#but are very rarely seen around or talking to each other if there are others present- though I do personally imagine zenos going to him

[fatedroses]

Two tanks without their emotional support healers.

[tragedykery]

trying to figure out character voices for my ocs and I think the one I have the clearest picture of rn is taituk. they speak…not quite stiffly maybe but definitely a tad formal. more connective words & full sentences than most people use when speaking. they’ve got the admirable habit of just letting silence fall until they’ve thought of the right thing to say, very little uhming or use of other filler words. they tend to be overly specific rather than vague—e.g., instead of saying something is rare or common, they might try to give a numeric indication of how rare or common it is. they talk quite slowly and quietly, but can make themself heard if so desired. absolutely hate shouting. they prefer to speak calmly, and if they’re in an emotional situation they will wait to compose themself until they know their voice will be level. because of this they can seem emotionless to the untrained eye, but they’re just good at hiding/repressing them lol

[mrsbarnesblog]

first choice

masterlist

requests are open

summary: being an incredibly reserved person, it took Rafe a long time to finally feel comfortable enough to let you see him break down

words count: 2.5k

warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, talk about feelings, Ward being a shitty father as always, insecurities

a/n: couldn't help myself but mention Wheezie as well because she deserves so much better💔

The first time you saw Rafe crying was not so long after you started dating. You went to Tanneyhill that day and were nearly knocked off your feet when Ward Cameron stormed out the front door. He was seething with anger and it seemed like he didn’t even register you standing there with wide eyes and a lost face expression. 

You slowly walked into the house, hearing the sound of Ward’s truck driving away, and slowly patted into the light and big kitchen. Your eyes instantly caught sight of your boyfriend, standing with his back facing you and his body hovering over the counter. His hands were firmly gripping onto the edge of the marble, and his head was lowered so you couldn’t take a look at his face behind his hair. When you heard muffled sniffs, your eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

“Rafe?” You almost whispered, talking one step closer to him. Rafe’s body instantly tensed, but he didn’t turn around. His shoulders and back seemed harder than rocks, and you swore his body was shaking from tension. 

You debated for a few seconds, considering what was best to do. Something obviously had happened between Rafe and Ward, and even though they always fought, you never saw Rafe crying. You quickly figured out that he didn’t like to be seen as "weak,” so he rarely showed any emotions, even to you, no matter how hard you tried to create a comfortable environment for him. That’s why you knew that there was no point in trying to make him talk.

When he sniffed again, not moving for an inch or acknowledging your presence, your heart clenched and not waiting anymore, you slowly went closer to him. 

When he felt your arms wrapping around his middle part with your chest firmly pressed against his back, his whole body stiffened at the unusual touch. Rafe had never had someone comforting him, and the whole thing with you constantly trying to go past his walls slightly terrified him. He desperately wanted to just give in, because Rafe knew that you would never hurt him, but something inside his head was still fighting against it.

You held him as close to you as possible, hoping to give him some sense of security. When Rafe’s body finally eased up a little, you turned your head to place kisses on his back while your hands moved up and down his stomach. 

You didn’t know how long you two were standing like this—close to each other and in complete silence. Rafe clearly didn’t want to talk about it and you knew better than to push him. It was a small step for both of you, but you knew that you would do anything to make him feel safe.

The second time it happened, you were in Rafe’s bed, too invested in your book, when he entered the room. Your gaze shifted to him and you instantly noticed that slightly distant look in his blue eyes, as well as his clenched jaw and rapid breathing. 

You were trying not to be very obvious by the way your instant reaction was to jump out of bed and ask what happened. Rafe was not this type of person and he needed gentle handling. So you went back to your book, only lifting your eyes every few seconds while he silently changed his clothes to something comfortable. 

“I want to cuddle.” You suddenly said, placing a bookmark in between the pages and putting your book on the bedside table. Rafe just looked at you and it felt like your eyes were having their own conversation. He knew that you knew that something had happened and were now just trying to make it seem like you were the one who needed affection, and he was thankful for you not trying to get the information out of him.

He nodded, and the next thing you knew, he was on top of you, arms wrapped around your body, face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers started to brush through his hair and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

The room was silent, except for your quiet breathing; that’s why your ears easily caught a soft sniff. Rafe moved his head back and forth, trying to be closer even if it was impossible, and it made you feel something wet touching your skin. You didn't say a word because you knew that it was not the right time yet. Instead, you left one hand in his hair to massage the scalp and moved another one to Rafe’s back, rubbing it up and down. You let your lips brush against his temple and he tightened his hold on your waist in return.

You didn't know what had happened and you hoped that he would tell you when he felt like it, so for now, you were just giving him the safe space that he desperately needed. It clearly worked, because as Rafe’s body became limp on top of yours and his breathing started to slow down, you guessed that he had fallen asleep. 

The next morning, you were standing in the kitchen and making breakfast when you felt two hands sneaking around your waist and turning you around. Before you could say anything, Rafe gave you a breath-taking kiss, which you knew was his way of saying "thank you."

At one of Friday’s evenings, you and Rafe’s family and a few closest friends were having a dinner in the restaurant to celebrate Ward’s important deal at work being finally successfully signed. You honestly didn’t listen to the conversation that everyone was having, looking down at your almost full plate, until Ward and Sarah started a little argument about him doing something that she didn’t like. 

“It also turns out that the most important thing for me is you, Sarah. That’s why I did it.” Your heart skipped a beat when your ears caught the end of the conversation, with your whole body freezing in your chair. He said it so easily, not even hesitating or considering the feelings of his other kids, who sat at that exact table. 

Rafe sat near you and your eyes instantly drifted to him, only t just a blank expression on his face. He looked at his father, then at Sarah, then back at Ward. The disappointment and hurt were written all over his features. It was so obvious for you, probably because you spent so much time trying to figure out him and his emotions, yet his father didn’t care. 

Nobody did, honestly, as everyone at the table just brushed that comment off and continued talking. Only Wheezie looked equally sad, with a frown and with her hands crossed over her chest. 

Rafe’s eyes drifted to his full plate as he became completely distant from the conversation, not even paying attention to your worried gaze. He just felt numb. 

It's not like he didn't know that Sarah was everyone’s priority; he just didn't need to hear another reminder of that. 

He hated the feeling of not being good enough. He tried to impress his father countless times, being loyal and jumping at every opportunity to do the dirty work, just to hear any kind of praise or approval. Yet Sarah has always been the best girl, the best daughter, and the best child. 

A quiet groan escaped his lips in desperation, as he felt that similar tightness in his chest and throat. 

It just fucking hurt. 

Your worried eyes didn’t leave him even for a second, and when you noticed in which state he was in, you moved closer so only he could hear what you were saying. 

“Do you want to leave, Ray?” He just nodded, taking your hand in his and making some lame excuse about needing to leave. 

Sitting in his truck a few minutes later, Rafe didn’t even look at you, staring at something through the window. You saw the way he was occasionally clenching his jaw and blinking rapidly—signs that he was trying not to break down in front of you. 

You bit your lip, thinking to yourself, before finally deciding that you couldn’t just look at your boyfriend being hurt. So, tossing your purse aside, you got up from your seat, moving quickly to straddle Rafe’s lap. He looked at you in shock, but still placed his hands on your waist, rubbing the soft fabric. 

“Hey, look at me. You don’t have to keep it to yourself. Your feelings are normal, baby.” You tried to reassure him, holding his face firmly in your hands. 

He furrowed. “It’s just— It’s just that—“ Rafe paused, looking down and trying to control his breathing. You didn’t know whether it was anger or sadness, but as his chest started rising faster, in the darkness of the car, you saw a tear rolling down his cheek. 

Then another, and another, and another. 

Rafe tried to physically distance himself from you, pulling your hands away from his face and throwing his head back with a frustrated groan as the palms of his hands pressed into his eyes. 

“That’s fucking’ pathetic.” He hissed.

“No, it’s not. Stop trying to hide from me and just talk. You know I’m the last person to ever judge you.” You soothed him by softly caressing the skin of his neck with your thumbs, and then took a hold of his face to make him look at you. “Talk to me. It’s just us and no one else.” 

Rafe’s blue eyes seemed even brighter with tears gleaming in them, even though it was dark outside and the only light that you had was a lamppost near the restaurant. He gave you a long look, probably fighting his own barriers inside of his head because of how hard it was for him to open up. You waited patiently, not looking away or rushing him and it must’ve worked.

“The shit that he says and does… It hurts me. No matter how much I try, how much effort I put into everything, or how often I do what he needs and wants, it’s never enough. I’m never fucking good enough for anyone or anything.” You took Rafe’s hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. He instantly focused on it, mindlessly playing with your ring and rubbing your skin. “And I don’t hate Sarah—fuck, I really don’t, ‘cause it’s not her damn fault, y’know? But it makes me so fucking mad and-and I just don’t know what to do or what’s wrong with me.” 

Angry tears continued to flow down Rafe’s cheeks freely, as he was not capable of trying to hide them and wipe them away quickly anymore. You looked at him softly, with your heart aching for your boyfriend and for the way this situation deeply affected him. 

“He does this to Wheezie too. She’s a child, Y/N, and I know how it messes up with her head.” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I fuck up everything in my life. I think that maybe it’s my fault for him to act like that. Maybe I do something wrong, I dunno.”

“I know that I can't give you what Ward was supposed to give you. That type of love, I mean. But you’re important to me, Rafe. I won't put you in second place because you're always my first choice.” You freed your hands, again placing them on his wet cheeks. Big blue eyes stared back at you with vulnerability and despair as hands on each of your thighs tightened, so you tried to let Rafe know how much he meant to you. “You are good enough, and don’t you dare think otherwise.” 

You leaned closer, hovering over Rafe’s body, just inches away from his face, before tenderly pulling him into a kiss. 

“You shouldn’t let Ward ruin your life and your relationships with your sisters, because it won’t benefit you in any way. Ward is the problem, not you, Ray, so no matter how hard you try, he won’t change his mind.” You kiss away his tears, still firmly holding his face in your hands. “I’m here for you. I love you, and I hate seeing you kill yourself over this.”

Rafe suddenly pulled you closer by your waist, hugging you with all the strength that he had. His body trembled against you while you soothingly scratched the back of his neck. 

“I love you too. ‘M sorry f’ being a mess.” 

“Don’t say that. Everything is okay, we are okay. I’m happy that you finally opened up to me a little bit, because I support you, okay?” He nodded and kissed your naked shoulder, trying to catch his breath. 

“Thank you.” 

A few minutes later, Rafe’s breathing calmed down and his hands were just slowly going up and down your back. Your legs were already sore from your position on his lap, but it was peaceful with just you two sitting in a comfortable silence, so you didn’t mind. You looked up at him as the idea came to your head. "What if we take Wheezie away from there and go out to eat or ride around?" 

Rafe placed a kiss on your forehead, thinking about your words. His and Wheezie’s relationships were weird, with Rafe feeling distant from his family and her just being a child who didn't know how to handle the situation. But he always had a soft spot for her and he hated thinking about his sister sitting there and being invisible to everybody. 

“Yeah, we can. She’d like that.” He mumbled, focusing on your lips that curled into a smile. 

“Great!” You pushed away from him, opening the door and casually sliding on the floor. Rafe looked at you curiously, silently grateful that you were absolutely normal about what happened just a few minutes ago in his car. His heart suddenly raced, and he could not resist the urge to grab you by the waist and pull you in for a kiss. 

Rafe connected your lips, then slightly tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your skin got covered in goosebumps as you smiled against his lips before pulling away. Rafe subconsciously followed your face, trying to get more. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing. So gorgeous. I love you so much, baby.”

“You already told me that… but I love you more!” You giggled, taking his hands away from your body. “Now I’ll go get Wheezie, and you remove my lipstick from your face.” You gave him a teasing smile before finally going back to the restaurant and leaving Rafe with a soft smirk on his lips. 

He thought that maybe opening up for you was working much better in his favor than he expected. 

[esthercore]

Sweetness Overload!! (HSR Men and Cute Stuff they do!)

Argenti has the most exquisite house (spaceship) garden, making you the prettiest flowers weekly, and jotting on a note, what each flowers symbolizes. He also often likes making you flower crowns or random flower art, and will tear up if you do the same.

Aventurine before you start dating liked making a whole show of constantly calling you wrong names every time making your frustrated with him, except when he tucks his coat around shoulders after he find you slumped in front of your computer during overtime, dead asleep, whispering a good night, and sweet affirmations, checking your breath and finally uttering an 'i love you' once he confirms you are asleep. I think after 173 total posts this is the first time i wrote aventurine not being depressed or traumatizing him more lol.

Blade makes sure everyone knows you are his. You two out in public? He will be all over you, arm around you shoulder or simply clutching you from behind, as you two walk, he likes holding you whenever. You are rarely seen out alone, in public, if ever. He likes being with you as much as he can. Good things barely exist in his life, so he's gonna hoard you all to himself.

Boothill remember everything you say or do, your likes and dislikes? Can list all in his sleep. Each and every order you place in your favorite restaurants? Saved in his cloud storage. Every single important date? Your birthday, your first kiss, the first time he met you, the first time you hold hands, your anniversary, everything.

Dan Heng is an amazing listener. Every trouble you got, just tell him all about it and let him kiss them away. He's an empath and will help you mentally deal with your struggles. After everything he has faced in and even before the shackling prison, the last thing want is for his lover to face anything remotely as same, so very protective too. Also, he loves your voice, love hearing you speaks, loves to fall asleep to it, and to wake to your pretty voice. His fav place to kiss you is your throat,

Dan Feng liked to doll up and gift shiny stuff to his little mate. Anytime he sees any pretty accessory or clothes, he will bring them home, almost a hoarding problem. Loved to see you in the stuff in brought you, or enjoy any of his gifts. The high elder's mate was very popular for the way they were dressed like a god/goddess head to toe with jewelers and the best garments in all the Xianzhou ships.

Dr Ratio other than the hundreds of your statues he made, he likes to learn about all your interests. Any subject you like, any conspiracy theory, any fictional book you are reading, any game/tv show lore, he wants to know it. There is knowledge in everything, and by knowing about your interests more, he would learn about more, and he desperately wants that.

Gallagher names all of his drinks after you. Something sweet? It's name after something he likes about you. Spicy? Something that makes you feisty. Bitter? Something you hate. The entire bar staff, especially Siobhan likes to tease you for it.

Gepard likes to draw for you, like a little child, 2 stick figures holding hand. Little picture of his dear family of 4 (you him and his sister), and stuff like that. Will cry if you put those drawings on the refrigerator or frame it, that's literally make his inner child so happy after the abuse he suffered in his childhood.

Jiaoqiu likes talking about you. Anyone and everyone who knows him or get to talk to him for more than 5 minutes, will know how amazing you are and how much he loves you.

Jing Yuan loves holding you. Just sit in his lap play your games on your phone and let him nap, his head resting on your shoulders, he can spend an eternity like this. He is his happiest when you're in physical contact with him, too much tome away from you and gets antsy and pouty like a kid, though he don't show that exteriorly, for the sake of his reputation, but for Yanqing it's quite obvious.

Luocha loves to take care of you. Feed you, help you groom, help you with any tasks, everything, nor is he the type to shy away from complimenting you, he is a merchant, he words are beautiful and filled with flattery almost like those anime butlers. You are his little prince/princess and he makes sure you know that with how special he makes you feel.

Moze will give the chocolate end of his ice cream cone. This man is very self sacrificing for his love. You are his top priority, and in his his you are worth more than him himself. His happiness in entirely based on yours.

Sampo like to make chocolates for you. Very random, I know, but each valentines day, he with the help of the moles, makes you homemade chocolate, even go as far as to craft the box for you. They are not the best nor the prettiest, but it comes from the bottom of his heart, also he surprisingly buys all the ingredients too rather than stealing them, so you better apprecite it.

Sunday loves to either sing or you to sleep, he would yap and yap, his voice so melodious, the lullaby he sings so calming and nostalgoc, taking you in his arms, and gently petting you. Other than his sister when she was a child, you are the only one blesses enough to hear this bird chirp.

Welt trying to use gen z or gen alpha slangs and failing (definitely tried using 'skibidi ' or 'rizz' unironically), trying to imitate the express trio's speach pattern, so he can be cool, and match up with you, despite his withering bones. Kiss the grandpa and appreciate his efforts.

I will write nasty Dottore smut to cleanse my sins of writing fluff soon! The next post will should be very big, so I hope I can complete before falling asleep.

[formulamar]

she's a ferrari

charles leclerc x yn!ferrari

fc: Addison Rae

summary: as a child, the great-grand daughter of Enzo Ferrari used to spend her weekends hanging around the paddock. but once she went off to university her appearances became rare. what happens when she starts working for Ferrari? and... one of the drivers steals her heart.

October 2023

rumorhasitf1

liked by cl16fan and 3,049 others

rumorhasitf1: 🚨RUMOR CONFIRMED 🚨

After not being seen at a F1 Grand Prix in three years Y/N Ferrari stuns at the 2023 Austin Grand Prix.

643 comments

ferrarifan3: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODD!!!!!!!!

ferrarifan0: LETS GOOOO

f1fan6: THE QUEEN IS BACKKKKKKK

-> mclarenfan8: wait i'm new fan. can someone explain who this is???

-> ferrarifan3: yn is Enzo Ferrari's great-grand daughter. she's attended races since she was maybe 5 or 6 years old and formed really close bonds w the drivers (mostly the Ferrari drivers ofc) its an ongoing joke that Fernando is her "f1 dad" because he was very protective of her and they have a close bond.

tifosi9: I NEVER DOUBTED U @/rumorhasitf1

liked by rumorhasitf1

f1fan05: amazing day for Fernando Alonso

ferrarifan7: she looks so grown up omggggg 🥲

twitter

🔒 ynferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, ynbff and 560 others

🔒ynferrari: austinnnnn had so much fun but not a good weekend for the fam :(

67 comments

fernandoalonso: Where was my invitation???

->🔒 ynferrari: this is literally your workplace…

ynbff: yn ur hotter than austin will ever be (I've never stepped foot in austin)

-> ynferrari: babe I appreaciate this but it is actually so hot here I am going to die

landonorris: @/ynbff was right

-> carlossainz55: Cabrón 😂

-> fernandoalonso: @/landonorris you want to have a chat?

-> ynferrari: NO NANDO HES JOKING

charles_leclerc: Hope you visit more often yn!

liked by ynferrari

-> danielricciardo: Ok... 🤔

🔒 ynferrari's story

twitter

ynferrari_updates

liked by cl16fan, 1644lvrrr and 409 others

ynferrari_updates: yn is in the paddock for the mexico gp!!!!! forza ferrari!!!

53 comments

ferrarifan3: ferrari princess is back!!!!

charlesfan83: SHE LOOKS SO GOOD

ln4s: omg i wanna see the rest of her outfit so bad

lordpercevalfan: THE PEARLS!!!!!

ferrarienthusiast38: it’s my dream to meet her 🥹

charlesleclerc16updates

charlesleclerc16updates: Charles responding to a question about Y/N during his post-race interview ❤

60 comments

cl16fan: HIS SMILE AWE

charlnor: "getting to know each other better" getting to know each other better. getting to know each other better. GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER BETTER! getting to know each other better?

-> f1fan6: bro is talking like they're going out or something

-> charlesfan2: this + the speculation on Twitter is making me start to believe they might be dating

lec4: can we talk about how is whole face lit up when he was asked about her because it makes me feel insane

-> ferrarifan7: I NOTICED THAT TOOOO

user: I don't get this. Y/N is just another nepo baby parading her status around the paddock who's last name happens to be Ferrari. How is she helping the team???

-> charlnor: yn is very passionate about motorsport and has been since she was little. a lot of the team members who have been working at Ferrari for years know her very well and have seen her grow up. she's also known for being a very kind person. and if you haven't noticed she does not "parade" anything around. she's a very private person most of what we know about her is info from fan interactions, team members or drivers. Ferrari is a family and its literally her LEGACY.

November 2023

🔒ynferrari's story

to be continued…

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

a/n: i’ve had this idea in my head forever 🤭🤭 reblog if you want part 2!!! + pls comment if you want to be on the taglist :)

[rkvriki]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ things that make their heart flutter

HI I KNOW I'M BARELY ACTIVE ON THE TIMELINE IM SO SORRY LMAO. something really intersting is coming very soon so keep an eye out hehe!!! make sure to leave feedback and reblog! my requests are closed and my talk box is always open so lets talk!

WARNINGS ! mentions of hoon feeling down; my inspiration to write this was very low so the las ones ended up being longer than the first three im so sorry :'); mentions of won being stressed; ni-ki not being proud of himself :(

word count: 1.5k

୨୧ LEE HEESEUNG !

– kissing him when he’s still half-asleep

the sun rays started shining through the curtains, hitting your eyes. you slowly opened them trying to adjust to the strong (late) morning light. it had been a long week and you needed to sleep as much as you could, giving your body the rest it needed. you stretched your body before turning to the side, seeing your boyfriend still asleep with his arms stretched by his head. you smiled softly at the sight before you, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. when you pulled back you watched as his eyes fluttered, still in between sleep and reality. heeseung opened his eyes, trying to look at you, but sleep was stronger than him and his eyes closed back again. you let out a quiet laugh and leaned down to kiss his pouty lips this time. the corners of his lips twitched upwards and his cheeks were getting warmer, making you chuckle at him before kissing his cheek and getting up to start your day.

୨୧ PARK JONGSEONG !

– looking at him from across the table

you and jay had been invited to a dinner with all of your friends. it was in a very fancy restaurant. high ceilings and big chandeliers. you were sat with your girlfriends while he sat with his friends, further from you. you hadn’t seen them in what felt like forever, work had been keeping all of you busy now that the year was ending. you were all engaged in a conversation, keeping up with everything going on with each other and spilling the latest gossip at work. you were so immersed in the conversation you kind of forgot jay was there too and this wasn’t just a casual dinner with your friends so you looked behind you and saw jay with his sleeves rolled up, laughing with his own friends. it was in moments like this you wondered how you had scored a man like this. too lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice jay looking back at you. when his eyes made contact with yours, you playfully winked at him, making him look away while blushing, making you laugh at his behaviour as you tuned back into the conversation.

୨୧ SIM JAEYUN !

– brushing his hair away

it was one of those peaceful days where both you and jake had a day off from work. jake had slept over at your house and you two spent the whole day basically doing nothing but enjoying each other company, which is something rare since lately he’s had a busy schedule because comeback is just around the corner. you had a whole movie marathon planned for the day and you were already on your fourth movie. the clock had just hit 7pm and you were starting to feel sleepy. jake was currently lying with his head on your lap as you were sat with your legs spread on the couch. you looked down at him, seeing him focused on the movie, his cheeks flushed from sleepiness. you smiled softly at the sight, your hand making its own way down to his cheek, caressing the soft skin. he looked up at you, smiling softly as he tried to rub the sleep off his eyes. his hair was falling on his eyes so your hand moved upwards to brush his hair away from his eyes. he closed his eyes at the touch as he felt his cheeks warm up and his heart flutter at the simple yet affectionate action.

୨୧ PARK SUNGHOON !

— running your hands through his hair as he speaks

today had been a long day for sunghoon. everything felt like it was going wrong. from the way his day started with him forgetting to bring his umbrella and getting soaked on his walk from work, him continuously making mistakes during dance practice to him spilling his drink he had ordered along with some food for lunch. his day was not bound to go well and he had already accepted his fate. he was so frustrated with himself. hoe could he keep making stupid mistakes during rehearsal? even though everyone kept reassuring him it was fine to have off days he just couldn’t be easy on himself. he just needed nothing but spend time with you and feel your confronting presence. sunghoon was currently lying down in your bed as you sat on the edge of it by his head. you were letting him ramble about his day. since the moment he stepped inside your house you knew something was up with him and if you didn’t insist on him he would just bottle all those feelings up. he was ranting about all his unpleasant events of the day as you looked down at him with a soft gaze. as he spoke he felt your hand starting to caress his hair until it was running smoothly through its strands, making him stutter his words. you laughed at him as he covered his face, hiding his blushing cheeks.

୨୧ KIM SUNOO !

– the way you stare at him when he speaks

sunoo is a very talkative person and he isn’t ashamed of it. he loves talking about the things he loves and sharing them with you. every time he is telling you about something that happened to him he will not miss any details. you obviously didn’t mind, you loved listening to him talk and you would do it for hours (as if you didn’t already). every time you didn’t see each other for a long time, like when he went on tour he would tell you everything that happened while he was abroad. it was happening today. sunoo had just come back from tour and you both missed each other more than anything so you took a day off to spend together. you both walked through the centre of the city, walking by the river as you watched all the people gathered there. you went shopping and stopped by a plush store and sunoo literally begged you to let him buy you one just because it resembled you. now, you were both taking a break in a cafe, eating every kind of pastry while drinking hot drinks as sunoo told you funny stories that happened during their concerts. you watched as he spoke with such a happy face, showing just how much he loved what he did. your head was propped in your hand as you stared at him lovingly. he stopped talking, hiding his blushing cheeks, scolding you for looking at him in such a manner. you just smiled and leaned forward to leave a peck on his lips.

୨୧ YANG JUNGWON !

– holding his hand when he’s stressed

being a leader is probably the hardest position to be in a group, especially when you’re a young one. now, jungwon loves being a leader, he loves to know that the members rely on and trust him like no one, but when he is expected to give speeches wherever they go, it gets him really anxious and even stressed. he’s done it multiple times and he almost always used to it, but sometimes, like today, he needs to talk to a bigger crowd in a bigger event. he’s been restless for the whole day, reading his script over and over again, trying to memorize it. you heard it so many times you could probably do the speech yourself without looking at the paper. he was sitting next to you on a couch backstage. his leg was bouncing up and down and he was sighing way too many times. you were getting worried he would get it all wrong just because of stupid nerves. you grabbed his hand, making him still in his movements. he looked at you and you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, making him smile and nod at you appreciating the comfort you were trying to bring him.

୨୧ NISHIMURA RI-KI !

– communicating without words

ni-ki loved performing more than anything in this world. it was what he did for a living and he couldn’t be more grateful for that. everyone, even without an artistic eye, could tell he was damn good at what he did, but somehow, he was never proud of his work. he would always point out flaws here and there that nobody noticed. he was too hard on himself and it made you sad that he couldn't see how good he does when he’s on stage. today was an important performance for him, he was going to have a solo dance project and he had been practicing so hard for it there was no way he would make a mistake. ni-ki had invited you to watch the recording and you gladly accepted. you watched him as he danced with the two backup dancers with such good chemistry. when the recording wrapped up he had to walk straight to an interview. he was walking past you and from the looks of it he wasn’t too happy with the result of things. he turned to look at you, seeing you nod proudly at him as you silently clapped and gave him a thumbs up with a grim, making him smile as looked down to the floor, visibly flustered and warmed up cheeks.

[yesimwriting]

Normalcy

A/n deadpool and wolverine drabble bc the movie was a little too good

Summary: Still reeling from the loss of your powers, you struggle to hold it together inside the TVA's void. Thankfully, you find an uncharacteristically peaceful distraction in your old friend Deadpool and in the wolverine variant who wants nothing to do with you.

Warnings/info: reader is a (former) avenger (bc i love the avengers <3), reader is described as having similar powers to wanda and having trained with her (bc i love wanda), implied beginning of an accidental love triangle if you squint ig, maybe too much lore for a drabble (?), me writing for characters for the first time so be nice 😭

----

The lines etched into your palms do not bend and twist to spell out secrets, there are no messages worth decoding pressed into your skin. Knowing this is not enough to stop you from staring at your hands like if you could just think about it hard enough...

"There you are, Peanut." The words are so warm you're briefly pulled out of your internal angst. You straighten, head lifting slightly and arms crossing in front of your chest. "Thought I lost you."

Wade continues forward until he's directly in front of you. He pauses, watching you with an unabashed openness that you'd only ever allow him to get away with. "Kidding," he tries, "I'd never lose you."

The familiarity of the casual affection eases you further, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "I was like 15 feet away from you."

"Sorry for caring." It's his go to comeback when it comes to defending the displays of affection you have the audacity to find overdramatic.

You blink, lips parting despite your lack of response. The world has felt a little slower these last few days, moving at a pace that leaves you with no choice but to reflect. Maybe it's the void.

"Hey," his voice feels a little flatter without his usual humor, "Are you okay?"

You let out a breath, shocked by this new low. Sure, you've known Wade for awhile and you've both seen each other through plenty of stages, but he's never felt the need to attempt a genuine pep talk for you. He's never struck you as the pep talk sort...for anyone. Do you really seem that off?

It's bad enough that your identity crisis has stolen the abilities that would have helped your trio pop out of the void with no real fanfare, you can't also make your insecurities everyone else's problem. "Yeah." The response doesn't feel convincing, but with Wade wearing the Deadpool mask, it's hard to be sure. "Just y'know...we're in a void and our reality might be ripped apart, so I've been better."

He's still watching you with a level of focus that's unnerving. You've gotten used to his familiarity, his lack of care for personal space or the social rules around watching people. "You're doing it again."

"Seducing you with my ability to have a heart to heart while looking this good in my suit?"

You sigh in an attempt to dismiss your slight smile. Happy or sad, superhero that once fought Thanos or regular person that can't regulate their emotions, Wade always treats you the same. "The staring thing. You said you'd stop."

"No, you said I'd stop." The correction is a return to what you're used to. He takes a step towards you, his proximity now forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to look him in the eye. "I'd never promise to look at you less."

"Comforting."

He angles his chin downwards, making the limited distance feel more significant. "I thought so." For a moment, he's quiet in a way that doesn't feel very him. "Are you sure you're...good?" His hesitance is another reminder that this is far out of his element. "I know this is your first..." Wade's rarely careful, only ever treading lightly on the one subject you never want to bring. "Outing, since..."

"I lost my powers."

Wade goes quiet again. If this conversation is as inevitable as it seems, a part of you wishes it could have come up elsewhere. Maybe in your shared apartment, definitely without the mask so you could better interpret his reactions. It's not often you keep secrets from him, but the hollowness you feel knowing the part of yourself you've lost isn't something you can just share.

It's more than just about missing your party tricks, it's about losing a part of yourself. They were all that was left of your time with the Avengers, of what Wanda taught you before Westview.

He lets out a breath. "They're not lost." You raise your eyebrows slightly, giving him a look meant to caution him against sympathetic optimism. "We don't know that."

He seems so happy to be able to tell you that there's no proof that any and all magical abilities have been flushed out of your system, you don't have it in you to remind him that that's mainly because you have no one to ask. What's left of the Avengers and your government connections either barely understand what you were or are untrustworthy.

"Educated wish?"

His mask muffles a slight gasp. You press your lips together in an attempt to resist smiling. "The last one worked out great."

Your eyebrows pull together skeptically, a reminder that the two of you are still technically in the middle of the last educated wish he attempted to speak into existence. "Didn't Wolverine stab you multiple times--"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh. "If I took getting stabbed personally, do you know where we'd be?"

In a reality where Wade holds grudges over those kinds of things, you wouldn't be anything to each other, except maybe enemies. You've never pulled a knife or sword or anything sharp on him, but when you first met he did startle you before you had a total grip on your abilities, which resulted in him getting thrown through a wall.

"I never stabbed you."

His hand finds your shoulder. You let him drag his thumb against against the fabric of your suit. "And that's how I know you really love me, Peanut."

You roll your eyes in an attempt to dislodge the warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach. The last thing Wade needs is encouragement. "I mean, I do go around stabbing everyone I like less than you."

He lets out a sound that feels like a scoff attempting to mask itself as a dry laugh. "There's the sense of humor that'd hurt me if I knew you less."

"Well--"

He squeezes your shoulder, "I know you." Okay. You'll let him have this one because maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. "I'm going to go check on the car, because a fucking Honda Odyssey would break down on us for no reason before we got to the fight."

"For no reason or because of the bitch fight you and Wolverine had in it?"

There's a beat of silence in which all you can do is try to imagine Wade's expression behind the mask. You'd like to think that he's smiling. "Oh, Pumpkin." He sighs as if you've stumbled onto saying something terribly naive. "It wasn't a bitch fight, it was awesome, and probably turned you on."

You deadpan a flat, "You caught me." He hasn't let go of your shoulder, and a part of you is oddly glad for it. "I'd offer you help with the car, but..."

You're self aware enough to acknowledge your strengths and weaknesses, car maintenance being the latter. Wade doesn't even let you get your oil changed by yourself anymore.

"I've met you." He squeezes your shoulder again, the gesture weirdly stabilizing. "Give me 15 minutes to actually look at the car and then I'm all yours."

Wade lets go of you, his arm falling to his side. "Aren't you always?"

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. "You're making me feel cheaper than my usual rate, Peanut."

You smile as he turns away. Things are always a little easier with Wade. It's more than just distraction, it's his way of making things feel a little lighter. You're not sure what to do with your 15 minutes of solitude to avoid falling back into self pity.

You originally broke away from the group of void trapped heroes under the premise of needing fresh air, but even here, with the expansive, sparsely wooded area at your disposal, the oxygen in your lungs still feels flat. If Wanda were around, you'd be able to ask if she felt the strangeness of this other plane of existence as well. At least then you'd know if your dislike of the void is only mental or an actual sign of life from your abilities.

You begin to walk forward, hoping to shed all thoughts of both your former self and the eeriness of this other world. There are other people you could talk to you. The others have been polite enough, or at the very least, passionate enough to be talked into facing Cassandra.

The trees you've been wandering through grow in their sparsity, the edge of the woods revealing a patch of grassland highlighted by a fire's warm glow. You squint past the tree line, attempting to make out the figure sitting in front of the flames. Wolverine.

Secluded from the group and staring at a campfire. Surprising. Though, you guess it's not fair to judge him too harshly, you left the group to brood as well.

He doesn't like you, doesn't know you well enough to dislike you, but it took him no time to find a way to get around that. Maybe it's your proximity to Wade. You've done your best to take his hostility as un-personally as possible. You've seen enough people you really care about go through the guilt ridden, fallen hero thing to know how deep that kind of hurt runs.

You've never known a Wolverine or Logan Howlett variant, so you have no way of knowing what he was like before. Sure, you've heard stories, but you're also overly aware of how the media can twist and turn those stories to fit their narrative. One day, a superhero is the world's greatest protector, and the next their the greatest menace. Maybe he was always a little dark, or maybe he wasn't.

"Don't just stand there." The gruffness of his voice startles you more than it should.

Heat crawls up your neck, a part of you more embarrassed than you should be. You weren't lurking, or at the very least, you weren't trying to.

You sigh as you abandon the safety of the tree line. "Sorry." He turns his head away from the fire. "I wasn't--I was just walking."

He's quiet for such a long moment you almost expect him to not respond at all. "Without your shadow?"

Wow, only a halfhearted dig at Wade. You must have caught him in a good mood. "Friend, and he's looking at the car. I'd be looking at the car with him, but I figured the odds for tomorrow are bad enough as is."

Another uneasy stretch of silence. "Yeah." There's not much, if anything, to take from the comment. "If you're here to convince me to go with you guys tomorrow--"

"I'm not." It's an honest answer. You had been walking around aimlessly and happened to stumble onto him. "I'm not into the pep talk thing." He scoffs, the sound lacking in genuine aggression. "What?"

He lifts his gaze from the fire, his eyes settling on some point past the horizon. "I thought you were an Avenger."

You're not sure what bugs you more, the fact that he's so sure he has you all figured out or the implication that the Avengers spend their days encouraging each other instead of actually doing things. What the Avengers are--or maybe were--is so much more than that.

You step forward, further separating you from the cluster of trees. "The Avengers are about a lot more than that."

His attention briefly shifts onto you before returning to the flames. If the silence is meant to be dismissive, it doesn't feel that way. There's a patience there that doesn't suit his usual brooding.

"Do you care if I sit?" The question is forced out before you can overthink it. "I promise no inspirational speeches or small talk."

After a beat, he dips his chin downwards in a nod so subtle you would have missed it if you had been watching him any less carefully. You're more relieved by his acceptance than you should be, your feet carrying you towards the campfire.

You sit at a polite distance, knees bent in front of you. His silence seems to push against the void's sluggishness. Maybe the issue has been you fighting this world's momentum.

"Why are you with him?" You're not sure if you're more shocked by the question or the break in silence. When all you can do is blink, he continues, "You seem--" He subtly clears his throat, as if struggling to admit this next part, "Nice, normal."

Oh. If you had been focused, you likely would have got what he meant without the clarification. "I know Wade's a lot--especially to you." You place a hand against your knee, thinking about that very specific safety you only feel with Wade. You don't have to try at being anything, or worry about earning your keep in any capacity. "But once you get to know him, he's a good friend."

You look away from the fire pit in time to see the skeptical look Logan throws in your direction. "I'm serious." His expression doesn't change. "He um--after I stopped being important to everyone else, he still liked me ." This isn't the conversation you wanted to stumble onto, especially not with someone who you barely know and actively dislikes you. "That sounds kind of dumb, but the point is, he's loyal."

He turns his head back towards the fire. "You always call him by his name." The observation is so stiff you'd consider it hesitant if it came from anyone else.

You've never thought much about Wade's name. Part of it is familiarity, and the rest of it is a force of habit. Even when you were with the Avengers, you preferred using actual names when off duty. It's easier to separate the mask from the person beneath it when you make an active effort to.

You shrug. "I'm not into off duty superhero names, Wolverine."

He falls silent again. You concentrate on the flames, the way they illuminate the world around you. "You can--" He cuts himself off, attention never wavering from the fire. "You can call me Logan, if you want."

An unsteady warmth roots itself in your chest. You didn't expect any sort of kinship between you and the wolverine Wade stole from some other timeline beyond him occasionally accepting your attempts at creating peace between him and Wade.

"Okay," you focus on keeping your tone measured, avoiding any emotions that might startle him, "Logan."

There's no tension in the quiet that follows. You let the minutes pass until you're certain that Wade's waiting for an interruption disguised as an attempt to help. "I should go, Wade's probably waiting for me."

You push yourself to stand. You let yourself glance at him one last time before turning towards the trees you emerged from.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 08 - Sex Magic]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Jungkook x sub f.Reader

Genre: married life!AU, Wizard!Jungkook, Fantasy!AU

Kinks: love making, vaginal penetrative sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, blowjob, cunnilingus, spit, multiple orgasms (f.receiving), edging (m.receiving), praise, body worship, sex magic & toys aka he enchants a crystal wand so it becomes a vibrator, size & strength kink, cuddly aftercare

Wordcount: 7.4k

a/n: someone gave me these kinks and i went “what if KOOK was the one with magic for a change?” and then this was born. also, i say this with pride, he is 100% and proudly inspired by Howl Pendragon from Howl’s Moving Castle, like, this is basically a Howl!AU with Kook. i also wholeheartedly fell in love with this Kook oh my lORD he is so dreamy and perfect <3

Jungkook Pendragon was many a things. Healer of the sick. Protector of the weak. Traveller of worlds. Wizard of one’s trust. Lover of animals and nature. An introvert rarely happy about small talk. Connoisseur of good foods. And man of immaculate beauty. He possessed the wits and intelligence to escape many a dicey situations. His bravery and courage was known just as well as his kind and empathetic heart. His humour never stooped down to insult other people, instead it so very often came down to making a fool of himself for the sake of a good laugh. But as funny as he was, he was also serious. He was intense and stern and scary if one dared to cross him. He was powerful and those who wronged the innocent felt his strength to its fullest. 

In his daily life however, Jungkook rarely showed off his strength. He helped flowers bloom anew or lit a fire for a desperate baker, he filled the bowl of a hungry stray cat or showed curious children a harmless but wondrous magic trick. Whatever his little show of strength might be, in his daily life, Jungkook wanted to bring happiness to the living beings around him with it.

You were no exception from people he wanted to make smile. Perhaps you were the one whose happiness was most important to him. His beloved and cherished wife. Only human and terribly weak against the dangers of dark distant lands. And he loved you more than he had ever loved another before.

You lived in his hometown your whole life. You knew of his existence and the help he bore to the townsfolk. You also knew that sometimes his windows went black and that meant his house wasn’t exactly in town. He explained to you later when you and he were already lovers how it worked. That he needed to use a lever by the front door to teleport his interior and the beings inside to another place and that he possessed buildings in each place to teleport into. Some of these places you were allowed to as well, while others he kept hidden from you because they would be too dangerous. 

Sometimes you stay in town while Jungkook disappears through the door and when he returns again, he brings the stench of death and signs of a hard battle. You always nurture him back to health even if seeing his body bruised and broken from fights hurt you. 

Now back to how you met. It was five years ago when a wicked warlock cursed your cats to stone. You knew instantly to seek the wizard Jungkook Pendragon for help. Up until this point, you have only heard of him and perhaps seen him hurry through the streets in passing, and when you stood before him, you barely managed to get your words out. He was beautiful. Beautiful beyond your wildest imagination. His skin radiated in health and youth. His hair, dark as raven feathers and slightly wavy, ended just a little above his shoulders. His eyes were friendly and filled with galaxies. They were the darkest brown, but glowed purple when he used his magic. His features were ethereal and his body both strong and slim. He was taller than you and smelled of sandalwood. Back then, he smiled at you and asked what you needed and you somehow stuttered your problem. He knew exactly what to do and somehow through being yourself, you managed to catch his attention as well. It wasn’t long after, and because of some very intense romancing by him, that you and he became lovers. You married but six months after, about which your parents were very happy. You moved into his house one day after the wedding, taking your two cats and everything you owned with you. Jungkook welcomed you in his home gladly. He gave you his sunniest room and encouraged you to fill it with your most beloved hobbies. Each time you placed a thing of yours somewhere in the house, he smiled and said how much he loved it there. And over time, his home became as much your home as it was his’. He even fulfilled your dream of owning a garden, accessible through his magic door and built just for you.

Jungkook Pendragon was many of things. Wizards, healer, protector and fighter, but most of all he was your beloved husband. The man you love more than you have ever loved another person. 

Dawn has long past and the town was whispering for sleep. Jungkook hasn’t come home yet. It has been since the morning when he went through one of the bad doors. It worries you to the point you can’t find calm. The dinner is dished, cold by now, and he should be home already. The only dinner you managed to get down were your own fingernails as you bit them in nervousness. Your cats, Fili and Kili, are sleeping by the fire but you could see from their erect ears that they were nervous as well. You cannot take it anymore. Is he still alive? You have such thoughts often when he leaves through one of the bad doors. Not every country on this planet was as safe and peaceful as your homeland. Many were cursed by monsters, war or dark magic. There were other wizards like Jungkook, but not many felt courageous enough to venture beyond their own borders. Jungkook never limited his powers to borders, he went where magic was needed and while you loved him for it, you also loathed this part of him. His kindness will kill him one day. You would never dare to tell him that because it was what he needed to feel happy, but sometimes you wished that he would stop leaving through bad doors and stay with you instead. 

Speaking of doors. The number shield above the lever suddenly flicks to black. You jump up from the armchair, staring at the front door with bated breath. The doorknob turns. Please let him be unharmed, please. The door opens, allowing the stench of phosphor to enter your home. Jungkook walks over the threshold like the wind, closing the door quickly and flicking the lever back to the town. He walks upright and with lightness in his steps. His face and clothes were darkened by soot, as were his hands, but he looked unharmed. 

“What a day”, he says, shrugging off his black cape.

“Beloved!” you call out, running to jump into his arms.

“Oh?” Jungkook catches you with a laugh and his dirtied hands under your behind.

“I’m so glad that you’re home. I was so worried that you were hurt or, or worse killed”, you almost sob into his shoulder, twisting his hair to get him closer to you. 

“Worry not about me. I’m home safe.” 

“Yes? Oh Jungkook, my beloved”, you cradle his face.

Jungkook sets you down gently, holding your waist as he smiles down at you. 

“You are so dirty. Oh my beloved, are you truly unharmed?”

“Yes, I promise you this is just soot which lingered in the air. I fought and won.” 

“You will cause me heart problems one day. You’re finally home”, you say and hug him, face buried in his strong chest despite his dirtied clothes.

Jungkook hugs you back, caressing the back of your head. He leans down and kisses the crown of your head, resting his cheek on it afterwards with closed eyes. His beloved woman. He loves this part of his days the most. To return home and be greeted by your hug is truly what Jungkook does all of this for. 

“My little love”, he whispers, holding you safely, “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, so very much.” You crane your neck so you could look up at him and get on your tiptoes. Jungkook meets you in the middle, cradling your cheeks as you and he kiss. His lips taste of ash and so you pull back with a slight scowl.

Jungkook chuckles, “I know I taste awful. Let me bathe and then I will really kiss you.”

“Yes, alright. I shall warm dinner in the meantime.” 

“Oh my little love”, he whispers and kisses your forehead in gratefulness. He breaks away from you to hurry upstairs in light steps and a melody on his lips. You clean off the soot from your clothes and cheeks, hurrying to the kitchen afterwards.

Dinner is served and warm when Jungkook skips down the steps. He changed into black pants into which he tugged a white flowy shirt. His bare feet are almost silent on the many rugs spread on the wooden floor. He dances to your side, picks you up to twirl with you once. You laugh loudly, wobbling slightly when he sets you down again.

“How I missed you”, he says, hugging you close and nuzzling his face into your neck. His hands roam your body innocently, rubbing your back and waist, giving your buttocks a gentle squeeze and caressing your arms. It is as if he refuses to let go and you love it so much, melting into him if there wasn’t dinner waiting. 

He ends his loving touches by holding your waist and cradling your hand with the other, resting his forehead against yours to sway with you to melodies he hums. It is as if you were dancing.

You smile, having your eyes closed. He has such a beautiful singing voice. Sometimes when sleep comes a little harder to you, as it sometimes does to a person, Jungkook caresses your face and sings to you softly until you fell asleep. You love these nights so very much and whenever he is gone for longer than a day and you can’t fall asleep because of worry, you are damned to a sleepless night. Are have gotten so used to his singing that living without is like torture. 

“Is this a new melody? You keep humming it lately?” you whisper.

“Yes, I thought of it”, he says and singings it softly with syllables of “lalala”s. 

You join his singing harmonising with him, which makes him smile and kiss your lips. You giggle.

“Mhm, you perfect blessing you”, he says, trying to deepen the kiss but you squirm away for the sole purpose of talking. If there wasn’t dinner waiting for you and him, you would want to stay in this moment for ages.

“Dinner will be cold again if we take any more time.” 

“Mhm, you’re right.” He kisses your cheek and steps back, but keeps his hands on your waist. “What did you make?” 

“Your favourite. Potato stew with cow’s meat. The bread is fresh, from baker Yoongi. Sit down, sit down.” 

“I’m in a dream. You have no idea how much this will cheer me up tonight.” 

He sits down, earning himself a kiss to his shoulder before you sit down as well opposite of him. You break the bread, giving him the bigger piece because he always eats so much more than you when he returns from a bad door. 

You talk about your days during dinner. You tell him that you went into town for shopping and that you met your parents for some tea. He tells you about the dangers he encountered. The situation in Berking was brittle as more and more fire demons invaded the mountainous lands and threatened the livelihood of the people. Jungkook worked together with the wizard of Berking, Taehyung Emerand, but he fears that soon their shared powers won’t be enough to ward off the demons. Jungkook plans on visiting the wizard Seokjin Koral tomorrow and ask for his aid in the matter. He is positive that the wizard will help. 

You and Jungkook clean the kitchen together after dinner and because it is so late already, you decide to go to bed soon after.

It took you a while to get used to Jungkook’s bedroom. His furniture was dark and the bed most comfortable, but the room was brimming with treasures. There was no wall which wasn’t covered in trinkets or artworks and no surface which didn’t carry more trinkets or healing plants. Many of the items were of magical nature and helped Jungkook recharge when he slept. Some bore memories while others were merely of aesthetic nature. You felt overwhelmed from all the views at first, but now you loved it dearly. Every item had its home and it fit so well together with the rest. These days, there are a few of your trinkets in the collection as well, looking perfectly in place. The floor was entirely covered in colourful, expensive rugs scattered without plan. Most corners of the room, or spaces where you rarely walked, were covered in stacks of books. Tonight, Jungkook reads one of the books when you enter the bedroom in nothing but your sleeping gown. He stepped out of his pants as well, now lying in bed with a bared behind covered by the warm blanket. 

“The water was really warm tonight. I barely wanted to leave the bath.”

“Yes, it felt good on the skin. The weather gets colder here again so it’s nice to have a warm bath.”

“Yes, not long and we will have to use the thicker blanket. I can’t wait, I love this blanket”, you say, getting comfortable under the covers. 

Jungkook lowers the book and places his hand on the side of your head so he could caress you gently. You gaze up at him, head the only thing sticking out from under the blanket. The light of the night lamp illuminates his face in warm colour, his dark hair falls in soft waves. Looking at him will never not make your heart flutter.

“Please don’t die far away from me, Jungkook Pendragon.”

“Oh beloved, you worry too much”, Jungkook speaks softly, massaging your ear soothingly. 

“Please just promise me.”

“I promise you. I shall grow old until I look like a raisin and then die in your arms.” 

You snicker, making him smile with it. 

“Yes, I can accept that.”

He chuckles, booping your nose. 

“You’re too cute.” 

He picks up the book and continues where he left off. You continue where you left off too, which is staring at his face to make sure that he was truly back with you again. 

“What are you reading?” you ask him, fingers tracing the side of his thigh mindlessly under the blanket.

“Spells I might need tomorrow. If Seokjin wants to leave for Berking right away, I want to be prepared.”

“So you will fight again tomorrow?” 

Jungkook lowers the book, meeting your eyes.

“Hey, little love”, he brushes his hand over your temple soothingly, “don’t worry about me. Nothing will happen to me, I promise.”

“You made a promise about raisins.”

“And I intend to keep it”, he says, scratching your scalp softly so your thoughts could calm down. He continues petting you like this as he gets lost in the book again, using magic to float it in front of him and flick the pages. 

What if you won’t ever see him again? Jungkook wants you to calm down and find sleep, but you can’t. You could lose him tomorrow. He could be gone, leaving you alone with no arms to lie in and no person to call home. If this moment wasn’t so tranquil, you would be crying. Instead you look at his face to memorise every inch of it just in case. 

Jungkook soon glances at you. 

“Try to sleep, beloved” he whispers, brushing his fingers over your lids gently to close them. 

“I can’t. I’m worried about tomorrow.”

“Don’t, I will return back to you.” Jungkook lies down on his side, kissing your forehead as he holds you close. “Try to sleep, beloved, please try to sleep.”

“I can’t. I want to look at you longer.” 

“Do I have to tire you, mhm?” 

Your lids flutter, as does your heart. Jungkook smiles sweetly, pinching your cheek and kissing it.

“Try to sleep, yes?” he whispers before sitting back up to return to the book. 

You continue to stare. His words made you desperate for him. You didn’t even think of this yet. If you lose him, you will also lose the intimacy. 

Jungkook is many a things. Wizard, healer, saviour, husband. And he is also the most attentive lover. You knew some intimacy before Jungkook, but truly got to know it through him. He waited after your wedding, of course he did. As a matter of fact, he was such a gentleman, that he didn’t even kiss you before you were officially his wife for he didn’t want to spoil your honour. The first kiss you shared was during the wedding ceremony and then later at night, Jungkook kissed you properly, sealing your shared fate. He couldn’t get enough of you and you couldn’t get enough of him. It always feels so good to be intimate with him. What if tonight is the last night to share this feeling? 

“Beloved?”

Jungkook sighs and looks at you, “why are you still up? Look at you, you seem so tired already.” 

“I don’t care. I want to be with you.”

“You are, little love, you are. In sleep as well.”

“Not yet, I have a wish.”

He places the book aside and lies down on his side, drawing calming circles on your upper back. His eyes are filled with so much love, his face looks constantly happy when he looks at you.

“Tell me your wish.”

“Can we love each other tonight? If you don’t return tomorrow, I want to have something to think back fondly on.”

Jungkook swallows the words he actually wanted to speak, that your worries were for nought and that you should sleep, when he sees how much you truly needed this tonight. He smiles with his eyes and kisses the shell of your ear.

“Of course, my beloved. We can love each other.” 

“Really?” 

"Yes, of course. I missed you today. Loving you like this, would make me very happy.”

“It would make me happy too. Jungkook, my beloved.” You touch his chest. “Can I taste you?” 

“You.” He gulps, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “You would want this?” 

“Yes. A lot.”

“I, I want it as well.” 

You sigh his name. He cradles your cheek.

“But first I need to kiss you. Truly kiss you.”

You meet him eagerly, fingers burying themselves deep in his soft hair and lips so ready to be claimed. Jungkook smiles into the kiss because of your eagerness, purring softly while his hand pulls you closer by your waist. He puts his other arm under your head, placing his hand on your shoulder. Naturally and happily, you drape your leg over his hips, breaking the kiss to whisper.

“This feels so good.” 

“It does, my beloved. I love holding you.” 

The kiss continues. Your hearts beat in sync, your lips dance perfectly together. How you both needed this tonight. He missed you all day, looking forward to the moment he was finally with you again. You missed him as well, worrying for his safety and healing now that he was kissing you again. 

You remember the first night he properly kissed you. You laid under him, cradled in his strong arms and with your breath stolen by him. It has been years ever since and it still feels as exciting as it did back then. Perhaps even more exciting because your love for each other grew over the years. Familiarity, intimacy, connection replaced the once thrilling feeling of learning each other and with it allowed your love to blossom. Being known and knowing in return is much better than getting know, it truly is. Jungkook knows that you love it most when he uses his tongue to trace your lips. You know that he gets especially excited when you run your nails over his scalp. You use your knowledge tonight, soon turning the kiss from gentle to just a little starved. You moan first, Jungkook answers you instantly, hand gripping your thigh to tug you closer. His hold on you is gentle but desperate. The hardness poking your middle shows his hunger even better. You and he both know that you needed to end this kiss in order to continue.

It breaks with shaky breaths leaving the both of you. You can’t stop looking at him. He reciprocates, starry eyes racing between yours. His fingers brush your cheek, his whisper comes oh so very quietly.

“I love you with the very essence of my soul, ___ Pendragon.” 

“I love you with every breath I draw, Jungkook Pendragon.”

He exhales shakily, resting his forehead against yours. You and he close your eyes.

“My little love….” 

For a brief second, you enjoy the moment of connection. You are both aroused yet want to take time to truly savour each other. Being naked and getting it done quickly is easy, but what truly makes intimacy with him so wonderful is that you equally want to take your time. You savour the connection, the moments your souls are intertwined and your hearts are one.

“I feel so good”, you breathe.

“I feel so good, too”, he whispers.

“I want you.”

“I want you too, so very much that my hand…” he dances it to your behind and gives it a gentle squeeze, “...wants to act up.”

You giggle, he chuckles. 

“You’re just being cheeky.”

“Mhm, I am. It makes you laugh.” 

“Oh beloved you”, you break the connection by gently pushing him to his back. He moves gladly, breath quickening at what was to come. You peck his lips first, then lie down on your stomach, draping your arm over his waist. You feel up his chest slowly, gazing at his face. His heart races uncontrollably. 

“You’re beautiful”, you say and rest your cheek on his chest, scrunching your face in a love drunk smile. And as you rest, your hand rubs him slowly, memorising how it feels to touch him. “My strong love and yet you are still so soft.” 

Jungkook smiles, brushing his hand down your cheek. With a giggle and scrunch of your nose you lift yourself again to kiss him over the shirt. Your hands and fingers guide your lips, painting a picture of him in your memories. His strong yet comfortable chest, which is so perfect to hide in, his delicate collarbones, on which necklaces always sit so prettily, his tender neck which always smells so good and his strong shoulders, which are perfect to lean on, his even stronger arms which give the best hugs and then you take the path back. You brush your lips over his nipples, making him sigh softly, but you don’t linger. You need to kiss his stomach next, which is so strong but also so soft when he lies with you. You hug him and rest your cheek on it.

“You are so soft, you really are.” 

Jungkook chuckles but sighs soon after. He feels so warm inside. If this is how he can spend the night before battle, he is one lucky man. Quite frankly, he is the luckiest man who ever lived. He is married to you after all. 

It so happens that you soon reach the edge of the blanket. You glance at his face briefly. His eyes are closed. So it will be a surprise. Good. You love surprising him.

You push the blanket down to the middle of his thighs carefully and slip his shirt up to his lower stomach, exposing his hardened length. You keep one arm still around his waist, using it to support some of your weight as you lower your starving mouth to his length. He fits between your lips as if he was molded just for you. 

Jungkook gasps loudly, hand falling to the nape of your neck and fingers ever so slightly dimpling your skin. His hips twitch up, his length throbs on your tongue. The surprise was successful. How exciting. 

You moan and begin moving. You concentrate on his tip, using both your tongue and lips to taste him. He is sensitive where he leaks and around his frenulum, so you switch between these two spots, listening to the sweet moans he releases in reaction. His hand is still on your neck, grasping it and when he doesn’t, he gives you gentle rubs of gratefulness. 

You lick his taste from his slit, purring in answer to his gasped moans. You enjoy his taste a lot. At first, you were surprised by how he tasted down there. You always expected it to be different flavoured, more like milk to match the look of it, but that isn’t so. It is masculine when he is deeply aroused and sweet when he ate lots of fruit and sometimes it carries a hint of salt in its taste but most of all, it tasted like him. And you loved this flavour so much that you find yourself drooling all over him right now. You slurp it up, picking up what you can’t swallow with your fingers to spread it on his lower inches in a deep and skilful massage.

“Beloved this is…” He groans deeply, kicking the mattress as you force his legs to be restless. “...a lot. Ah mmhhgm.”

What an exciting reaction. Your stomach flutters and your wetness grows between your legs. You sink him between your lips, keeping them relaxed so they move as you suck him. You press the flat of your tongue against his length, moving your head in the same rhythm you move your hand.

“Beloved ah”, he gasps, fingers digging into your tender neck desperately. He kicks the sheets, bucking his hips up afterwards. 

Encouraged by his reactions, you pick up speed and depth, drooling down his length without bothering to swallow it. 

Jungkook moans loudly, hand dropping from your neck to reach up and grab the corner of his pillow. He cannot decide whether to keep his eyes closed or gawk at the ceiling in disbelief. He also cannot decide whether to dig his head into the pillow or lift it in surprise. Neither can he decide whether to gasp or moan. Perhaps he does all of these things. With no pattern behind them. They just happen and happen while you suck his very soul out of his length. He feels it in every inch of his cock, feels it in his balls as well. It burns like fire and consumes the very same. It spread to his stomach by now, lingering as a warm, tight knot. It consumed his legs as well, rendering them useless and tingly as if millions of fire ants crawled over them. 

He might release in your mouth if he wasn’t careful. It would feel so good and you would love it so much, but he can’t. If you want tonight to truly be memorable, he wants to do it the right way. He wants to look into your eyes as he lets go and feel your fingers grasp his arms as you feel it coat your walls. 

You moan around him, head pounding in pleasure. You love to have him in your mouth. It shouldn’t feel that good to have something hit your throat over and over again but it does. You love him inside so much that you feel no need to gag or choke, only the need to consume him more and more.

“Stop it now”, Jungkook however stops you, sliding his hand to your chin to gently pry you off his length. “Stop or you will make me release.”

You slip off begrudgingly, turning your head to look at him. Your lips are puffy and glossy, your eyes are hazy. Jungkook feels thoughtless at the view of you, except for one thought. 

“Oh you, let me kiss you”, he gets out and pulls you up to him so he could do just that. You whimper, melting into him instantly. You don’t mind anymore that he stopped you from tasting his orgasm, not when he kisses you so hungrily. He flips your position, claiming the emptiness between your legs with his hips. Only the thin fabric of your sleeping gown keeps you from connecting deeper. 

“Oh you…perfect woman. You felt so good I feared for my heart. Oh you…”

Jungkook tastes himself on your lips and tongue as he kisses you. It makes him want to kiss you even more, even better, even longer. Not just your lips. Everywhere. Your beautiful face, which he always thinks of for happiness when times are hard, your tender neck so soft and smelling always so good, your collarbones which are prettiest when sunlight hits them, your shoulders which sometimes get stiff but which relax so easily when he rubs them, your arms which are the only home he will ever have, your chest which is rather precious to handle. He palms your breasts and gathers them carefully so he could kiss them over the thin fabric. His warmth seeps into your skin like this, drawing gasps from your lips. He feels so good on your body.

“You are the living proof that the creator is an artist. She carved you from the very soils of beauty, my beloved”, he breathes, lips ghosting over your tender nipples without ever deepening the touch. That is the task of another night, he needs to worship every inch of you. Your sides which he loves to hold and gently tickle because it makes you laugh, your upper stomach which tenses whenever he makes you belt in laughter, your stomach which is so soft. So soft. Jungkook finds himself sinking his head into it and sighing your name. 

He gazes up at you, holding your sides.

“I’m home when I’m with you, ___ Pendragon.” 

You ruffle his hair, smiling at him.

“You’re my home too.” 

Jungkook sighs happily, lifting his head to continue his path. He wiggles under the blanket and lifts your gown, sticking his head under it. You gawk with bated breath, waiting for his wet tongue between your folds. 

It never comes, instead he places dozens and dozens of kisses on each of your inner thighs, drawing a sigh from your lips. You prop your legs up all on your own, getting his hands on your upper hips outside the gown. You can hold them like this and you do, grabbing one finger per hand as he kisses a path closer and closer to your heat. 

Jungkook bends the fingers you hold, letting you know that he was holding you back. The warmth between your folds hits you a second later, surprising you so greatly that you squeak and close your legs on his head.

“Mhm.” He lifts his mouth, “forgive me. Too far?”

“No, no sorry. I startled, that’s all. Please more”, you stutter, opening your legs.

“I will be gentle, I promise my beloved”, he says and sticks his tongue out to part your petals with it. You squeeze the fingers you hold, moaning his name. 

Jungkook closes his eyes, releasing a breath of utter relief. He loves to be between your legs. You offer him such heaven. You are soft and tender and so warm. When he excites you, your warmth begins to smell so intensely feminine and addicting that Jungkook becomes droopy. And your taste. Oh, your taste. Jungkook loves every drop of it. You become sweeter the more aroused you get and your nectar changes from thicker to more liquid. You are already so wet tonight from pleasuring him that Jungkook can’t decide where to linger. Your entrance, your petals or your clit. All of it gets traced and licked by his eager tongue. He can picture you in his mind when he does it. How you open up like the prettiest flower, how there are the first then the second petals revealing your warm depth and presenting your swollen clit.

“You’re beautiful, so beautiful” he murmurs into you and includes his lips as well. He sucks and kisses you, forcing your voice to raise in pitch as he makes you moan constantly. 

Your legs are shaky and it feels as if millions of ants were crawling under your skin, just how you made him feel. The same warmth is in your stomach as well, tight and deep inside you, hiding almost. 

You mewl and tug at his finger. Jungkook comes up with a slurp, appearing from your gown. His raven hair is messy, his rosy lips glossy. 

“Was I too rough?” he asks with worried eyes.

“No, your fingers please, your fingers.” 

“Ah, I understand”, he smiles and sticks his two longest into his mouth to coat them in a good layer of his spit. He slides his other hand to your inner thigh and opens your legs further with a gentle tug. 

You whimper in reaction, fingers grasping the sheets. To be gazed upon by him as he pleasures you is so arousing to you. He is looking at your face, watching your reaction as you take his digits.

The stretch is unbearable, not because it hurts, but because it feels too good. He is so careful in how he fills you, gliding in inch by inch. 

You whimper, face contorting in pleasure. Warm. You are so warm now that you are finally filled. 

“So beautiful. You are so beautiful”, Jungkook says and disappears inside your gown again to lick you eagerly. He traces your stuffed folds first, moaning deeply at the feeling of it. He can’t wait to exchange his fingers with his length. For now however, he wants to help you to an orgasm with just his fingers and tongue. He curls them deep inside you, pressing them against your upper walls right where it felt best. A gasp from you. Jungkook guides his tongue to your clit and presses it against you tightly to use the pressure and wet warmth to rub it with his tongue. The gasp turns into a moan. And another. Then another blending into a constant stream of noises as he gives you pleasure so intense you can see light behind your lids. 

You twist the sheets and tug on them, head buried deep in the pillow and back arched off the mattress. Your toes curl, gripping the sheets. The once quiet warmth in your lower body turns into a raging, all consuming fire. His fingers fill you entirely, the pressure on your insides is perfect and his slickened tongue is so strong in its grinds. He will make you climax. It is inescapable. 

“I have to orgasm”, you get out, whimpering his name next.

Jungkook encourages you to let go with a hungry growl, sealing your fate. 

You throw your head back and break screaming his name. Jungkook moans, tingling with you as he helps you ride it out until you pull away all by yourself. 

Jungkook licks his fingers clean before reappearing from your gown, lower face messy in your orgasm and his drool. 

“Beloved”, you croak, reaching for him. He lies himself down on you, meeting you in the middle for a kiss. You whimper and twitch, grasping him desperately as you use his kisses as your remedy. He left you so shaken from your high, but you wouldn’t want it any other way. You are alive when you can be with him this way. 

You break the kiss with a wish on your lips, “can I feel your skin on mine?” 

“Yes, of course. This would be everything to me”, he says and sits up to pull his shirt over his head. You do the same with your gown. You and he stay seated afterwards, gazing at each other.

“You’re beautiful”, you say, tracing his pecs. 

“You are just as beautiful”, he breathes and hugs you against him.

You instantly melt, eyes closing and skin taking in every second of contact it has with him. He is so warm and soft. He is the same temperature as you and yet he feels so much warmer than you. Like your only heat source in a cold room.

“I want to be with you.”

“You will be, I promise. Do you want to lie down for it?”

“Yes, very.” 

While you lie down, he disappears from your side for a brief moment to get a small wand of pure emerald, then claims his spot between your legs again. He intertwines his right hand with yours, resting on his elbows. He uses his left hand to cradle your cheek and caress it. His eyes gaze at you with so much love that you feel breathless.

“You’re beautiful.” 

“You’re beautiful too.”

“No, but you are truly so beautiful”, he whispers and furrows his brows as his emotion overwhelm him. “Oh my beloved. I will be gentle with you, I promise.” 

“Whatever you promise, please just hurry. I need you inside me. Please.”

“Help me, yes?” 

You reach down with your left hand and take his length to guide it to your entrance. You give him a gentle push and then he takes over, filling you with him in a careful push of his hips. 

Your breath hitches, you grasp his shoulder and squeeze his hand. He furrows his brows, eyes clouding over in pleasure.

“Is this good for you? Are you in pain?”

You shake your head vigorously and squeeze his shoulder as well.

“And now? I feel you tightening. Is it too much so soon after your orgasm?” 

“I’m tightening because it feels so good”, you croak and roll your hips up to take the last inch.

Jungkook moans your name, dropping his forehead against yours and squeezing his eyes shut. A curse slips from his lips, “forgive me”, he instantly apologises.

“Don’t. I agree. Damn it. Ah beloved, I love you.”

“I love you too”, Jungkook chokes out and kisses you, beginning to chase your warmth in deep but gentle movements. You swallow each other’s initial moan. Jungkook slips his hand from your cheek and grasps the pillow instead, holding it with the kind of desperate strength he wouldn’t dare to hold you in fear of hurting you. But he has to hold something like this. The tingling fire in his legs and stomach is back, his length feels even better than it did when it was being sucked by you. If he didn’t grasp something, he would go insane. He regrets not releasing in your mouth when he had the chance because he is paying the price now. 

Jungkook breaks the kiss, drool still sticking to your lips and his.

“I’m so sensitive. Every stroke feels like coming alive. I should have released in your mouth, ah beloved, ahmh it’s…you’re driving me insane.” 

“Is it too much?” 

“Almost, I’m burning up. It feels…”

“It feels so good”, you whimper.

“That’s right, it feels so good”, he agrees and moans, length so deep inside you that you swear you can feel his soul reach into you. 

You gaze up at him through your blurry vision. He is so close to you but you see enough. His pleasure twisted face, his messy hair, his flushed cheeks.

“You are so beautiful right now, so beautiful.” 

“You are…beauti…ful…too”, he struggles with his words, following it up with a growl and his fingers slipping from your grasp to instead grip your wrist and pin it into the pillow. He does it carefully, unlike how he twists the pillow. 

“My beloved, it’s so difficult not to break you. Are you still comfortable?” 

“Yes, please.”

“Oh my little love, my warm soft love… it takes everything inside me not to ruin you.”

You clench around him, arching your back. To be underneath him, to be so fragile and weak in comparison to him and to be treated with such utter tenderness because of it, is driving you insane as well. 

You reach between your bodies and touch your clit. 

“Ah!”

Jungkook peels his eyes open at the sound. His hips stop.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he gasps, worried.

“Yes, yes. Please move.”

“Oh my love, what a relief. You are just so small and tender. I worried that I hurt you for a second.” 

“Jungkook, please”, you beg him, gazing up at him pleadingly. You wiggle your hips, trying to give yourself more pleasure with quick rubs of your clit.

“No, wait. I have something for you.” 

“What?” you ask breathlessly, craving more of what he did.

He sits up, cock still inside you, and reaches for the emerald wand. He closes his fist around it and whispers an enchantment over it. It looks normal afterwards and feels warm as he places it in your hand. 

“What did you do to it?”

“Tap it once.” 

You follow. The wand begins vibrating in your fingers, “oh?” 

“For you. It will last for a day. Tap it again and it will increase gradually, tap it twice and it will stop.” 

“This is so…” 

“Place it on your clit.” 

You obey in curiosity, sitting up slightly in shock upon the initial sensation. 

“Jungkook”, you croak, walls throbbing around him.

“Does this feel good?” 

“Yes”, you mewl, nodding your head vigorously.

“Good. Use it whenever you need it.” 

Jungkook pushes you down gently and with a knowing smile, lays himself back down over you to pick up where he left off. 

You gasp and writhe, gawking at him with widened eyes. He soothes you with gentle caresses of your temples and cheeks.

“Isn’t that nice?” 

“-ice”, you manage to squeak out because then you are unable to speak, scrunching your face up and grasping his arm. 

“You are so beautiful, my beloved. I love you so much”, he moans, head dizzy because of this situation. 

You are writhing under him, hips bucking up to chase him and walls so tight around his length it is almost impossible not to orgasm. Giving you pleasure, making you feel good, is his biggest pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well, you are so beautiful, so beautiful…”

Jungkook grits his teeth and angles his hips differently to stimulate your sensitive spots. He keeps his length buried inside you for it, drawing circles. 

You inhale loudly, reaching above you to twist the pillow. Your eyes spill tears because of the intensity with which he pleasures you. You have never felt like this before. The wand gives you shakes you truly cannot control. His length has never felt so filling before, so big and ever consuming. It is as if you are giving him your very soul right now. 

“Jungkook”, his name leaves you in a desperate keen as you kick the sheets.

“Don’t hold back, I will follow. I promise you, my little love.” 

He breaks you into a million pieces just as he patches you back up again at the same time. You thought that you screamed in bed before, but you hadn’t. This is a true scream of pleasure, one so utterly soul bearing that Jungkook feels his eyes cross and roll back before he orgasms so deep inside you, he feels your walls quiver in reaction. 

You and he ride out your shared highs in messy thrusts and rolls of your hips, falling in each other’s arms afterwards to kiss sloppily. The emerald lies in the sheets, still vibrating but without use. Your fingers are in his hair, he cradles your face.

“I love you, I love you, I love you”, he chants and you answer him with the very same words over and over and over again until your breath runs out and you need to catch it together.

You stay close, rubbing your noses together gently.

“How are you feeling? Was I too rough?” he asks.

“You were perfect. You felt so good. I, I never experienced such sensations before”, you say.

“I know. You screamed. I never heard you scream like this before. My beloved, my eyes actually crossed because of it. I never felt my orgasm so intensely before.”

“Me neither. It was as if you were trying to crawl into me.” 

“And for me it was as if you wanted to consume me whole.”

You and he giggle, hugging each other. 

“You are going to drive me insane one day, ___ Pendragon.”

“Good. When the day comes, I will become mad with you, Jungkook Pendragon.”

He smiles, hiding his face in your neck. 

“Good. I can accept that.”

“It is decided then. We will become two mad raisins.”

He laughs, lifting his head to get lost in your eyes. 

“Promise. We will become two mad raisins together. My precious, beloved love”, he whispers, cradling your cheek.

[luveline]

hey jadee! How are you??

could you write a next part for the coworker James au?? Maybe something like them going on a date or Sirius and remus suspecting that they are more touchy with each other <33

coworker james | ty for requesting!! fem

Remus Lupin is a long list of things, and nowhere on that list is idiot. Nor gullible, nor unobservant. He sees exactly how you and James are touching one another these days, but he’s decided to keep it to himself for now. 

After all, if James had cottoned on to his first tryst with Sirius there probably wouldn’t have been a second, and then a date; love is vulnerable in the beginning to embarrassment. 

Still, you both must know how ridiculous you’re being where James has taken your hand under the table. You’re struggling to hide the shyness in your smile, and James is all too brash as he pulls your hand further toward him. Your desk chairs squeak in sync. Whenever Remus gets up for a drink, he can see James pressing your hand to his knee as he leans against his desk to hide it. He’s just a second too slow, because Remus is suspicious of you to begin with. 

Remus gets up. Watches in gentle ridicule as his best friend of more than ten years thinks he’s convincing as James yawns and rests his head on the desk, sandwiching your hand between his knees. 

It’s adorable but stupid. Remus turns back as he walks off to watch you laugh in your seat. “Stupid,” Remus thinks you’re saying. Apt. 

Remus abandons James and his new sweetheart to find his own. 

Sirius is a salesperson, a rare role at their water testing company, but he does it well when he’s not messing around. Remus watches from afar as Sirius readies the elastic band-pen catapult with a mento, aimed at the side of their unwitting coworkers head. 

Remus creeps up behind him. “Don’t.”

Sirius flinches, his catapult suddenly aimed in the wrong place and set loose. The mento hits his computer with a thunk and bounces back into a steaming cup of coffee. 

“Remus,” Sirius says, turning to him with a frown, “we talked about this.” 

“You talked about this and I listened without accepting the terms. Can we go out for lunch?” 

Sirius’ facade of arrogance disappears. “Well, of course we can. Is there something wrong?”

Remus would like to have Sirius get up and hug him. Like, to grab him tightly and kiss him as he would at home, only both of them might die from embarrassment, and so he’ll have to ferry him to a restaurant for a half an hour of their knees pressed together, enough touch to get him to the end of the day when he can make Sirius climb into bed with him early. 

“You’re making that face,” Sirius says. “Like I’ve done something wrong. What did I do? I feel a distinct sense of injustice about this one considering we haven’t seen each other since I brought you your coffee this morning.” 

Sirius is nice to look at. As they get older, there are some marked changes in their appearances no one was expecting, Remus would wager. Sirius’ hair seems to get finer, his eyes darker, where Remus’ hair is better kept shorter, his middle softer. James has turned to muscle. He’s lean, still, but solid. All these changes, and yet no love is lost. 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, gently now, his eyebrows crinkling with confusion. 

“No,” Remus shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything. I’m just thinking about something.” 

“Something important, it looks like.” 

“It might be.” Remus puts his hand to Sirius’ neck. His hand is very familiar with Sirius’ neck and his soft hair, in the same way Sirius’ neck knows every callus of Remus’ fingers. “Lunch now?” 

“Sure, my darling.” Sirius puts on his jacket and takes Remus’ arm. “Let’s grab your coat.” 

“Not sure we should go back my way.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“I think something is actually, properly going on with James and Y/N.” 

“He clearly fancies her.” 

Remus slows their pace as they approach the doorway leading back toward the finance nook. “It’s a bit more than fancying,” Remus says under his breath. 

James is playing with your fingers. It’s hard to see, underneath the desk is dark, but it’s like what Remus tends to do with Sirius’ hands at the cinema, two hands holding your one, twiddling your fingers without purpose. Remus stands extremely still. 

“Can you send that to me?” you’re asking. “I can’t keep track of all these files. Who’s managing the account?” 

“It’s Cory, I think…” 

Mundane conversation, and then, “What are you doing?” 

“Nothing. Maybe it’s my fault. We need better organisation on our end, the shared onedrive is always changing, that’s not easy for you, or anyone.” He hums to himself, a breath. “You have lovely hands.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“You do, you have… They’re really soft.” 

“I think you’ve rubbed the top layer of skin off,” you say, though your voice is lightening, almost thin. 

“If they weren’t so nice I wouldn’t have to.” 

“My fault again.” 

“Isn’t everything?” James asks. 

Sirius turns to Remus with a shake of his head. “What sort of indecent exposure is that?” Sirius whispers. 

Remus yanks him backward just as James’ head turns their direction. They hold their breath, grinning at one another —hiding in alcoves isn’t something they’ve had to do together in years. After a few moments, they peek their heads around at the same time. 

James has gotten up from his chair to stand behind you. They watch as he curls forward, wrapping and arm around your front, his lips at your ear. No clue what he’s said, but Remus can guess. You laugh and move away from James like he’s tickled you. 

“Come on, no one’s here,” James says, pulling you against his chest again with visible tenderness, “Remus must’ve gone to lunch.” 

“Or he’s making tea, and we’re about to be caught.” 

“He left his mug.” 

“But not his jacket.” 

“Oh, so smart,” James croons, his nose dipping into the curve of your neck. 

“And on company time,” Sirius says. “Well, you can wear my coat, handsome. Let’s leave them to it, should we?” 

Remus beams. That’s why he likes his Sirius as much as he does, besides a great many shoulder rubs and gifted first editions. He’s thoughtful, and kind, and not many people suspect it of him. 

Remus looks pointedly away from James where he’s tipping your head back to hold Sirius’ hand. “What do you want for lunch?” he asks. 

Sirius squeezes his fingers. Somewhere in the nook, James kisses you with your face upside down. 

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[astraystayyh]

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

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

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

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

word count : 20k

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

part two

You have always been first in your class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"I have an idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

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

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

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

"And right now, how do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

"I do too."

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

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

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

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

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

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

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

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

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

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

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

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

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

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

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

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

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

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

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

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

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

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

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

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

"What's there to miss?"

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

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

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

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

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

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

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

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

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

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll ask her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only tell my friends."

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

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

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

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"You'll catch a cold."

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

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

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

"Yn, I don’t-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something friends think about, right? 

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

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

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

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

"I’ll still cut it."

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

He didn't cut his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

2 months later

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

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

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

"What are you doing?"

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

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that you look scary."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

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

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

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

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

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

"I will." 

"Okay." 

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

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

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

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

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deleted your number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yn-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, let me make it better." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It will take time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

[wikiangela]

you know when you know (I think I do)

rating: G words: 1.4k

[read on Ao3]

___

“So, you and Buck.” Eddie finally gets on the topic he was clearly inching towards the whole evening. Tommy’s lips involuntarily turn up into a smile.

“Yeah. What about us?” He asks, still turned towards the TV, then takes a sip of his beer.

“You guys are, uh, together. Dating.” Eddie fiddles with the label on his beer bottle, sounding a little hesitant and awkward.

“Have been for weeks now.” Tommy nods, smile widening at the mere thought of Evan. He leans his head back against the back of the couch, then turns more towards Eddie. “Any particular reason you’re bringing it up now?”

“Uh, not really. I mean, I’m so happy for you guys, and, uh, it’s none of my business, I just-” He takes a deep breath. Tommy waits, curious about what his friend might have to say. “Listen, Tommy, I don’t wanna be one of these friends who’s all ‘if you hurt him, I’ll kill you’, that’s not me.” Eddie starts, cringing at the words. “Besides, he’s a grown man who’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

“True.” Tommy nods. He can already see where Eddie’s going with it. Tommy finds it sweet how much people in Evan’s life love him and care for him, and are protective of him, but not to a weird or unhealthy degree. He can appreciate that.

“But he’s my best friend.” Eddie continues. “And I just worry.”

“Okay?” Tommy prompts when Eddie falls silent, a frown on his face, like he’s considering his next words.

“He’s been through a lot. In general, but also relationship-wise. I’ve seen only part of it, but I’ve heard it all. And I just- I don’t want him to get hurt again.” 

“I’m not planning to hurt him, Eddie.” Tommy says softly. It’s obvious, and he knows what Eddie meant, but he wants to voice it anyway. He would never, ever, in a million years, do anything that could even remotely hurt his Evan. And if he did so unknowingly, he doesn’t think he’d forgive himself. Evan is such a ray of sunshine, he’s so good and sweet, and genuine, and Tommy would do anything just to keep that radiant smile on his face. 

“I know that.” Eddie shakes his head briefly. “People rarely do. It’s just that, Buck always gives a thousand percent of himself into everything.” A fond smile appears on his face, and Tommy is once again witness to the amazing bond those two have. This kind of friendship is so rare, they’re both so lucky to have each other – and Tommy is lucky to be let into it, even just a little bit. “Once he’s in, he’s in. And, Tommy,” Eddie looks him in the eyes, “Buck is definitely in, all the way, no turning back. He’s falling for you so hard and so fast, and letting all his guards down. Because that’s Buck, that’s what he does. And I just don’t want him to get too deep before you’re ready, before you’re both ready, and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I get it.” Tommy nods once, because of course he sees where Eddie’s coming from. “But you have nothing to worry about, Eddie. With Evan…” His lips curl into a smile around the word. “I’m already so far gone.” He shakes his head a little. “I know it’s soon, but I’m really falling for him.” He says quietly, but surely. He’s not used to this, talking about his feelings, about dating, about a person he’s seeing, especially not with someone he’s only known for such a short time. But he and Eddie became fast friends, and he’s Evan’s best friend, and Tommy feels safe enough to say it. He’s also honest and straightforward, and he likes to say it how it is, and this is how it is. He’s falling – or, to be honest, has fallen already – very fast and very hard for Evan Buckley, and he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. Evan is it for him. And he’s going to tell him that soon.

“Good.” Eddie says, tone serious, but a soft smile is forming on his lips. “He’s very lovable. You’d be an idiot to not fall for him.”

“I know.” Tommy grins. From the moment they met, he knew there’s something about Evan, something that pulled him in, got his attention right away. They laughed about it later, after they officially started dating and talked about that whole situation, how Evan put so much effort into trying to get his attention, but he had it anyway, from the start. Tommy was just more subtle about it, and he couldn’t figure out if Evan was flirting that day he gave him the Harbor tour or not. Seems like even Evan didn’t know. He’s so adorable, and kind, and bright and happy like sunshine personified. How was Tommy supposed to take one look at him and not develop a crush, that only seems to keep intensifying the more he gets to know him?

“And, for the record, I don’t want you to get hurt, either. We’re friends, too. Unless you break my best friend’s heart, that is.” He adds, his tone a little teasing, before his smile changes into something fond and genuine. “I’m really happy you guys found each other, truly. I’ve never seen him like this.” He chuckles quietly, shakes his head. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I can already tell you two just make sense. So, take good care of my best friend, Kinard.”

“Of course. I plan on it.” Tommy says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. 

“Just, not too much PDA when I’m hanging out with you guys, yeah?” He grimaces. “I don’t wanna feel like I’m third-wheeling a boys' night.” He laughs, and so does Tommy.

“Well, I’m not really a big PDA guy anyway.” He shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But who knows, I can’t really keep my hands to myself around Evan.”

“And it’s time to change the subject,” he shakes his head furiously, “I don’t wanna hear more than I have to. Buck already tells me way too much.” Eddie says quickly, and Tommy laughs again. 

But the subject changes, and their attention is mostly back on the game playing on the TV. They spend the rest of the evening like this, watching sports, drinking beer and chatting. That’s how Evan finds them when he lets himself into Tommy’s house later, since he left the door unlocked.

He walks into the room, says hi to Eddie, then unceremoniously plops down in Tommy’s lap, giving him a long, sweet kiss, smiling into it. Tommy’s free hand circles around his waist, the other still holding his beer.

“Hello to you, too, Evan, how was your day?” Tommy chuckles when they pull away, his nose rubbing against Evan’s. He was spending the day with Jee-Yun, giving Maddie and Howie the day to themselves.

“It was good, we went to the playground, and then to help Bobby and Athena with unpacking, and then had coffee at Hen’s.” Evan grins, his face still so close to Tommy’s he almost looks blurry. “But I missed you so much.” He presses another kiss to Tommy’s lips, which Tommy obviously reciprocates. When he pulls away and glances at Eddie, expecting him to have an amused but annoyed look on his face, or maybe a faux-disgust, but what he finds instead is the fondest, proudest look he’s seen from him, as he looks straight ahead at the TV, giving them a semblance of privacy. Eddie looks just genuinely so happy for his best friend, for both of them. It warms Tommy’s heart. Eddie glances at them, and their eyes meet, and he just rolls his eyes fondly, but is still smiling.

“Okay, baby, I missed you, too, but let’s leave that for later or Eddie won’t want to hang out with us anymore.” Tommy says, and Evan pulls away further, chuckling.

“Eh, we always have each other.” He teases and shrugs, and Eddie scoffs loudly.

“You know I can’t watch basketball with you. Or do Muay Thai.” Tommy raises his eyebrow, giving Evan a knowing look. He can barely watch any sports with Evan, actually, because he never really gets into it, and whenever he gets bored, somehow they end up making out through the whole thing. Evan’s really good at distracting Tommy from just about anything.

“Oh, that’s all you need me for?” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Fine, then I’ll just leave you two-” he starts getting up, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Sit down and drink your beer.” Buck laughs, as he climbs off Tommy’s lap and pulls out a phone out of his pocket. Eddie sits back down, laughing as well. “I’m gonna order pizza for dinner. Any preferences?”

[read also on Ao3]

[woso-dreamzzz]

Photo

Patri Guijarro x Hardersson!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Patri teases your girlfriend

"And this is one of her eating a plushie. And this is one of-"

"Patri," Talia says," Seriously, stop. You're embarrassing me."

"Good," Patri says, nodding her head," As your sister-"

"We're literally cousins."

"-It's my job to embarrass you around your girlfriend." She winks. "And show her just how out of your league she is."

Talia rolls her eyes, arms crossed as she sags on Patri's sofa.

You laugh a little bit, reaching out to squeeze your girlfriend's knee.

"And this is Talia when we went ice skating when she was little. We took Pina with us and she wiped us both out."

Pina yells out her outrage from the kitchen but doesn't come out to defend herself. She's been slaving out the stove for the whole day trying out some new recipe for lunch.

It hasn't been going well and none of you are going to tell her you've already ordered lunch until it turns up.

It's safer that way.

The burnt smell was really taking over the room which is why Patri busted out the old photo albums to distract you.

"Oh! I like this one!" Talia leans over you to point and you smile. "It was when I was little. At one of Patri's matches."

"Frido's there," Patri says, pointing out your aunt to you.

"And I'm there." You point.

The room goes silent.

"What?" Talia sputters.

You frown. "That's me. Right there. See?"

The picture is old but it was captured on a good quality camera so it doesn't look like it's faded at all.

In the foreground is Patri and Talia. Talia's little in it, maybe around four or five.

Patri looks hot and sweaty, straight off of the pitch after a match. She's got Talia up on her hip, both of them doing a big thumbs up to the camera.

In the background is the rest of the team, most of them are blurry but a few of them are more in focus.

Pina stands a little to the left, head half turned as she talks to someone just out of view. To the right is your aunt Frido.

It looks like she's grinning but she's a bit too far away to know that for sure.

Next to her, is you.

You're little like Talia is, still just a kid but you'd seen enough photos of yourself at that age to be able to tell that it's you.

Frido's hand is on your head, ruffling your hair and you're wearing her Barcelona shirt.

It's funny to think that so many years later, she wears your Barcelona shirt instead.

"That's you?!" Talia asks," But...But...What?!"

"Yeah, that's me," You confirm, nodding," What's so shocking about it?"

"But that's you! And that's me!"

"Yes?"

"But...We were so close to each other! How come we never met?"

You laugh at Talia's astounded face. "I'm very shy," You tease," I was probably scared. And, you know, language barrier. We wouldn't have been able to communicate."

Talia pouts and Patri laughs.

"Maybe it's better this way," She says," Otherwise you'd have been pining after her since childhood. How many more sappy letters would you have written in that time?"

Talia's face turns red and you grin.

"Sappy letters?"

"Don't listen to h-"

"So many sappy letters!" Patri seems delighted to have more things to embarrass Talia with. "For a moment, I thought she would start writing poetry."

"Shut up! You're so annoying!"

But, of course, Patri didn't shut up. She rarely did when the alternative was embarrassing Talia so thoroughly.

"She didn't know your address so she never sent them but I'm sure she would have. She really poured out her heart."

"Oh, yeah? What did they say?"

Patri clears her throat. "Your eyes are-"

"That's enough!"

Talia launches herself over your body to tackle Patri to the ground, the two of them wrestling on the ground.

"Fuck!" You hear from the kitchen right as the fire alarm goes off.

The doorbell rings. The food is here.

You smile, snapping a photo of the picture, sending it off to your aunt as you pick your way through the carnage to get to the food.

[lewisvinga]

my american boy! | logan sargeant x fem! reader

summary; despite living in a country halfway across the world and rarely seeing logan, y/n will always love her american boy

fc; ningning

warnings; 1 kinda suggestive comment

notes; requested!

masterlist !

liked by logansargeant, lilymhe, and 840,023 others!

yourusername: when you’re out n about & american boy sends u $$$ to buy flowers 🥹🥹

username: ‘american boy’ IMSICH I LOVE THEM

username: i need an american boy too

logansargeant: anything for my girl from the other side of the world ❤️‍🩹

yourusername: getting on my knees for u fr🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

logansargeant: ft??😁

yourusername: ON IT

lilymhe: BARLBARK BARK (louder than logan)

yourusername: BARKBARKBARK (louder than alex)

username: the way he’s in hungary but still manages to buy her flowers 🥹🥹

username: how’d they even meet?

username: she used to be neighbors w him when she lived in miami for a few years! they started dating right before she moved away to her parents’ country!

yourusername uploaded to their story!

[caption 1; when bae lets u rant for an hour about the annoying mcdonald’s worker] [caption 2; goodnight 🩵 ]

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and 1,034,837 others!

logansargeant: american boy got hacked from the other side of the world XXD

alex_albon: oh dear

yourusername: i can steal ur gf dont test me albono !!

lilymhe: she’s right she can

alex_albon: logan wouldn’t appreciate that

logansargeant: he’s right i wouldn’t

alex_albon: normal typing! it’s actually logan!

logansargeant: maybe i’m still y/n

alex_albon: no :p :D :3 , i know that’s you logan!

username: SHES SO CUTE

username: i love them your honor

yourusername: woah who is that cutie?? is she single 🤩

logansargeant: no she’s happily taken by her favorite american boy😁

yourusername: i bet her american boy is very very cute 😵‍💫😵‍💫

oscarpiastri: awh you made him blush!

logansargeant: don’t believe him

username: he trusts her enough w his instagram pw???? IM GOING XRAZY

username: logan is the biggest green flag

username: ‘XXD’ how can u hate her?????

liked by logansargeant, lilymhe, and 893,827 others !

yourusername: weekends in summer ^o^

tagged; lilymhe, logansargeant

lilymhe: i love my boyfriends boyfriends girlfriend 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourusername: and i love my boyfriends boyfriends girlfriend !

username: her relationship w lily >>>

username: gorgeous gorgeous girls !

username: williams wags>>>

logansargeant: the prettiest girl to ever exist, thank you for always supporting me❤️❤️‍🩹

yourusername: ur #1 cheerleader from wherever! :p

logansargeant: also, how did you get the last picture? i’ve never???? seen it?????

yourusername: i might have a source that is around u all the time to send me pics of u (alex)

alex_albon: snitch!

username: those cupcakes look so good omgg

username: the way they make long distance relationships work gives me hopes for mine 🥹

username: yall think they’re gonna hang out during summer break??

username: i really hope so:/ it’s been months since they’ve seen each other :/

yourusername uploaded to their story!

[caption 2; serious girlies before going on girls trip:p ( + stinky alex )]

alex_albon replied to your story!

alex_albon

that’s a lot of shit talking for someone who just bought u an iced oat milk latte

yourusername

thx lily’s bf

logan used to buy me lattes 💔

alex_albon

what a surprise you’ll have *deleted*

yeah yeah you’re welcome for that croissant too🙄

lilymhe uploaded to their story!

[caption 1: before boarding the plane;] [caption 2; 5 mins after boarding the plane ( the plane hasn’t even left ) ;]

logansargeant replied to your story!

logansargeant

and she doesn’t have a single clue?

lilymhe

do u know ur gf

she’s as clueless as a ladybug

logansargeant

yeah true , but i love my clueless ladybug

lilymhe

she’s been talking about u a lot more than usual

she’s upset that you had ‘plans in miami’ during the week of your 3 year anniversary

she keeps talking about u logan HSLP ME

logansargeant

i get to cancun tomorrow early morning

keep her stable with iced oat milk lattes and croissants till then

lilymhe

alex and i are already one step ahead of you🫡🫡

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,039,826 others!

logansargeant: surprise! happy 3 years, my pretty girl. i love you 💗

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: WAHHH

alex_albon: that’s how u sounded when he surprised you

yourusername: IT HAD BEEN 9 MONTHS OH HOW I’VE MISSED YOU D:

logansargeant: FACETIMING FOR HOURS WASN’T ENOUGH!!

yourusername: happy 3 years 💓💓 i love you sooooo much , my american boy, i’m gonna kiss u rn

logansargeant: omw to the room 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

username: PARENTS REUNITED

username: mother and father are together again for their anniversary 😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

username: a relationship like them pls

username: he surprised her in cancun??🥹

lilymhe: cute n all but can i have my gf back ?😕

logansargeant: no. i haven’t seen her in months. you saw her last week. 🤬

alex_albon: lily???🧐

yourusername: tee hee :P

alex_albon: thank you so much alex for making sure y/n didn’t get lost in the airport, plane, or the hotel !

alex_albon: you’re welcome, logan! so nice to be appreciated !

logansargeant: thanks i guess 🙄

alex_albon: … i’ll take it!

username: LILY AND ALEX WERE WITH THEM?

username: awh a williams vacay!

oscarpiastri: surprised logan didn’t spoil the surprise sooner, he would’ve told the whole paddock if i didn’t stop him😭

logansargeant: hey! i tried!

yourusername: leave my american boy alone !!😞

[mamashenanigans]

When my head isn’t filled with “keephishandkeephishandkeephishand” on a loop, I actually think about more stuff from 407.

Someone on X pointed this out, but how wittle baby boy Yoichi is shown here…

Makes it seem like the people that AFO just killed had maybe beat him up. Of course, AFO is taking their metapowers away too, but it’s an interesting catch. And, yes, Yoichi is wearing fitted clothes while AFO walks around with something just wrapped around him.

You know how Yoichi still believed there was good in his brother because of the kindness of his “hand”?

Well, in case you missed it…

They were born apart with their hands already reaching out to each other. They are on their backs right now, so those are the same hands that are holding/being held.

This means…

AFO grabbed Yoichi and dragged him with him. What you’re seeing in that top panel is the water starting to overflow the river and rush past. AFO pulled Yoichi out of the water and on to their mother. He is also using the spike quirk for teeth and on his hand to grab onto their mother and pull them up. The bottom left panel is him biting into her dress as he pulls them out of the danger of the water. Yes, AFO saved Yoichi when they were fucking newborns. THIS is what Yoichi has a faint memory of. That was the kindness.

I know some people have been wondering if they’re fraternal or identical. This seems to suggest that they are in fact sharing the same umbilical cord. It’s rare for fraternal twins to have this. It’s crazy to think that Yoichi may have looked just like AFO if he had the same amount of nutrients. But I digress…

A very notable thing about AFO’s eyes: they are huge and creepy in feral/survivor mode. We’ve seen his eyes get like this as AFOTomura and when he goes into rage mode against All Might and now Bakugo.

Here, he is quite literally just walking down the street past the anti-meta people and presumably just heard them talk about killing metas. Once they take notice of him, he turns his head towards them and his eyes are huge like a startled animal.

He then proceeds to kill them and still has that feral look.

But now let me get to something pretty important…

We don’t see AFO actually smile until this panel

Once he has a dream of everyone living for his sake, like Yoichi, he is finally smiling. And continues to do so after this point.

Something really bothering me is that they must have named themselves including their surname. Shigaraki means “death tree” which fits in nicely as they were born “from death”. However, where did Yoichi get his name? AFO must have named him and Yoichi can mean “first gift”. So he named him that because Yoichi was QUITE LITERALLY the first thing AFO ever had. As for AFO…I don’t know if he would take the time to name himself. Yoichi only calls him big brother so he may have told Yoichi to just keep calling him that then decided to name himself after the Quirk he also named himself: All for One. Dude is really committed to the bit.

There’s one more thing I haven’t seen anyone touch on yet…

The hatred.

As you probably recall, Hawks has a talk with Best Jeanist over AFO’s lack of emotions and lack of hate. Why he has to use Tomura to get OFA.

406 explained why that is perfectly.

When he feels hatred, he is forced to remember WHEN HE WAS TOLD HE KILLED HIS BROTHER HOLY SHIT. It would also be possibly the first and only time he ever cried. Felt real grief. So, he never “feels” REAL hatred because that would mean having to confront this memory.

It’s fucking genius.

You’’re welcome.

[bibluebutterfly]

Alright, so one thing I absolutely love about the potential later conflict between Fizz and Ozzie is that they both come from very understandable places.

For Fizz, he has every right to want to be out by himself and just do things independently. You can tell up until he ran into Blitz he enjoyed his day out and getting to do something on his own.

And then we have Ozzie's perspective. He's overprotective of Fizz but to be completely fair, considering what we've seen so far, he's seen Fizz get hurt a LOT. Like A LOT a lot.

For instance, as far as we can tell, he's the only one who works on Fizz's limbs, and considering the fact that he has spare parts around, we can safely assume that Fizz needing a tune up isn't exactly a rare occurrence. Plus the fact that he's probably been there for the better part of Fizz's recovery would show him more just how vulnerable Fizz really is. It also probably doesn't help that Fizz still manages to get hurt even when Ozzie is literally right next to him.

Ozzie knows that Fizz isn't helpless, but seeing someone you love get hurt can is really scary. And considering Ozzie likely feels that kind of fear constantly, it makes sense that he would be just a tad too overbearing. Plus considering Fizz never makes a serious fuss about his tendencies and even seems to agree sometimes, Ozzie thinks that Fizz is fine with how things are.

Back to Fizz, despite him and Ozzie being on numerous levels of understanding, he likely feels like he can really say anything because it turns out that Ozzie's worries were in fact valid. Not to mention that because he and Ozzie are so in sync, he probably knows how Ozzie feels about this whole thing and would feel guilty bringing it up.

People interpret this frame as either Fizz feeling guilty for worrying Ozzie and getting himself in trouble, others interpret it as sadness that he probably won't be able to go out alone in at least a while. Why can't it be both?

That being said, Fizzmodeus is still a wholesome and healthy couple, but it's interesting to see how this topic will be brought up in the future. I just like how the two of them come from very understandable places, and how neither are entirely in the wrong (Fizz should speak up and Ozzie should be less protective). It's also kind of refreshing to see a relationship with problems where one isn't entirely in the wrong (like M&M), and they are both on equal levels with each other (unlike Stolitz).

(Because whereas Stolas and Blitz are in places where they can't really understand each other or talk about their problems, Ozzie and Fizz are in a place where they understand each other so well that they don't feel like they need to.)