Like, audibly giggle. Wally’s eyes widen, surprised that he was able to get a noise out of you. He laughs in return, a breathless exhale. He’s clearly proud of himself. 

“I have got to get you to do that again.” You shake your head no, even though the smile hasn’t left your face. “I’m serious, I have got to hear that laugh again!” 

When you round the corner near the front office, you stop in your tracks, the smile on your face quickly fading. Your mom and dad are there, holding a box with everything that was in your locker. It’s a weird feeling. You hadn’t forgotten you were dead, obviously, but everything had felt very up in the air.

Like the moment before a show starts - everyone sitting in the audience, the curtain still down to block the view of actors taking their places. Like limbo. Seeing your parents, their tear stricken faces, that makes it feel real. Too real. The sharp breath you take in alerts Wally to the fact that something is wrong, and he follows your gaze to the two adults standing at the front desk. 

“Oh shit, are those your parents?” Wally asks, his voice taking a softer tone. He has a volume control problem, everyone knows it, and you’re appreciative that he’s quieted down for this.

You nod, a small jerk of your head. He brings a tentative hand up to your shoulder, and when you don’t move away, he places it more firmly. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am. Do you wanna go up and see them?” 

You don’t answer, you just walk away. Wally calls after you, but doesn’t follow. 

The auditorium truly is your safe space. You were never brave enough to actually perform anything, though your teacher had begged you to. She’d heard you singing to yourself one day, and asked why you’d never auditioned for anything. You’d just deflected and said the stage fright would make you freeze. She’d been understanding, but encouraged you to think about auditioning for the show this year. 

You were a senior, it’d been your last opportunity to be in the spotlight, but by the time auditions came around you’d chickened out. The hidden disappointment on your teacher’s face wasn’t so hidden, but she made sure you had your usual spot on the tech and run crew portion of the show.

You died a few weeks later, tripping off of the stage while setting up a set piece and breaking your neck falling into the orchestra pit. Like a sick fucking joke. 

Now, you sit in the audience, gazing at the stage. It’s still blocked off by crime tape. The show for the end of the year has been effectively cancelled on account of your dying. ‘Postponed indefinitely’ is the term the overhead announcements had used, but you all knew what that actually meant. It just wasn’t gonna happen. 

You mostly just feel numb. Obviously your death isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and just like every other ghost in the building, your life had been unfairly cut short. Just like everyone else, you’d had plans for the rest of your life. None of them solid or reliable, but you’d had some idea of what you wanted your life to look like. A well paying job that you genuinely enjoyed, maybe a husband or wife and a few kids. All of that is gone now. 

Your parents in the front office felt like a kick to the gut, salt in the wound. The look on your mom’s face, the way your dad was cradling the box of your things like if he held tight to it enough it would bring you back.. it was too much to bear.

And Wally, sweet, kind, Wally. He’s been trying really hard with you, and you can’t even work up the nerve to say something to him. To thank him for being there for you, or answer any of the many questions or jokes he throws your way. 

You don’t even realize the tears are streaming down your face until they drip onto your hands in your lap. Once you feel the first one, the rest fall in quick succession and before you know it, you’re audibly sobbing in the empty theatre. It’s almost embarrassing, the way your cries echo because of the acoustics. 

Wally comes in quietly, and sits down next to you. You’ve been too preoccupied to notice anything other than your tears, heavy and streaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He’s warm, and when you grab the front of his sweatshirt, he holds you tighter.

It takes a while for you to calm down - you’d been holding everything in for too long - you were bound to bubble over and explode at some point. When you feel yourself come back to your body, Wally is still holding you. He’s stroking your head and whispering comforts to you. You don’t deserve him, you think.

He’s still rubbing your back when you pull away to look at him, but you’re distracted by the wet spot on his sweatshirt - the light grey darkened by your tears. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your voice cracking from how long it’s been since you’ve spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Wally’s eyes widen, not prepared for you to start talking, and he jumps to console you. “Woah, hey, don’t even worry about it. This ratty old thing? I’ve been wearing it for like, almost twenty years.” He giggles a bit, continuing, “I honestly think this is the closest this thing has been to a washing machine even longer than that, so. No sweat, promise.”

You nod, thanking him. 

“Are you, like…” he trails off, not sure how to ask you if you’re okay. It’s a silly question, he knows that. “I remember the first time I saw my parents after I died. There was a vigil on the football field like a week after it happened. Everyone was there, and they were all crying and it was so weird. I didn’t feel dead yet, like I hadn’t accepted that it really happened.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you, Wally. I’m really sorry.” Your eyes meet, and he shrugs.

He smiles, a sad, nostalgic thing. He can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, he goes to hold your hand. “I promise it will get better. It just takes some time. It’s gonna suck for a while, but we’re all here for you. I’m here for you.” His thumb rubs circles on the top or your hand, and you smile up at him. 

“Thanks, Wally. I really appreciate it.” Your interconnected hands are grounding you. It’s the first time you’ve felt a semblance of peace since you died. “Do you mind if we sit here for a little bit? It’s quiet, I don’t want to leave yet.” He nods, and the two of you just sit there.

Just like Wally said it would, it gets easier.

You start going to more of the meetings with Mr. Martin, and you actually start participating. It was weird at first - you thought people would make a big deal out of your finding your voice again, but they just smiled, proud of your growth. Wally has been your biggest cheerleader, but they’re all really supportive. Even Rhonda, though she still sports her gloomy demeanor. 

When they fix up the stage and clear the crime scene tape, the school holds your vigil there. Wally is right there with you in the audience, holding your hand while your parents speak. Your theatre teacher speaks too, and talks highly of you. Your brightness, the passion you had for theatre. When she says you had a beautiful voice, that you could’ve been somebody, she directs it at your parents. They agree, it seems. 

There are still days where it's really hard. You retreat back into your shell, refusing to leave the auditorium or speak to anyone. Wally's patience with you is endless, and when you allow him to stay with you, he spends all day cracking jokes to help you feel better.

One day, instead of letting you isolate yourself, he drags you out onto the football field to get some sun. "We don't really need vitamin D anymore, but I really think it'll help. C'mon, the sun on your skin? Wind in your hair? Can't beat that, babe." He leads you out onto the field - one hand clasped in yours and the other holding a backpack.

The pet names are a new thing, but you don't mind it. He'd slipped one day, called you sweetheart, and immediately backtracked and apologized profusely. All you could do was laugh and call him cute.

"Where did you even get that?" you giggle, following him to a spot under a tree near the edge of the field. "Did you steal that from someone?"

He drops your hand to bring it to his own chest, offended at your assumption. "Me? Steal? I can't believe you'd think so lowly of me," he plops onto the grass, patting the spot next to him, "Yeah I totally stole it, emptied it out, and then filled it with a shit ton of snacks and drinks so we could have a picnic out here." He unzips the bag, pulling out at least ten different bags of chips and candy bars.

"This is really sweet, Wally," you can feel your face heat up, though hopefully it'll just look like it's because of the heat. "It's like a date, almost." His head shoots up to look at you, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Y-yeah, if you want it to be. If you think you're ready for that kind of thing." He stutters, a nervous boyish thing. He's the sweetest person ever.

“I am, I think,” you nod while you’re talking, like you’ve made up your mind, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Wally ducks his head down, chin meeting his chest. He’s fully blushing now - it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and maneuvering your body so your back is pressed up against his chest, head resting in the space between his head and shoulder, “is this okay?” 

You turn your head to try and look at him, and he angles his towards you. His face is inches from yours, and if you had a heartbeat, it’d be beating wildly right now. You can almost feel it, the pitter patter of it in your chest. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the space under his eye. You nod, and move in to kiss him. 

His lips are so soft, and the way they move in conjunction with yours provides much needed relief. You stay like that for a few minutes, and when you’re done, he rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping up the hill you’re sitting on. You never had anything like this when you were still alive, the easy conversation and back and forth banter. He’s your new safe space. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with him. 

“This is perfect.”

a/n: wally clark is actually so special to me and when i think about him for too long i get very emotional. my shayla. i wrote this in the span of like a day and a half so if there are any mistakes i'm sorry LMAO

if you liked this story, please like and reblog!! it'd mean the world to me, even if you just drop a silly comment. i want to write more for wally because he desperately needs more stories on here.

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 9

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours  @sukunasstomachtongue @cosmic-lovr @imm0rtalbutterfly @kyo-kyo1

if you wanna be added to the tag list comment

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Chapter 9: Death or Rebirth

I woke up in the hospital again. The sterile scent of antiseptic and faint beeping of machines told me where I was before I even opened my eyes. When I did, the first thing I saw was Yuuji sitting in the chair beside me. His head was bowed, shoulders slumped in a way that made him look so small—so broken—that my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.

I blinked hard, hoping I’d imagined him, and closed my eyes again, willing myself back to darkness.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

The door swung open, and I heard heavy footsteps—one set deliberate, the other storming with anger. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Toji. I could practically feel the heat of his glare, his frustration filling the room like smoke. Satoru followed close behind, quieter, but I knew he was watching too.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Toji’s voice hit like a hammer, sharp and unrelenting. “This is twice now. Twice in barely two weeks. What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”

It was like the words tore something open inside me. Before I knew it, I was shouting back, my voice raw. “What if I am?” the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice was raw, rough from everything I’d been bottling up. I didn’t care that he was pissed. Hell, I didn’t care about anything anymore.

The room went dead silent. I could feel the eyes on me—Yuuji, Satoru, Toji. They were all waiting for something. Waiting for me to break, to explain myself. But I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction.

Toji stepped forward, his face hard and unforgiving. “You’re not fucking with me like this, Sukuna. I get it, you’re in pain. We all are. But this—” he gestured around the room, his eyes burning with anger and something else, something softer that I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. “This isn’t the way to handle it. You’re hurting everyone around you, but especially Yuuji. You don’t get to keep doing this to him.”

I glanced at Yuuji, his face a mask of exhaustion and worry. His eyes were red, his posture slumped. 

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve me.

But still, I couldn’t stop myself. The words came tumbling out like a dam breaking, uncontrollable and sharp.

“Maybe I don’t deserve anything, Toji. Maybe I don’t deserve him or any of you,” I muttered bitterly, turning away from them. “I’m just tired of everything. Tired of pretending.”

Satoru spoke up, his voice softer than usual, almost like he was trying to tiptoe around me. “We’re not asking you to pretend, Sukuna. We’re asking you to let us help. But you have to want it first.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Help? You think you can fix me? You can’t fix this, Satoru. No one can.”

“You’re right,” Toji cut in. “We can’t fix it for you. But we can help you get the fucking help you need.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. There was no escaping them. No escaping the reality of what I had to face.

I closed my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me. My mind was swirling, a chaotic mess of guilt, regret, and anger. But underneath it all was something else. Something softer. A flicker of hope.

A hope I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know how to fix myself.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Satoru said, his voice steady and reassuring.

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the fear—the deep, gnawing fear that I was beyond saving—was louder than anything else.

“I don’t know if I can let anyone in again,” I muttered, my voice breaking. “Not after everything I’ve done. Not after what I’ve lost.”

Toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to be perfect, Sukuna. Hell, none of us are. But you gotta stop running from it. From the people who care about you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt stuck in my throat.

Yuuji finally spoke, his voice small but steady. “I just want you to be okay, Sukuna. We all do.”

His words hit me harder than anything else. I wanted to lash out, to say something cutting and cruel. But I couldn’t. Not this time.

I didn’t have the strength to keep pushing everyone away anymore.

I shot up off the bed, my heart racing, the anger and fear bubbling to the surface. "I'm not going," I spat, voice shaky but defiant. I wasn’t about to let them control me. Not again.

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "Don't do this, Sukuna," he warned, stepping forward, his voice steady but carrying the weight of an unspoken truth. "It's gonna make shit worse if you keep this up."

I took a step back, my chest tightening, the overwhelming flood of emotions crashing over me. 

I can’t go. 

The idea of being locked away, stripped of my choices, made my skin crawl. "I said no. I don't need any of that shit."

Toji, who had been standing in the corner, arms crossed and eyes focused, now moved closer. His voice was low, but the authority in it made me stiffen. "You need help, whether you like it or not. You’re pushing everyone away, and it’s not gonna end well if you keep doing this."

"I don't care," I muttered, my hands trembling as I balled them into fists. "I don’t care what any of you think. Just leave me alone."

Satoru’s eyes softened, but his tone was firm. "You're not okay, and you're not handling this alone. You need help, even if you don't want it. We're doing this for you, not to you."

I was shaking now, not from the cold or the exhaustion, but from the weight of the truth they were forcing on me. My mind was a blur of thoughts, and the words felt like they were tearing me apart.

I locked eyes with Toji. "You think I want this? You think I want to be like this?!" The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I hate it. I hate everything about myself right now, but I'm not going to some fucking psych ward."

Toji didn’t back down. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing? You’re just running, hiding from it all."

I turned away, unable to look at him anymore. "I'm not running," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I just... I don’t know how to face it. How to face all of this."

Satoru stepped in closer, his voice quiet but insistent. "We don't have to force you, Sukuna. But we will take you there if it means you'll get better."

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. I wanted to scream, to fight, to push them all away. But there was something deeper—something broken inside me—that knew they were right.

I didn’t have a choice, not really.

I stared at them, my mind a mess of anger and fear, the words I wanted to say, the words I needed to say, stuck in my throat. My fists clenched at my sides, the tension building as I looked at Satoru, Toji, and now Geto, who had just strolled in. The weight of their gazes felt suffocating.

I wanted to scream at them, tell them to leave me the hell alone, but my voice was low, barely a whisper. "I'm not some head fuck, man," I muttered, my eyes flicking to the floor. "I’m..." I trailed off, unable to finish.

Geto’s voice cut through the silence. "You’re an addict with mental health problems, Sukuna. You need help. You know this."

I shot him a look, feeling my insides twist. 

Of course they would say that. 

They were all on the same page, ganging up on me. They didn’t know. They didn’t get it.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but all that came out was a pained laugh. "I’d rather join Jin than do that," I said, the words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them. The thought hung in the air, dark and suffocating. The weight of my brother’s death—the guilt that had eaten me alive ever since—made it feel like the only way out.

The room went still, the tension thick. I could see the shock on their faces, but I didn’t care. Maybe they’d finally understand me.

Satoru’s voice broke the silence, his tone more forceful now. "You don’t have a choice, Sukuna." He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. "They’ve done up the paperwork. You’re going whether you like it or not."

I felt like the walls were closing in on me. 

This wasn’t my decision anymore. 

They had made it for me. It didn’t matter what I wanted or how much I fought against it—they were forcing me down a path I couldn’t escape from.

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died in my throat. I looked at them—their faces filled with concern and frustration—and realized they weren’t trying to control me. They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were trying to save me.

But I didn’t want saving.

 I didn’t want any of this.

I just wanted to be left alone, to disappear into the darkness.

I scanned the room frantically, my mind racing.

 I need to get out of here. 

The walls were closing in, the sterile white room suffocating me, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn’t stand the feeling of being trapped, controlled. I had to leave. Now.

I pushed myself off the bed, my legs shaky but determined. I stumbled toward the door, but before I could get more than a few steps, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. 

Toji.

"Sit down, Sukuna," his voice was low, firm, and I could feel the weight of his hand as he gently but forcefully pushed me back toward the bed. He wasn’t letting me leave. Not like this.

I whipped my head around, my eyes locking with Gojo’s. His usual confident smirk was replaced by something closer to concern—something I wasn’t ready to deal with. He stood beside Toji, blocking my escape, both of them creating an impenetrable wall.

Yuuji was still in the corner of the room, staring at me. His face was a mix of disbelief and hurt, and I could see the silent question in his eyes. 

Why are you doing this, Sukuna?

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. I wasn’t doing this for anyone else. I was doing it because I had nothing left.

“Geto,” Yuuji finally spoke, his voice breaking the silence, “What’s going on? What’s happening to him?”

Geto sighed, his tone calm but with an edge I hadn’t heard before. “Yuuji, just step outside for a second. We need to talk.”

Yuuji shook his head, his hands clenched into fists. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s my brother. I’m not leaving him like this.”

A nurse walked into the room at that moment, sensing the tension. She glanced from Toji and Gojo to Geto and Yuuji, clearly trying to assess the situation. Her eyes flicked to me, and her face softened in sympathy, but there was something in her gaze that made me feel like a caged animal. “Is everything alright in here?” she asked, her voice tentative.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

The room felt like it was spinning, the lights blurring at the edges of my vision. I wanted to scream, to push everyone away. I wanted them to leave me alone. 

Just let me go.

Toji’s voice broke through the haze. “Get the staff to check on him. We need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

I looked up at him, my vision blurring once again. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine in months.

Gojo took a step forward, his eyes narrowed, though the concern was still there. “Sukuna… Don’t do this. You know they’re just trying to help you.”

But it didn’t feel like help. It felt like a trap. A cage.

I looked around the room again, my mind screaming for a way out. But there was no escape. Not now. Not here.

I stood there frozen, my chest tight, heart pounding in my ears.

 I need to get out. 

Every part of me screamed to run, but I couldn’t even move my legs. It was like they were chained to the floor, heavy, useless.

The nurse, who had stepped back to give some space, looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of sympathy I wanted.

 I didn’t want anyone’s pity.

 I wanted to be left the hell alone.

Gojo stepped closer, his gaze firm but tinged with something softer beneath the surface. "Sukuna... don’t make this harder than it has to be," he said, his voice steady, though I could tell he was trying to keep his own frustration in check. I could feel the tension radiating off of him and Toji, both of them not budging an inch. The walls were closing in. There was no way out.

I finally broke my silence, my voice rough, like it was being dragged out of me. "You don’t get it," I spat. “I don’t need your fucking help. I need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back off. "Yeah, well, we’ve all been there. But that’s not what’s happening now, Sukuna." He shot a glance at Toji, who was still silently standing guard, his arms crossed, a sharp look in his eyes. "You don’t get a say in this. You’re going to the psych ward."

My chest tightened further at the words.

 Psych ward. 

The idea of being stuck in there, being forced to confront all this… pain, this guilt, this fucking endless spiral of shit—it made my stomach churn. The walls of the room seemed to get even tighter, the air thinner.

“No.” I gritted out, voice low and trembling with anger. “I won’t go.”

Toji’s hand landed on my shoulder again, the pressure grounding but suffocating at the same time. "You’re not in a position to make demands right now, Sukuna," he said, his voice surprisingly calm, but the weight of his words hit me like a punch in the gut.

I tried to jerk away from him, but my body betrayed me. My muscles were too weak, too drained. 

I couldn’t fight back anymore.

Yuuji stepped forward, his voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Please, Sukuna,” his eyes were filled with raw emotion. "I don’t want to lose you. You’ve gotta let us help you.”

I looked at him, and it felt like a knife was twisting in my chest. Yuuji was my brother—he had every right to be angry, to be upset. But I couldn’t handle his concern, his desperate need for me to be something I couldn’t be. Something I didn’t know how to be anymore.

He doesn’t understand.

"I don’t need your help, Yuuji," I muttered, the words tasting bitter as they left my mouth. "I’m just a fucking mess. I’m not who you think I am."

Yuuji flinched like I’d slapped him, and I immediately regretted saying it. But it was too late. The damage was done.

Toji’s voice broke the silence again, more forceful this time. “You need to face the truth, Sukuna. You’ve been running from it for too long. All of us have seen it. We’re not going to let you destroy yourself anymore. Not like this.”

I stared at Toji, fury mixing with a deep, hollow emptiness inside me. “And what if I don’t want to be saved, huh? What if I don’t give a shit anymore?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could see it in their eyes. They were worried. They were angry. But most of all, they were disappointed. And I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the idea of letting them down.

I turned my back to them, stepping toward the far side of the room, a tear slipping from my eye that I didn’t even realize had fallen.

 I had no place to go.

 I didn’t know what I was even fighting for anymore.

Kenjaku’s voice came then, steady and calm, the kind of tone that always felt like he was looking at me like I was some puzzle he hadn’t figured out yet. "You’re going, Sukuna. It’s not up for discussion. Do you think this is some kind of joke?"

I clenched my fists, trying to steady my breath, trying to stop the world from spinning. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to face this. I didn’t want to be seen.

 But they weren’t leaving me any choice.

“I’m not going to make it out of this,” I muttered, almost to myself. “I can’t.”

But no one heard me. They were already planning, already moving in to take control of my life. And I hated it. I hated feeling this powerless.

I couldn’t run. I couldn’t hide anymore.

“I swear, if you force this on me, I’ll make it my mission to be worse off,” I spat, my voice shaking with equal parts defiance and exhaustion. The words echoed in the room like a dare, and for a moment, no one said anything.

I didn’t even see Choso walk in.

The first thing I felt was his fist slamming into my face, my head snapping to the side from the force of it. Pain exploded across my cheek, and before I could process it, another hit followed, sharper, harder.

“You’re so determined to kill yourself? Then do it, Sukuna!” Choso’s voice roared, loud enough to drown out the sound of blood rushing in my ears. His breath was ragged, his face twisted in fury.

The pain from Choso’s fist hitting my face was sharp, but it was almost a relief. It snapped me out of the haze I’d been sinking into. I staggered back, feeling the sting of the impact across my cheek. My head throbbed, and for a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears. But his words, those cut deeper than any punch ever could.

“You’re worthless. You don’t mean shit.”

It was like the truth was slapping me in the face over and over again, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself feel it. 

Finally, someone who understands.

I stood there, dazed, not sure how to react. I was pissed, but part of me felt... liberated by the anger Choso had thrown at me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was beyond saving. Maybe all this fucking pain and guilt I kept drowning myself in... was deserved.

Was I really just wasting everyone’s time?

I looked at Choso, who was standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving with the emotion that mirrored mine. There was something cold and final in his gaze, a kind of resignation I couldn’t ignore.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Choso’s voice was low, but there was a tremor in it, like he was holding back more than just anger. "You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone? You’re not. But you’re fucking pathetic if you think you’re the only one with a reason to fall apart."

His words hit harder than the punch, and for a second, it felt like I was being gutted. He was right. Everyone was hurting—Yuuji, Choso, all of them. And here I was, selfishly drowning in my own misery, shutting them out.

But then, something twisted in my gut.

 I didn’t care.

I couldn’t care about their pain when I didn’t even know how to handle my own anymore. Why should I fix myself for them?

"You don’t get it," I spat, trying to steady myself, but my legs were shaky, and my head was still reeling from the blow. "You think I give a shit about any of that? I don’t. I’m done pretending."

Choso took a step closer, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “Then do it. End it. I won’t stop you. But don’t expect anyone to fucking care when you do.”

The words hit hard—harder than they should’ve, because they forced me to think about everything.

 What if I really did end it?

 What would they think? What would Yuuji think? What about... Y/N?

Would she be better off without me?

The thought lingered, and I felt a hollow pit open up in my chest. The anger that had surged through me now dulled, leaving a cold emptiness behind.

I wanted to fight back. I wanted to snap at Choso, to tell him he was wrong, that he didn’t understand. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

Because a part of me knew he was right.

 I was at the edge, and I didn’t even know if I wanted to step back.

Toji, Gojo, and Kenjaku stayed silent for a moment, watching the exchange unfold. It was clear they didn’t want to get involved in this—this raw, ugly part of me that I tried so hard to hide from them. I wanted to break, wanted to shatter in front of them, but I couldn’t.

"You’re gonna regret this," I muttered, feeling the familiar spiral of helplessness and anger closing in again. "All of you. You’re gonna regret trying to save me."

Choso just stood there, his eyes unwavering, like he was daring me to push him away. "I don’t give a shit if you regret it or not, Sukuna," he said, voice cold. "But know this: you’ll never be free if you keep running from everything, including yourself."

The room was quiet for a moment as those words hung in the air, heavy with truth. I wanted to scream, to shout that I didn’t need this shit, didn’t need any of them. But instead, I stood there, frozen, caught between the desire to escape and the reality that I didn’t know how to anymore.

It was like I was being torn apart, each side of me pulling in a different direction. One part of me wanted to run, to escape the people who cared too much, who expected too much. And the other part… the other part just wanted to be understood, to finally let go of the pain that had been eating at me for so long.

Maybe I was just too broken to be fixed.

Choso’s words echoed in my mind, and as much as I hated to admit it, they stuck with me. I couldn’t keep running.

The cold, sterile walls of the psych ward felt like they were closing in on me.

 Two weeks. 

Two weeks of confinement. Two weeks of therapy sessions that felt more like forced interrogations than healing.

I sat in the same shitty chair, staring at the therapist in front of me, who was droning on about my "emotions" and "coping mechanisms" like I actually gave a damn. Her voice was just background noise, blending into the constant ringing in my ears. The withdrawal symptoms were unbearable—my skin felt too tight, my stomach twisted into knots, and the restless energy in my veins made it impossible to sit still for long.

"You’ve been here for 24 hours, Sukuna," she said, tapping her pen against her notepad. "How are you feeling?"

How the fuck do you think I feel?

I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my composure, but the sharp ache in my chest threatened to spill over. "I feel like shit," I muttered, shifting in my seat, wishing for a fucking cigarette. Anything to take the edge off.

She didn’t flinch. “What’s bothering you the most right now?”

Everything.

 The question was almost laughable. The cravings, the guilt, the loneliness... the constant feeling of being trapped in my own mind. But I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing all that.

“I just wanna go,” I said, my voice low, desperate. “I need to get out of here.”

She scribbled something on her notepad, her expression neutral. “I understand that this is difficult, but you’re here for your own safety, Sukuna. You’ve made it clear that you’ve been struggling with self-destructive behavior and substance abuse. We need to work through that.”

I rolled my eyes, though my hands were trembling slightly, betraying me. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this shit before.”

The therapist leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “Have you been feeling any suicidal thoughts since you arrived here?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, the reminder of how far I’d fallen in such a short time. 

Am I still suicidal? 

I didn’t know anymore. The numbness in my chest made it hard to feel anything at all, but the constant pull to just give in, to end it all, never fully left.

“I don’t know,” I finally muttered, trying to avoid her gaze. “Maybe. I just wanna get out.”

Her silence was suffocating, as though she was trying to read into every word, every movement. “I know it’s tough right now,” she said, breaking the stillness. “But the important thing is that you’re here. You’re taking the first step toward getting better.”

Better?

 The thought was almost laughable. Could I ever really get better?

I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until this session would finally be over.

 Two weeks. I can’t do two weeks.

Just as the session was about to end, I leaned forward, my voice almost pleading. “Listen, I don’t need therapy, I just need to get out. I don’t belong here.”

The therapist didn’t even flinch. She stood, signaling the end of the session. “I think we’re done for today. We’ll talk more tomorrow. And remember, Sukuna, you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do it all by yourself.”

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me again, but I swallowed it down. 

I don’t need help.

 I didn’t care what they thought or what they were trying to force on me. I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t some broken kid looking for someone to fix him.

As I walked out of the room, I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. The staff, the patients—everyone in this goddamn place. But it didn’t matter.

 I’m not staying here.

I was already planning my escape.

I walked into the common area, the sterile, off-white walls feeling like they were closing in on me with every step. The soft hum of fluorescent lights above, the distant murmurs of people talking, the occasional clink of something being set down—it all felt so... lifeless.

I could see a few patients scattered around the room, some playing cards, others half-heartedly flipping through magazines. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint scent of sweat from someone who had probably been in this place too long. I hated it here. Everything about it. But I had no choice. Not yet.

I could head over to the piano in the corner, its dark wood calling to me with a promise of something familiar, something I could lose myself in. But the idea of sitting there, forcing my fingers to move across the keys in some mechanical way—it didn't feel right. The music wasn't a relief anymore, just another reminder of everything I used to enjoy before I fucked it all up.

I glanced at the group of people in the corner, playing cards. There was an older man who looked like he’d seen better days, a young woman with wild eyes who kept glancing at the clock, and a guy who looked like he had just crawled out of a hole—scruffy, disheveled, probably on something.

Do I really want to talk to them?

The answer was simple. No, I didn’t care about their stories, their issues. I was here because I had to be, not because I wanted to make friends with anyone who couldn’t get their shit together either. They all seemed like they were here for their own reasons, their own battles. And that’s all they were to me—battles. I didn’t need more.

Instead, I leaned against the wall and folded my arms, staring out the window at the dull, overcast sky. It felt like everything was bleeding together, just a blur of nothingness. I was just another fuck-up, stuck in the same cycle, same pain.

I was still trying to figure out how I ended up here, why the hell I had to be the one to go through this.

Then, I heard the shuffle of footsteps behind me. 

Fuck.

I didn’t need anyone talking to me right now. I didn’t want to deal with anyone, least of all some well-meaning idiot who thought they could help me. But when I turned around, I saw her.

It was Y/N. Her presence hit me like a punch to the chest.

She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, her gaze locked on me. The last time I saw her... well, it wasn’t good.

What the hell was she doing here?

I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat making it even harder to breathe. She looked the same, just as beautiful as always, but there was something in her eyes—something that made it impossible for me to hide from the weight of everything I had done.

"You're here..." I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes searching mine, like she was trying to figure out whether I was even worth talking to. I couldn’t blame her—who in their right mind would want to deal with someone like me?

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze dropped to the floor, and I could see the hesitation in her posture. She was torn between walking away and facing the wreck that I had become. I didn’t deserve her attention, not now, not after everything. I could feel myself spiraling again, that familiar pull to shut everything down, to turn it all off.

But then she spoke.

"I came to see how you're doing." Her voice was quiet, soft, almost like she was afraid of what she'd find. "I heard about what happened... after you left."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the way her words hit me. She didn’t get it. 

No one gets it.

"You shouldn't have come," I muttered, shaking my head. "You should be anywhere but here, Y/N. I’m a fucking mess, and you don't need to be around for any of this."

She took a step closer, her expression unwavering, like she didn’t believe a single word I was saying. "I’m here because... because I care," she said, each word laced with a kind of tenderness I didn’t deserve. "And I think you know that."

Care? 

I almost laughed at the thought. 

How could she care about me when I couldn’t even care about myself?

"Don’t, Y/N. Don’t do this," I said, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound indifferent. "You can’t save me. No one can. I’m too far gone for that."

She was quiet for a beat, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—the desire to help me, to pull me out of this dark hole I’d dug myself into, and the realization that maybe she was too late. But then she spoke again, this time with more conviction.

"I’m not trying to save you," she said. "I just want you to know that you’re not alone. No matter how fucked up everything is, you don’t have to face it by yourself. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

I couldn’t breathe. The words hit me harder than anything else had since I’d been locked in this place. I didn’t deserve her loyalty. I didn’t deserve any of this. But here she was, standing in front of me, offering something I wasn’t sure I could accept.

"You don’t have to do this," I said again, my voice almost pleading. "You don’t owe me anything."

She shook her head. "I’m not doing it because I owe you, Sukuna. I’m doing it because... I want to."

There was a long silence between us. The kind of silence that made everything in the room feel impossibly heavy, like the weight of my past was suffocating me. I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t know if I could even let myself believe she was serious.

But in that moment, as I stood there, trying to process everything she had just said, I realized something I hadn’t let myself acknowledge before.

Maybe she was the one thing I could hold onto.

But I couldn’t say that. Not yet.

I turned away, rubbing my face with both hands, trying to clear the clouded thoughts in my head. I couldn’t get caught up in this. I couldn’t let her in, not after everything I’d done.

"I don’t know what you want from me," I muttered, my voice barely audible. "But I’m not gonna get better. Not like this. Not here."

She didn’t respond right away, but I could feel her standing there, still watching me. I could almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind, trying to figure out the next move. I didn’t make it easy for her, did I?

"You don’t have to be perfect," she finally said, her voice quiet but steady. "You just have to try. And you have to let people help you. You don’t have to do this alone."

I closed my eyes, fighting the tightness in my chest. My hand gripped the edge of the piano, and I tried to steady myself, not wanting to let the weight of her words drag me under. But it was getting harder to keep pretending that I didn’t care.

She really did care.

And maybe—just maybe—I needed to start caring too.

When I opened my eyes again, she was still there, waiting for me to say something, anything. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I looked at her and nodded, though I didn’t say a word. It was all I could do.

Maybe this was the first step. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely beyond saving.

Y/N’s expression faltered for a brief moment, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just stared at me, her eyes searching for any sign of weakness, some crack in the armor I was desperately trying to keep up. But I wouldn’t let her see it. Not now.

Her jaw tightened, and for a split second, I thought she might argue. I thought she might try to push through whatever wall I’d just erected. But instead, she nodded slowly, as though my words had made some kind of final sense. 

Maybe she finally realized that I was too far gone.

"I’m not gonna fight you on this, Sukuna," she said quietly. Her voice had lost its softness, the warmth draining out of it as if I had sucked all of it out. "But if you ever change your mind... if you ever stop pushing everyone away..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she cleared her throat, steadying herself. "You know where to find me."

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

I just watched as she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the room.

Good. Let her go.

The moment she left, the weight in my chest didn’t lift. If anything, it grew heavier. But I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t.

I’d pushed her away, just like I’d pushed everyone else away. 

But what if I really did need her?

No.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking the thought from my mind. I couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.

Maybe one day I’d wake up and realize I made the wrong choice. But that was a problem for future Sukuna. Right now, I need to get through the day.

I walked over to the piano, my fingers grazing the keys. My body was aching, the withdrawal pulling at me, making every movement feel like it took twice as much effort as it should. But I kept going. I had no other choice.

I couldn’t afford to care. Not about her. Not about anything.

I got up from the piano after a long moment of playing

I needed a smoke, anything to take the edge off. I was approached by this weird chick. I think I know her from high school.

 Selene.

 She strolled up to me with her bubbly ass voice. “I got the plug in here.”  I smiled “ In here people are dealing shit. Wild shit. What you got?” “Whatever you need.” She watched me with a smile. 

I found myself sitting there in her room, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls, I could feel the rush of anticipation building in me.

 I’d hit rock bottom a thousand times before, but this felt different.

 A part of me told me that I was spiraling deeper, that this wasn’t just a bad habit anymore—it was my new reality. But I didn’t care.

Selenr was sitting on the bed, her hands busy with something I didn’t quite pay attention to. She was talking, but I barely registered the words, too focused on the dull ache in my muscles and the gnawing emptiness inside me that only the thought of drugs could fill. 

She said whatever you need, and I needed something to take the edge off.

I let my fingers drum absently against my thigh, my eyes trained on her as she pulled out the little bag and spread the contents on the table. She looked at me, a smirk on her lips.

"You sure you want to go down this road?" she asked, a playful tone in her voice. But there was a look in her eyes—something knowing, like she could see through the mask I wore every damn day.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. She could see it too—the exhaustion, the desperation, the parts of me that had long given up.

 Selene knew the deal.

 We’d crossed paths before, back in high school. We never really hung out, but I knew her type—dangerous, alluring, and always just a step away from trouble.

She slid me a couple Xanax in front of me, and I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed it, the familiar coolness of the tablet comforting in my hand.

"You should really think about rehab," she said, her voice suddenly serious, cutting through the fog of my thoughts.

I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. "And do what? Sit around and pretend everything’s fine?" My words came out sharp, but the pain underneath them felt deeper than any of the substances I could take. 

What the hell was I supposed to fix?

She didn’t answer. Instead, she just sat there, watching me with those cold eyes, her own hands working to prepare the next dose. There was a tension in the room now, like the air was thick with the weight of everything I was avoiding—everything I had been avoiding for so long.

I popped the pill in my mouth without a second thought, the bitterness lingering in my throat as I swallowed.

For a second, the world stopped spinning.

The tightness in my chest eased, the gnawing anxiety slipping away as the drugs started to work their magic. I leaned back against the bed, letting the wave of relief wash over me. Everything was quieter now. I didn’t feel the need to think. I didn’t feel the need to be anything other than numb.

Selene looked at me, her lips curling into a satisfied grin. "There you go," she said softly. "See? It’s not so bad."

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The Xanax was already working its way through my system, leaving a dull haze in its wake.

Maybe I didn’t need to fix anything. Maybe it was easier to stay broken.

As I sat there, fading in and out of lucidity, I thought about Y/N again.

 I shouldn’t have pushed her away. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? I didn’t deserve her, not with the mess I’d become.

And yet, that thought lingered—like a whisper in the back of my mind

As I leaned in and kissed Selene, something about it felt off—yet familiar. 

Maybe it was the Xanax, or maybe it was the desperate need to feel something, anything that wasn’t the weight of my own brokenness. 

Her lips were soft, and for a second, everything seemed quieter. The chaos, the guilt, the voices in my head—they all faded into the background, leaving just the feeling of her against me.

She kissed me back, but it wasn’t passionate or full of fire. It was numb, like we were both just going through the motions, seeking solace in something temporary. I couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way, if this kiss was just another escape for her too.

I pulled away, breathless, but not from desire. From the haze. The drug was starting to sink deeper into my system, and my head was swirling in a way that made everything seem surreal.

"You're not even here, are you?" Selene whispered, a slight smile playing on her lips, as if she could see right through me.

I didn’t answer, just stared at her, barely registering her words. 

What the fuck was I doing?

This wasn’t who I was. Or maybe it was. Maybe the version of me that existed now was just a reflection of my choices. My actions.

I stood up, stepping back from her, trying to shake off the fog that had settled over me. 

I wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little more concerned.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I moved towards the door, my legs unsteady as I tried to walk it off. I felt a strange urgency, like I needed to be somewhere, anywhere but here.

I couldn’t stay here with her. Not when I couldn’t even face myself.

I stumbled out into the hallway, leaving Selene behind. The high was starting to wear off, and with it came the reality of what I was running from.

Fuck this shit. Screw everything. I didn’t know how to fix myself.

I trudged back to my room, the sterile walls closing in around me as I stepped inside. The quiet was suffocating, and I hated it. No distractions, no escape, just the sound of my own breath and the distant hum of the building.

I looked around, trying to find something—anything—that could give me some sense of comfort, but all I saw was a bland, lifeless space that mirrored how I felt inside. I threw myself onto the bed, face-first into the pillow, wishing I could just disappear into the fabric, escape from everything that weighed on me.

I didn't even have my phone.

 I hadn't realized until now how much I depended on it for distractions, to avoid the overwhelming silence. There was nothing here but me, my thoughts, and the suffocating guilt.

I tried to push it all away, close my eyes, and force myself to sleep, but the memories came flooding back—the loss of Jin, my grandfather, the people I pushed away, the mistakes I couldn’t undo. I was fucking drowning in it.

I let out a frustrated sigh and buried my face deeper into the pillow. 

Why am I even still here?

Every part of me screamed to leave, to do something, anything, to break free from this place, from the weight of what I’d done to myself. But there was nowhere to run anymore.

The silence of the room pressed in around me, the guilt festering. 

What did I even expect to happen?

I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to go back to the chaos, the distractions, the numbness. Anything to avoid the reality that I was falling apart. But I couldn't. Not yet.

And so, I lay there, feeling the walls close in on me, waiting for whatever came next—whether it was the release of sleep or the crushing weight of everything I'd lost.

[kikyoupdates]

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑠𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

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Lately, Naoya has been following Toji around just about every chance he gets. 

There are multiple reasons for this. One of them, of course, is the fact that he idolizes Toji and recognizes his strength. It’s true that, conventionally speaking, Toji doesn’t fit the mold for what a jujutsu sorcerer is supposed to be like. He doesn’t have even a smidge of cursed energy. On paper, he should be the weakest, and yet, he’s not. The entirety of the Zen’in Clan may refuse to acknowledge just how powerful he is, but Naoya instinctively knows better. There’s no denying the pressure he felt that day, upon his very first meeting with Toji. It’s the kind of pressure that only surrounds those who are truly strong. 

But it’s more than just that. If that was the only reason, he probably wouldn’t be trailing behind Toji like a little duckling, near constantly. He admires Toji, and that will never change, but these days, there's someone else on his mind. 

You.

“Are you leaving to go train [Name]?” 

That’s the question Naoya finds himself asking time and time again. Whenever he spots Toji leaving the clan estate, he runs up to him in a hurry, although he’s not quite sure why. He doesn’t really understand why he cares so much. It’s none of his business, after all. Toji has permission to train you. Even Naobito said he wasn’t going to stand in the way. Yet still, Naoya persists. 

“You always ask me that,” Toji mutters, rolling his eyes. “Go away. Shoo.” 

“Is that a yes or a no?” 

“It’s me telling you to get lost.”

Naoya never really succeeds with any of his approaches, but rather than letting it deter him, he just keeps pressing the issue. 

“How was training today?” 

“Is [Name] getting stronger?” 

“She hasn’t given up or anything, has she?” 

“Isn’t she worried that she might mess up by accident? Then, because of her Binding Vow, that means she’ll—” 

“For fuck’s sake, enough already!” Toji cries out. He grits his teeth and angrily massages his temples, attempting to soothe the permanent migraine he seems to have these days. Spending time with you is one thing, but he has much less patience when it comes to a brat from the Zen’in Clan.

Naoya’s brows droop, and he feels discouraged for a moment, but if he backs down now, he may as well be giving up. He refuses to give up. That’s what losers do, and he’s certainly not a loser. 

“I want to come with you,” Naoya states, crossing his arms defiantly. 

“Where?” 

“To see [Name]. You’re about to leave, aren’t you? I’m coming too.”

“Good one,” Toji snorts, but for some reason, the little brat still refuses to leave. Toji’s brows knit together. “Don’t tell me you’re actually serious?”

Naoya nods, gaze resolute. “Yes. I’ve made up my mind.”

“I doubt anyone will let you do that.” 

“So, I’ll just sneak out. By the time they realize, I’ll already be gone.”

Toji doesn’t particularly care for Naoya, or anyone else in the Zen’in Clan, for that matter. The first person he’s genuinely cared about is you. And he supposes he tolerates Satoru, but that’s about it. As far as he’s concerned, everyone else is irrelevant. 

That being said, if there’s a chance to piss off the Zen’in Clan, he definitely won’t pass it up. 

��Fine,” Toji chuckles. “This should be fun. I’m sure they’ll throw a fit when they can’t find you. It’s a shame I won’t be able to see it happen, though.” 

Naoya’s face lights up. Defying his family has never really crossed his mind. Up until now, he didn’t have much of a reason to. He’s used to being praised, having his ego fueled endlessly. But ever since he met you, he’s starting to tire of it. It’s not really that fun anymore. Rather than being acknowledged by the Zen’in Clan, he wants to be acknowledged by you. 

He’s going to make sure you realize just how strong and cool he is. 

And so, for the first time in his life, Naoya sneaks out of the clan estate. Despite his boastful nature, he’s still just a little kid, and it kind of feels like an adventure, going to visit places he’s never seen before. He also gets to spend time with Toji this way, and even though Toji mostly ignores him, Naoya feels happier than ever. 

“...huh? What’s he doing here?” 

Naoya finally finds himself face to face with you again. Several months have passed since the first time you met. He’s embarrassed to admit that he’s been thinking of you practically every single day. It’s seriously not his fault, though! You’re just so… strange. If you weren’t this strange, he would surely have forgotten about you already. For better or worse, you left a big impression. You’re the reason he’s been thinking about things so differently than before. 

“Um, hi,” Naoya greets. For some reason, he feels rather shy all of a sudden. He even tries to hide behind Toji’s back, but the dark-haired man just scowls before pushing him aside. 

“You’re the kid who insulted [Name],” Satoru remarks coldly. 

“It’s okay,” you dismiss. “I’m used to being insulted. Plus, you insult me all the time, Satoru.” 

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that!”

Gojo Satoru is here again. Naoya is starting to realize that you and Satoru are very close friends. He seems to act awfully defensive whenever you’re involved. Naoya gets the feeling that Satoru already doesn’t like him very much. 

“Ignore him. Hi, Naoya,” you say, smiling brightly. “I wasn’t expecting you to join us today. Is it okay for you to be here? Your dad really doesn’t mind?” 

Your smile is reassuring, admittedly. Part of him was worried you’d get mad that he showed up out of nowhere, but clearly, that’s not the case. You don’t really seem like the type to get upset easily, now that he thinks about it. You didn’t even flinch when he insulted you before, and not only that, but you went out of your way to heal him, too.

Jujutsu sorcerers are a lot of things, but based on his experience, they’re usually not this nice. 

He likes it. 

“My dad doesn’t know I’m here,” Naoya says. “I snuck out.” 

“Uh-oh. You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?” 

You stare at him, visibly concerned, and Naoya has to bite down on his lip to hide how happy he is that you’re worried about him. 

“I’ll be okay,” he reassures. “I’m going to be the leader of the clan one day! They’re probably just wondering where I am, but they won’t get upset with me. I’m way too important.”

“Doubt it,” Satoru snorts. 

“I am! Just ask anyone!” 

“I don’t need to ask. It’s obvious just by looking at you.” 

Naoya’s face reddens, and he balls his hands into small, trembling fists. He may be Gojo Satoru, but that doesn’t give him the right to be so mean. He’s clearly arrogant and spoiled. All of the power and prestige has gone straight to his head. 

It’s unbelievably ironic that Zen’in Naoya, of all people, is having these thoughts, but at least he’s starting to recognize right from wrong. Baby steps.

“Satoru, don’t be rude,” you reprimand, and Naoya grins, delighted that you’re taking his side.

“Yeah, don’t be rude,” Naoya eagerly piles on. “You’re hurting my feelings.” 

Satoru narrows his eyes. Much like Naoya, he can also tell that this will be the start of a bitter, long-lived rivalry. Ugh. As if he didn’t already have enough to deal with. Now he has to worry about some annoying little kid (note: only one year younger than him) trying to steal his best friend. You’ll seriously be the death of him at this rate.  

Meanwhile, Toji finds himself wondering when the hell he became everyone’s goddamn babysitter.

“I’ve gotten stronger since you last saw me,” Naoya proudly states. “I’m getting better and better at using my cursed technique. What about you? Have you made progress with your training?” 

“I’m doing my best,” you beam. 

“Um. That doesn’t really answer my question.” 

“She did answer your question,” Toji frowns. “She said she’s doing her best.”

“Yeah, she’s doing her best, dammit,” Satoru glares. “What more do you want from her?” 

Naoya is starting to think that it might have been a mistake to get involved with his particular trio. 

“Since you’re here, it’d be a waste to train,” you say. “We can just hang out instead! I’m not sure when we’ll get to see each other again, after all. What do you like to do for fun, Naoya? Oh! But before that, let’s eat. I packed yummy lunches for everyone.” 

Satoru and Toji immediately scrunch up their noses in visible disgust. Naoya frowns, watching as you unpack the bento boxes you brought along. Even though nobody ever eats your food, you still foolishly hold out hope that one day, they’ll come around to your self-proclaimed culinary genius. 

“Unless you want to cross over to the other side, you’d be better off never eating a single thing she cooks,” Satoru says. 

“Shut up, Satoru! Don’t lie to him!” You angrily slam a bento box down in front of Naoya, then you open it up to reveal what honestly looks like really, really good food. 

“Why?” Naoya frowns. “What’s so bad about it?” 

“Appearances are deceiving. She makes the food look good, but the second you taste it, it’ll feel like your soul is being ripped from your body.” 

Toji nods in agreement. “He’s not exaggerating.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” you huff. “I make amazing food. Some people are just afraid to experiment. Some super lame, super boring people. Hint: their names are Satoru and Toji.” 

“Plus everyone else in the world with working taste buds,” Satoru muses. 

“Oh my god, shut up, Satoru!” 

You shoot Satoru another glare before shoving a big helping of the bento box’s contents into your mouth. It definitely doesn’t look like you’re forcing yourself to eat any of it. You happily chow down, and your frustration is quick to dissolve the more food you eat. You seem like you’re actually enjoying yourself. Really, how bad can it be?

“Wow, he’s actually going for it.”

“And we even warned him. What an idiot.” 

Naoya ignores the peanut gallery while he takes a small, tentative first bite. He’s positive they’re exaggerating. Nothing could possibly taste that horrible—

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. 

It’s worse than horrible. It’s downright atrocious. 

The food is so disgusting that he nearly ascends to the skies, but through sheer force of will, he somehow remains tethered to reality. He needs to spit it out. His entire body is practically screaming at him to get rid of the unwelcome intrusion.  

But then he locks eyes with you, as you stare at him, gaze wide, bright, and hopeful.

Defying all odds, Naoya swallows what’s in his mouth, takes a moment to compose himself, then strains a smile.

“I-It’s really not that bad,” he replies weakly. “It’s actually… pretty good.”

“What?!” 

Satoru and Toji are the ones that just cried out. They’re convinced they must have heard wrong, but Naoya doesn’t pay them any mind. He’s much more focused on your expression.

And right now, you look like you’re happy enough to burst into tears.

“Wow, really? Yay! Finally, I’ve found someone who recognizes my talent!” you gush, shaking your fists in a fit of excitement. “I told you guys my cooking was good! You just didn’t know any better. Naoya is smarter than both of you, clearly.” 

You grin ear-to-ear, and without warning, you pull him into your arms and give him a big hug. Naoya immediately freezes, turning red from head to toe. His heart is beating so fast that he can hear it echoing in his eardrums, and even though Satoru cries out in protest, Naoya is too stunned to react. 

If he eats more of your food, does that mean you’ll keep hugging him like this? Because if that’s the case…

It’s worth it. 

Later that day, Naoya returns to his clan estate, and as much as Satoru would like to claim otherwise, he is important. At least, important enough for people to make a fuss over his disappearance. 

“Where in the world did you go, Naoya? You should know better than to leave without telling anyone.” 

His older brothers are all frowning at him, clearly expressing their disapproval. It’s not so much concern, but more so judgment. After all, despite being many years older than him, he’s the one who’s been chosen as the future clan leader. They must think he’s not taking it seriously, and that he ran off to play hooky or something. 

…which he kind of did, to be fair. 

Naoya considers lying, but he quickly discards the thought. If he gets caught in a lie, people will probably just get even more upset. It’s best to be as transparent as possible. Besides, he doesn’t want this to be the last time. He would like to keep seeing you. He would like that very much. 

“I met up with that girl that visited a while ago, [Name],” Naoya states. 

They all look shocked. He’s not quite sure what they were expecting, but it obviously wasn’t that. You may not be a Gojo by blood, but you’re affiliated with the clan nevertheless. The Zen’in Clan and Gojo Clan are forever at odds with one another. He basically just admitted to fraternizing with the enemy. But it’s not his fault the enemy is so freaking cute. 

“Did you hear that, father?” one of his older brothers frowns, turning towards Naobito, who’s drinking as per usual—from his trademark gourd, this time. 

“Which girl?” Naobito asks with obvious disinterest. 

“The one that you invited before. She showed up along with Gojo Satoru. You know, the same girl that Toji’s been training.” 

“Oh, right.” Naobito takes another swig from his gourd. “I’d completely forgotten about her. She’s the one with the Binding Vow. She had to gamble with her own life, and even then, she’s still a weakling.” 

Naoya’s brow twitches. His father is kind of getting on his nerves right now. Why won’t he admit that you’re actually a lot stronger than you appear at first glance? Hardly anyone knows how to use reverse cursed technique. The same goes for Toji. He’s so strong, and yet, everyone refuses to acknowledge him. It just doesn’t make any sense. 

Maybe the Zen’in Clan is run by a bunch of fools, after all. 

“So? Did you have fun on your little trip?” Naobito asks, visibly amused. He clearly couldn’t care any less about you. He’s not taking you seriously. It’s infuriating. 

“Yes,” Naoya replies, a glare settling upon his features. “She’s nice. I like her. I want to see her all the time from now on.” 

“Haha! How amusing.” 

“I’m not kidding, and I don’t care what you say. Whether you give me permission or not, I’m going to keep visiting her.” 

“Hm. I didn’t think you’d develop a rebellious streak so soon, but whatever,” Naobito merely shrugs. “As long as you don’t slack off on your training, how you choose to spend your time has nothing to do with me. Become strong. Nothing else matters.” 

Naoya nods enthusiastically, and his older brothers silently seethe, appalled that he can get away with virtually anything he wants. Despite being the clan leader, Naobito has always been especially laidback. Plus, he’s convinced that Naoya will lose interest soon enough. He’s only a little kid. Kids have short attention spans, and they always find something new to gush about. It’s really only a matter of time. 

Of course, even though Naobito doesn’t realize it, he’s dead wrong. 

Naoya’s fixation on you doesn’t falter, not even a little bit. He remains diligent with his training, not only so that he can become stronger, but so that he doesn’t lose the right to keep seeing you. He always thought that the greatest joy in his life was being able to demonstrate his strength and brag to everyone else, but lately, he seems to care less and less about what others think of him. He finds himself only caring about the people that matter, like you. 

“[Name], look! Look how fast I am!” 

He activates his cursed technique, and you watch as he seemingly disappears from one spot and reappears in another. It’s not actually that he disappeared. He just moved incredibly fast. It’s a technique he inherited from his father, and even though he’s only seven years old, he’s already highly proficient with it. 

“Wow,” you beam, making sure to clap your hands. “That was so cool! You’re super-duper fast, Naoya. My eyes could barely keep up with you.” 

He proudly puffs out his chest, readily basking in your praise. There’s just something about hearing the words come from your mouth that make them sound all the more meaningful. He’ll never get tired of it. It’s his favorite thing in the whole world. 

“Aren’t you curious how my cursed technique works?” Naoya asks with a smug smile. “It’s pretty complicated, but I’ll let you guess.” 

“Hm, I’m not sure. Is it something to do with frames? Within a one-second interval? Like, it lets you move really fast during that time. Maybe, like… twenty-four frames? Or something close to that.” 

Noaya’s jaw drops open, and you have to bite back the urge to giggle right in his face. It’s fun to tease him. Obviously, you already know what his cursed technique is. When it comes to this world, you know more than anyone could ever imagine.

“Th-That’s right,” Naoya blinks, absolutely dumbfounded. “How did you know? It’s the same technique my dad has, but… I definitely never told you that.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I guess it just seemed obvious.” 

“Whoa. You really are smart! You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met!” 

Naoya marvels at your sheer awesomeness (you really can’t blame him), and meanwhile, Satoru furrows his brows at the sight, becoming progressively more annoyed. 

“Hey, [Name],” he suddenly says. “Watch this.” 

You turn your head, and before you can even say anything, Satoru disappears from your line of sight. Again, he didn’t actually disappear, but he’s moving so fast that it makes it look that way. Unlike Naoya, however, he proceeds to zip around to even further distances, and repeatedly, without so much as breaking a sweat. 

By the time he’s done, Naoya is green with envy, and there are even small tears in his eyes. 

“There,” Satoru chuckles, sticking his nose up towards the sky, gleefully arrogant. “I’m definitely way faster than you, Naoya. It’s not even a contest. I bet it sucks to lose. It sucks, right? Tell me all about how sucky it is.” 

Naoya deflates, suddenly awash with shame. It’s not fair. He’s Gojo Satoru. Blessed from the moment of birth. Known by jujutsu sorcerers far and wide. How is he supposed to compete with that? Even though he’s strong—he really, really is—Satoru constantly makes him feel small and insignificant. Like an ant. 

Naoya sniffles, doing his very best to keep from crying, but before the tears can fall, you cup his cheek with your hand and smile. 

“Don’t be sad,” you mumble gently. “You did really well. I was super impressed. Satoru likes to brag, but just ignore him. I can tell you’re getting stronger each day. You’ll be an amazing jujutsu sorcerer. It’s obvious.” 

And there it is. With just a few, simple words of encouragement from you, all of a sudden, he’s happy as can be. It’s not just that you can heal injuries. Day after day, you’re healing his heart, too. 

Naoya doesn’t waste a second before hugging you back. He squeezes you tight, happily nestling his head in the crook of your shoulder, and he makes sure to turn towards Satoru as he does, grinning cheekily—because he just knows it drives Satoru absolutely insane. 

“I love you, [Name],” Naoya confesses, face flushed and heart pounding. “I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you. When we grow up… let’s get married. Alright?”

You blink, very much caught off guard. It’s true that thanks to your influence, Naoya has been changing for the better, but it’s still a little hard to believe. To think that a formerly misogynistic bastard could actually be this cute. You’re really out here making miracles happen. 

Well, not in Satoru’s eyes, though. To him, this is the very opposite of a miracle. In fact, it’s practically a nightmare.

“What the hell did you just say?!” 

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

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[nerosukehiro]

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

Levi Ackerman x Female Reader

(Smut)

A/N… all I can say is I’m on my period rn, and I’m going fucking feral for this man.

(Not proof read)

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Everyday was always the same routine. Eat, train, eat again, train more, eat again then go to bed. Life as a soldier wasn’t so bad. I mean you get a bed, 3 meals a day, form friendships with amazing people and if you’re really lucky you’d get to be Captain Levi’s fuck buddy.

As first it was an accident. We had lost so many people during the mission and I just happened to be there for Levi in that moment. He was frustrated and needed some relief, so I offered a helping hand.

What I didn’t think was that meant he would push me on his desk and rearrange my insides. Instead of my hand it was my pussy, not that I mind though.

The captain may be on the short side but this dude literally has a fucking third leg hidden. Lucky for me I’m shorter so I have to constantly look up to him. Anytime I do he smirks at me which just makes the butterflies in my stomach do dances.

It has been a few months since my first sexual encounter with Humanities Strongest. I assumed it was a one time thing and never again, however, Levi had other plans.

So for the last 4 months we had been screwing around together. It’s a secret neither of us tell other people.

“Cadet Y/N, will you meet me in my office in 10 minutes.” Levi not really asking but commanded. As I was finishing cleaning I looked at him for a second then my eyes shot to Sasha. I quickly looked back at the Captain and he shot me a quick wink and a small smirk.

“Uh yes sir!” I saluted and he walked off making me feel a bit nervous.

“Should I go ahead and plan for your funeral?” Sasha asked me causing me to laugh but also still have fear.

Is he wanting to call it off, did I do something that upset him? Surely not since he winked and smirked at me. But we always wait until everyone is asleep, wonder why he’s wanting to see me now?

“Hey you better get going, wouldn’t want scary man to get mad would we?” Sasha says this making me laugh. She so good, I love her so much.

“Okay, I’ll come find you when I’m done with him.” She nodded and smiled.

“Bye bestie!”

__________________________________________________

Before I could knock on the door, it opened and a hand grabbed my wrist pulling me inside with my body getting pushed up against the wall.

“God I fucking missed you.” Levi grips my face and smashes his lips against mine. “But I thought we agreed to wait until everyone was asleep?” My heart is literally pounding out of my chest.

“About that, I want to change our terms. Come sit with me.” He started walking me toward the couch that was in his office. Before I could sit down he gripped my hips and made sure I sat on his lap.

He looked in my eyes and smiled. This caused me to gasp, I have never seen this man actually smile before.

“Are you okay? You’re acting different.” He started laughing. I tried to get up from his lap but his arms wrapped around my waist pulling me even closer to him making my ass sit right on top of his crotch.

“I’m tired of hiding our relationship, I want everyone to know that you belong to me. I can’t keep watching these pubescent boys stare at what’s mine.”

Is he serious?

“Levi, I thought you said relationships were a waste of time. That was the first thing you said before you fucked me the first time and now you’re jealous of other people looking my way. Why do you care?”

He picked me up bridal style and carried me to his bedroom, gently putting me down on the bed he stayed on his knees at the end. He let out a sigh and looked up at me.

“Because… I- fuck this harder than I thought. I want you. Not just for one night, I want you all the time. I want to wake up to you in the morning or in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. I wanna be able to hold you, kiss you, fuck you whenever I want. I wanna one day marry you and have kids with you if that’s something you’d want. These last 4 months have been the best of my life. Please let me make you mine.”

To say I was at a loss for words was an understatement. So he does feel the same way I do, after all this time? I could tell that he nervous, he was staring into my eyes waiting for me to say something back.

“If you don’t-“ I stopped him from finishing his sentence by giving him a big kiss. “I’ve been waiting to hear this. All I want it you Levi.”

__________________________________________________

“Fuck that’s a good girl, taking my cock so well baby.” Levi praises me. We’ve been going at it for a few hours now. Pretty sure it’s night time since it’s pitch black outside.

“L-Levi I- fuck I’m gonna cum!” This is probably the 8th time I’ve said that sentence. He was deep inside of me, his tip literally kissing my cervix. He was giving me everything and I was loving every second of it.

After we confessed our feelings his face went straight to my pussy making me cum on his tongue 4 times. This man is a hater for dirtiness but loved to make a mess out of me. In fact he took pride in making me squirt with just his tongue alone.

“So deep! So fucking deep baby!”

My throat was so sore from all of the moaning I had been doing. He loved hearing it. It let him know how he was making me feel which was pure pleasure.

“I wanna hear you say who’s owns this pussy.” He demanded and if I wasn’t so cock drunk I would have done as he asked but no. He just has to have a big cock and knows how to use it. He has my eyes crossing, my tongue sticking out. The sound of skin slapping against each other. His heavy balls smacking against my ass and the noises my pussy was making was lewd. Anyone who could walk by Levi’s quarters would be an idiot if they couldn’t figure out what was going on.

As he got tired of waiting, he wrapped his hand around my neck and started to squeeze. “Fu-ck! Yours! MY PUSSY IS YOURS! PLEASE LEVI I NEED TO COME SO SO BAD!!!”

I literally fucking screamed. The way he was hitting spots only he has ever been managed to reach on top of rubbing my clit has me seeing stars. As he kept going I could feeling myself getting ready to squirt again.

Of course I warn him whenever so he has time to stop and not cause a mess to happen. But for some reason Levi did not give a fuck.

“Squirt on this dick baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up so good.” I’ve lost it. Whenever he calls himself that it always makes my pussy 10xs more wet than usual. He knows this, we’ve fucked countless times so of course he does. Drenched his thighs, my bottom half, pretty sure it’s all over his bed too. But yet again he does not fucking care.

“I’m gonna fucking cum in this tight little pussy, maybe get you pregnant, put a ring on the finger and then everyone will know who you belong to. I bet you’d like that huh? Me making you a mommy? Fuck just saying that and your pussy clenched around me.”

The only thing I could say was “Please Daddy! Make me a mommy. I want your cum so bad. Wanna. Feel. Full.”

And just like that he lost it painting my insides white with thick ropes of cum. He smiled at me and gave me a big kiss on the lips before pulling out and getting up to get something to clean me off with.

“So… trying to get me pregnant?” I said as Levi finished cleaning himself and I up. He looked at me and chuckled. “And gonna put a ring on your finger, just you wait. Soon you’ll be Mrs. Y/N Ackerman.”

I gripped his jaw and gave him an another big kiss before saying.

“One step at a time.”

[pseudosnuffed]

[ahalliance]

i think the qsmp is very impressive for speedrunning the same love-hate relationship i have with the dsmp in under a year as opposed to the three it took for the other one

[instinctsxbad]

*scratching at the walls thinking about how no one has adapted Peter’s college arcs in a consistent and satisfying way.*

[faerygardenparty]

I think people who don’t like shipping take shipping a little bit too seriously sometimes like “stop forcing everyone into a romantic relationship!!” they’re not real, they’re fictional characters, they are essentially dolls that I am playing pretend with in my brain and sometimes I like to imagine smushing their faces together and making them kiss, chill out

[liyazaki]

.

[mayze2]

So called free thinkers (me) when the movie doesn’t show its characters reaching their happy endings onscreen:

[priestfrommidnightmass]

ok it’s a little funny that i’ve been contemplating writing a semi autobiographical screenplay and i keep having to stop because i keep realizing that the main character is actually too unlikeable.

[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.

[nathsolkyoako]

Hey people know that the internet is a “curate your own experience” thing and not a “everyone should not make things that upset me because I might get upset and it’s easier if people just didn’t make things at all than for me to read the word ‘sex’ “ right we know that right

We know that sanitizing things because you can’t fix your own experience hurts more people than you right you know that

You know that censorship is bad right guys right

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

rationally, pursuing a diagnosis is the way to go because it’s been over three years and i cannot keep living like this. however, it scares the shit out of me and everything i see about what they could potentially decide for treatment makes me start to panic

[pedroscurls]

runaway bride (one-shot)

summary: on the day of your wedding, you find out that your maid of honor and husband-to-be has been hooking up behind your back... and you run directly into the arms of a stranger to help you cope with the sudden betrayal. pairing: old man!logan x fem!reader content warnings: smut (18+, mdni), oral - f receiving, dirty talk, manhandling, light choking, unprotected p in v sex (be safe folks!), doggy style, cowgirl, public sex in his limo, creampie but logan just keeps going, mentions of cheating (but not from logan), toxic relationship / friendship, implied age gap (but no mention of how old reader is), no use of y/n. word count: 3.6k a/n: ok, this is complete filth. i'm not even sure how this story came about or how it even came to mind, but here it is... i wanted to write old man logan so badly so what better way to do that is to write a smutty one-shot???

“Are you fucking serious?!” you exclaim, having opened the door to see your fiancé and your maid of honor in a heated kiss, hands exploring each other’s bodies. They both pull away from each other abruptly, eyes widening as the sudden realization of getting caught now settling in.

“Baby, it’s not–”

“Fucking save it.” You remove your engagement ring and toss it in his general direction, tears trickling the corners of your eyes. 

Your best friend tries to step forward, but you raise your hand in the air and glare at her. “Don’t fucking get near me or I will lay you on your ass.”

“I’m sorry–” your fiancé begins to say.

“We’re done.” you interrupt, anger fuming in your veins. “You can go out there and tell everyone that the wedding’s canceled because fuck you,” you tell him and then point to your maid of honor, your best friend of over fifteen years. “And fuck you.” 

You don’t even bother to hear their protests, already having turned on your heel and left the building without telling anyone. You see two limos parked out front, knowing that one belonged to your bridal party and the other belonging to your fiancé and his groomsmen. You don’t have time to think which one was the limo you rode in, already wanting to leave far, far away from here. 

Pulling open the door, you slide inside and then finally allow yourself to let the tears fall. You bury your face in your hands, your breaths coming in pants. 

“Just– Just take me anywhere else but here,” you tell the driver, looking up and expecting to see the same driver from this morning. When you realize it’s someone else entirely, you bite your lower lip and shake your head. Of fucking course you chose the limo that your fiancé had been in.

“A bit early to be leaving your own wedding, isn’t it?” he says, looking at you from the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, well, the wedding is off. Can you just take me away from here?” 

Logan clears his throat. It doesn’t take a genius to know what might have happened, but he also knows that you’re not the one who he’s meant to drive and he’s certainly aware that you aren’t the one who’s going to be paying him either. 

“Listen, darlin’, I’m supposed to be driving the groom and–”

“Well, he can go fuck himself. Can you please just drive?”

“Last I checked, he’s paying me and you ain’t.”

“Oh, he’s gonna still pay you. Now, drive.” you tell him, holding his gaze. “Please.”

Logan stares at you. He isn’t sure what exactly happened, but based on the conversations he heard the groom and groomsmen having earlier that morning, he has some idea that it had to do with the groom cheating on you. He just lets out a grunt and then starts the engine, pulling away from the curb and driving away from the venue.

He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go or where you want to go, so he just drives. Logan continuously looks at you from the rearview mirror, now fully taking in your features. Logan wasn’t a man who ever cheated on a woman he was with; he’s always been so loyal, especially to the ones he cares about the most. He never understood why men (and women) cheat, why they just couldn’t end the relationship if they were no longer happy. 

He hears you sniffling from the backseat and Logan slowly comes to a stop at a red light. He turns his head to look at you from over his shoulder. “Bub, you gotta tell me where you wanna go or else I’m just gonna keep charging him.”

“Good. Let’s take a trip to fucking Mexico and make him pay for it,” you say through gritted teeth. 

Logan lets out an amused chuckle and then presses lightly on the gas once the light turns green. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel as he uses his free hand to enter Mexico on his phone and–

“Wait, I wasn’t serious.”

“No? Then, where do you wanna go, darlin’?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Anywhere but here.” you mumble to yourself.

Logan nods to himself and then sets his focus on the road ahead of him. He doesn’t know where to go, but he does find that he doesn’t want this ride to end. Even in the silence, he finds your presence soothing, comforting. He knows you’re having a shitty day – after all, you probably had woken up this morning expecting to be married by the end of today. 

He does keep stealing glances at you, finding you completely captivating. Even when your eyes meet his from the rearview mirror, Logan feels like he had been caught staring and a blush slowly blooms across the side of his neck. He’s too old to be feeling like this, like some kind of a teenager with a crush on the most beautiful girl who’s out of his league.

“How about some food?” Logan asks after driving for about twenty minutes. “Are you hungry?” 

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Wanna go to a bar? Drink your problems away?”

“No.”

Logan tightens his jaw and then pulls into a gas station, putting the car in park as he turns around to look at you. You bite your lower lip, getting a good view of just how handsome your driver is. He’s definitely older than you, gray in his beard and hair, crow’s feet at his eyes, but you can’t help the attraction you feel towards him. Suddenly, you’re well aware that you’re staring too long at him because when you finally meet his eyes, he’s smirking. 

“Why’d we stop?” you ask.

“Gotta fill up, especially if I don’t know how long I’ll be driving you around,” Logan replies. “You want anything from inside?” 

Just as the question leaves his lips, you climb out from the backseat and walk inside. Logan sighs and steps out of the limo as he follows you into the small store. He towers over you and he can’t help but get a good look at the dress you’re wearing. You look so angelic, so beautiful and serene – how could anyone think that there’s better than you? 

“Get whatever you want,” Logan calls out and you suddenly turn around to look up at him. He watches your lower lip pull itself between your teeth, sees your eyes take in his frame from top to bottom, and suddenly, he feels very shy under your gaze. Logan clears his throat, eyes narrowing. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you say, tilting your head up at him. “Just didn’t think… Well, not all limo drivers look like you.” 

“Not all limo drivers are like me either,” he mutters to himself. “Right. I’ll be up at the front. Just meet me there once you’re ready.” Then, Logan turns on his heel and slowly limps his way to the front, only glancing over his shoulder to briefly look at you. Your back’s already turned as you reach for a few items in the freezer section. 

After a few minutes, you meet Logan at the front of the store and drop two bottles of water and a cherry-flavored popsicle. Logan eyes you suspiciously, but you keep your eyes trained on your feet. He has to wonder if your mind is drifting to your fiancé. Once Logan pays the cashier, he motions for you to walk ahead of him with a slight nod and then he follows you outside. Logan quickly limps to the door and opens it for you, staring down at you. 

“Here,” you tell him, handing him one of the bottle of waters. 

Logan arches a brow. “Thanks,” he mumbles, the close proximity almost making him weak in the knees. His eyes deviate to your cleavage, clearing his throat when his mind begins to drift. All Logan can think about is seeing you come undone underneath him, trembling and moaning because of him. He has to take a step back, has to create some distance between your bodies. 

You then remove the wrapping of the popsicle and then wrap your lips around it, the deep red popsicle now coloring your lips. You keep your eyes locked on his and smile mischievously before you climb back inside. Logan shuts the door once you’re inside, the image of your lips around the popsicle giving him a clear image of your lips wrapping around his–

He hears the window roll itself down and Logan quickly walks around to the other side to fill up the tank, not bothering to look into the backseat as he feels the center of his black pants begin to tighten with each passing second. 

Logan hasn’t been intimate in a very long time, his main concern being Charles and his own health, but you… Well, you’re stirring something in Logan that he thought lay dormant. He craves you and he knows that you’re also very vulnerable, having just ran away from your own wedding after finding out your fiancé was cheating on you. Logan doesn’t want to take advantage of you, despite sensing that you might want him too. 

Once the tank is filled up, Logan then walks back to the driver’s seat and climbs in, starting the car. He looks at you from the rearview mirror, still sucking on the fucking popsicle with a dark gaze in your eyes. 

“Where to?” he says, not realizing how quiet his voice comes out.

“Anywhere.”

“Making it real difficult for me, bub.”

You pull the popsicle away from your mouth a quiet pop! and then lets a small smile line your lips, deeply red from your cherry-flavored popsicle. Logan’s hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white and his claws threatening to come out as a result. 

“Fine. How about your place?” 

Logan lets out a quiet cough, not thinking that you’d be so forward and straight to the point. He shakes his head and then looks over at you from over his shoulder. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, darlin’. You’re only going to regret it and–”

“Listen, I just found out my fiancé and maid of honor were screwing around behind my back. The only regret I have right now is saying yes to marry that man and being friends with that woman. I don’t think I’m going to regret fucking you, though.”

Logan isn’t used to women saying what they want as bluntly as you do and it excites him. He doesn’t answer, just begins driving away from the gas station. He’s so hard beneath his pants, glancing over at you and seeing your eyes locked completely on his. He pulls up into an abandoned parking lot and parks the car, thankful that the windows on his limo are tinted. Logan climbs out from the driver’s seat and then opens the door to the backseat, gently reaching out to take the popsicle from your hands and tossing it over his shoulder. 

“Let’s have you suck something else, huh, darlin’?” 

You grin and then gently tug on the lapel of his jacket, pulling him inside with you as you shut the door behind him. You’re glad that the backseat of his limo is actually rather spacious because now that he’s hovering above you, he seems so much bigger than you, so much more broad. Your hands immediately move across his chest, feeling the chiseled muscles underneath your fingertips.

“I don’t normally do this,” Logan groans, feeling your lips move along the side of his neck, teeth grazing his skin.

“And what’s that? Fuck your passengers?” 

He growls lowly, moving his strong hands to your hips and pressing himself firmly against your lower half as he settles himself between your legs. “You always got a mouth on you?” 

You smirk and pull the ends of your dress higher up your legs until you bunch it at your hips, your white lace panties in full view for him. “Only when I want something.”

“Yeah, and what do you want?” Logan asks, hands moving to play with the waistband of your panties. 

“A distraction,” you grip the lapels of his jacket and bring him down to press your lips against his. He growls against your lips and tugs down your panties, hand moving quickly to your folds and running the length of his finger across your wet heat. 

Logan slides two fingers into you, not giving you time to get used to his thick digits. You let out a quiet gasp, pulling away from his lips to toss your head back at the intrusion. Logan moves you to sit back against the seat as he lies on his abdomen, lowering himself until his head settles between your legs. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him between your legs, your fiancé having never done this for you. When you feel his mouth latch onto your clit, his tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves repeatedly as his fingers thrust in and out you, you have to let out a loud moan. Your hands move to his hair, gripping it tightly as your arousal drips onto the leather seat. 

Logan pulls his fingers out of you and laps at your juices. He stares up at you, watching as you toss your head back in ecstasy, your mouth agape as continuous moans escape your lips, and he can feel your walls begin to tremble, begin to tighten around his tongue. Logan knows his joints and muscles are going to ache after this, but he knows it’s going to be worth it. Knows that he’s going to want to do this again with you. 

With his free hand, Logan undoes the buckle on his belt, followed by undoing the zipper and button on his pants. He pushes his slacks and boxers down his legs to relieve the pressure against his manhood. He pulls back to look up at you, his chin and beard dripping wet from your slickness. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he growls. 

“About fucking time.” 

Logan narrows his eyes and moves up your body, hand coming up to rest on your throat. He leans down and gently nips at your jawline until his forehead rests against yours, eyes staring deeply into your own. 

“You like this, don’t you, bub?” Logan whispers huskily, the grip around your throat tightening to add a bit of pressure. You gasp, eyes staring up at him as you feel the tip of his length brush against you repeatedly. The grip around your throat only makes you wetter and you lift your hips impatiently, chasing his hardened length to slide down onto him.

“So impatient,” he grins. Logan releases his grip around your throat and then grabs your hips, turning you over onto your stomach. He grabs you roughly, pulling you back into him as he grips the fabric of your dress. He pulls you to prop yourself on your hands on knees as he kneels behind you, gripping the base of his manhood as he rubs his tip along the length of your sex. 

“Please!” you say impatiently, trying to push back against him. 

Logan smirks and then pushes himself into your tight heat, not wasting any time in filling you to the hilt. He groans at your wetness, at the warmthness of your walls, the tight hold it has around his girth. He pulls back to his tip, only to slam back into you. Logan was telling the truth that he’s never done this before. Driving had only been a way for him to get extra cash, to keep his mind busy, and he certainly didn’t have time for this, but now he can’t even imagine parting ways with you after this. 

His thrusts continue, your walls sliding along his manhood and milking him with every movement. Logan moves to rest his chest firmly against your back, his lips hovering near your ear as you moan continuously with each thrust he delivers. 

“This what you wanted, huh, bub?” Logan growls, gently nipping at you earlobe. “Wanted me to fuck you like this?” He thrusts roughly into you, his skin slapping against yours. 

“Y–Yes!” you exclaim, slowly pushing your own hips back into his. Logan groans, leaning away from you and briefly pausing his movements to watch you move along him. He grunts to himself, lightly slapping your backside as he watches you push back against him. 

Logan watches himself disappear within your depths, only to reappear when you pull back, his entire length glistening with your arousal. He groans to himself and gently pulls out of you. You’re about to protest when he sits against the backseat and grabs you by the hips, placing you to sit on his lap. He grips your dress and rips it in half, causing a loud gasp of surprise to leave your lips. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Fuck the dress,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pay for it anyway.” 

Logan smirks and then feels you lower yourself down onto him, groaning at your tight walls wrapping itself once more around him. He reaches around and undoes your white lace bra, watching it fall from your body as you now sit firmly on his lap, completely naked and exposed for him. 

“Fuck me,” he grunts, watching your breasts bounce with your movements. He feels your hands begin to undo the buttons on his white button down shirt, removing it from his body. Today, he opted to forgo his usual white tank top, so when you lean in to press your chest against his, he can’t help but groan at the sensation of your erect nipples pressing firmly against him.

Logan feels your walls begin to tremble with each movement and he leans in to press his lips against yours, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. With one hand, he moves to grip your throat lightly, sliding his tongue past your lips when you let out a loud moan. He stares up at you, thrusting his hips upwards when your body begins to shake and the grip around your throat only tightens a smidge to cause pressure. 

Your eyes shut tightly and you reach down to grip his shoulders, slamming yourself firmly onto his lap as he feels you to the hilt. Logan doesn’t falter his movements though, chasing his own release. It comes out of nowhere there, hand dropping from the grip around your throat to grab his base, thrusting upwards once, twice, before he pulls out to see his release trickle out of you. 

You’re breathing heavily and you’re looking at him with a small smile and hooded eyes. When he looks down between your legs, his come continuing to trickle down your leg, it only ignites a fire inside of him and he suddenly feels hard again. 

“One more, bub,” Logan growls. “One more.” He thrusts his tip inside of you, grunting lowly before he slides back into you, hands gripping the meat of flesh on your thighs as he feels the stickiness of your arousal mixed in with his come against the base of his lower half. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging them down his arms as your walls are already overly sensitive. Logan doesn’t falter, but his thrusts do become more erratic. “Oh god,” you whimper, trying to pull yourself away from him, but Logan holds you firm on his lap, making you take his assault on you. 

You wanted a distraction and you were certainly getting it. 

Logan leans up and gently nips at your jawline as he plants his feet on the floor of his limo, driving his hips further upwards. He does this a few more times before he holds you against him, releasing into you a second time as he paints your walls with his thick spend. He’s breathing heavily, forehead resting against your chest as his hands on your thighs move to rest on your hips. 

“I uh, fuck,” he mumbles. “I should have asked first and–”

“Stop,” you interrupt. “I like that I can still feel you inside of me,” you smile, feeling him slowly pull out. Even though you miss his girth, his release remains and fills you up. You reach down to wipe the trickle of his come off your inner leg and capture it on the pads of your fingertips. You stare into his eyes and then bring your fingers to your lips, wrapping your lips around it and sucking his release off of it. “Mmm, yum.”

Logan growls, feeling his length stir awake once more. “That want you wanted?” he asks again. “A distraction?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But I think I’m gonna want more distractions from you.”

Logan smirks. “That so, bub?”

“Oh yeah, I need someone to help me through this breakup,” you say honestly. “As long as that’s okay with you…”

Logan nods and then looks down at your exposed front, hand coming up to slowly knead your breast into the pit of his palm. “Yeah, baby. That’s more than okay with me.”

You grin excitedly, letting out a quiet whimper. “So… Your place then?”

“My place,” he confirms. “But how about you ride up front with me?” 

“Yes, please. I do want a taste of you,” you bite your lower lip, hand moving to gently run your fingertip along the length of his manhood. “And I want to do it while you’re driving.”

Logan groans. “Oh, you’re fucking naughty, aren’t you?” 

You nod shyly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’ve been suppressed,” you admit. “My sex life has been… boring, to say the least.” 

“Blessing in disguise,” Logan points out. “Thank god you’re not getting married to a man who doesn’t take care of your needs.” He leans in and then pecks your lips. “Don’t worry, though, bub. I’m happy to take care of you until then.” 

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[pomegranatesarchive]

stupid appendix | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary; oscar piastri biggest fan (his girlfriend) goes crazy when he wins his first grand prix, and she isn’t there to see it.

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 761,305 others!

yourusername: it’s race week again, except i’m praying oscar doesn’t win because i’m getting my appendix taken out and if he wins, and im not there, i will go fucking ballistic. 

view comments below!

oscarpiastri: wow, thanks for all the support! 🥰

yourusername: i love you with my whole heart octopus, but if you win and im not there? i will never forgive you.

oscarpiastri: and what am i supposed to do if i start leading?

yourusername: stop, and let everyone pass you!

oscarpiastri: so i won’t be doing that! lovely conversation 👊

yourusername: YOU NEVER LOVED ME

user1: why’d she just call oscar octopus?

yourusername; that’s his name?

user1: no..his name is oscar?

yourusername; he was born octopus jack piastri, but got bullied a lot, so he changed his name to oscar when he was 16 😓

user1: really?

yourusername: yeah, and i would know!

user1: ig…LOL who names their kid octopus?

yourusername: RIGHT??

oscarpiastri: STOP TELLING PEOPLE I CHANGED MY NAME. MY NAME WAS NOT OCTOPUS.

user1: oh…well now i’m embarrassed

user2: don’t be, she’s done this to at least 30 fans now

maxverstappen1: don’t worry, i’ll make sure he doesn’t win 😏

yourusername: thank you max! you’re my only REAL friend <3

landonorris: excuse me?

yourusername; tell me lando, would you throw oscar into the grandstands to prevent him from winning this race?

landonorris: no?

yourusername: FAKE

landonorris: okay, you know what, it’s not MY fault that you decided to take your appendix out THAT DAY.

yourusername: I DIDNT DECIDE IT. IT WAS FORCED UPON ME.

landonorris: RESCHEDULE THE SURGERY FOR THE NEXT DAY! 

yourusername: wait.

oscarpiastri: NO. you will be having that surgery on sunday. and you will not being rescheduling.

yourusername: I HATE YOU OCTOPUS

oscarpiastri: you can hate me all you want, you’re still getting that surgery.

user3: on one hand i want oscar to win, on the other i dont think yn will recover if she isn’t there to witness it

charles_leclerc: i would try to stop him from winning but i don’t think i have a fast enough car for that

yourusername: it’s okay charles! i’m sure ferrari will bounce back in no time :)

charles_lelcerc: really?

yourusername; no…

charles_leclerc: nice talk! :(

user4: when you want to comfort your friend but you can’t lie for shit

user5: normally i pray that oscar will win a race, but today, ill do the opposite, just for you yn 💕

yourusername: thank you!!

user6: she is dead serious. she honestly doesn’t want oscar to win.

yourusername: i’ve never been so serious in my LIFE.

user7: no i get it, imagine going to every single on of your bfs races and the ONE time you don’t go he wins???

user8: i’d start to believe i’m back luck

carlossainz55: imagine having to get your appendix out 🤣🫵

yourusername: right? that’s so embarrassing 🤣

user9: you two are the LAST people too be talking

user10: oscar piastri does NOT win the hungary gp 🕯️ oscar piastri does NOT win the hungary gp 🕯️oscar piastri does NOT win the hungary gp 🕯️oscar piastri does NOT win the hungary 🕯️

user11: AMEN

user12: LOUDER

user13: preach!

oscarpiastri: @/yourusername, you see what you’ve done?

yourusername: beautiful work guys! oscar piastri does NOT win the hungary gp 🕯️

oscarpiastri: 😐

— race day!

— post race interview!

. . .

liked by mclaren, lewishamilton, landonorris, and 719,014 others!

oscarpiastri: first grand prix win. incredible 🧡

view comments below!

carlossainz55: congrats oscar 👍

estebanocon: great job mate, first of many 👏

user14: oh i’m crying

user15: omg i am too, the tears just won’t stop

user16: first it was him winning, then it was him apologizing for winning, and now it’s yn not being there for him 💔

landonorris: congrats bro!

user17: OH OSCAR PIASTRI, OH OSCAR PIASTRI, OH OSCAR PIASTRI

user18: waiting for yn to wake up and raise hell

user19: she’s going to wake up from anesthesia and this is going to be the first thing she sees 

yourusername: what was the one thing i asked you not to do?

oscarpiastri: baby you just woke up, stop making your mom write for you, and rest

yourusername: ONE THING OSCAR. I ASKED FOR ONE THING.

oscarpiastri: stop making your mom write for you, she probably feels very uncomfortable right now

yourusername: i do - the mom

yorusername: STOP CHANGING THE SUBJECT OSCAR JACK PIASTRI. YOU ARE SOOO NOT INVITES TO MY OSCAR FIRST WIN PARTY

user20: i know that anesthesia is hitting real hard 

user21: i want to go to oscar’s first win party

yourusername: @/maxverstappen1 AND YOU. I TOLD YOU NOT TO LET HIM WIN

maxverstappen1: i’m sorry yn. i have failed you.

yourusername: …its okay max, you’ll get him next time

maxverstappen1: thank you yn ❤️

oscarpiastri: WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON??

yourusername: NOT YOURS.

yourusername: stupid appendix.

carlossainz55: me and my homies all hate our appendix’s

user22: you don’t have one?

carlossainz55: 😐

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, 691,047 others!

yourusername: absolutely gutted to have not been there for his first win, nonetheless OCTOPUS JACK PIASTRI IS A FUCKING RACE WINNER

view comments below!

oscarpiastri: you will see me win in person love, i know it 🧡

yourusername: i love you octopus

oscarpiastri: i love you more

user22: he’s not fighting the octopus?? softie

user23: maybe she’s dying and wants her too be happy in her last moments… OMG YN ARE YOU DYING???

yourusername: NO??? i’m perfectly fine, the surgery went perfect!

user23: oh, then yeah he’s a softie

user24: worst maiden win ever

user25: SPEAK ON IT

user26: it would’ve been so much better if yn was there :(

charles_leclerc: glad your surgery went well yn!!

yourusername: thank you charles 👊 congrats on p4, your getting up there!!

charles_leclerc; thankfully! i could not handle any other bad week in the car 😞

user27: none of us could charles. none of us could.

maxverstappen1: can i congratulate oscar now?

yourusername: i guess 😒

maxverstappen1: YAY OSCAR 🥳🥳

user28: why is he acting like he wasn’t one of the first to congratulate him in person?

maxverstappen1: SHHHH YN DOESNT KNOW THAT

user29: “her health comes first.” oscar jack piastri you SOFTIE

user28: i desperately need a video of yn waking up from surgery and finding out oscar won.

oscarpiastri: i have one, there was lots of cussing, snot, and tears

yourusername; SHUT UP OCTOPUS YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT

user29: SHE HAS BEEN THERE FOR ALL HIS BIG WINS, AND THE ONE TIME—THE ONE TIME HE WINS IN FORUMLA FUCKING ONE. SHE ISNT THERE. GOD I CANT TAKE TJIS

yourusername: see, you get it 😞

. . .

notes; my post on oscar’s win!!! super super super proud of him <33