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badgerbl00d · 25 days ago

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you've reached situationship central!

☆ characters: law, kidd (pt. 1)

☆ up next: TBA

☆ summary: being stuck in an on again off again (very indulgent) relationship with either the surgeon of death or captain eustass kidd requires a great deal of patience

☆ content: angsty, happy ending, nsfw, smut, complicated relationship drama, kidd is scottish, 18+ mdni

☆ a/n: hellooo i am finally settled at my uni and hoping to begin writing regularly again and start going through my requests (thank you for all of them by the way).. please enjoy me writing about my top two op crushes rnn <3

law:

#i’d forgive him so fast oops | 3.3k words

With Law, all of your meetings are at midnight or after, he’s painfully careful to ensure that no one has even the slightest clue of what your relationship has begun to blossom into– He’s scared of course. Anything could go wrong; his rationality is placed at risk every time you walk past him and he allows himself to indulge (even if for just a second) in the smell of your perfume– strong and floral. It lingers even after you’ve walked past him, ignoring him just like he asked you to do during the working hours on board the Polar Tang. Law does what he can to suppress the sting he feels when you, oh so obediently, listen to him. You do your job too well, he thinks, not even sparing him a glance if you’re not being directly addressed. ‘This is your own fault’, he has to remind himself. It pains him when the crew stays up late playing poker and cards and drinking alcohol, talking about all your hopes and dreams, when you entertain your crewmates with stories and he hears about how you’re there for them all in times of difficulty, a listening ear, a supporting friend, an emotional anchor to the crew.

Maybe, he thinks, I should end it. He knows that that’s the right answer, if you’re just friends he might allow himself to be welcomed into the radiance and warmth around you that he denies himself and has instructed you to deny to him. He’s too scared to lose you now.

On late nights, Law lays in bed, his room hazy from the cigarette he lets burn in an ashtray you gifted him and he thinks about the few direct conversations you’ve had about your… situation. That’s what you had called it, “Law,” you had said, “We have to talk about…”

“About what?” He still beats himself up over how he delivered that question, biting and poisonous. He can’t shake the memory of the frown it elicited on your face.

“Y/n, we don’t have to talk. Please, let’s not talk. Talking means we have to confront the reality of the situation.”

That was what he should’ve said. Instead his tongue betrayed him, acting faster than he could register. About what? Idiot, he thought.

You took a deep breath before answering him, “About us, Law. Our… situation.”

He had scoffed at you. Let out an indifferent huff, as though the matter was beneath him. His chest aches when he thinks about it now. The hurt on your face was so obvious.

“So talk.”

It was dark that night. He can’t remember if tears pooled on your lower lashes, or if it was a trick of the slight bit of light pouring into the dark room. He chooses to believe the latter option.

“What are we doing? I can’t… I don’t want to continue like this. Secret and hidden– I want to, I want to be able to talk to you during the day. To tell you about how I am and ask you about yourself I want to help you and be there for you. To kiss you whenever and hold your hand–”

“So do I,” he should have said, “I want that too.”

“You are there for me,” was his reply, instead, “As my trusted crewmate. And I never said you couldn’t talk to me, but I maintain my position. We can’t be discovered, the risks are-”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, sighing, “The risks? Our entire life is a risk. You think the crew would care? And what does it matter what you’ve said– it’s how you act. I’ve tried talking to you and you treat me with such an awful indifference Law. I respect your intelligence and leadership so please don’t act stupid.

What am I to you?”

He paused. Wrong move.

Your bottom lip trembled as you closed your eyes and inhaled. His memory doesn’t serve him very well but if you did cry that night it was now that the tears flowed.

“Okay,” you said, your voice incredibly soft. You had accepted defeat. He wanted to tear his skin off. This was agony. Why couldn’t he just say what he felt?

“I want you,” he says to himself now, picking the cigarette back up, placing it between his lips, “I love you.”

Three weeks too late, he thinks. The cigarette burns in the back of his throat, his chest filling with an uncomfortable warmth.

The last few weeks had been uncomfortable to say the least. You refused to talk to him, and he didn’t blame you. He barely saw you, the last time he’d gotten a proper look at your face was six days ago now. You looked beautiful, maybe he should have said something.

He lost track of time. An hour has passed now since he laid down to smoke, or has it been two? His head is spinning, never has regret gripped his heart so aggressively.

The aching in his chest tugs him out of bed and into the hallway. He finds himself walking toward the library where he knows you’ll be.

Where less than a month ago you were sat on his lap, soft arms gently wrapped around his shoulders as he kissed up and down your arms, buried inside you.

He missed your warmth, the way just being in your presence felt like sitting next to a fireplace, drinking a cup of tea. Your touch soft and reassuring, Fuck, he thinks, fuck.

The coolness of the metal floor jolts him out of his daze, he’s moving with a purpose now.

It’s not too late, he reassures himself.

The library door is closed, a warm light pours out into the cool, blue hallway from underneath the door. His hand hovers over the door knob for a moment, listening. Silence.

Law gently opens the door, and is welcomed by the sight of you fast asleep on Shachi’s shoulder, your crewmate’s arm wrapped around you.

Law pauses, Shachi looks up. He subdues the jealousy that quickly spreads throughout his body.

Shachi shoots him a look, as if to say, “I’m doing my best.”

Law’s throat hurts, speaking is too risky. He sends back a puzzled look.

Shachi beckons him over, placing his free hand up to his lips, “Shh.”

Law’s head feels like it’s about to explode. He can’t do this right now. His stomach twists at the sight of his crewmate’s arm around you. He was always so mesmerized by how you slept– envious, even, at how gently your eyes closed, how your soft lips parted once you were out, how deeply you slept.

His mind slips from him, replaying memories of how you’d cling to him when spending the night in his room, your arms securely around his neck, your face tucked into him. The sound of you giggling in the morning when he’d wake you up with kisses peppered all over your face and neck, trailing down and down your body. He inhales, trying to recollect himself– The memory of your body is overpowering. His hands clench into fists at his sides.

“She’s been asleep for about two hours,” Shachi started. Law’s chest tightened, two hours?

“I didn’t know what to say to her. She’s so… sad. Some guy, I think, broke her heart. Or, is currently breaking it. I don’t want to pry. Maybe you should talk to her?”

Law concentrated all of his efforts on answering his subordinate to avoid collapsing to the floor and begging you for forgiveness right then and there, Shachi be damned. His worst crime, in all of his life, he thought, is to have done this to you.

The thought of being ‘some guy’ that broke your heart nauseates him, he has to fix this.

“Captain?” Shachi seemed to have picked up on Law’s distress.

“Shachi,” Law started, his eyes fixed on you– his expression must have been something pained, or regretful, “Leave her here. Go to bed.”

Shachi’s brows furrowed. Law tore his eyes away from you to look at him, “I’ll take care of her.”

The redhead quickly picked up on the subtext and inhaled, about to say something but bit his tongue. Shachi gently removed his arm from around your shoulders, propping your head up on the sofa behind you and stood quietly, making room for Law.

“Captain,” he started, shooting him a look that wasn’t quite placeable. Disappointment? Anger? It wasn’t either, perhaps something in between, he decided you were capable enough to handle this yourself, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Law sat down next to you. He wanted to laugh. You had a way about you, even in such a moment of difficulty for Law, that made him want to give into you completely. God knows he had spent every second he’d known you fighting that urge. You slept on, completely undisturbed by any of the commotion around you. A strand of hair fell across your face, an obstruction to an otherwise perfect view. He brought a hand up to it, gently pushing it to the side, tucking it behind your ear. You stir, slightly.

He hates himself, he thinks as he brings a firm hand to your arm, and gently shakes you to a conscious state.

You wake with droopy eyelids, sleep still generously distributed throughout your body. It pains him to wake you, he knows you need the rest. He watches your lashes touch your rosy cheeks as you blink your eyes open, gathering your surroundings. You yawn, stretching your hands above your head, your shirt rising just enough to show off your lower tummy. Law curses whatever devil placed you in his life.

“Mmm.. What time ‘s it, Chi?” you ask. Jealousy rears its ugly head in Law’s chest at the use of a nickname for Shachi.

Law clears his throat, “One twenty three in the morning.”

You jolt, straightening your posture, upon recognizing your captain’s unmistakably deep, tired voice.

“Law,” you say, looking at him, “I was just leaving, actually. Shachi was supposed to wake me up an hour ago..” You adjust the hem of your shirt and push your hair out of your face. An awkward silence filled the room– an awful reminder of how fucked up your… situation had become.

You can’t bear it, Law can tell, any more than he can. Your discomfort is obvious and he hates to be the root of it.

“Well, goodnight,” you say standing. Your voice wavers.

“Y/n,” Law says, “Sit. Please.”

You wanted nothing more than to tell him to fuck off. You’d even rehearsed it with Ikkaku.

“Fuck you Law,” you’d practiced, “Fuck you and never speak to me again I never want to be around you. You’re so…”

That was usually where Ikkaku would have some suggestions:

“Immature? Selfish? Mean? Evil? Misogynistic? Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah,” you’d agree, “But I don’t think I can say that to him directly, he is the Captain after all.”

“He’s also a doctor,” she’d observed, “But you don’t seem very healed to me.”

These conversations replayed in your head as you sat down, following his orders.

You kept your gaze focused downward, your bare feet shuffled awkwardly against the carpet.

“We should vacuum this,” you said, “Feels kinda dusty.”

Silence settled between the two of you. It was unbearable.

You continued, “I’ll mention it to Penguin, um, I know he likes stuff cleaned a certain way. And, oh, right, I meant to tell you about the books we’re picking up at the next port. They ran out of the edition of the Watson book you ordered–”

“Y/n.”

You shut up. You could feel the tears start to well in your eyes. No, goddamnit, you thought, Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’m… sorry.”

You looked up at him, a puzzled expression on your face.

“No, you’re not,” you said. If there were any other noise coming from anywhere on the ship he would not have heard you, you spoke so quietly.

“No, you’re not,” you repeated.

Law inhaled, guilt had never had such a physically debilitating effect on his body.

“Y/n, listen. I am. I can’t sleep, or eat, or think, I can’t–”

“Neither can I, so, thanks for that. It’s been a great few weeks for me.”

He swallowed.

“Please look at me.”

You look up, your cheeks coated in two parallel streaks of tears. His eyes are red, the bags under them a deep shade of gray. He really hasn’t slept. You curse yourself as you reach a hand up to his face, and scoot yourself into his lap.

His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, chest to chest, and he places his forehead against yours.

You feel a small string of tears fall into your lap. He’s crying, you realize.

“I fucked up,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

He runs a hand up and down your back, it’s unfortunately soothing. You want so badly to push him off of you- deny his touch and affection, but as his hand slows and his grip on you tightens, as he pulls you into him even further and allows himself to indulge in the feeling of your body against his you know that you’ve once again fallen into his trap.

“I can’t keep doing this, Captain.”

There was a time when hearing his title come from your lips elicited an unspeakably sinful desire within him. Hearing it from your mouth was such a delicious indulgence. Now he knows you use it to distance yourself from him- to avoid using his name.

“I know, baby,” he says, “I know.”

You sit up in his lap, wiping your tears.

“I can fix this,” he reassures you, “I promise.”

“How? What is there to fix?”

He’s silent.

“I thought about what you said, that night,” you continue.

‘That night,’ he wants to blow his brains out. That terrible night when he started this, when he couldn’t answer a simple question, when he started the downward spiral of the past three weeks, the tension between the two of you getting worse with each passing day.

“You’re right, Law,” you went on, “To not have answered my question. We aren’t anything. You’re my captain and I’m your crewmate– nothing more, nothing less.”

You both knew that was a lie. Here you were in the dim candlelight on the library couch, the navy blue ocean stirring just outside the glass window behind you, sitting on his lap letting him hold you. He pulled you into his chest, laying your head down onto his shoulder. You let him. It was a delicate thing, to play such a game of cat and mouse, your roles always shifting back and forth. You let yourself be pulled into him, sinking into his touch, arching your back into his chest doing whatever possible to be closer to him for even just a moment.

He brought a hand up to run through your hair, and rested his cheek on the side of your head.

The silence was less bitter this time. You both sit in it for several minutes, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

You try to resist the urge for a split second, and then, as usual, cave into his touch. You place a soft kiss on his neck (a spot of complete and absolute weakness for Law). He responds with a kiss on your head.

He inhales, and you brace yourself.

“Y/n.”

You don’t respond.

“I love you.”

Your cheeks immediately are covered by an onslaught of tears you hadn’t even felt forming. You sniffle, wrapping your arms around him tighter. He squeezes you harder, before making you sit up and look at him, face to face.

He’s given up. He’s never been more fucked than he is now. He watches you, your expression, for a moment. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, he thinks, cheeks pink from his body heat, lashes damp from the tears.

“Y/n, I am sorry,” he wipes away your tears with one hand, the other tangling itself into your hair. You sniffle, a frown settling on your face.

“I want you,” he confesses, “Always. I think about you always and I can’t sleep and I’ve been telling myself that it’s because of work but it’s you. I can’t sleep without you. I can’t think without you. Everything reminds me of you, my pillow still smells like you, your clothes show up in my laundry, you have jewelry on my desk I can’t escape you. I don’t want to.”

You softened at this admission, but with Law there was always a catch.

“But?” you ask.

He sighs, “If anything were to happen to you I’d be responsible. It felt better, safer to end, or deny things and keep you safe than keep going and risk your safety.”

“I’m a pirate, Law, I’m at risk anyway. Don’t lie to me, that’s not the only reason.”

He kisses your forehead, “I know, I know. I am worried about the risks of another crew finding out or, god forbid, the navy. But I can’t… be without you. I haven’t slept or eaten or… worked, really. I’m scared you don’t feel the same.”

You don’t what overcomes you in that moment, but the next thing you know your lips are attached to his, his hand pulling you into him by your neck.

You whine when he pulls back, ignoring the tears flowing down your cheeks.

He kisses your nose, your forehead, your cheeks as he wipes your tears whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay… I’m sorry.”

His lips find yours again, and he kisses you more aggressively this time– it’s carnivorous and hungry, his grip on your waist tightens enough to bruise and you wince.

“L-Law, be gentle,” you whimper.

His grip softens slightly and he pulls away from your mouth to start planting sloppy, wet kisses on your neck.

You mewl, arching your back into him completely melting at his touch. Soft moans escape you as you tug at the hem of his shirt, helping him pull it off.

You run a hand over his abs, savoring the view as he helps you take your own shirt off.

“Wait, Y/n, wait,” Law manages to get out, his breath heavy and fast, “What are we?”

You laugh, kissing him, slipping your tongue between his lips. He moans and you ignore his question. You pull away a sticky string of saliva connecting your puffy pink lips to his. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, and grind down on it ever so slightly.

Law bites back a moan, throwing his head back on the couch leaving his neck wide open for you. You gently bite down on his neck, kissing it after.

You missed him so badly, no one had ever brought out in you what Law did. His confession immediately healed all the previous wounds he’d inflicted on your heart, wounds that only he would have been able to heal anyway.

“Law, I need you,” you cry.

“I’m here, baby, I’m right here,” he coos, holding you.

“I need you, always. Not conditionally. Not after midnight. Always.”

He sighs, a silent acknowledgement of his wrongs.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I’ve never… felt like this. I didn’t want to mess up, I suppose. Or ruin things between us. I’d rather stop this and still be able to see you every day than have you be mine and lose you for it.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Law. I promise.”

He places another kiss on your forehead, sleep begins to take over in Law.

“Law,” you pout, sitting up, “It’s cold.”

He blinks, taking a moment to process your words, savoring the way you say his name, “Okay, baby, let’s go to my room. Stay the night? Please?”

You think about it for a second, “Okay.”

“I love you,” he says.

You pause. His chest tightens.

“I love you, too.”

Law picks you up, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as he walks back through the Polar Tang, toward his room.

He smiles, you’re going to be upset about the smell of smoke.

“Baby,” he says.

“Hm.”

“Let’s tell everyone at breakfast, tomorrow.”

You perk up, “Tell them what?”

He laughs, and kisses the top of your head, “That you’re mine.”

kidd:

my fav scottish #pussypounder | 3.9k words

Your vision begins to blur at the edges, as Kidd’s grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly. You’d complain if you were able to form any thoughts other than enjoying the rhythmic slap of his hips against your ass, your mind numb as you begin to drool from the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your clit. You yelp at the sudden sharp pain of Kidd’s metal hand slapping your ass, it energizes you to match his thrusts halfway. Kidd loves watching you fuck yourself on his big, fat dick in doggy-style, his chest swells with pride at his ability to reduce you to such a pathetic, whiny personal slut for him. The sound of sloppy, wet slaps fills the room, a consistent tempo of plap, plap, plap.

“Feel good, lassie?” Kidd laughs, his pace never faltering.

“Mmmff, fuckkk Kidd, please don’t stop!”

“I‘m getting close, love,” his voice now slightly strained, “Where should I finish, hm?”

“Inside,” you beg, “Please, inside!”

You yelp as his metal hand once again makes harsh contact with the fat of your ass, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you let bliss take over, now approaching your own end.

“Kidd,” you whine, “Gonna… cum!”

“That’s right, lassie, cream all over me,” Kidd growls.

His thick accent makes your clit throb, and he can feel you tightening around him.

“Ya like when I talk to ya like that?” his hand moved from your neck to the base of your scalp where he roughly grabbed a generous handful of hair, yanking your head back as he bent over to kiss you.

“Mhmmm,” you moan, your mind completely hazy from the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, “Mmf mmm-”

Kidd pulls away, a deep laugh filling the room, “What’s that, love?”

“Gonna.. cum, daddy!”

Your captain’s pace slows ever so slightly, he savors every inch of pleasure he can draw from your drooling pussy– you know he’s close.

“Cum with me, sweetheart,” he commands.

It only takes a few more strokes before you oblige, sinking further into the mattress as you release your orgasm and feel Kidd finishing inside you. He indulges you in a few more strokes; he loves watching the creamy, wet mixture the two of you produce whenever he cums inside of you.

“Good girl,” he says as he slowly pulls out, before collapsing on the bed next to you.

“C’mere,” he beckons you toward him, patting his chest for you to lay on. You obey. He brings a hand to your neck, and kisses the top of your head before closing his eyes. He starts snoring a few minutes later.

To say sex with Kidd was amazing would be the understatement of the year, it was heavenly, divine, rough, passionate, wonderful. He knew your body better than his own, being with him was indescribably delicious. The sex you had filled your mind for days and days after, so much so that Kidd had begun to recognize it on your face when you were thinking about your latest encounter. A dazed, hazy look would cloud your eyes during meetings, dinner, days out in the towns you stopped at. It drove Kidd insane, knowing you were thinking about him that much– and, for the most part, he was always happy to indulge.

Pulling you (and your panties) to the side whenever he had time, Kidd was a very generous man when it came to you, always happy to give you exactly what you needed. After all, he’d tell himself, he needed you functioning at full capacity and if this was how he needed to remind you of that, who was he to complain?

He was just as entranced by you, though he’d never admit it out loud. More than once he caught himself seeking you out just to talk, to spend time in your presence. He’d come up with poorly thought out, half-assed excuses to be near you.

“Y/n,” he’d say, “Come help me in the workshop lass, you have small enough hands to fix this screw.”

Or, “Come hold this light while I work, love.”

“Come read with me, sweetheart, I need your opinion on the best kind of metal to use.”

“Grab me an apple from the kitchen, will ya, lassie?”

It was obvious to you, of course, given that it was a fault you yourself echoed through your own actions.

“Kidd, can you zip up my dress for me?”

“Kidd, could you fasten my necklace for me?”

“Kidd, taste this, tell me if it’s good.”

“Kidd, Kidd, Kidd…”

Everyone else on the crew found it endearing, you brought out something mature in their Captain– which they greatly appreciated.

“Looks like he just needed to be having sex regularly,” Wire joked.

You couldn’t disagree.

You and Kidd worked so well together, you’d found yourselves fighting back to back a handful of times now moving in sync with one another, not having to communicate, simply understanding how the other thinks, moves, works.

You lost count of how many nights you’d spent in his room, and vice versa. It was terrible to admit but you were attached. You slept better with his chest against your back, strong arm wrapped around you. Your day was better when you woke up to his snoring and got to kiss him awake.

You laid now on his chest, sweat drying on your forehead and back, wincing internally.

This wasn’t great.

Yes, you worked well together and the sex was amazing– but you hadn’t quite worked your way up to admitting that maybe there was a deeper attachment brewing, and you knew your Captain was definitely not thinking that way at all.

Besides, there was something freeing about the casualty of it all. Kidd was there when you were unbearably horny (which had been often, as of late) and you were there when he was (which, again, had been quite often as of late).

No strings attached! That was a good thing… Right? You were free to do as you wished, see other people, reconnect with old flames you crossed paths with on the open ocean, and there were no worries about childish feelings or getting hurt.

Right?

Kidd had fallen asleep, you could hear his soft snores and his hand that had been rubbing your back had fallen limp by his side.

Fuck, you thought. This wouldn’t do. You liked Kidd, but he was the last person on Earth you needed to fall in love with.

You slowly sat up, inching your way to the edge of the bed. You went to stand, when you were jerked back by a metal finger pulling you by the hem of your panties.

“Where’re ya goin’?” He asked, voice deep and raspy with sleep.

You ignored the heat between your legs.

“To bed, Kidd. Goodnight.”

He laughed, “Come lay down then.”

You were silent. Why shouldn’t you? You’d slept with him hundreds of times before.

No attachments.

“I… sleep better in my bed,” you said. Awful excuse, you noted.

“Alright then,” he sat up, yawning, “Let’s go to your room, then.”

“Kidd…” you started. You didn’t know what to say. What were you feeling? Attachment? Love? Had you ever really been in love before? What did that even feel like?

The nature of your relationship was unspoken but mutually understood. This, whatever this was, was casual, no strings attached, sexual, non-exclusive.

He sat up, making his way to the edge of the bed to sit next to you, “Somethin’ wrong?”

This wasn’t supposed to be hard. It was supposed to be fun, easy, a stress reliever.

“Um, yeah, I just– I started my period so I have to go wash up and stuff. I’ll see you in the morning,” you lied.

Something’s wrong, Kidd thought. Say something, he urged himself.

“Let me take care of you, lassie,” he said, gently placing an arm around your waist, “Think a bit of blood bothers Captain Eustass Kidd?”

You let out an unconvincing laugh, “It’s alright Kidd, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You stood, making your way to the door.

“Alright,” he sighed, lying back down on his bed, sure now that something was wrong with you, “But give me a kiss before ya go.”

You paused at the door, back to your Captain.

A moment passed.

Another moment.

“Goodnight then, Y/n.”

You walked out, closing the door behind you, cursing yourself.

Kidd lied back down, fully awake now. His stomach turned, something resembling nausea settled in his abdomen. Was he too forward? It hardly seemed likely that asking you to stay the night was out of bounds, especially when he had just been buried nine inches deep, emptying a load in you. He sighed, and rolled over onto his stomach as his mind sought a possible explanation.

You weren’t on your period, that much was certain. Not that he was tracking your cycle, of course. He definitely didn’t go to significant lengths to make sure his schedule was freed up when you ovulated.

Maybe, he thought, the feeling of nausea increasing, There’s someone else.

He dismissed the thought quickly, but it ate at him. You leaving so suddenly, not even offering him a kiss goodbye… You didn’t even look at him.

Kidd, despite the recent calmness he had, was still Kidd and the more he ruminated on the sickening possibility the more real it became.

That must be it, he convinced himself, What obligation does she have to me anyway? We’re not… together.

His chest ached, it infuriated him. He spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, contemplating whether he had any right to kick down your door and demand you give him the name of your lover or if he should simply never speak to you again. Should he ask the other members of the crew? He didn’t want to involve them; it was his problem, he decided.

When inspiration did finally strike around five in the morning, just before the sun had started to rise, he ignored the gut feeling that had begun to indicate that it wasn’t the best idea.

Tomorrow, he decided, when we stop for supplies I’ll find and flirt with a pretty girl. Give her a taste of her own medicine. With this resolution (that he had absolutely convinced himself was the best approach to the situation) he fell asleep, hard.

It was too cold, you thought as you lounged in the library of the Victoria Punk, cuddled up by the fire you’d had Heat set for you before he left. You had opted out of going into town, and since you weren’t able to cite lovesickness as a reason you stuck with the period excuse. You didn’t miss how Kidd rolled his eyes at you when you offered the excuse again to him.

The windows were icy, the temperature continuing to drop as it got later and later. It had quickly heated up in the library, you fanned yourself with an old copy of your favorite book. You passed multiple hours on your reading chair, in a hoodie Kidd had let you borrow months ago. Too bad he’s not here, you thought. You faded in and out of sleep, drowsy from the hot fire and the poor quality of sleep from last night. The sun was set when the peace and quiet was disturbed by the sound of a woman’s light and airy laughter. It carried through the ship, leading you to sit up and turn to look for the source of the sound.

Your chest tightened at the sight that greeted you, and you were never more desperate for something that could hide the expression of disgust and hurt you felt forming on your face.

Kidd sauntered on board with his hand around the waist of a woman you’d never seen before. She was wearing a dress notably similar to one you owned that he had complimented multiple times. The longer you looked (though you tried to keep it short) the more you noted similarities between you and her. Similar height, hair color, facial features, bodily assets. The moment you felt your bottom lip tremble you turned back in your chair, standing quickly and gathering your things, making a beeline to your room.

Kidd made eye contact with you on your way out, eyes slightly widening upon seeing your sweater.

Heat and Wire walked up on board the ship a few minutes later, and shot you a sympathetic look. It was no surprise to them that Kidd was being immature over a simple misunderstanding (he disclosed last night’s events to them in more detail than was necessary) and despite their advice to not follow through with his idiotic plan, he did anyway.

Kidd immediately knew he had fucked up, bad. The look on your face was enough to tell him that he had crossed a line and clearly had suffered a severe lapse in judgment. He immediately dismissed the woman, leaving Heat and Wire in the extremely awkward position of having to walk her off the ship– they made a mental note to make sure Kidd was on bathroom duty for the next month. He ran after you, but the door to your room was already shut and, he wiggled the handle for a few seconds, locked too.

He knocked every few minutes, growingly increasingly agitated at your refusal to talk to him.

Knock, knock.

“Y/n, c’mon lass, you misunderstood– I don’t even know her!”

“I was just… I was– ugh, I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“I wanted to make you jealous, lass, just open the door so I can explain.”

After the third hour of knocking to no avail Kidd resolved that he would simply wait you out, you had to come out eventually.

It was another three hours, nearly midnight, by the time you opened your door. Kidd was half asleep when you opened the door, and snapped back to full consciousness when he saw you.

Your brows were furrowed and you looked at him with more disgust and contempt than usual. He crossed his arms and blocked your path.

“Get out of my way.”

“Talk to me,” he responded.

“About?”

He laughed, your blood boiled, “So you’re not upset? About… anything at all?”

“No, dearest Captain, why on Earth would I be upset?”

“Just tell me what’s wrong.”

You scoffed, “Really, Eustass I didn’t take you for such an idiot. Get out of my way.”

He sighs, a smirk still settled onto his face, and moves to the side, gesturing for you to go ahead.

You walk past him, making your way toward the kitchen. You don’t fail to notice how he tags along beside you.

“Ugh, Kidd! What? What do you want from me?”

“Tell me why you’re upset.”

“You know why I’m upset, moron.”

“Tsk, tsk, that’s no way to talk to your Captain.”

You bite your lip, “I’m sure she’d talk to you exactly how you want. Stop following me.” You go to take another step, but he grabs your arm pushing you toward the wall of the hallway. He pressed his chest into your back, pinning you against the wall as he bent down bringing his lips to your ear and teasing you with a few kitten licks.

He grabbed your wrists, holding them against your lower back with an uncharacteristically gentle grip. Like he was daring you to fight back. You relax into his grip, arching your back to rub your ass against his bulge.

You hate how weak he makes you.

A deep breath escapes Kidd, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Your thighs are starting to get sticky. A soft moan escapes your lips as he presses his hard cock into the curve of your ass.

“Mhm,” Kidd teases, “Somethin’ else ya want to tell me, lassie? Go on, use your words.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you, asshole,” you snap back, trying to suppress the urge to give him the attention he so desperately needs.

“But how often do you keep yourself busy with other women?”

You break. His grip slightly tightens, his confidence faltering for a split second.

“Ohh,” he remarks, an infuriating smile settling onto his face, “You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m just bored.”

He moves your wrists into his left hand, his right wrapping around to the front of your hips and under your skirt. He runs his thumb along your slit, your panties dripping with arousal.

“Doesn’t feel like you’re bored, love,” he says, pressing harder against you, “Please, darling, tell me what’s wrong. I already miss you.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Right. And you really think I’m stupid enough to believe that? I’ve already told you what’s wrong.”

“I do miss you,” he laughs, “And, no you haven’t. You’re too smart to be truly bothered by my little stunt earlier. Somethin’ else is bothering ya– and don’t say it’s your period I know that’s not true.”

You pouted, refusing to answer the question.

He ran a thumb over your lips, bending slightly to be able to gently kiss you. You don’t fight back.

He lets go of your wrists and you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders bringing him in for another kiss.

He picks you up and you wrap your legs around him, he presses you into the wall, slipping his tongue past your lips.

This is hell, you think, Just tell him you’re done.

But, then again, you weren’t. That was the issue.

Your chest was tight and your brain foggy as you pulled away from the kiss.

Kidd’s chest heaved with heavy, deep breaths as he began the process of regaining his composure. He slowly lowered you down the wall until your feet touched the floor. He leaned against the wall, his metal arm resting above your head, caging you in. He placed a kiss on your forehead, and cupped your face with his right hand, bringing it up to his own. You stood on the tips of your toes and he bent lower to more easily pepper your face in kisses.

“‘m sorry lassie,” he said, between kisses, “I’m an arse.”

A huge one, you thought.

You kissed him back, his lips salty with the taste of sweat.

“Forgive me? Please? I… You mean a lot to me. Don’t be upset, I can't take it.”

A smile crept onto your face. You placed a hand on his chest, it felt like touching marble. He was so difficult to resist– but your mind flashed you the image of his arm around another woman and you steeled yourself. You pushed him back, slipping out from beneath his grasp walking out of the hallway back toward your own room.

He followed after you like a dog on a leash.

“Y/n, bonnie lass, hear me out, baby” he pleaded; You walked just fast enough to stay out of his reach, “I am sorry, love.”

You kept walking, your poor Captain trailing behind you uttering pleas, “Y/n, slow down lass, let me explain. She doesn’t mean anything to me, I just wanted to make you jealous.”

You stopped, finally having arrived at your destination.

“Make me jealous?” you repeated, turning to look at him, an expression of disgust settling on your face, “By bringing her on to OUR ship, hm? That was your genius idea, Captain? How did that work out for you?”

He sheepishly looked down at the floor, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

“Why on Earth would you ever pull some bullshit like that with me? I’d have never done that to you.”

This did get a rise out of him, “Oh, you’d never? So leaving me last night the way you did– with no explanation and a half-assed excuse is any better? You couldn’t even look at me, you refused to kiss me! Kiss me. It only makes sense you have another man on your mind.”

Your expression slightly relaxed, “Another man– that’s what you really think? That’s what this is all about?”

Kidd was silent, his stubbornness had gotten the better of him.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to offer him an explanation.

“Last night,” you started, “I got scared–” “Scared? Of me?”

“Kidd!”

“Right, sorry, go on then.”

“I realized…” you paused, it was harder to say to his face than you expected, “I like you.”

Kidd’s countenance softened, “Well, lass, I’d hope you like me by now.”

“No, Kidd, I like you– I love–,” you bit your bottom lip, cutting yourself off.

Your captain’s eyes widened, before a sly smile began to spread on his face.

You ignored it, “I get that you don’t feel the same, I know this isn’t anything… serious, but–”

His arm shot out to wrap around you and pull you into him, you brought your own hands in front of yourself to push against his chest, maintaining the distance between the two of you.

“C’mere, lassie,” he laughed, easily overpowering you and hugging you into him, “You’re a stubborn little thing, ya know?”

You huffed, tears pooling on your lower lash line, this was all so frustrating.

“Look at me,” he said, lifting your gaze with a finger under your chin, “I love you, Y/n.”

You looked up at him and the sight of your pink, pouting lips and watery eyes made him dizzy.

He kissed you, squeezing your cheeks with his warm hand and squeezing your waist with the metal one. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue past his lips, reaching behind you to open the door to his bedroom.

Kidd understood your request plainly, picking you up and walking to his bed with you. The door shut with a harsh bang, drawing you both out of your momentary reverie.

Your captain gently placed you on the bed, pulling back to admire you.

“You’re the most beautiful woman on the ocean, you know?”

You smiled, blowing him a kiss. Kidd turned to lock the door and started undressing, giving you a moment to catch your breath. Your anxieties had completely evaporated since his lips touched yours, you took a deep breath to process your confessions to each other.

A smile made its way onto your features and your cheeks darkened.

Kidd made his way back onto the bed, and pulled you into him, where you laid on top of him resting your chin on his chest.

“I do love ya, lassie, I wasn’t joking,” he said.

“I know, Captain,” you said, visibly reassuring him.

“Shall I help you get these off, sweetness?” he asked, tugging at the hem of your shorts.

You nod but hold up a finger, you weren’t quite done reprimanding him.

“Captain,” you said, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Yes, lovely?”

“If you ever pull some shit like that again, I’ll kill you.”

His smile dropped for a split second before he started laughing, and rolled over to pin you against the mattress.

He bent down to kiss and suck at your neck.

“Eustass,” you said, voice flat, “I’m serious.”

“Mmm,” he left one more kiss before answering, “I know you are, trust me.

Now let me make it up to ya.”

405 notes · View notes

cattolino · 7 months ago

Text

sweet angel.

pairing: lee felix x f reader. warnings: exhibitionism, skirt kink, fingering (f receiving), thigh grinding, teasing, dirty talks, profanities. genre: established relationship, smut. rating: explicit. word count: 2.7k.

Felix is the pristine epitome of joy. Radiance. A bright spirit.

One time Chan was told to describe Felix in a word on a post-it note for the younger’s birthday party and the dude ended up scribbling ‘the embodiment of warmth of the first light of day when you wake up on a Saturday morning, and the vibrance of the sundown when you walk along the shore until dusk takes over’.

Changbin and Jisung wrote ‘sunshine’.

And Hyunjin calls him ‘angel’ sometimes.

You wouldn’t argue. Because you believe that even the sweetest angel would carry the weight of their own deepest darkest secret.

And it was like a trump card when you accidentally found out the one thing that was able to coax out of another side of your angelic boyfriend you’d never seen before.

Two weeks ago when Felix had let you ride him for the first time, he’d shyly asked you to keep your mini plaid skirt on. The hem of the cotton fabric tickled your thigh every time you tried to sink yourself down onto his length that it had been uncomfortable.

But he’d begged… eyes coated with tears as they stared down at where you rolled your hips, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of your thighs. You’d never heard him growl so deep. And you’d felt his gloved cock inside you twitch uncontrollably.

Oh…

Who would have ever guessed that the sweet angel turned out to be that kinky…

And for some egotistical reason that was your own satisfaction, you wanted to verify your presumption.

“You’re not coming?” Seungmin inquired as you and Jisung strode over from the rented beach house with clean beach towels and a cooler filled with chilled canned drinks in hands.

His brows arched in confusion when he saw you in a white bra top and a pleated flowy mini skirt instead of your swimsuit.

At his side, Felix was peeling off his clothes to initially join the others on the shore. He tossed his shirt and sweats on a beach chair unceremoniously that they ended up falling to the ground.

The light freckles littering across his pale skin and the chiselled abs he always took pride in were exposed to view, whilst his lower half was barely protected by black swim trunks that were providentially too tight around the crotch.

Despite the glory of his frame, you almost laughed when you noticed the burning gaze he sent in your direction.

You perched on one of the beach chairs circling around a picnic table that had warped and bleached in several spots. A canned orange juice securely wrapped around one hand.

Your eyes flitted between Seungmin and the others whose laughter roared as the waves crashed into their bodies. You would’ve been tempted if you were to contemplate longer, but you shrugged, “nope. Not in the mood anymore.”

Seungmin wanted to say something about that but Jisung dashed across the beach still fully clothed, urgently taking part in what seemed to be an attempt at drowning Changbin whose screeches echoing through the air as the rest of the guys were carrying him into the ocean.

Seungmin followed closely behind, leaving you and your boyfriend alone.

You didn’t miss how Felix was practically burning holes into your skirt with a glare so fierce that one would’ve confused it with a look of hatred if they didn’t know better.

“You’re not swimming?” you tilted your head, as if you were genuinely curious.

He tore his gaze away from you, imitating how you shrugged your shoulders just minutes before, “nope. Not in the mood anymore.”

You snorted, earning a chuckle from him.

His fingers carded through his tousled, blonde tresses as he sat down on a chair beside you. He hunched over, grabbing a drink from the cooler on the table. The pad of his thumb twiddled upon the tab of the non-alcoholic canned cocktail before he swigged the refreshing liquid down his throat in a couple gulps.

“You look impressive by the way.” He spoke, twirling the can in his hand as he was blatantly staring you up and down. Gawking was probably more fitting since you knew enough to take notice of a hint of curiosity, adoration and lust all combined in the way his deep brown irises glinted in your direction.

His gaze lingered a little longer at your skirt, and he wasn’t being subtle about it. As though he wanted you to know.

And you surely did know.

Your cheeks bunched up towards the eyes at how wide your smile was at the complement. You leaned over to the armrest of his chair, grinning as you spoke, “you like my new skirt?”

A faint pinkish tint that unfurled across his freckled cheeks spread even wider to his ears. He smiled, “I love your new skirt.”

He tipped up your chin, planting a featherlike kiss on your bottom lip. He glanced down, fingers beginning to fiddle with the soft fabric of your skirt before they trailed down along the exposed skin of your thigh.

“Come sit in my lap.”

As if you couldn’t have seen it coming.

He carelessly put his drink on the sand below his seat as you got up on your feet. The other hand remained settled on your thigh, guiding you to perch down between his legs as he spread them wider.

But you looked down at him with a frown, “not in your lap,” you sighed, putting the word out carefully to emphasize your wish, “on your lap, please?”

Chan was right about the part of Felix being the epitome of ‘...the vibrance of sundown when you walk along the shore until dusk’ because he indeed looked lovely with the radiant glow of the golden sunrays gleaming across his freckled, flushed face. Let alone when his eyes sparkled as he stared up at you like a puppy staring at their favourite treat— as though there wasn’t anything obscene currently going through his filthy little mind.

It was unfair that the universe had granted him such a taintless facade.

His perfectly plump and heart-shaped lips tilted up into a grin of anticipation. His hand gripped your thigh a little tighter, guiding you to plump yourself down on his lap. “Of course. Anything for my baby.”

Anyone expecting this to remain an innocent cuddle session is a hypocrite. Felix never intended to keep it appropriate even when you were both in public, in spite of it being a private beach house, too.

But it was the way his palms clutched tightly at each side of your waist to keep you perfectly still on his lap that you knew he wasn’t at all expecting this— there wasn’t any form-fitting clothing whose current primary role was as a barrier between your bottom and his thighs. His swim trunks were mid thigh-length that he could right away take notice of the absence of underwear beneath your skirt.

His legs tensed. His smile faltered.

Your legs relaxed. Your smile widened.

It wasn’t like you meant to tug yourself away from him anyway, but he had his fingers dug into the flesh of your waist as if to entirely nail your ass into his thighs.

His hand led you to shift backwards, allowing your back to lean flush against his chest and your head to rest on his shoulder all while making your naked ass gently graze against the soft surface of his thigh.

“You cunning little vixen.” His voice went impossibly deeper. Something darker laced in his tone, “you’ve had this all planned out, haven’t you now?”

You giggled. Your palms gripped his arms as you moved your hips painfully slowly in an attempt to grind down on him. “But don’t you like it?”

“You’ve no idea.” His voice was nigh to a growl. You had to do more to pull a deeper, sexier one out of him.

His lips dangerously hovered over the juncture of your neck. One of his hands left your waist, shoving its way underneath the fabric of your skirt and kneading your inner thigh.

“But what’d you do if the boys decided to stay?” His mouth latched onto your neck, the hand under your skirt skimmer higher, careful not to touch where you felt hot (and undoubtedly damp) as you kept on grinding on him, “would you let me watch?”

“Maybe,” you responded through gritted teeth, having to hold back from bucking your hips up to make his fingers touch you. Your dignity wouldn’t let you give in first when the plan was to make him lose his mind for you. Speaking of dignity. “It’s good entertainment.”

A moan slipped past your parted lips when his fingertips suddenly pressed roughly against your clit. You arched your back, riding his thigh more impatient to get more friction. He grunted, “I wouldn’t tolerate that.”

“Oh, I know for certain you wouldn’t ignore me regardless,” you spoke in between ragged breaths as he planted open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, “not when I wear something you couldn’t resist.”

He huffed, but never said anything about that either. His hand on your waist ushered you to grind faster and his fingers on your clit rubbed circles in a sudden unforgiving pace that your thighs trembled. Fucking finally. “We’ll do this in front of a mirror next time… wanna see you so bad… you’ll look so beautiful grinding on my thighs like this…”

You smiled at his words. This wasn’t the only new cute skirt you’d recently bought for some special occasion. Of course there would be a next time with another brand new cute skirt. There should be a next time.

Nothing in the moment could triumph over what you were feeling. The sun was blossoming bold hues of red and gold across the skies as it was beginning to set below the horizon, representing a majestic reflection along the surface of the blue ocean. Its splendour, and the building pleasure in the pit of your stomach as he stroked his fingers on your clit, you thought of doing something similar next time. Because, fuck, was it nice to be taken care of while you watched the sunset.

He had yet to carry through what his fingers could do but you were already a mess. His thigh was soaked with slick that trickled down out of your entrance as you rode him more eagerly. You needed more to soothe the tingle in your abdomen.

“Fuck, baby, you’re always so good to me.” He grunted, very appreciative of the way you kept on just wetting his thighs.

You smiled dumbly, closing your eyes to fully relish in the pleasure, “I am. I always am.”

He pulled you back closer to his chest as if to completely mould your bodies into one. You squirmed when your naked ass landed on his clothed upper thigh as he was bucking his hips up to meet your pace.

But a whinier moan was coaxed out of your throat when you suddenly felt a protruding bulge dig right between your buttocks, slightly intruding your rim.

You weren’t the only one affected.

Felix sucked the flesh of your neck into his plump lips when his tip nudged against you, his moan muffled against your skin as he became more impatient. The hand on your waist travelled further up to grasp your clothed breast firmly in his palm, before sneakily slipping inside the bra. You gasped, mewled, almost screamed when his thumb and forefinger tugged at your perked, sensitive bud.

Before you could anticipate anything, his middle finger slid past your entrance without a word of waning, pulling a whine out of you so loud that Felix had to briefly look up at the others.

No one seemed to have noticed. But even if they had, he doubted he’d even do anything about it. There was no way he would be willing to stop his finger midway and push you off his lap just because one of them had heard your moan amongst the gentle waves. He could just pretend it was an innocent cuddle session…. Couldn’t he?

That would be fucked up.

Anyway.

He bucked his hips up again to gain more friction for his aching erection. The words coming out of your mouth was but a chain of incoherence. He could only get “please” “more” “Felix” out of it. He was proud.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Sometime amidst thrusting his finger into your entrance, his ring finger came in to assist, stretching your walls wider. You dug your nails into the flesh of his arms at your sides, seeking support as you felt your body slowly melt into the pleasure that was almost too overwhelming to bear.

Your curling toes were sinking deeper into the soft and warm sand, back arched, head thrown back, lips parted. Felix would love to see you through the mirror, what a shame.

His fingers curled inside you, looking for a certain spot that would bring you heaven. You almost jolted, if it wasn’t for his hand on your chest holding you down, when his fingertips ever so slightly prodded at that particular spot inside you. Felix smiled. Grinning, even.

Whines and moans and sighs and almost incomprehensible cries of his name were all combined as he plunged his fingers upwards at a faster pace and kept it directed at that spot.

For a moment there you couldn’t make sense of where you were. Your mind was hazy with utmost bliss, warmth was enveloping the whole of your body like a thick fluffy cloud, and electricity surging through your veins that you couldn’t help but tremble in his hold.

It was when his fingers reached incredibly deeper that the heat in the pit of your stomach suddenly exploded, its blaze proliferating within your body. You cried out his name one last time in a whiny moan as your body was quivering uncontrollably on top of him.

More slick dripping out of your entrance as you tried to grind down on his drenched thigh more. But it wasn’t the only thing that made his swim trunks damp. He, too, was releasing beads of precum as he bit down your shoulder to muffle his moans.

The raging flame in your abdomen slowly dwindled into as small as that of candle light, at the same time as when the golden rays of the spring sun were beginning to slowly dwindle into twilight.

You were sated. And Felix didn’t even have to take his shorts off.

It was completely dark when you let your body rest limp against him. The tide began to rise, and the rhythmic sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore helped you relax. Behind you, Felix was diligently cleaning up his fingers with his tongue whilst occasionally letting out hums of satisfaction.

But it was the sound of Chan’s squeaky giggles, Jisung’s dramatic whines, Minho’s blaring shrieks, and their inaudible chatters that made you jolt up in alarm.

Felix had his palm firmly gripped your waist keeping you still on his lap before you could get up. He pulled one of the beach towels from the table and spread it over your and his lower half.

You’d thought he was being considerate in case you were cold. But you had to grit your teeth to muffle any inappropriate sounds that were about to slip past your lips when he slid the elastic waistband of his swim trunks off his waist, not completely but low enough to release his fully erected length from restraint.

As though to torture you further, he pulled you closer by the waist until his tip nudge your swollen folds.

Inhaling a long sigh to compose yourself, you tried to sit more comfortably so as to appear normal for the others who were approaching. Though you hoped it was dark enough for them to notice nothing more than a mere disgustingly cuddly couple.

You wanted to curse at him. But whose idea was this in the first place anyway?

He kissed your shoulder before latching his mouth onto your neck, precisely at the sweet spot, making the hairs on the back of your neck erect.

“You started it,” he chuckled, half whispering, “you finish it.”

#skz fictions #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz felix #felix smut #lee felix smut #felix imagines

867 notes · View notes

saturngas · 5 months ago

Text

sloppy head while watching tv

[🪐] you give your boyfriend a sloppy blowjob just because

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

genre: smut

warnings: established relationship; size kink; a little bit of oral fixation; dirty talk; ball play; me dedicating two paragraphs to describing this man's pretty cock;

word count: 2.3k

beaming light came from the tv, giving a cozy setting to the living room. your boyfriend was wearing his pitch black glasses since his very sensitive eyes would be burning from the radiance.

your legs were sprawled out and tangled with satoru´s on the cushiony lovesac couch, you on top of his strong body. heavy, strong arms were wrapped around your waist while one of his large hands was stroking the exposed skin of your low back. your head rested on his hard chest while his chin laid on top of your head, your soft locks tickling his jawline.

the movie was once interesting, until a scene where the main male character was stripping off his clothes to start his training arc made you a bit warm in the inside. the actor wasn't your celebrity crush or anything in particular, but seeing his strong built body kind of reminded you of the godlike boyfriend you had beneath you.

after said scene, you couldn't keep your hands off satoru´s body. and of course he appreciated all your undivided attention on him, humming at every given touch. satoru even felt relived that actor knocked some sense into you so you would touch him. the way he would always be touch starved with you is indescribable.

your eyes were on the tv but your mind was getting high from the mere touch of your hands on satoru´s warm skin underneath his oversized sweater. hard mountains of pecs adorning his chest while strong abs would flex at your touch. he looked so good the moment he stepped out of the bathroom after a shower with his casual clothes already on.

his black uniform complemented his pale skin and snowy hair so well, along with the black blindfold, but when he changed for casual clothing, you could feel heat rushing to your core. being his girlfriend granted these heavenly views whenever you would be at home or going out for a date. satoru liked looking good. he was one for fashion. he had never mentioned something about it to you, but you knew he was picky with his outfits, always wanting everything to match and make out a nice looking aesthetic. he once was so troubled a new pair of navy blue pants didn't suit with a stylish jacket he already owned.

you would always tell him he looked handsome as well. and oh how flustered he would get. even after years of being together, he wasn't really used to your compliments. he loved your words of affirmation. even though satoru loved talking so high about himself—he was very aware of the man he was—, his cheeks would burn at any given praised from anyone, especially you.

one of your hands started exploring his back muscles while the other stayed on the front, roaming through his well-built abs. a single finger tracing his linea alba between his abs until stopping at the hem of his sweatpants. you heard the white haired man's breath sharpen at your sudden stop, the hand stroking at your lower back aiming to your bum; long fingers tracing the outline of your ass over your leggings.

still your hands wouldn't stop teasing his sensitive skin, his confirmations to keep going being his low hums buzzing from his chest. your smile turned into a smirk the moment you heard a whimper coming from his parted lips as your hand finally trespassed his sweatpants and underwear, going for the big prize. his hand grabbed a handful of your ass while his free hand went to your hair, caressing your scalp.

"oh baby..." he whimpered as your delicate fingers wrapped around his hardening cock. "don't start something you can't finish." there he was with his snarky comments even when he was in the lower position. you looked up to see his blushing face. rosy lips parted slightly to let out short hot breaths while his forehead was glittering with fresh sweat.

the hand that was previously on his back flew to his face to take of his rectangular glasses, tossing them somewhere in the room. his baby blue eyes were half lidded, a dark blue molding in the depths of his irises, a signal of his growing lust for you.

"it's okay, my angel boy," one hand stroking up and down his large cock as the other caressed lovingly the side of his face. "im sure I'll finish this." you said smugly, turning your boyfriend on even more. his dick twitched at your words and that was your cue to move your hand quicker, pressing lightly at his head, making satoru let out a loud moan, gripping your ass tighter this time.

your lips collapsed with his in a passionate kiss. your tongues danced desperately at the intense feeling of arousal invading your bodies. satoru hummed in the kiss, sending vibrations down your throat. his wet tongue explored the insides of your mouth while your hand stroked him vigorously, his gooey pre-cum coating your entire hand. satoru couldn't stop kissing you, devouring your mouth with his own. heat driving his primal instincts to the limit.

you broke the kiss to place brief pecks down his neck, stopping slightly only to nibble at the pale skin. a sudden sense of possessiveness traveled up your body all the way to your mouth, leaving wet red marks on his collarbones. you raised his sweatshirt to tickle his nipples with your lips, sucking at them. your tongue danced desperately around his hardened bud while the hand that was on his pretty face moved to keep wandering off his strong body. the tall man moaned quietly while tightening his hold in your nape and ass. your lips left his titties with a loud pop, admiring your work in the form of rosy and bruised nipples. your mouth then proceeded to trace wet kisses down his chest and torso, sucking at the skin of his abs. oh how you loved them.

the hand showering his cock with attention left its place to quickly disregard of his pants and boxers, only lowering them enough to give yourself great access to his beautiful cock and heavy balls.

time was not wasted as you hold his long cock from the base. goodness. how you loved this pretty cock. satoru was truly blessed by the gods with such attractive physique, he had nothing to feel self-conscious about. his dick was the same tone as his skin; his head being noticeably rosier, almost mimicking the color of his pretty lips. you admired his long member, your eyes tracing each vein, accentuating on a particular one that ran from his pretty base to his head. you could've swear you have felt that exact vein caressing your wet walls when your boyfriend would thrust into you slowly enough to feel every inch of him. you pussy clenched around nothing at the thought.

his corpus spongiosum only made his cock appear thicker than it already was. his head glistened as you smeared the dripping precum around it. hungry gaze now at his large balls, which seemed to be twitching with the forming semen that was preparing to be shot at your touch.

your mouth was salivating at the mere sight of the pretty cock in front of you. your hands looked so small when they grabbed his thick base.

"my goodness, toru," you almost moaned. "never getting tired of this big cock." you sent him a playful wink, which he responded with a groan and a gentle tug at your hair. your hand moved painfully slowly up and down his long cock.

"yeah?" he gulped breathlessly, lustful eyes glaring down at you. "since you like it so much, you should wrap that pretty little mouth of yours around it and suck it dry." oh. his dirty talk did wonders to you, even now where you literally had him wrapped around your fingers. your core started to burn at just his lewd words, feeling your panties get sticky from your arousal.

"you want me to do that, baby?" he nodded eagerly. "it's okay, toru, use your big boy words." you said as you stopped deliberately at the top of his thick cock, squeezing shamelessly at head. a sea of precum sprouted from his hole.

oh how he loved you when you were like this. you felt his cock throb and grow impossibly harder at your words. a large palm hugged the side of your face, his thumb caressing your bottom lip as it pressed against your lips. you parted them slightly only to give full entrance to his thick digit. low hums coming from your throat inviting him to push his thumb further into your mouth as you started sucking it, your spit coating his wrist. wide eyes looked up at him.

"yeah just like that. want you to suck my cock the way you're sucking my thumb," satoru groaned. you hollowed your cheeks around his thick digit, making him moan out loud. his burly body was adorned with glistening skin from the hot sweat framing every inch of his body.

you released his finger with a loud pop. satoru coated your lips with your own saliva using his wet thumb. he brought his hand to his face to taste you himself, sucking deliciously at his own thumb.

the sight made you salivate even more, being more than ready to take the long thick cock in front of you once and for all. you pumped him a few times before moving your lips closer to his fat head. precum being used as lipgloss as you rubbed his head against your lips. satoru almost let out a pornographic moan at the view, he loved it when you were freaky like that.

bliss clouded satoru's mind once you wrapped your pretty lips around his shaft. your mouth achingly punctured around his size. even though you have already taken him multiple times before, your holes still had to adjust to his exquisite width. you took him as far as you could, relaxing your throat muscles to get more of his lengths.

still, several inches of him were waiting for your warm mouth, so you curl your fingers around him. you set a steady rhythm where your bobbed your head up and down following the motion of your hand. his hips couldn't help but jerk up at the feeling of warmth enveloping him.

"oh... yeah... j-just like that, ba-byy," satoru cried hopelessly at your erotic movements. your hot mouth driving him crazy.

once your throat finally bottomed out, you sloppily took a couple of more inches down. satoru banged his head against the backrest and howled loudly. he was being very vocal.

"oh my sweet girl..." a long whine left his lips when you hollowed your cheeks around his length. "y-you are be-being so... so good t-to me..." his voice shivered as his hand went back to your face, caressing lovingly your hot cheeks.

you continued sucking him messily, the accumulating saliva dropping down his long length and down your chin, meeting his thighs and balls below. the hand that was not busy with his cock caught his heavy balls in a soothing massage, rubbing them and playing with them as if there were a pair of marbles.

"ahh~ oh~~ y-you are so... oh... pretty with that big... ahh... cock stretching your p-pretty lips." he couldn't stop moaning with an open mouht, being noisy as hell. you knew you were doing a great job when satoru was being uncontrollably talkative.

the tv light framed your silhouette in such a sensual way it made satoru roll his azure eyes to the back of his head. your head never ceasing the bouncing on his cock. you felt him throbbing when you hummed once his tip was deeply pressing down your throat, tickling at your uvula and targeting the gag reflexes you manually turned off.

his balls started twitching and your boyfriend became even more vocal, a set of loud cries and whimpers harmonizing your ears. it served as an indicator he was very close to his release. you continued humming around him until you felt something snapped.

satoru grabbed a handful of your hair to guide your mouth even deeper down his shaft. tears prickled at your eyes when you took all of him, gagging nosily as his white pubes tickled your nose, your spit creating a shiny coat around his length.

"come on, pretty girl..." he groaned, now using both hands to push your head further down. "take that cock, I k-know you can." you looked up at him glossy eyes, making satoru shiver in his place, letting out a growl. his hips thrusted into your face, satoru unable to control his movements, while his abs flexed along his biceps. you had one hand on his muscular thigh supporting yourself from the applied force, and the other continuing to play with his balls.

a teardrop cascaded down your rosy cheeks as your remaining oxygen was consuming quickly. you whorled his balls and squeezed them hardly. that was all it took for satoru to cum all over your mouth.

pure ecstasy filled his entire being, leaving his body trembling and releasing hot creamy liquid from his aching cock.

"ahh! ohh~ baby..." he cried the loudest as his arms lost their force on you to let you breathe and his hips ceased their furious thrusts. your mouth still agape panting harshly as warm spills of cum decorated your wet insides. your hand stroke him vigorously, urging him to finish his white leaking in your mouth. his hips jolt at his finishing release as he finally came from his high.

"show me, please," he begged as he tapped gently at your cheek. you swallowed his cum vulgarly, then stuck out your clean tongue. "that's my sweet girl." his smirk made you blush like crazy. you abandoned his softening cock after giving it a tiny kiss and climbed up to him, encircling your arms around his neck. "thank you so much, baby."

"you are so welcome, toru, but now you gotta take care of me."

#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk smut

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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

Text

Echoes of love

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

Chapter i. to forget

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

pairing : minho x reader.

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

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

word count : 14.8k words.

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

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

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

quotes series masterlist. next chapter.

Day 1.

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

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

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

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

But to no avail; only the tingling sensation remains.

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

The warmth, you understand where it comes from now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What date are we?"

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

"What year?"

"2022."

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

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

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

What have you forgotten?

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

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

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

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

"I- I don't."

"Oh."

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

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

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

You don't remember.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay, I’ll... I’ll suck it up”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

“Minho this is too much-"

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

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

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

"Okay," you concede.

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

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

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

Day 2.

You miss being asleep the second you wake up in.

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

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

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

10:03. Still too early.

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

10:07. You need to shower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minho,” you call out gently.

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

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

Day 3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d do it?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

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

Everything Minho does is not to hurt you.

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

Day 4.

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

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

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

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

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

You wished you could forgive yourself too, one day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you like it?"

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

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

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

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

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

You both refuse to venture into the unknown.

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

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

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

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

Day 5.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My heart hurts. The pressure helps."

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper.

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

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

“I do.”

“What do you work as?”

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

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

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

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

“You think my body is toned?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Purple.”

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

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

“It’s not obnoxious, it’s peculiar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course not. I'll be back."

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

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

Day 6.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pudding.”

“But that’s dessert?”

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

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

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

“Too bad your effort is now wasted.”

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

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

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

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

Day 7.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you did.

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

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Mm?”

“How did we meet?”

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

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

You hum in response.

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

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

“What happened to the cat?”

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

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

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

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

“That’s embarrassing,” you chuckle.

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

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

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

“How did we start dating?”

“You made the first move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And did you love me?”

“I did. I still do, very much.”

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

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

Day 8.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'My heart will always remember you'.

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

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

Day 16.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t remember– you should have.

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

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

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

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

"Minho, I…"

"Today was my birthday."

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

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

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

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

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

"Minho, I’m-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’m so sorry-"

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

"Minho..."

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

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

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

And then you hug Minho.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 17.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were still nowhere to be found.

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

He couldn’t survive another call.

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

So where could you have gone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because you are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

“Use me. Use me to remember.”

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bluegekk0 · 1 year ago

Text

Finally decided to work on the designs for all the side characters in the FPK AU, mostly residents of Dirtmouth as that's where the main portion of the AU takes place

Here's the full height chart including the FPK family members

(short bios for each of the characters under the cut)

Vyrm (alternate spelling of "Wyrm") - once the king of Hallownest, now a simple resident of Dirtmouth tormented by the guilt of his past actions and his own emotional trauma. Following the return of the infection, he disappeared in a self-manifested realm where he hibernated for years until he was woken up by Little Ghost. He woke up without his powers and completely alone, which forced him to hunt animals for food in order to survive. That was until he was found by Hornet and taken to Dirtmouth, where he reunited with Holly and Grimm, who would later become his partner and husband. He embraces his instincts by hunting animals and eating raw meat, though he is far from a dangerous beast. He owns a small tinkerer's shop in Dirtmouth, where he sells his creations.

Grimm - the exiled god of nightmares, banished from Godhome by his sister, The Radiance many years ago. A very alluring type with a past of promiscuous endeavors. He travels with his Troupe to perform and complete rituals, through which he replaces his physical body. He spent hundreds of years feeling loneliness, unable to find love due to his immortality, until he met Vyrm. They became close friends, though they were not able to confess their love and start a relationship until after Vyrm’s hibernation. Grimm and his Troupe now permanently reside in Dirtmouth, from which they travel to other kingdoms to perform their shows and the ritual. He drinks blood to prolong the lifespan of each physical body, and he has a fondness for fruits.

Hornet - the beloved daughter of Vyrm and the Deepnest queen Herrah. She grew up showered with her father’s love and formed a very close bond with him. Unfortunately, following her father's disappearance, she was forced to spend years all on her own, which turned her bitter and difficult to approach. She now struggles with anger issues and intense fear of getting attached, but deep down she cares a lot about her family. She moved to Dirtmouth following the end of the infection and now works as a hunter and gatherer..

Holly - the child of Vyrm and The White Lady, and the only known surviving vessel. A very gentle soul who finds joy in art of many forms. Now that The Radiance is gone, they enjoy a quiet and peaceful life living in the Vyrm family home in Dirtmouth. With their arm missing and their body weakened, they are unable to hold their nail, instead they focus on more relaxing activities to pass their time. They wear a prosthetic arm made by their father.

Lewk - Vyrm and Grimm's first child, a very curious and kind pup who attends Dirtmouth's school and constantly looks for ways to help others. Unlike his siblings, he shares some physical traits with the Grimmchild form of Grimm's ritual cycle, which is how he got his wings.

Milo and Asta - twins, the newest addition to the family. Milo, technically the youngest member of the family, is weak and sickly compared to his twin sister, struggling to keep up with his peers, which makes him very grumpy. Asta is stronger than her brother, full of energy and mischief, though underneath all of that there is a very compassionate individual who is very protective of her little brother.

Zote - a self proclaimed knight of great renown, in reality a lonely young bug living in a world of delusions. He was rejected by his hometown and his family, and so he traveled until he reached Hallownest. After the end of the infection, he found himself “adopted” by Vyrm’s family, and is on a slow journey of becoming less arrogant and mean.

Ogrim - one of the great knights of the Pale King, the last one that remained in Hallownest, best friends with Vyrm and a close friend of the family. Found by Hornet following Vyrm's return from hibernation, and invited to live in Dirtmouth alongside them. Leaving his duty as the knight behind, he put away his armor in favor of more comfortable clothing. He eventually embraced his long forgotten hobby of cooking and opened a small diner in the town. Liked by everyone thanks to his contagious optimism and supportive attitude.

Brumm - Grimm's right-hand man and trusted friend. Runs the Troupe in Grimm's absence and assists him during the rituals, and in his spare time directs the Troupe's music crew. He is a quiet individual focused on his job. In the past he had one-sided feelings for Grimm, now years later his eyes are set on one of the Nailmaster brothers, Mato.

Divine - Grimm's closest friend, she and her team are responsible for the costumes in the Troupe, and later also clothes for the Dirtmouth community. Once a lady from a distant land, she was invited to the Troupe following a war that destroyed her home. She's chatty and glamorous, and loves advising Vyrm on romantic matters.

The White Lady - Vyrm's former life and once the Queen of Hallownest. Cold and emotionally distant, often comes off as self-absorbed. She was blind to Vyrm's needs during their time together, and ended up neglecting and hurting him. Before the marriage, she was the Lady of the Queen's Gardens Mansion, and this is where she resides following the end of the infection. Years spent in the cocoon made her reflect on her past behavior, and while her interactions with Vyrm these days are rare, she puts effort into being more thoughtful towards him and his family.

Mato - one of the Nailmaster brothers, he got attached to Ghost of Hallownest after briefly teaching them. Following the end of the infection, he traveled from the Howling Cliffs to Dirtmouth to find out what happened to them, and after discovering that the town was now full of life, he began visiting it more often.

Bretta - a young writer and a hopeless romantic, she used to be infatuated by Zote before finding out he was full of lies, though she ended up forgiving him. She writes short stories and poems under an alias, and shares Holly's interest in plush sewing. She has a crush on Hornet, and finds both her and Grimm to be very inspiring to write about.

Iselda - the owner of Dirtmouth's cartography shop, Cornifer's wife. She is a close friend of Vyrm after helping treat his wounds following the Grimmkin incident. After the end of the infection, she began joining her husband on his map marking adventures. She can be a little intimidating, at times she sounds perpetually annoyed, but she always proves to be very caring about others.

Cornifer - Iselda's husband, co-owns the cartography shop. Frequently travels around Hallownest, mapping each location thoroughly. He is good friends with Vyrm, whom he enjoys discussing the Hallownest architecture and geography with. He's extremely detail focused which sometimes makes him miss the bigger picture, though he more than makes up for it with his very approachable personality.

Elderbug - one of the older residents of the town and a respected figure. He's very pessimistic and grumpy, and is especially annoyed by public displays of affection, suggesting that something in his past might have made him sensitive to it. He can usually be found in the town centre or in his little garden.

Tiso - an arrogant troublemaker and Hornet's self-proclaimed rival. Lives in the City of Tears but frequently visits Dirtmouth to challenge her to fights. He planned to battle in the Colosseum but changed his mind last minute out of cowardice. He's extremely sensitive about this subject and reacts with anger anytime it's brought up.

Quirrel - a curious wanderer and once an apprentice to Monomon the Teacher, tasked with protecting her dreamer mask. Holding the mask halted his aging process, and after her death, he aged visibly. With no purpose left, he planted his nail by the Blue Lake, but continued his life of wandering and exploration until he reached Dirtmouth, where he would become a teacher to the town's youth. He's very patient and understanding, though he can be a little absent-minded, likely due to his age and his struggles with memory.

Lemm - owner of the relic shop in the City of Tears. Following the end of the infection and the city's consequent revival, he became a respected shop owner, which made him quite wealthy. After Vyrm's return, he quickly realized his true identity, and began pestering him about his past in hopes of learning more about the kingdom, until Grimm's threats stopped him. He's very abrasive and unpleasant, though his passion for history and the relics in his possession is remarkable.

Lurien - the last of the Dreamers, who managed to survive after Ghost of Hallownest chose to unite the void and become the Shade Lord before reaching his spire. He holds the position of the highest authority in the City of Tears, willing to do anything to bring it back to its former glory and reclaim all of its districts from the criminals that plague it since the end of the infection. He struck a deal with Grimm, thanks to which he is able to keep the criminal population in check.

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pureastrologywisdom · 8 months ago

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𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬 𝔬𝔟𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰: 𝔘𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰

it's very easy to talk about the very clear and obvious synastry placements that are good, today I wanted to note some that I really like to see that are often overlooked.

In synastry I love to see someone more ‘outward’ or ‘expressive planets in contact with someones more ‘private’ or ‘inward’ planets. An example is seeing someones Sun conjunct the other persons Moon - it’s as if one is bringing the other out their shell a little, or they appreciate these parts of each other, on hoe the ‘expressive’ planet can show this to the word so easily, ‘and how the ‘inner planet feels comfortable to show the ‘outward’ planet this side of them self. For example the sun person will see this more private area and say ‘I love this side of you, please don’t feel afraid to show me”. They compliment one another.

Having Sun - Jupiter synastry brings such a radiance to a relationship. You can rejuvenate each other and bring each other a lot of laughter and joy. These are two very expressive and expansive parts of each other coming together. The sun in traditional astrology rules over intellect snd Jupiter is all about exploration and discovery, you stimulate each others minds and invigorate each others lives. Conversation flows easily and and giggles are often. You want a pretty tight orb on this one (1-5 degrees max)

3rd house synastry is not spoken about or appreciated enough. Often if a personal placement falls into the persons 3rd house, it feels as if you naturally ‘speak their language’. Communication is emphasis here, which is an important foundation in relationships.

An example is having your moon go into someones 3rd house, you may make the 3rd house person feels very safe too communicate with you, and you as the moon person feel as if the house person is vey comforting and the way they communicate and listen is so ideal to you.Also these people can have well blended routines and similar habits.

Often I have seen that when someones personal planets fall into your 6th house, they like to be of service to you in some way. They want to make your day easier, or help you organise your day etc. It shows someone who wants to take care of you and be a big part in those small moments.

10th house synastry is cute! The planet person can push the 10th house person be become who they want to be, they help them feel inspired or driven, this is especially true for benefic planets here.

Hi everyone, thank you for reading! I quickly just wanted to say thank you so so much for 2000 followers on here! I love you all so much and value your feedback and comments on every post. As always I love to hear your experience with all the placements I have mentioned :)

I have some very exciting thing coming on here soon!

Also I have stared an instagram so if you would like to follow I will be posting on there very soon!

<3 <3 <3

Credit - pureastrologywisdom

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baeshijima · 6 months ago

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— as we are

some may call him overbearing. you, on the other hand, find he is anything but that.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 848 wc, fluff, mayhaps a teensy bit of angst if you squint hard enough, established relationship, pre-penacony storyline

A/N : in a "match your freak" competition but my opponent is reader. (sits on the shore and stares out into the sea waiting for his drip marketing and light cone reveal so i can change the post layout to have his lc…)

There is a tender gentleness in the way Sunday loves.

It shows in the way he has a habit of putting others before himself, inadvertently causing him to neglect himself at the worst of times. It shows in the meticulous care he devotes to his sister, having even the most minute details embedded within the crevices of his mind. It shows in the moments where he nags at you for not taking better care of yourself, to which you find yourself subject to a less than impressed stare when you make a rebuttal of his hypocrisy.

Well, you find that the latter can be more annoying than it is welcome (mostly due to the fact his nags tend to be unprovoked when your guard is down, sometimes resulting in him chasing after you in your feeble attempts to escape), but you can at least acknowledge it comes from a place of care. Begrudgingly so.

Regardless, it doesn’t take away from the reality that Sunday only goes so far because he simply wants the best for you. After all, who would willingly speed-walk after you while reciting the basic necessities humans need in order to be healthy and happy? Certainly not someone who doesn’t care!

A slight shift halts your thoughts. Glancing down towards your lap, an involuntary smile tugs the corners of your lips at the sight of Sunday dozing away peacefully. You lift a hand to card it through his hair, mindful of the studs perched along his wings — as well as the wings itself — in case you accidentally awaken him due to its sensitivity.

(While it would be rather amusing to see him awaken in a fluster, you’re not mentally prepared enough for another one of his scoldings. Well, you suppose you also don’t want to interrupt his rare moment of rest as well.)

Light seeps in through the slight opening of the curtains. Translucent rays cast him amid a golden radiance, its gaze settling along the curve of his cheeks, brushing through his hair, and counting each strand of his lashes in a dim glow. Had you not known any better, you would have thought of him to be divinity itself.

With your fingers contentedly caressing through soft grey hair, a stifling warmth soon creeps up on you. The light which once cast a precious glow on your lover mere seconds ago now leaves an uncomfortable warmth searing into the back of your hand. It is a little unbearable, but nothing you cannot handle if it means preserving this peaceful moment a little while longer.

Well, until Sunday squints from the sunlight making contact with his closed eyelids with a small grimace, resulting in him attempting to block it out by the protection of your stomach, that is.

A brief sigh escapes you. Reaching behind you as best as you could without stirring the slumbering man on your lap awake, you clutch the velvet curtains in your free hand. With a careful pull towards you, the main source is blocked out. Remnants of the uncomfortable heat lingers on your skin, but you find yourself unbothered as you take in the subtle, sleepy smile now etched into his relaxed features.

Honestly, you’re surprised he allowed himself a respite such as this. You are more than accustomed to his vehement refusals, with him often insisting he has no need nor the time for even a moment’s rest when there is much to be done. It’s an obsession, almost, the way in which he hyper-focuses on even the most trivial of details. Not a single thing can be out of place; not a single thing can be anything less than perfection itself.

Sunday, in spite of his flawed methods and, in your humble opinion, horridly stubborn demeanour, is someone whom you hold in high regard. Behind his stern and almost rigid-like composure belies a selfless man who wishes for nothing more than the happiness and freedom of others. Behind a calm gaze akin to that of an omniscient being is a man who brushes off any and all concerns for his well-being, a tight-lipped smile and light tone doing little to distract you from the brief clench of his fists and subtle pause which stretches on a little too long to be considered a breather.

Again, in your honest and most humble opinion, he is wretchedly stubborn — that, or he simply doesn’t know how to rely on and confide in others, despite the many times he himself has been confided in.

You take him in once more, seizing this rare moment in which you can see him as he is wholeheartedly without all the layers and walls and barriers he meticulously has built up around him.

Should a time in which he is ready to relinquish the burdens he carries amidst his quiet solitude come, you will embrace all that he is with welcoming arms; even if it wholly consumes you.

There is a tender gentleness in the way Sunday loves. Some may find his care to be overbearing, but you find that it is not overbearing enough.

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #sunday x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines

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anenbylittlepotato · 8 months ago

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Tears of Love

Includes: Zhongli, Furina, Neuvillette, Kaveh, Itto, Ei

Warnings: Furina's is post-Fontaine archon quest bc I doubt she would be in any relationship pre-archon quest. Both Neuvillette and Furina contain vague spoilers

How Genshin character would react to you hugging them while crying and then saying "I just love you so muuuucch..."

Also, uhhh hey guys, I know I haven't written anything in 5 million years haha, sorry... I have been died dw about it. To make up for it I'm going crazy go stupid with this one. Gonna try and make a part 2 and maybe part 3 but idk when or if it’ll even happen

Zhongli

When he sees you crying, he is instantly concerned.

And then, when you run up and hug him, he's even more concerned as he hugs back, gently placing his hand on your head and rubbing your back comfortingly.

"My love? What is the matter, dear?

He gently moves his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek when you look at him with them big ol wet eyes.

"I just love you so muuuuccch!"

He looks taken aback for a moment, surprised by that response.

Then he chuckles warmly and looks at you with all the love and adoration in the world

"My beloved, you and your love mean the world to me. Your brilliant radiance is more than enough to light up even the darkest corners of my mind. I cannot dream of spending my days without you, but if such a day were to ever occur, I would carry your memory with me at all times with all the warmth and love in my soul."

This makes you cry even more

"Aaaaaa I love you so much...."

He gently presses his forehead to yours.

"I love you too, my dearest."

And then he kisses you softly.

Afterward, he sits down with you, holding you gently.

Furina

When you come up to her crying, she's instantly panicking.

Oh no did she do something wrong? Did she say something that upset you??? Has she been neglecting you??? Did she forget something important? Oh no oh no oh no-

And then you hug her and she's like. Okay. Did someone else do something to upset you? She's not sure what she can do now that she's no long on the archon throne, but she'll try whatever she has to! Or maybe something else happened, maybe something that has nothing to do with other people, maybe some horrible thing happened to you like what happened to her.

"S-S/O? Are you okay?? What happened, what's wrong?"

Then you look at her with those big ol wet eyes and she turns to mush inside.

"I just love you muuuuuccccchhh..."

For several moments she just stares at you, not knowing how to respond.

And then she also starts getting emotional

"Oh."

She hugs you back really tightly, burying her face against you.

"I... I love you tooooo...."

And now you're both crying and telling each other how much you love each other.

Neuvillette

The moment he sees you crying, the beginning of rain can be heard outside.

He absolutely hates seeing you upset in any way and he immediately wants to just hold you in his arms and take all your stress and pain.

He immediately walks over and sits next to you.

"S/O? Are you alright? What's happened?"

He is a little surprised when you hug him, but not entirely, and he hugs back, gently rubbing your back.

"It's alright, dear, take your time."

"I just- I just- I love you so muuuuuuuucccchhhh..."

Well he certainly was not expecting that.

It starts raining outside even heavier.

"Ah... Is that... Not a good thing...? I am uncertain as to why this would make you sad..."

You uh... You'll have to explain to him that crying doesn't necessarily only happen when you're sad, but just when you're overwhelmed by An Emotion. Any emotion. Even positive ones.

He won't really understand all that well but he's trying 🥺 He'll definitely be thinking about it for the rest of the week and might even do some research about it if he manages to find the time.

In the moment, though, he just holds you and tells you how much he loves you as well. He is a little confused when this makes you cry more, but he doesn't say anything.

Kaveh

Like Furina, he also panics instantly the moment he sees you crying.

He's much more frantic and open about it though.

"Oh no, darling, sweetheart, are you okay?! What's wrong?! Did I do something wrong, what happened?!"

Then you hug him and he's surprised.

"S/O...?"

"I just- I love you so muuuuccchh!"

Kaveh.exe has stopped working

"Wha- You- I-"

My poor boy instantly melts into a puddle, becoming a complete emotional wreck.

This man is so fragile he just shatters like glass and the dam breaks and out come the tears, and now he's crying harder than you.

He somewhat incoherently babbles about how much he loves you and hugs you so tightly, just completely falling apart.

... He may have also been drinking a bit before this.

Okay, not a bit. A lot.

And now, even though you were the one who was crying initially, you're gonna have to sit down with him and try to calm him down

This poor pathetic little man... he's such a mess... I love him...

Itto

Also one of the panickers. Except he's stupid about it.

He actually has absolutely no idea how to deal with someone who's sad. He doesn't get sad often himself and his gang aren't the type to get sad often either.

So the MOMENT you hug him crying, he is freaking the fuck out

"Oh, nononono, baby, don't cry, don't cry! Hey it's okay, it's alright, don't cry!"

When he can't get you to calm down right away, he's immediately thinking of other solutions.

"Hey, ya wanna go see Granny Oni? She always knows exactly what to do to cheer me up when I'm sad!"

You have to stop him from picking you up and running off with you to take you to Granny Oni.

"No- Itto. I'm not sad, it's just.... I love you so muuuuch..."

He blinks a couple times.

"What"

For once, the man is speechless.

But only for a couple moments.

"Wait, but if you're not sad, then why are you crying???"

You'll have to explain it like with Neuvillette, except Itto's dumb so it'll take a lot longer for him to pick it up.

You end up spending so long trying to explain it that you end up not crying anymore and just laughing at him

And that just makes him more confused

"You were just crying a minute ago why are you laughing???"

Himbo <3

When she sees you crying she is surprisingly sweet about it.

She walks over and gently cups your cheeks, tilting your head to look up at her.

"What's the matter, dear? Are you alright?"

Her voice is so soft and gentle.

She isn't too surprised when you hug her and she hugs back, gently rubbing your back.

“I just- I love you so muuuucccchhh….”

She’s a little surprised by that response for a moment.

But once she processes it, she is just so endeared by it.

She looks at you with such a lovesick smile.

Like she feels like her heart is about to burst with love omg

She chuckles gently and pats your head.

“I love you too, dear.”

Afterward, she kisses you on the forehead, and then on the lips.

All she wants to do after that is hold you gentle in her arms

And she’s going to do exactly that

She takes you to your bed and gently holds you so that your head is on her chest

Doesn’t matter if you’re bigger than her. Your face? On the booba

I had to tag Neuvillette so many times bc apparently no one knows how to spell it 😭 Two Ls and two Ts people

If you like my writing, consider buying me a coffee! It really helps me out and helps me keep doing this!

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nouearth · 1 year ago

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poolside banters.

dick grayson x male reader.

summary: it's your final day at the summer resort, and dick has a way to end it with a bang.

wc: 3.4k. warnings: resort!au, explicit smut, blowjob (r giving), handjob, frotting, thigh-fucking, public exhibition, humping, body worshipping, muscle worshipping, established relationship, playful bantering, daddy!kink, big dick!dick resort owner!dick, thwaites!dick.

Large palm trees sprouted beneath the clear sky and bristles danced in pursuit of the mellow jazz that played from stereos. The summer was cooled by the gentlest breeze, and you could hear the wealthy patrons collectively ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ when the flame of their bodies began to simmer from a hard boil.

Across from you was the vast beach that swallowed the rays of the sun, glistening every pulp while visitors joyfully soaked within the dewy radiance. It was a scene straight from a feel-good film, and you couldn’t help but reflect the smile of fond memories onto your own face as you kicked back onto the lounge chair by the pool.

The crowd around you was sparse compared to the beach-goers. Most preferred the finite space of the pool to keep their children in close proximity, while others, like you, preferred the light the sun gave out when they read a novel.

Jesus, he’s messing with you! How many times are we going to get back together with this douche?! You scoffed and turned to the next page of your thriller novel after flushing the character’s irrational decision to return to their toxic partner with a soda.

Upon noticing the orange hue cast over the paper, you figured the next chapter would be better saved for the airplane ride back home. You slotted your bookmark in between the printed pages and set it on the table at your side, finishing the rest of your drink with several fizzy gulps.

“Quick dip before we head in?” Dick’s voice startled you and you inhaled sweet bubbles that started a coughing fit. You turned towards him after catching your breath, laughing when you’ve become infected by the light sound of your boyfriend’s chuckle.

“Oh, so now you want to swim?” Your hand reached over to shackle his dangling fingertips with yours and then hopped off the lounge chair and onto your feet. Quick tugs pulled Dick up, freeing him from the slumber that had captured him hours prior.

“I told you I prefer swimming with no one around!” He was awakened to his senses with a yawn and an overhead stretch, pushing his broad chest out and capturing the cast of light in the process. “Peaceful and quiet, and it’s not like they—“

“—can kick out the owner of the resort, I know, I know!” Your teasing always put Dick in a jovial mood, and he thanked you, like always, with a kiss when you pulled him up. As if he read your mind, or rather scorched his hand against the beating warmth of your skin, Dick slid your button down off your body and tossed it onto the chair.

“But I have a feeling there are limits, y’know!” You continued, leading the short walk to the pool. He stuck behind you, following and listening close with his arms wrapped around your waist. “There has to be something they won’t tolerate.”

“Tolerate?” Dick hummed, letting hands roam around your shoulders and arms first, and squeezing at the firm skin to relieve you of the muscle tension you’ve been complaining about since the airplane ride. “We should test out to see how much they can tolerate then.” Then his hands cascaded towards your bottom, cupping a handful of clothed flesh, but with the way Dick had kneaded your ass, the swimming trunks mind as well had become part of your body.

“Hey, hey—“ You jolted at the sudden touch, then cowered back into his hands because with an arch more; you’d embarrassingly expose how easy and quick it was to turn you on. You could hear him snicker into the back of your neck, a grin spreading wide, and you reached back to swat at his hands.

“Dick, there’s people…” Your voice trailed off as you looked around, because everyone had gone back in now. Was.

He persisted, the begs only made him curl his fingers deep into your mounds in a similar way he had done to his stress ball. Red; the color of his ball; the color of his frustration when shipments were delayed; the color of assault when he goes out on nightly patrols. His chest rose and pressed against your back and when you reached back to hold his forearm, affectionate and loving; the red burned a lovelier hue.

Dusk was settling into the sky, and all that was left was you and your boyfriend, and the pool that greeted you in a harmony of gentle waves. He squeezed your bottom, then hips in response, hooking his chin over your shoulder to peer at the solitude.

“That never stopped us before,” The positioning of his hands circled to the front of your trunks, and then past the waistband when the tent seized his hand. He wrapped his large hand around your length, squeezing softly as it grew into his palm, and you sighed.

It was always easy to give into Dick.

“Restaurants, parking lots, public bathrooms,” He began listing, remembering the fond memories with his own tent aiding his memory, twitching and prodding your bottom. “…clothing racks, back of the bus, during my meetings—“ Your cock grew harder into the gentle motion of his hand, into the memories that was more so evidence that you and Dick should be banned from traveling in public, pumping you into the familiar stiffness until your trunks felt like they had shrunk when Dick pulled his hand out.

You bit back a groan at the loss of friction, the mesh net of your trunks merely providing sufficient builds to your pleasure when you squeezed and rubbed at your tent.

“Noticed how all of those times didn’t start with me? I don’t know how you get horny so quickly—“

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Look at yourself right now!” Dick defended with a playful sputter, grasping you from the front suddenly and giving your cock a tug.

“Yeah!” You gasped, then laughed when he pushed you back into him, and his throbbing bulge. “Once again, you started it!” Teasingly, your hips pushed back in nonchalant swirls, masking it as a sway of dance while his hands were still kept around you.

“And?” He pushed forward, burying a groan into your neck while you swayed. “I always finish it, too.”

“True…” While your head leaned back onto his shoulder, peacefully swaying under the approaching night, you reached back and snuck your hand down his trunks to feel the source of the constant prodding at your bottom. “I can attest to that.”

“Fuck…” His voice lowered into the side of your neck, clutching at your hips as some kind of control to keep him from fucking wildly into your fist, even if you had tempted him with the tightening of your palm.

Dick grew heavy into your hand. You stroked the weight until it sank deep into your skin, until your wrist exhausted itself, until you were frustrated by the confines of his trunks.

“Back to the chair?”

Dick catalogued the surrounding area. Palm trees barely obscured windows, columns of the thick material enforced onlookers to hide behind them. The risks abound with every scan across the vicinity, yet the feeling of adrenaline surged through his veins, turning back to you with a hankering smile.

“We’re here to test their limits, aren’t we?”

“Fuck.”

“Look at me,” Your eyes swept from corner to corner at every little sound that set an alarm of panic, overriding Dick’s voice. It was quite comical to him, watching the caution in your eyes ignite with every blink while your hand soldiered through, stroking his cock by the pool-side. “Baby.”

“Hm?” After foraging the area clear, you casted your gaze upwards to meet Dick’s doting eyes, and the pain on your knees was suddenly more tolerable.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Even though you were always more hesitant to the idea of public exhibition, and Dick’s constant teasings of being caught didn’t exactly help, it always ended smoothly. His hand fell down to the back of your head, petting slow to placate your worries. “I promise.”

“You never know! I just don’t want you to get fired, or worse… open a press conference with an apology, and I’m joined by your side or something.” The thought made him laugh, then a sigh replaced the echoing sound when your lips wrapped around the plump head of his cock, sucking and laving your tongue around the glans reminiscently to the rhythm of the gentle pool waves.

“I did warn you that we’d be together every moment in life.” Dick sucked in the cool air as you took more of him in, freezing a moan into the walls of his throat. You held the base, covering the first few inches of meaty girth with spit and love as you sucked the salt and musk off of him, cleansing Dick with your wandering tongue, and the heat of his groan was enough to melt the ice block.

“And I’m not turning back.” His cock hung over your face when you unfurled your hold around him, kissing the throbbing flesh from the tip to the sticky underside of his length, then to his balls, where you enveloped the heavy sack with sloppy sucks.

“Mm.” His hips pushed forward and his palm on the back of your head gently applied forward in a silent want to bury his spit-covered sack onto your face. They rolled and dragged across your features with the help of his grasp, and you stuck your tongue out in case it needed a new glow from its endeavor.

Pulling away, you took him in again by inclination. His cock sank into your mouth deeper, and your hand wrapped around the girth that never had the fortunate to have met your tongue. You sucked, bobbing your head up and down while your fist swiveled in pursuit of your lips, coating Dick’s thick cock with the remnants of saliva that your tongue had left.

“Fuck, baby…”

Dick’s hand had left your head now in favor of supporting his habit of crossing his arms behind his head while you worked at his cock. You’d notice it when he felt overwhelmed, stressed, de-stressed, pleasured, or maybe all of the above. Either way, it made your heart jump ten-folds because it made him all the more alluring—pornographic, if you had to be lewd.

His biceps caught onto the light, flexed when you began playing with his balls while you continued on shoving him down your throat. The light highllghted the muscles that you’d find always yourself latching onto when you crossed the street, when you slept together, when he was frustrated with work, when he’d fuck you into the couch, when you’d ride him on the patio; it was your comfort and seeing the muscles flex under the light, you’d wish you had appreciated it more.

Him, more.

Several moments later, you pulled away to catch your breath, but before you could do so properly, Dick pulled you up onto your feet and into a kiss, where he whispered his gratification in between soft and doting swipes of his lips. “You suck me off so well, fuck.”

“Yeah? Am I a good boy, then?” One arm twined around his neck, while your other hand dropped to jerk your aching cock, playfully slapping it against his own cock in between sessions before pressing a chaste kiss to his full lips. “Daddy?”

His breath hitched, eyebrows cinched a wrinkle in between, and his face lit up when the words that had come out of your mouth had rendered properly.

You and Dick always liked to try something new every now and then, to add more heat to the flame of your endeavors together, and today was the day you’d let your fantasies come alive. Stemmed straight from one of the novels you’ve been reading during the trip, it was quite ludicrous but your boyfriend didn’t have to know that.

“You’re an extremely good boy, baby…” His forehead leaned onto yours and he stared into the light of your eyes, harboring it for himself as he took your cock into his hand and stroked it to the accelerating pace of his heart. “And since you were such a good boy, how do you think daddy should reward you?”

“Hm…” Your mind ran across many thoughts, but then fell silent upon realization, breaking character when you whispered as if there was an audience watching your performance. “Babe, we don’t have lube—“

“Oh shoot… what about the sunscreen—“

“Dude, did you not read that post about this guy going to the ER and having his dick numb because—“

“Okay, so no sunscreen…”

“Oh!” The lightbulb above your head flickered, and you grinned, pulling him close again as if there wasn’t a brief intermission prior. “Ahem, well… there was something I’ve been wanting to try…”

Dick pressed a laugh into your lips, half-kissing you while a grin remained as you had his curiosity piqued. “What’s that?” His hand maintained the blood flow to your erection, stroking and thumbing the head at times.

Your shoulders rolled back from the tender touch and in midst, took Dick’s cock into your palm and pressed it lower, to where you stepped closer to him, flushed against his chest and Dick held you stable now, and released once it cushioned snug in between your thighs. Your cock pressed up against Dick’s pelvis, and your arms twined back around his nest while his was anchored around your waist.

“A good boy who’s able to suck cock well, and think on their feet. How did I get so lucky?” He softened another chuckle into your lips, where you inhaled him like oxygen, and fused your affection for each other into one when he began thrusting, slow and short to keep your cock confined against his pelvis.

“I think you’re just rubbing off on me, if I’m being honest.” Your nose pressed into one another as you held each other impossibly close, buckling into each other’s bodies as Dick sandwiched his thick cock in between your pillowy thighs, your own cock throbbed and dripped with thick pre-cum as it pressed to his body.

“Well, I’m definitely rubbing something.” His hands dropped to your ass, where he began kneaded at the mounds as he stabilized his position into keeping a rhythm to his thrusts. His thick cock rubbed in between your thighs, and he’d groan when you clenched around him, restricting his movements to mere bumps.

“Shut up—“ You could feel his pre-cum spreading thick along your flesh, and you squeezed once more to pull another delightful sound of him, another drip that layered on your sweaty skin.

In midst, you held his arms tight, admiring his muscles whenever they flexed as he fucked into your tight thighs until he breached through with several desperate plunges, moaning when the cold air met the slit of the sticky head. His body was your rock, your support, as you thrusted your cock over his pelvis. It slid and pressed into his skin as you thrusted, finding a rhythm of Dick’s own hips, and your bodies collectively move together like a dance. Humping each other like animals when you felt close, then slowed at an excruciating pace to a symphony of moans into the night air.

“Fuck me, daddy— fuck.” You begged into Dick’s lips, hissing because you felt your cock become swollen than before, beating red at the tip as if he was the cause of this pleasurable allergic reaction. You humped him desperately, rubbing your cock against him while allowing your thighs to stick to Dick’s large cock like glue.

“You want my cock so bad, don’t you…” He pressed into you, harder and deeper. It was unfulfilling at first. He wasn’t exactly fucking into anything, but he loved the control he had of your body in this position. Dick clutched into your ass, separating and squeezing the mounds as he maneuvered your body to his liking. “Taking my cock in any way you’d like…”

Back and forth, Dick pulled your body into his and met every plunge of his cock in between your thighs. Occasionally, he’d pull farther for a change of pace, rubbing his cock against you for a brief frot. The stimulation seized drips of pre-cum to layer upon your cock and Dick’s for a slimy friction, mutually gliding over one another. The two cocks mingled, caressed, and slid while you two held each other close until Dick took it upon himself to cushion his cock back in between your thighs and began fucking you again.

Breathless, Dick fucked into your thighs while desperately holding onto your body in fret of letting you, as if he wasn’t the one in control. His nails sunk deep into your ass, but you only took it as his love for you, wearing the indentation like battle scars while you humped into him. Your balls fit the curve of his cock, rolling over the ample shaft with pride, and you rubbed Dick’s chest. Broad, sweaty, and muscular, pinched at his nipples, and then tugged because you needed him close.

Closer than before because you were close.

“Keep fucking me—“ He slapped your ass once, growling into the open-mouthed kiss, and you jolted into him, fucking your cock against his pelvis at a snappy rhythm. Your thigh clenched from your stance, providing Dick a confinement that was a nightmare to breach through, but when he did, it was incredibly fulfilling and eye-rolling, slipping completely out to repeat the cycle as the addiction for the brief catharsis had only been building.

Moans deposited into another’s mouth, swallowing and taking each other in with complete rapture, and then withdrew when your chest swelled and stomach pumped with a familiar feeling that had been accumulated through dry-humps and desperate yet intimate endeavors.

“Dick—“ You choked out, clutching onto his shoulders, then his hair, then his arms, because your legs felt weak, wobbly like spaghetti noodles, like all the strength had been lost in your calves when you thrusted for the last time, and relieved yourself in heavy, thick ropes. “F-fuck, fuck!”

A shudder in midst of Dick’s eager and continuing thrusts, you shot cum all over his pelvis, stomach, and even aimed high enough to have stain his chest. Tremors surged, and Dick held you close to keep them confined, but to also selfishly reach his own heaven as he neared his climax within seconds of watching you in awe, emptying yourself all over him.

“Baby, I’m going to come—“ His lips collided into yours for a messy kiss. Tongues chased pink flesh after pink flesh in pursuit of the sweet taste of one another. Swiveled and swirled while Dick violated into you with his big cock, mingled with either sides of your thighs, bruised your ass with his hands, glued his chest to yours with your cum; all of the simultaneous friction built his stomach to bubble in a powerful acclamation. He was as breathless as you were, shaking the haziness in his vision as you fed into the fog with your touch and voice. You stroked his chest, squeezed them, then his biceps, and then his toned stomach, made him feel loved and worshipped as you moaned at the mere sight of his muscles flex and pulsate as his high approached.

“Oh fuck…” Dick delivered several more thrusts into your thighs, you held them close to prevent an opening, before spilling and shooting his thick seed all over your soft yet toned flesh. One load shamelessly came after another, pulling multiple moans out of Dick, and you swallowed them all as you felt yourself layered thick and warm with his cum from beneath, bathing in them as if it was the summer sun. Throughout his climax, your hands maintained its wander, easing the tremors that sent Dick’s body into subtle jolts and goosebumps with cascading warmth and affection, and then kissed him once more, like you always did towards the end.

“You always make such a mess.” Lethargy quickly crept over you, and you practically pushed all of his weight into Dick’s arms as your muscles almost gave out, yawning, but the sticky and thick cum uncomfortably dripping down your legs kept you alert.

“You seriously cannot be complaining.” He scoffed, stepping back so you would get a view of how drenched his toned body was, kudos to your loads.

“That’s just sunscreen—“

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x male reader #dick grayson smut #nou.fics

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