#but they are all fucking stunning human beings

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day 19! I think this one is a little sweet. A bit short and fast, but sweet. Human Alastor for the win!

Tags/Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, discussion of murder, murderous intent, murderous ideation, fem!reader, abuse mention, reader's husband is abusive. Word Count: 1,735

When Alastor first met you it wasn't by accident, nor coincidence. Instead it was due to his meticulous planning. You were married to a very affluent man. A man who used his wealth for anything but good. His reputation had preceded him, and Alastor was certain that anything and anyone that man associated himself with, was also tainted. Which is what he had thought of you and was precisely the reason he had orchestrated your ‘fateful’ meeting at Mimzy's establishment.

Initially he had approached you in an attempt to get closer to your husband, and if he had to kill you too, what was the harm? But one conversation with you had turned into several, and months later he found himself no closer to killing your husband.

Alastor had been correct in his assumption that by association, you were tainted by your husband. But for all the reasons he hadn't expected. The first time he noticed the bruises he nearly flew into a blind rage. And you had the audacity to laugh it off, as though the abuse you were enduring at his hands, was not worth any fuss. As though your well-being was nothing more than an afterthought, something to be swept aside for everyone else's. It was on that day Alastor became increasingly impatient to kill your husband. He had it all planned out; from the time, to what he would do to make your husband suffer a fate worse than death for hours on end, before extinguishing his pathetic existence.

But you were a distraction.

That's what Alastor ultimately decided you were. A beautiful, wonderful, annoying distraction. You with your beautiful smile, your captivating laugh. Your wondrous eyes, your…he could go on. Get lost in everything that was intrinsically you. And for the past several months he had. He had allowed himself to grow fond of you. He held a deep seated affection for you. He craved you in ways he had never craved another soul before. What he felt for you was raw and vast. It left him feeling split open, as though your very presence had taken an axe to his chest, carving a home there. A place for you alone. It was only natural that the budding relationship between you both blossomed into something more, something deeper. Something sinful. 

It had started with a stolen kiss one night outside of Mimzy's establishment. Upon seeing the time you had pulled him down, pressed a kiss against his lips, and called out a goodbye as you rushed away. He had been left stunned, his fingers brushing against his lips as he watched you run. How he wished he could have given chase. That kiss had spawned the first instances of longing for you. He wanted more, craved it. From that night it spiralled. Soft smiles and lingering touches, small kisses. You were driving him insane, he was certain of it. Until one night he cornered you and took you right up against the wall in an alley. He had been consumed by lust and desire, wanting nothing more than to have you. All of you. You were a thrill unlike any other. Being intimate with you gave him a high better than he had ever known. Not even watching the life drain from someone's eyes compared to how it felt to be with you. To kiss you, to hold you, to fuck you. You were intoxicating.

You were a damned distraction.

Distracting him from what he truly wanted. And that was for your husband to be dead, killed by his hand.

The ringing of his phone snaps Alastor out of his thoughts, his hands tighten around the book he's holding. With a sigh he picks the phone up from the receiver, setting his book aside.

“Hartfelt residence.” He answers smoothly, smiling with false brightness.

“Hello, my love.” You greet him softly, “are you alone?”

His smile softens and he leans back in his chair. “Hello, my dear… What are you doing calling me at this hour? I thought you and your…darling husband had a party.”

You chuckle at the contempt in his voice. “Yeah, well my ‘darling husband' as you put it, is currently fucking his mistress.”

Alastor's hand tightens around the phone in anger, but you continue on, not letting him get a word in.

“So while he's off having fun, I thought I might as well have some too.”

He can hear the amusement in your voice. As though your husband actively cheating on you wasn't such an insult. How you remained so bright despite that man, he'd never know. 

“Some fun?” He asks, wanting nothing more than to snuff out the life of your blasted husband.

“With you, Alastor. Over the phone.”

He laughs softly, “my dear, what fun could we possibly get up to over the phone?”

Your sigh filters over the phone, and he can hear the pout in your voice. “Well I can’t have you in person right now, so can’t I just pleasure myself while listening to your voice?”

He laughs again, caught off guard by your candidness. “And are you, my dear? Pleasuring yourself, that is.”

You flush, “Well I haven’t started! I was…asking. I wanted to make sure it was okay with you, if we did that, if we do that.”

He leans further back in his chair, his voice tinged with amusement. “It’s perfectly fine, my dear... Do you often sneak away to finger yourself?”

You snort, smiling, “Only when I know I can moan your name.”

He can feel his cock twitch in his pants, a sensation that he had slowly grown accustomed to when it came to you. You made his body respond in ways he once found a nuisance, now he welcomed it.

“I think it’s only fair, little doe, if I get to touch myself too.” He decides, hearing your breath hitch.

He can imagine you in a room someplace, your skirts bunched around your hips as your hand creeps towards your centre. He hears a small whimper from you and he wonders how exactly you’re touching yourself.

“Please.” You breathe out, your voice shaky. “I want to hear you too, Al. I want to know that you’re getting as much pleasure out of this as I am.”

He reaches for the clasp of his pants, working it undone. In a moment he’s freed his rapidly hardening cock. He closes his hand around it, pulling a groan from the back of his throat.

“Oh..” He moans, letting his head fall back as he slowly pumps his length. “The sinful things you make me do, my dear.”

You giggle, working your fingers faster, “Ah, but you do them for me.”

He chuckles, the sound deep within his chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your walls clench at the sound. You adored his laugh and the things it made you feel.

“Hah, I do them because I adore you.” He breathes out, his hand moving faster.

He can hear the muffled sounds of you pleasuring yourself, your whimpers and moans growing louder. His own breathing is laboured, the sound of him fisting his cock carrying back over the phone to you.

“I wish..” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep quiet, “that I was married to you, Alastor. I hate him.”

His hand tightens around the phone again at your words, an ache settling in his chest. You occasionally said things like that. Things that made it feel as though you’d taken one of his knives and stabbed him right in the heart.

“Sweetheart…” He murmurs, clenching his jaw in anger at the thought of your husband. “Think of me, not him.”

You whimper, so close to your edge already. “I always think of you..oh fuck, I’m so close. Fuck, Alastor!”

He tightens his hand around his cock, his pace quickening as you moan his name. He hates how low and quiet your moans are. He knows that you’re attempting to stay quiet, keeping your voice down to stop your husband from finding out. It angers him. He wishes he was there, fucking you into your martial bed, drawing out all the sounds he loved to hear from you. He wishes he was there, forcing you to be louder and louder, as he took you hard and fast.

“Keep going,” He urges over the phone, “I want to hear you cum for me.”

“Fuck..” You breathe out, focusing on your pleasure, focusing on Alastor’s soft grunts over the phone.

He wished he could kill your husband tonight. Lure him out with a false sense of trust only to shatter it. Oh, he’d take great pleasure in drawing out the man’s death. Of ensuring that he felt all the pain he had caused you and more. Alastor’s breath hitches as he imagines how your husband would scream, how he’d try to get away, only to find that he couldn’t escape. Alastor imagined that fear in your husband’s eyes, imagined watching the life dim from them. He groans, his release growing nearer

“Ah, fffuck, Al-lastor!” You cry out, a bit too loudly for your own liking, as you cum around your fingers, your body shaking with the effort of your release.

He’s drawn out of his fantasy by your voice, a shiver running through his body as you moan his name.

“There we go.” He praises. “So good for me, sweetheart… Fuck-”

His cock twitches as his orgasm washes over him with surprising force. Hot ropes of cum splatter his hand and slacks, but he can’t find himself to care about the mess at the moment.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, wiping his hand with a handkerchief. “Are you still there, my doe?”

“Still here.” You say softly, having let your skirts fall back into place. “Still missing you.”

He smiles, glad you hadn’t disappeared on him just yet. “What would you say, if I told you I could get your husband to leave? Permanently.”

He can hear the smile in your voice as you reply without missing a beat. “I’d say I’d marry you.”

He chuckles softly, his smile widening. That was all the permission he needed. He was going to kill your husband, make sure he never touched you ever again. No more waiting. No more rushed calls, or stolen kisses, no more longing. It would just be you and him.

He couldn’t wait.

@pumppkinlynn I promised to tag you in this one! So here it is.

[fanofstuff01]

((Surprise Adam all the good looking ones happen to be working in either maid outfits or revealing clothes))

Adam’s face dropped, if all the color was drained before now he could safely say his whole body was frozen and white.

Hell. The devil was taking him to HELL. As a demon.

Adam: W-what?

He inhaled shaprly when Lucifer came even closer to his with that maniacal grin on his face, a hand on his chin caressing it softly but as if Adam was a toy he wanted to break.

Lucifer purred playfully: Aww, but you heard me, Adam, didn’t you?

He grasped his hair harshly, making the man let out a yelp despite being absolutely frozen. His eyes glowed a blood red into Adam’s.

Lucifer: You do know what naughty boys get, right? What they’re only worthy of?

He wasn’t actually that angry at some jerk being unworthy of Heaven, but it was always fun to see that scared look on human’s faces especially bastard ones.

Adam’s breath quickened at him being so close, he did want to answer and beg for him to spare him but the words just refused to come out of his stunned mouth. He had to do something, flee away, call more for desperate help, beg him to spare his soul heck do fucking ANYTHING, but all his body could do was staring at him and knowing he had no escape.

In a flash, the moment and closeness was gone and the devil had returned to just holding his wrist, but nothing changed in Adam’s eyes.

Lucifer: Now come on now! I still plan on other people today so don’t make this harder than it’s supposed to be.

Suddenly Adam’s ability to move and panic were both there again at the same time, just when the Devil started guide-dragging him to the portal.

Adam: WAIT- NO! PLEASE!!! I’LL- I’LL CHANGE!! PLEASE!! GIVE ME A CHANCE!!

Lucifer: Oh what they always say. Bad thing this’d happen to you anyway I guess.

Adam didn’t know what that meant nor did he care, all he cared for was getting away from that portal at the moment.

But it was no use, it was like the thing was pulling him in.

Lucifer let out a small chuckle at just how desperate he was to get away and return, not realizing his new home was calling for him to join them now.

Adam was supposed to die right this minute.

Lucifer: Still having trouble bad boy?

He put a hand kn his sweaty, shaking and squirming to get away back, oh this was gonna be fun.

Lucifer: Here.

He pushed the human in.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @decentsoupperson

Ok so an AU based off of a post made by @lisandra-phillips for Adamsapple Harvest Day 30 maybe?

Where Adam’s just a guy swearing like a sailor having one night stands and sometimes causes minor troubles to people. Nothing big and easily fixable as he says.

Until the literal Devil gets involved in his life.

OOOOU Yeah I think I've seen this!! The last one they did right?

I need this in my life now. We have to do an rp it's law LMAO

[niamhthefae]

why did they make the cast so pretty? every single actor/actress in dbd could run me over with a bus multiple times, call my mother some awful things and then punch me in the face and i'd still thank them and tell them they're beautiful

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

hang on are cougars like panthers

[freckledsweetpea]

I truly cannot believe I was on a dating app for 3 days and then deleted the app because I'm a girl failure and there are no hot slutty butches in my area.

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

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

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

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

word count : 20k

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

part two

You have always been first in your class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"I have an idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

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

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

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

"And right now, how do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

"I do too."

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

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

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

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

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

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

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

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

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

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

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

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

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

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

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

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

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

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

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

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

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

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

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

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

"What's there to miss?"

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

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

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

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

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

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

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

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

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

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll ask her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only tell my friends."

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

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

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

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"You'll catch a cold."

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

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

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

"Yn, I don’t-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something friends think about, right? 

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

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

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

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

"I’ll still cut it."

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

He didn't cut his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

2 months later

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

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

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

"What are you doing?"

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

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that you look scary."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

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

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

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

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

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

"I will." 

"Okay." 

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

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

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

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

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deleted your number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yn-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, let me make it better." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It will take time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[thebestofoneshots]

A LITTLE BIT OF PAINT | wolfstar x reader

Pairing: R.L. x S.B. x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: smut, threesome, finger fucking, oral (male receiving), handj*b, dry h*mping, thigh ridding, p in v, Remus is a mess, mild Dom!Remus (if you squint really hard), he might also have a praise k!nk, Sirius is a flirt (danger to humanity honestly), homoerotic scenes(?), you and Sirius can’t take your eyes off Rem, Rem can’t take his eyes off you either, consent is sexy!

Prompt: Sirius and you are art students and you’ve got an assignment, a nude painting, but you can’t paint each other. Trying to convict Remus to model for you was hard enough, but painting him, while he looks so damn stunning, might prove a harder endeavour to accomplish.

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

“So?” Sirius asked as he leaned onto Remus, “would you do it?” 

“Pretty please?” you asked with a small pout and a few blinks. 

Remus sighed, “Why don’t you just paint each other?” 

Both you and Sirius had been trying to convince Remus to be your nude model for an assignment for the last 20 minutes. He was your best friend, and both you and Sirius had always wanted to use him as a model, but had never been too keen to do it, not even clothed. But you needed him now. 

“We can’t do someone we’ve fucked,” Sirius said with a sigh, “We’d already done it otherwise.” 

“Just use each other and draw a face from a magazine,” Remus offered. 

“It won’t work either,” you responded now, “We’ve both been models for the class, they know our bodies.” 

Remus tried not to blush at the thought of Sirius and you, naked in the centre of a room for hours on end while people stared and drew all the small details of your bodies. The details that he assumed had only been seen by the other, now he regretted not taking the class, but scolded himself out of those stupid thoughts. 

He sighed, “Ask James?” 

“Regulus’ gonna do James,” Sirius responded, “He was obviously more than thrilled to oblige him.”

“We wouldn’t be asking you if we didn’t need you, please Moony!” 

Remus looked to the side, licking his lips before biting on the bottom one and sighing, however could he say no to the two of you. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Wait, really?” you asked in disbelief, a huge smile dancing on your lips, it made you look stunning. 

He nodded, “But you’ll owe me, big one.” 

You leaned in to hug him and then Sirius did the same, both of you sandwiching Moony in between the two of you.

“Anything for Moony,” Sirius added. 

Just a few days later, you were outside of one of the classrooms. It was a smaller cosy one that tended to be used for models, with huge windows but near the top of the building so no one would be able to look inside. You had rented it for the rest of the day since both you and Sirius were determined to finish in one sitting, and neither of you was sure if Remus would subject himself to more than that either. 

“You think he’ll come?” you asked as you looked at your watch for the third time that day. 

“He’ll come, luv. Don’t worry about it.”

You sighed, Remus was seldom late. And it took you some time to convince him, you were scared he wouldn’t want to anymore. 

You were fumbling with the keys to the room, and just as you inserted them inside the keyhole, you heard a fumbling at the end of the corridor.  

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his bag hanging on the side and a coat hanging on the other side. I got held up by the traffic, “I brought the car since it said it was gonna rain, thought I could give you both a ride back, when we were done.” 

You smiled when you spotted him and flipped the keys as Sirius gave you an “I told you so look”. 

Remus was breathing heavily when he reached the two of you, “and then I couldn’t find the room, this place is a bloody maze.” 

Both you and Sirius chuckled at that. “We arrived late to our first class,” Sirius said. “The teacher told us we’d have to find our own model for being late and we made a deal to model for each other, that’s how we met.” 

“I know,” Remus said. He remembered when Sirius and you became friends, first Sirius didn’t shut up about you, then he introduced you to each other, and he understood why Sirius couldn’t shut up about you. Remus and Sirius went way back, they had been friends since elementary, along with James, Peter, Lily, Marlene and Mary. You had quickly gotten along with all of them, and they had made you a part of their little group.  

Finally, the door clicked open and you pushed on it, allowing both boys to get in before shutting it down and putting both the hand lock and the latch bolt. Remus threw you a look. “We’ve heard stories of people walking in on people painting and ruining their stuff by knocking things out. I doubt you’d want someone walking in on you.” 

Remus nodded and moved to sit on the small coach on the side. Thankfully the room was designed in a way to make models feel at ease. There was a music box where you could play tapes on the side, a sofa for them to feel comfortable, and then there was a table in the middle of the room. Both you and Sirius walked to the closet and he pulled on the easels while you went for the props you were planning to use. A small basket filled with fruits. “You brought the sheet?” 

“On my bag,” he said as he nodded to the side. 

“Kay,” you said as you leaned down to get it. 

“You may start changing Moons,” Sirius said, as the boy moved to help him with the easel. They had one in their apartment, and Remus already knew how to set it up from seeing Sirius do it so many times before. 

He swallowed and made sure to finish setting up the easel before nodding and walking towards the table. Sirius was taking off his leather jacket, and Remus attempted to ignore the way his friend’s muscles bent as he did. Sirius had always been beautiful, but this attraction he felt for his best friend was relatively new, he could barely stand it. 

You were still looking for the props when you turned around and spotted Remus pulling his soft brown jumper over his head. He wore a soft beige cotton shirt underneath it that was just a little tight over his arms. You tried not to bite your lips as you stared. Both Sirius and you had talked about how pretty you both thought Remus was, what a shame it was he wasn’t into either of you, if only you knew. 

Sirius gave you an amused look, his lips curling into a mocking smile and his brows shooting up and down. You pushed him lightly with your shoulder and walked toward the table before your cheeks warmed even further. 

“We’ll do mine first,” Remus explained, at least my sketch, Sirius’ next and then we’ll alternate. 

“You’ll do different poses?” Remus asked as he looked up at you, pulling the other shirt over his shoulders little after. Sirius tried not to laugh at the way you were looking at his friend. He had already seen how ripped Remus was, they were roommates, after all. 

“Yeah,” you responded as you got a hold of yourself. “We are gonna make it seem like we drew different people.” 

Remus nodded in response. He was slightly self-conscious about his scars, he’d gotten them as a kid in an accident. His parents were zoologists and worked with wolves, they had taken a puppy home since he was hurt, and Remus thought it was a dog. He pulled the hurt animal out of the cage to “play with it” but accidentally grabbed him from the part he’d been hurt, the animal retaliated by slashing him, face, torso, back, and legs. Remus had been 4 and had no way to defend himself, he also didn’t want to hurt the puppy so he allowed it to happen. When his parents found him, he was crying in a pool of blood, and the wolf pup had hidden somewhere in their garden. 

There was apprehension in your eyes as you stared at his scars, not because they were ugly, you thought Remus was beautiful, but because you thought of the pain they had once caused him. You cleared your throat. “I got this for you,” you explained as you showed him the basket of fruits, you had bought them all yesterday and left them in the small fridge in the room. “You’ll be holding in both of your arms, it’s like a recreation of an older painting,” you explained. 

Remus nodded, taking in the information as he fumbled with the button of his trousers. Half focused on what you said, half mortified over getting naked in front of you and Sirius. 

You pulled the basket in your hands again, “Kind of like this, okay?” you said as you grabbed the basket in the way he would be grabbing it, giving the fruits one last arrangement and taking a picture for reference in case they moved around. He gave you an understanding nod and you gave him a thumbs up in return. Sirius walked over to take Remus’ clothes from the table, and hastily dropped them over the smaller sofa, bringing over a bottle of wine, a decanter and an empty cup. 

“Our concept is based on gods, she’s going for Bacchus,” he explained, Remus was fumbling around with the trousers at the end of his feet, taking longer than he normally would to take off his clothes, Sirius obviously noticed. “She wants to capture the youth and lust of winemaking.” 

Remus gave him somewhat of a stern look and Sirius smiled cheekily in return. “And yours?” he asked. 

“Eros and Psyche,” Sirius responded with a slight tilt of his head. 

“And Psyche?” 

“Don’t worry your pretty head with it yet,” Sirius added condescendingly and got a shove from Remus in return. 

You were looking at the two of them with a smile, you’d always loved the relationship with the two, there was never a time they were more at ease than when they were with each other. 

Sirius sighed, and you smiled. Remus still felt nervous, taking his socks off and keeping his boxers on as he waited for new instructions. Sirius gave him a look as he sat on the window just behind you, and your easel, looking at how you sharpened your pencils and charcoal for sketching. “Would you help me pose him?” You asked, turning your head slightly to Sirius before focusing again on your pencils and canvas, taking a ruler to break down the piece into smaller squares to make sure you got your proportions right. 

Sirius nodded, jumped down from the window seal and picked up the white sheet he’d brought from his backpack. 

“Time to take them off, mate,” he said. Remus swallowed and nodded, taking off his boxers carefully and throwing them in the same direction Sirius had thrown the rest of his clothes. Then he placed his hand over himself and stared in between you and Sirius nervously. You were still focused on your canvas, so you didn’t quite see the interaction, but Sirius did and smiled. He had the inkling little feeling that maybe Remus was into you. He had told you about it but you had shrugged it off, Remus had become something like your best friend, there was no way. 

But Sirius had known Remus for longer than you did, and he knew his friend like he knew the back of his hand –and boy he knew that one well from seeing it so much while painting. And the nervous glances Remus kept throwing your way, made him feel a little more confident of his theory. Perhaps all the two of you needed was a little push, and then that one recurring dream he had could become a reality.

Sirius extended the sheet over Remus and placed it on his arms, just falling off the shoulders like some kind of shawl, he then accommodated the sheet covering one of his legs and his private parts. Remus seemed reassured by that, and Sirius again, tried not to smile knowingly. He then passed Remus the basket and helped him accommodate it in place.

“It's not too heavy is it?” 

“Not right now,” Remus said as he held it between his hands. Sirius then proceeded to place his hands on Remus’ bare back and traced his fingers over his friend’s muscles in a reassuring and discreet manner, giving a light squeeze near his neck. 

“Relax,” he said as he looked at the boy. Sirius had no idea how little relaxing that devious smile of his was, Remus’ skin burned at his touch. “Lean your head back a little bit, would you?” Remus swallowed and did as told, anything to have Sirius step away before he noticed the things he was actually doing to him. “A little bit more,” Sirius insisted and placed his hand on the boy’s neck. Allowing it to linger as he moved him around as he pleased. 

“Hey Angel,” he called, and you looked up, smiling at the sight of the two boys, “Is this all right?” 

“Come here,” you told Sirius, he finally let go of Rem and walked towards you, standing just behind the easel just at your side. “What do you think? Isn’t he a little too stiff?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius responded. 

“Thought so,” you breathed and left your pencil and charcoal on the easel before walking towards Remus. “Close your eyes, would you?” you asked softly. Remus hesitated before doing what told. “Take a deep breath for me, good, that’s good… Remember that time you told me about your trip to Dover? You told me you climbed to the very top of the castle, that it was freezing cold and that no one but you had been brave enough to climb up to the roof. It was empty but there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. So thin that when you pressed your feet, it melted away allowing you to see the stone. 

“You mentioned you leaned over the edges and got to see the castle, the grounds and then, then you got to see the ocean.” Remus' tense self was slowly starting to subdue. “You said you could hear the distant waves, and then you felt a small prickle in your cheek.” 

“It started snowing,” Remus said softly. 

You smiled, took a grape from his basket and placed it near his mouth, pushing it in between his lips. He opened his mouth when he felt the fruit and ate it with a frown, opening his eyes to look at it, and then at you. You were so bloody close to him. 

“There you go,” you said with a smile. “Much better now, keep that relaxed face of yours so I can paint it, will you?” you added teasingly. Remus was munching on the grape with a confused and yet amused face. You gave him a short wink and then went back to your spot, missing the slight flush that coated his cheek. 

“Comfortable?” Sirius teased. 

Remus threw him a look and you swatted Sirius with your pencil softly. “Stop teasing him, he’ll tense again,” you scolded. Remus couldn’t help but smile at the small interaction between the two and you finished up with the sharpening, picking up the pencil and starting to sketch. Remus let his head fall back as you traced, closing his eyes and changing his stance every once in a while, pulling his head off and watching you knit your brows together as you moved your pencil over the canvas. 

“You’re getting the proportions wrong,” Sirius said. “His hand is bigger than that.” 

You grumbled in return, “I know! I just–“ you pulled an eraser and started to furiously move it over the canvas, Remus was looking at the two of you carefully. “I can’t get it to work out.” 

“Want help?” 

“You can’t keep helping me when I don’t get the hands right…” 

“Why not? You always help me with light and shadow, you’re an expert.” 

You sighed, “It’s not the same Sirius.” 

“Yes it is,” he said in a no-nonsense kind of way, then he placed his hand over yours, and started guiding your sketch. “Come on, loosen up.” 

Meanwhile, Remus was looking at the domestic scene between the two with a mix of admiration and longing. The two of you looked stunning as you painted him, both deeply focused on the canvas, with a casual glance straight at his hand holding the basket, he smiled as he saw Sirius lean even closer to you, obviously unnecessary but something Sirius did often anyway. He had never seen his friend as smitten with a human as he had seen him with you. 

Eventually, Sirius let go of your hand and you added a few other touches. “Do you want to start painting or should I start with my sketch first?” he asked. 

You turned your head and stared at the cloudy sky, “I’ll use the sunlamp for my lighting, we can do yours if you want, that way you take advantage of natural light for your drawing.”

He nodded, “Okay, get ready, I’ll work on the canvas.” 

You sent him a short wink and he walked behind his easel. Remus took the time to put down the basket and accommodate the sheet around him a little better. “Cold?” you asked, “we can turn off the AC.” He shook his head. Just self-conscious then, you realised. Well, he won’t have to worry too much about that.

You took your hoodie off and then, but it wasn’t until you took a hold of your shirt and flipped it over your head that Remus realised what was going on. Your hands were behind your bra when he averted his gaze to the side completely blushed. “Sirius, If you’re painting her, can I leave?” 

“Of course not,” Sirius said simply, “I’m painting the both of you.” 

“You what?” 

“Eros and Psyche, remember?” 

“But you said you couldn’t paint people you’ve fucked,” he retorted in a rather accusing manner. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’ll switch her hair colour and you’ll cover her face.” 

“You never said I’d have to pose with your naked girlfriend!” 

“It’s okay Rem, I don’t mind, I’ve been a nude model for the class a couple of times.” 

Remus, as he would naturally turn to look at you when you spoke, but quickly turned his head to the side when he realised you were now completely naked. 

But I do! He thought as he tried to think of anything other than the curve of your breasts. Naked grandma, naked grandma.

You eyed Sirius, “Maybe we can–“ you started, biting your lip. 

“Nonsense. We’re all adults, go on.” 

You gave Sirius a stern look and he gave you back an equally determined one, nodding towards Remus, a clear indication for you to walk his way. 

You took a deep breath but did what he wanted anyway. Walking towards Remus and gently placing a hand on his shoulder, “Hey, If you really don’t want to do this-“

Remus’ head snapped your way, he focused his eyes on yours as best as he could, “No, I– I just– I wasn’t mentally prepared.” 

You smiled and tilted your head. You could see the self-restraint he was using not to look at your chest, Sirius was really trying not to cackle behind you as he sharpened his pencils, “You can look,” you said, “you’re gonna see them anyway Rem.” He gave you a frustrated frown. You smiled teasingly in return. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked. He was about ready to just stare for half a second and then move on with his life but he couldn’t quite look away. Not when he saw them perk up for him, his warm breath so close to you causing such a reaction. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Sirius said with a smile from behind the easel. The kind of confident smile of one who knew he could touch them whenever he wanted. 

Remus cleared his throat and looked at Sirius. Naked grandma. NAKED GRANDMA. “Go on with your painting, yeah?” 

“You haven’t even posed,” he retorted with a smile. You turned your head over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend, “where do you want me?” 

Remus tried not to think of those words, and not to memorise them either. He didn’t want to have dreams about it. Sirius on the other hand, smirked and walked over to the two of you, “Alright mate, time to lose the sheet,” he said as he pulled the one thing covering Remus’ body. While Rem shot to cover himself, Sirius gave you a look and then winked. 

You narrowed your eyes at him as you tilted your head, what the hell are you up to, pretty boy?

“Okay, Moony. I need you to sit on the table.” Remus did as told, “Now open your legs a little bit.” Remus gave a stern look to Sirius but did as told, still using his hands to cover himself. “Please Rem,” he added, “I’ll show you mine and you’ll show me yours? Take those hands off, would you? We’ve both seen plenty of dicks already.” 

You were looking at Remus’ clavicle as he did, trying to avoid the spot that made him so self-conscious, but Sirius was way bolder than that, and he stared straight at his friend’s cock instead. Was that a twitch? Sirius smiled, bit his lip, and turned back to you. 

“You’ll be in between his legs, he’ll have his arms around your arms and his head on your shoulder, is that okay?” 

“Okay,” you said simply. Now, had it been any other person, perhaps you wouldn’t have accepted the pose, but this was Remus, you trusted Remus. 

Remus, who realised there was no use in arguing, did what Sirius had described, leaning forward so you wouldn’t have to stand so close to him. He tried to avoid his chest brushing into yours, ever the gentleman. Anyone else might have just taken advantage. 

Sirius nodded and walked behind his easel again, “Luv, hide your head on his neck, okay?” 

“Mhm,” you said and did as told. Being so close to Remus was making you feel things. He was really warm and strong. You enjoyed the way he held you, Sirius could tell. He also knew you as the back of his hand. 

“Would you mind leaning in a little closer to him?” 

You nodded and did as told. Now your chest was brushing against his, Remus could feel your hardened nipples against his chest, the tip of his ears was now red, even if a good deal of blood was going south. You assumed it was due to embarrassment. 

Sirius had already started to draw, and you decided you’d try and ease him, you bent your elbows and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, allowing his grip to become a lot more secure, “It's okay,” you whispered. “Sirius is way faster at sketching than me, he’ll be over in a second. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” 

“No, I’m sorry for making this so awkward,” he said softly. “I bet you are used to this and I’m making it weird.” 

“Not really,” you said honestly, leaning your head on his shoulder a little more, that was something you had done often, with clothes, though. “I’ve never modelled with anyone other than Sirius. I only said I would because it would be you.” 

“You what?” Remus asked, you accommodated and your lips accidentally brushed against his neck, he felt the blush spreading, he was losing control. He couldn’t keep thinking of a naked grandma when he had you pressed against him, whispering on his neck, your warm breath against his skin igniting him like a match against dry leaves. 

“I only agreed to Sirius’ pose when he proposed it because you’d be the male model. I don’t like modelling so close to other people.” 

Remus sighed, closing his eyes, his cock was already half hard, and here you were talking to him about trusting him to be the male model, he was a total dick. 

“Luv, lean in a little closer would you?” Sirius asked. 

Remus didn’t even have enough time to give Sirius a warning glance since you confidently did as told, and that’s when you felt it: hard, brushing just under your belly button. You pulled apart just for a second and looked down.

He is huge.

Remus was beet red and staring at Sirius with a mix of exasperation, embarrassment, and anguish. But neither of you seemed to mind, you just pulled your hips slightly back and went back to the previous pose, your nipples brushing against his chest again and making his boner grow even more. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, “It’s actually quite normal, you’d be surprised how many times it happens.” 

Remus had his eyes closed shut and was trying not to think, not of your soft chest against him, not of your soft breath fanning against his skin, and certainly not of how close your pussy was to his dick. 

You could tell how much more tense he was now. “Do you want to take a break?” 

“No,” he said quickly. “Let’s just get over with it.” The last thing Remus needed was to take a break only for it to happen again the minute your skin came into contact with his. 

“Are you sure? You’re a lot more tense now, Moons,” you said with a frown as you gently brushed your hand on his soft back, tracing a finger over one of his scars without quite realising you were doing it. 

He shook his head, “No, it’s okay.” 

“Remus–“ Sirius started. 

“It won’t work,” he snapped a little harsher now. 

Sirius’s perspicacious look turned into a smirk, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. He gently placed his pencil on the easel and walked over to Remus. “Why not Moony?” 

“Sorry?” He asked, nervous. You felt him tense even further and pulled back, he got a glimpse of your breasts again and he only became harder. 

“Sirius, you’re making him more nervous,” you added with a frown, your hand still brushing reassuringly on his back. 

“No,” he replied, and focused his gaze back on Remus. “I want to know why it wouldn’t work.” 

Remus grabbed the basket that was still lying around and placed it over his lap, covering his ever-growing boner. 

“You don’t have to respond to that, Rem.” 

“He does,” Sirius insisted. 

Remus looked at Sirius in disbelief before huffing. “You’re making your bloody gorgeous girlfriend, pose with me and hug me, and lay her head on my shoulder, all while naked. And you’re looking at us, with that, piercing fucking gaze of yours while you do. A break is not going to help because you’ll make us do it again!” 

Sirius still had a stern face on, but you noticed the small twist on his lips, he was holding back a smirk. 

“Sirius,” you warned. 

“No,” he said and focused on Remus again. “Remus, you think my girlfriend’s gorgeous?” 

“Everyone thinks your girlfriend’s gorgeous.”

“No, Remus. Do you think she is?” 

Remus avoided Sirius’ gaze, red with embarrassment and anger. More at himself than anyone else. His jaw was clenched and his eyes squeezed shut. 

Sirius threw you an amused look and you gave him an impatient one. You could tell he was playing with Moony and you didn’t like it one bit. Sirius, though, wasn’t one to stop things so easily, and he pulled you softly from your spot in between his legs and took it, placing both hands on Remus’ shoulders who just tensed even further. He leaned closer to his ear, “I’m asking you something, Remus.” 

Remus didn’t reply, the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching. You were about to pull Sirius back but he spoke again, “I’m asking because–” he tone was softer, the threatening tone from earlier fading into a more lewd one, “It’s okay of you do,” he whispered, and then pressed his lips to Remus’ tense shoulder. Remus’s eyes snapped open and he spotted you, you gave him a short smile, and then he felt Sirius’s lips pressed against him again, “because we both have the hots for you as well,” Sirius mumbled against his skin.

Remus swallowed thickly at that, and you could feel a familiar pulsing between your legs.

Remus pushed Sirius off, the other boy just stared at his friend with a smile, “don’t play with me, Black!” he warned, angry and steady. 

“He’s not,” you interceeded. Sirius was a flirt, it was hard to believe him sometimes, but for you, who had been with him for a while, it was easy to see the shine in his eyes when he saw Remus, it wasn’t there when he saw other men. You walked over to Sirius and took hold of his arm, laying your head gently on his shoulder and allowing your entire front to be exposed to Remus. “The question is, Remus, do you like us back?” 

Remus’ breath was caught in his throat, he wasn’t sure what to respond, could he even?

“And what does that mean?” 

You shot Sirius a glance, there was a silent understanding between the two of you, a small nod from Sirius, and you walked closer to Remus, “It means we like hanging out with you,” you said softly and took a step towards him, “It means we like having you around, It means we like it when your eyes brighten as you speak of a new book you love and it means we love the way your hair falls on your face when you forget your umbrella and you borrow one of ours.” You were dangerously close to him now, “It means we like it when you stand close to us, it means we would like to touch you,” you placed a hand on his leg, and traced from his knee to the thick of his muscle, and left it there while making soft circles with your thumb. 

“It means when we invited you to model for us we were being selfish, we wanted to have more of you than we normally did,” Sirius said, also walking closer, “It means I specifically had to wear bigger pants because I knew the moment I saw you naked along with her, my mind would roam, and take me back to my dreams.” 

“Your dreams?” Remus asked as he gulped, gaze darting between your hand on his leg and Sirius approaching both of you.

“Our dreams,” you interceeded, having him turn back to look at your face. “The question is, Remus–“ You grabbed onto the basket and started to drag it away from him. “Do you want us? Or is this just a natural reaction?” you asked, nodding back to his hard cock, trying not to lick your lips as you did. 

Sirius still hadn’t touched Remus, but he was standing so close he’d only have to lean in to kiss the boy’s neck. “I–“ Remus hesitated, and looked at Sirius, trying to find confirmation. He could barely believe what was going on, perhaps he had fallen asleep on your shoulder and this was just a figment of his eager imagination. 

Sirius smiled and nodded down. His pants were big, but not big enough to hide the tent that had formed in his pants. Remus swallowed again. By now you had already discarded the basket of fruit, a couple of them rolling out and scattering on the floor with a loud thud. None of the three seemed to hear it, all of your gazes were firmly set on each other. 

“It is real, Remus,” you said and leaned close enough to kiss his neck near the spot Sirius had kissed initially. You had wanted to do that while Sirius was sketching the two of you, and you took the chance to finally do it. Still, neither you nor Sirius had touched Remus’ cock, you wanted him to say yes before you did something irreparable. But unlike Sirius, you didn’t leave your kiss as a small innocent one, instead, you opened your mouth to his skin and started licking and sucking lightly. 

A strangled moan escaped Remus’ lips. and you smiled, continuing to kiss him in the same way, eager to hear the sound again.

“Should we take that as a yes?” Sirius asked, voice raspy and low from how turned on he was at the sight of the two of you. 

Remus let out a soft scoff, and then he pulled you from his neck, he hated the disappointed glance you had as he held your face in between his hands. Your eyes were blown with lust and your lips were wet from the kiss. 

You swallowed, ready to pull apart but Remus dragged your head towards his and leaned in just enough to plant a desperate kiss on your lips. You were surprised at first but quickly melted into him, moaning as he dragged his demanding tongue over your lips, which only fueled him further, he wanted to hear those sounds, he wanted to hear the both of you make those sounds over and over again until he was deafened by them. 

“Yes,” he whispered as he pulled apart, panting for air and dropping smaller kisses around your face, “bloody hell yes!” he insisted. 

Sirius leaned in, and whispered on Moony’s ear, “Should have told us earlier.”  He pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, but quickly moved down to kiss the boys jaw, “We’ve been dreaming about you for months.” 

“Imagine my surprise when Sirius woke me up, panting your name,” you said, “I thought it was a nightmare until I felt how hard he was.” 

Remus sighed and leaned his head on your shoulder as Sirius continued to kiss him, you took that as an opportunity to place your hand on his back again, allowing your fingers to feel and touch every single part of him that you hadn’t been able to touch earlier, and that you found absolutely stunning. 

Another moan escaped Remus’ mouth when he felt your hand on his back, and Sirius smiled, the wicked smile of his and he pulled apart from his neck and easily sat on the table before moving behind Remus in a kneeling position, taking both of his shoulder and pulling him back from the hunch he’d been on. The sight of both boys almost set you on fire, Sirius noticed, he noticed almost everything. 

“Moony, love,” he said as he leaned into the boy’s neck and allowed his hand to softly massage Remus’ back muscles, “Isn’t she stunning?” 

You threw Sirius an inquisitive look and he just winked, he seemed to always know what to do. 

“She is,” Remus breathed, eyes hooded as he allowed Sirius to touch him, clearly lost on him. 

Sirius smiled, “I want you to touch her,” he said with a smirk, “touch her like you wanted to touch her when I was drawing the two of you behind the easel. I saw you looking at her, I saw the way your hands fought to stay in place.” 

“Sirius,” Remus warned. 

But Sirirus’ smirk only grew wider, he knew his words were sending both you and Remus into a state of absolute frenzy, all he’d have to do was push you into each other, “Touch her, I know she wants it as much as you do.” 

Remus was hesitant, but he placed his hand on your shoulder and dragged you closer to the two of them in a soft pull. You looked up at him and smiled, squaring your shoulders and allowing him to see your almost throbbing nipples, desperate to be touched, and to be held by either of the two. 

He was slow and hesitant, allowing his hand to fall from your shoulder to your arms, and then to your waist, and to the small of your back. Sirius placed a soft kiss just over Remus’ ear and then whispered, “Touch her, Remus, touch the place you’ve wanted to touch since you saw that little black bra of hers that makes me lose my mind.”

Remus breathed, he remembered the little piece perfectly, he allowed his hand to drag up, and let his thumb rest right under your breast, feeling the soft bounce of it and gently rubbing underneath, an innocent touch, almost a graze, nothing in comparison to the way Sirius would sometimes grab at them, and yet, it was just making you wetter. “Remus,” you whined as you leaned your head on his free shoulder. That seemed to be the fuel he needed to drag his hand even further up and allow his thumb to brush against your nipple. You clenched against nothing as he did, and moaned. He had a small scar tracing just around his thumb, the feeling of textures against your skin dragging you to heaven.

Sirius smiled at your reactions and started to kiss his neck. Which had Remus’ head tilt back in pleasure. That’s when you leaned your hand down again, eager to feel him, you were gentle and decided to give him enough time to stop you if he wanted, but the slow massaging of your hand towards his cock was only making Remus grow harder, a small droplet of precum already coming from his tip. He hadn’t even dared to dream of such a moment, and here you were, making it happen. When your hand finally wrapped around him he let out a breathy moan, his hand on your breast tightening. You smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. 

“May I?” you asked softly. 

“Please,” he managed to say, Sirius chuckled at his neediness but Remus was quicker and pulled on his hair to drag him to his mouth. The longer-haired boy was surprised at first but quickly smirked into Remus’ demanding kiss, swallowing all the moans that would leave him as you slowly brushed your fingers over his cock. First, tracing a thin line from the bottom to the top, right over the pulsing vein. And then you wrapped your hand around him, firm but gentle, and rubbed the tip with your thumb. 

Sirius pulled from the kiss that Remus chased into just to let you hear his moans and whispered, “Do you hear that, love?” he said as he placed a hand on Remus’ neck to keep his desperate lips from crashing against his mouth again. “You’re turning him into an animal.” 

“We are,” you responded and tightened your grip around him, starting only now to gently stroke. You got to hear another moan from Moony before Sirius returned to kiss him. You leaned your head on Remus’ shoulder again, that place proving to be one of your favourite sports of the night, and started to trace kisses up his neck. You could feel his reactions in the way he would sometimes squeeze your breasts a little harder, or when he moved his hand down your waist. “And he makes such lovely sounds, doesn’t he?” 

Sirius hummed in return, not daring to tear his lips away from the kiss. 

Then you reached Remus’ ear. “If only you knew how wet you’re making me,” you whispered, a sly, fox-like smile appearing on your lips. Sirius threw you a side glance in between kisses and raised one of his eyebrows at you. 

“Show him then,” he said before going back to kiss Remus, but using one of his hands to place it on the boy’s waist. “Pull back a little, Moons.” 

Remus did as told, giving you enough space to be able to climb into the table as well, both legs on either side of one of his, and then slowly you let yourself down onto him, sighting at the feeling of his muscles against your sex. Remus gave you an encouraging squeeze on the waist, and that was enough for you to start grinding yourself onto his leg. Somehow, you managed to maintain the strokes on his cock as you rubbed onto him. 

“Do you feel that, love?” Sirius asked as he broke the kiss to have the two of them look at you. You had your eyes closed and were focused on both your hips and hand movements. You felt Remus’ cock twitch, but you didn’t know it had been because he was looking at you. “Do you feel how wet you’ve made her?” 

Remus looked at his glistening leg as you slid down and then up again, firmly pressing yourself against him, even if it was hard with the position you were in. He flexed his muscles and he felt your hand tremble in his cock, “She’s so pretty, Pads. You get to see her like this all the time?” 

Sirius chuckled and decided to kiss Remus’ neck, so they could both continue delighting at the sight of you riding his leg. Remus seemed hesitant at first, but he dragged his hand down to your waist and towards your leg. Clearly giving in to the temptation to touch.

“Go ahead, she likes it,” Sirius encouraged in a chuckle and Remus didn’t think twice. You stiffened when you felt his hand brush against you as you pushed yourself into him, now opening your eyes to figure out whose hand had been bold enough. You smirked when you realised who it had been. 

“Still curious?” you asked and pushed yourself towards his hand again. 

Remus didn’t speak, instead, he focused on brushing his fingers over your folds which had you sight in content. But Remus was slightly hesitant as if he wasn’t sure how to touch you properly. When Sirius realised the lack of moans, he decided he’d help. He placed a quick kiss on Remus’ temple and then moved behind him again. Allowing one of his hands to rest on Moony’s neck and then using the other to trace his arm until he reached the hesitant hand still brushing against your sensitive spots. 

“Like this,” he said as he took hold of his hand and started making his movements more determined. You moaned at the new, more purposeful touch, and Sirius’ smirk grew. “Slow and determined,” he instructed. Remus himself found your clit after that, and he gently pressed his finger over it, testing. 

“Fuck do that again,” you managed to whisper as you leaned your head on his shoulder again, Sirius placed a soft comforting kiss on your temple, your hands on Remus’ cock becoming dumber as the pleasure consumed you. 

Remus did as told, and you moved your hips towards his fingers almost instinctively. “Such a fast learner,” Sirius praised, and you’d swear you saw Remus inflate slightly at his words. 

“Yeah, Moony!” you sighed, voice mellow, something in between words and a moan. “You’re amazing,” you added as you kissed his neck, chasing all the way to his mouth. The hand that Sirius used to teach him, had long forgotten its purpose and had somehow found its way to your breast, pinching and squeezing like he knew you loved. His lips glued to Moony’s neck in the meantime. 

Moony pressed a tentative finger to your entrance, you smiled into the kiss, and pushed into him, he bit your lips as his finger dug inside you, “Fuck,” he whispered into your mouth, “so tight.” You clenched around him, as you pulled from the kiss and brushed the tip of his cock with your thumb, you were eager to hear another one of those melodic moans of his. And you did, reeling on the power he had given you before going back to kiss him. 

“She is Moony, it’ll feel insane around your cock too, I promise,” Sirius whispered to his ear. If you had been thinking properly, you might have swatted him for assuming how things would end, but the idea of having Remus’ cock inside of you only made you wetter, your hips chasing his finger a little more desperate as you used it to chase your own pleasure. 

Remus used his free hand to take yours from his cock and placed it on his shoulder since he knew that would help you be a little more steady, he missed your touch, but the moans he pulled from you were enough compensation. He went for another finger and you moaned at how much more full you felt. Remus had longer fingers than Sirius did, and the scars added a layer of textures that you had never felt before but that you could easily get used to. 

His touch was much more curious and soft than Sirius’ had been the first time, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t aiding you into a state of absolute bliss. Sirius, ever the clever, figured out you were close in a second. He pulled Moony deeper into the table, pulling you along with him, took off his shirt and moved behind you. Both of his tights around yours, Moony’s in between. He pressed himself onto you allowing you to feel his warm and slightly sweaty skin. You could feel his boner pressing onto your ass which had you sight in pleasure. 

“How’s that, my love,” he said. “Do you like having Moony’s hand all over you? His fingers inside?” 

“Sirius,” you sighed. His hands were now on your hips, helping you ride Moony’s fingers with much more ease. Moony’s fingers got faster, and you could feel Sirius holding back from dry humping you from behind, his hips sometimes chasing against your ass, you had neglected him a little. “Like that,” you managed to whisper once Remus did a particular movement, a flick of his finger, and he instantly repeated it. 

“She’s close Moony,” Sirius warmed as he felt you tense, he moved his hands on your body reassuringly, but in the way that he knew you loved, you tensed, tightening around Remus’ fingers, and then let out a long, and quiet moan. “There you go,” Sirius added softly as he brushed his fingers over your leg, both of them helping you ride down from your high. Eventually, Remus took his fingers from inside you and placed a reassuring hand on your leg. You closed your eyes, head still pressed onto his shoulder as you breathed in, Remus had always smelled delightful, but you’d swear he smelled even better today.

You then reached your hand down but Sirius beat you to it, “My turn,” he said as he pushed you closer to Remus and took a hold of his cock. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked Remus with a smile, knowing well his answer. 

Remus gulped and shook his head, which had Sirius smile like a wolf and start playing around with his friend’s cock. He clearly knew what he was doing much better than you did since he had Remus panting and moaning a lot faster than you had. He also had you firmly pressed against Remus as he touched him, if you had wanted to –which you obviously didn’t– you wouldn’t be likely to get out in between the two. Still, you busied yourself with kissing Remus’ neck again, that spot that you seemed to be addicted to.

Remus sighed, and you started to brush your hands all over his body, moaning and grunting growing louder. Sirius felt his friend’s cock twitch in his hand and he knew he was close, so he stopped. Remus gave him a pleading look but he pulled his hand back completely and the you along with him. You didn’t realise what was going on until you saw Remus’ throbbing cock and confused look. 

“Sirius!” you reprimanded. Remus seemed to be struggling to form proper words. 

“He won’t get to fuck you if he comes into my hand,” Sirius responded then leaned his head into your shoulder and looked at Remus with a knowing pout. “Would you rather come into my hand than feel her tight little pussy around you, Moons?” 

Remus scoffed. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting by getting sexually involved with Sirius Black, but he should have fucking expected this kind of behaviour.

Sirius smiled, “How about we help him cool down a little but keep him hard, darling?” 

You leaned your head back onto Sirius, opening your legs a little for Remus to get a better view of your glistening sex. “What do you like, Remus?” You asked in the most innocent tone. As if you were asking about the taste of ice cream he preferred and not the kind of shit that turned him on. 

But frankly, neither you nor Sirius would have to do anything special to turn him on, he already pretty much worshipped you. Remus was still at a loss of words, he stared at both of you, then down between your legs and then up at your faces again. 

“Do you want me to eat her out?” Sirius asked as he tilted his head. 

“Or would you rather see me blow him?” 

“Cowgirl?” 

“Doggie?” 

Remus was sure that if you didn’t stop you, you might just list the entire kamasutra before he made a choice, “anything.” 

You tsked and shook your head, “No, Moons, that’s not the deal,” you replied. “What do you want?” 

Again, he saw you tense and relax between your legs as you asked him, and he didn’t miss the smirk that drew on your lips when he started. “I want” –he hesitated– “touch him.” 

“Your wish is my command,” you said with a smirk and instantly turned to Sirius, making sure to have him spin around enough so that you wouldn’t have Remus just look at your back, although he would have been more than happy staring at the way your ass moved. 

“Did you hear that, Pads?” 

Sirius hummed in response as he helped you accommodate, you were now cradling him. You first went for a kiss, soft, but demanding, as you two kissed, you lowered one of your hands and gripped Sirius over his pants. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back from the kiss, no matter how addictive his lips were, you wanted Remus to hear his precious moans as well. 

Remus’ hands were itching to go back to his cock when he heard Sirius’ moan. He was too pretty, both of you were, he could still barely believe what was happening, but he sure loved every bit of it. “Help me get this off,” you said as you turned to Remus and pressed your hands onto Sirius’ belt. 

He raised his eyebrows amused and you gave him a short wink. He did as told. Leaning in closer and unbuckling the belt before sliding it off Sirius who was a moaning mess since your hand was still on him. Once Remus managed to move the button off, you were quick to digg your hand in and Sirius raised his hips a little to take it off along with his boxers. 

Remus’ cock twitched when he saw Sirius’ hard and proud. He wanted to touch it as much as he wanted to see you touch it, but he wasn’t sure Sirius would want him to touch it so instead he moved his desperate hand to the boy’s neck. You smiled at that and brushed yourself against him, passing his cock over your folds a few times to coat him with your wetness before gripping at him securely. 

“Sto–p teasing,” Sirius managed to say, and you laughed, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before wrapping your hand around him and starting to stroke. Remus seemed fascinated by the way you moved your hand on Pads, like you knew exactly what he wanted when he moaned or moved his hips slightly to the side. At some point Sirius started to chase your hand with his hips as well but Remus placed his hand on his legs to keep him down. Sirius turned to the boy with a frown and Remus smirked.

“I said I wanted her to touch you, not for you to fuck her hand,” he replied in a low tone. 

You giggled at the stifled moan that left Sirius’ lips when Moony said that, and continued with your strokes, turning your wrist so you had a bit more control and toying with the tip whenever your thumb got close enough to it. 

“Close,” Sirius breathed and you smiled, looking at Moony with a small smirk before pulling back a little from both of them but still stroking. Then you pulled further down and Sirius almost came in your hands at the mere image of what you were about to do. You pressed a kiss to kiss your stomach, and gently lowered down, allowing your nipples to brush over his cock causing him to shudder. 

You licked your lips before going down and pressing a soft and gentle kiss over his tip, you could feel the blood rushing and his cock twitching. You then pressed your tongue to him and Sirius let out a low, almost imperceptible groan. The first, soft splurt of his cum fell on the outside of your mouth before you wrapped your lips around him and sucked the rest of him dry. By the time you were done, Sirius was panting and gripping onto Remus’ leg as he attempted to catch a breath. You raised yourself back up to look at them both. 

You opened your mouth to show you had yet to swallow it all and then turned to Remus, “Want a taste?” 

Sirius was already sore, and yet when Moony nodded and pulled you in for a desperate kiss, he swore he felt himself twitch again. In a matter of seconds, you had climbed onto his lap, leaning into the kiss and only pulling apart to see his reaction, a line of spit still connected the two of you as smirked. 

“Fuck,” Sirius said in a low moan at the sight. 

“How was it?” you asked as you bit your lip. 

Remus tilted his head and dragged your hips to his, “Is not over yet, is it?” 

“I meant the taste,” you replied as you rolled your hips on his cock. 

He licked his lips, and laid his head on your shoulder as he looked at Sirius. “Fucking delicious,” he said.

You pressed a soft kiss to his neck. “Bet,” you added before rolling your hips against his again. “Ready?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Good,” you said, and then lifted yourself, brushing on his cock a couple of times before bringing your hand down to it, brushing his tip on you, making sure to brush your clit, and then slowly, sinking yourself onto him.

You breathed out as you did, getting used to his size, and he waited patiently for you to finish. 

“You all right?” he asked softly. 

You let out a breathy “Yeah.” 

“Tell me when I can start moving.” You squeezed your walls around him. “Fuck–“ 

Sirius laughed from the side and placed a hand on Remus’ arm, “Did I not mention she has a tendency to do that? I almost came the first time she did it to me.” 

You squeezed again and then started to move, slow and steady at first, Remus was a groaning mess again and it only fueled your resolve to continue moving and squeezing, eventually, his hips started thrusting up into yours and your movements seemed to synchronise. 

“Touch her too,” Sirius suggested and Remus did as told, quickly bringing one the hands that rested on your waist to your clit. You started to roll your hips so you could increase the pressure and he helped by moving his finger closer. 

“Is that good?” 

“Fuck yes,” you responded. 

You continued for a while, and you felt Remus get extremely close, if his moaning indicated anything but then he stopped thrusting into you and you slowed your pace with a questioning frown. 

“Can…” he panted. “Can I try something?” 

You nodded in return and Remus smiled, he pulled you up with his hands on your waist –his cock still inside you– and flipped you around, now your back was laying on Sirius’ chest and you could feel his semi-hard on your ass. 

“Moony what are you–“ he started but was shut up by a kiss as he thrusted into you. Both the kiss and your asscheeks brushing onto him had Sirius harden even more as Remus thrust in and out of you. 

“Touch her the way she likes,” he said to Sirius in between kisses and the other boy did exactly that, chasing in between the entanglement of bodies until he found your clit, tentatively, he brushed his hand down to feel where Remus and your body connected and Remus moaned at the feeling of Sirius’ hands on him again. “I said touch her,” he added with a sigh, “I want her to come again.” 

Sirius smiled and pressed a short kiss to Remus’ lips. “Your wish is my command.” 

Seconds later Sirius’ expert fingers were on you, brushing and circling your clit the way that made you brainless, your ass pressed onto his cock and Remus rutting into you quickly made you feel absolute bliss. 

“I’m about to–“ 

“She as well,” Sirius said as he felt the way you moved on top of him. 

Remus reeled at the thought and groaned out as he started to come, he tried to pull out but Sirius was quick to keep him in place. “She’s taking something,” he said simply, and that was enough for Remus to allow your walls to milk him. As he did, Sirius was fast with his hand and you were cumming on Remus’ cock, squeezing him even more as his pace started to slow down. 

Sirius, who was already sore, came for the second time that night a little after, surprising you since you were not expecting to feel the sticky wetness against your ass. 

Remus felt it too, since part of it spluttered all the way to his legs and he looked at Sirius with a mildly impressed stare. 

“You two are fucking hot,” he said, unapologetically. Remus pushed into you a couple more times and then he allowed his weight to fall on both of you. 

“Too heavy?” he managed to ask. 

“No,” you said as you accommodated your head next to Sirius’ and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. He sighed in contentment.  

Eventually, Remus drew himself out of you and then pulled back from his position on top and instead laid with his back against the table. He bit his lip, “I guess you’ll have to find another model.” 

“No way in hell we’re ever gonna look for another model,” you said with a laugh, also rolling from Sirius and letting yourself fall right in between the two of them, “Moony’s just perfect, isn’t he?” 

“Thought you couldn’t paint someone you’d fucked…” he breathed. 

Sirius laughed, “Well, they don’t have to know we’re a thing…” 

Remus felt so many emotions at once, you were a thing, but also Sirius doesn't want people to know.

“…until after we’ve handed in the paintings, and gotten our grades,” he added with a cheeky smile. 

“Besides, the sun is gone,” you added. “We’ll have to come back another day.”

“Didn’t you mention a sunlamp or something?” Remus asked.

“We’ll have to come another day,” you repeated with a smirk. And Remus gave you an impressed look. 

“Do you guys have anything to do?” Sirius asked.

You shook your head and Remus said a quick “No.”

“Why?” you asked.

“I think Prongs is sleeping over at Reggie’s.” 

“Is he now?” Remus questioned. 

“I thought we could have a sleepover of our own.” 

You scoffed a laugh, of sleep, it wouldn’t have much.

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Read more Marauders Fiction

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Snitches the cat and his favorite bat

I wrote up dpxdc fics based off of prompts I happened to see in the last day to add to the reading pile for anyone who didn't prep for the archive down time today.

EDIT

The idea for Danny as a cat came from @shycorvid, thank you so much for correcting me and letting me play in your sandbox!

Snitches the cat comes from @garbagewith-a-cherryontop (I think??? I couldn't find a definite first post!) but the fantastic linked post is the one with how I think Snitches the cat looks here.

Word count is 1053.

Tumblr reference

masterpost for my AO3 downtime fics

“Ugh- that's not- did we just summon a demon cat?”

“It's so messed up looking. Ew.”

Danny blinked and swayed on his feet. He'd had a tail a minute ago, speeding across the GZ to check in on Walker. There had been an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. And now he was on his feet. All four of them.

Wait, what?

“You fucked this up.”

His ears twitched at the sound of a slap. Danny swiveled towards the sound and then got distracted by the feeling of his ears swiveling back. Whaaaaat?

He looked down at his precious little feeties. They were adorable paws.

“Oh, you motherfuckers,” he said. It came out as a conversational yowl.

The humans looked at him from about ten feet away and five feet up. “Annoying…”

He was pretty sure they were high schoolers. There were five of them, two girls and three boys. They were all bigger than him. High schoolers were usually bigger than he was, but this was just ridiculous.

“Count yourself lucky, dimwits,” one of the older kids said. He took a step towards Danny. Danny pressed his ears flat against his head and hissed at the approach. “If you managed to sacrifice Patches to a demon, your Mom would straight up murder you.” He laughed when he said it, like anything about that was remotely funny.

Uh- what now?

Only now, Danny noticed a very distressed calico cat underneath a laundry basket on the other side of the room. There was a stack of textbooks weighing the basket down. A large rug had been rolled up and- he sneezed rapidly, eyes watering. Chalk! They'd drawn on the floor with chalk!

‘This is some incompetent summoning,’ Danny realized, way too late. ‘Did they- how did they turn me into a cat?’ He looked at his unfortunate brethren under the laundry basket. Her ears were flat against her skull and she looked scared.

He remembered the word “sacrifice” and his blood flushed hit with fury. They'd wanted him to eat her! They'd wanted something to eat miss Patches!

The teenagers froze and looked at him, aghast at the angry sounds that were coming out of his throat.

“Shut up!” One hissed. She took off her shoe and threw it at him. Danny dodged and then threw his head back to yowl even louder. Sonic attack! Aural damage, you big jerks!

“The neighbors are going to- make it shut up!”

Danny had to run, dashing over furniture and tearing his way across a crowded table to avoid being grabbed. He screamed the whole time, eager to alert whoever they were so afraid of. Someone should see!

The window burst in.

Danny stopped running, shocked. He hadn't actually expected-

Someone snatched him up from behind and smacked him on the face with a palm. His jaw exploded with pain. It cut off his yowling.

Stunned. He was still for a moment and then he struggled for his life. The grip on his ribs was way too tight-

He looked over at the sound of a sword being pulled from a sheath. Holy shit, that was bomb as hell. His eyes went wide at the sight of a heavily armored small child crouched on the windowsill. The boy's eyes were covered, but Danny could still see him look at Danny and the poor calico under the laundry basket. He sneered.

“Unhand the cat or lose your hands at the wrist, you wretch.”

Danny loved him.

The teenager dropped him. Danny caught himself with a stumble. He let out a sad mraow before he could stop himself.

Fight club baby was enraged. “What have you done to this animal?” He hopped down into the room, revealing he was at least a foot shorter than the smallest girl in the room.

Danny trotted to him and started winding around his ankles admiringly. What a good kid! He purred.

“I will be taking both of your cats with me. If you ever harm an animal again, it will be your head that is found in a chalk-”

“Robin.” A hugeass grown man squeezed himself through the window that the kid had broken. Danny craned his head up, up, up, to see him case the joint.

The older man radiated incredible judgment. “I see that you require education on animal welfare and demonic summoning. Go on, Robin.”

“That's my Mom's cat!” One of the teenagers protested. “You can't take her!”

Robin growled at her. Danny jumped in his skin at the sound.

“Then we shall return it to your Mother and her alone, when we explain what you've done.” Danny let murder baby scoop him up and purred at full volume. Hell yeah. He looked at the cowering teenagers with condescension.

“Not that fugly thing.”

Danny blinked. He ended up making an inquisitive mraow. Why was a finger being pointed at him? He was baby.

“That thing showed up, you can get rid of it. But Patches is Mom's cat, and you can't steal a cat because-”

“Batman can steal any cat!” Robin bit out, gathered up Patches, and jumped out the window with both cats in an expert grip.

That didn't sound right, but Danny just enjoyed the night air as a line pulled Robin up to where yet another masked vigilante was waiting, cackling himself to tears.

“Batman can steal any cat,” he wheezed. “Brilliant. Good detour, Robin. Can I hold one?” He held out his blue-striped palms expectantly.

He faltered when he saw Danny, visibly surprised.

Danny… was starting to feel bad. He curled into Robin, hurt. He wasn't ugly. Why did people keep reacting to him weird?

“No,” Robin said curtly. “You have damaged his pride, and Patches is still reeling from her shock.”

The man let out a sigh but let the topic go. “That's Patches, and this is…?”

Robin hesitated. “He is the Snitch.”

That unlocked cooing. “Snitches? Snitchy Snitch Sni- ow!”

Danny snapped at the hand that came way too close and he let out a warning growl. No baby talk!

Robin seemed very pleased. He rubbed behind Danny's ears. “Snitch… I suppose that Snitches will suffice. We are taking him home.”

“....Maybe, just for fun, we should take him to get treated for mange first!” The guy made jazz hands to go with his statement.

Robin and Danny both growled that time.

[monstersflashlight]

To kill a king, to fuck a dragon (Day 8/8 of 10k followers event)

A/N: Hi there people! I’m so, so glad that all of you took time to read all the stories I post, especially these past 8 stories that had been super exploratory for me. I think I did good enough, at least y’all seemed to like it. For this last one I added a bit more plot than usual, this is a tiny bit longer and I think the story is really good. I hope y’all love it as much as I do. Also, and once again, I want to thank ALL OF YOU for following this little corner of the internet and being so supportive and great, special thanks to all my patrons to make my life a little bit easier <3, this has been a blast so far and I hop y’all keep reading, hopefully this account is just the beginning of a much longer exploration of monsterfuckery for us all. (PS: If someone catches the very subtle Grey’s anatomy reference please let me know so we can be friends)

Dragon x fem!reader || size kink, slow-burn (kinda), sex with feelings, magic saliva, spit on pussy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation || tw: mentions of murder

You enter the cave and are surprised to find a door, a normal human door caved into the rock. It looks like a house, a house on the rock, but still normal. What the fuck? Your hopes and dreams of finding the dragon slowly disappear, your eyes teary.

Someone chooses that moment to speak behind you: “Who are you?” You turn around so fast you fall to the ground with a scream. The stranger looks at you like you are a bug he needs to squeeze, and you feel a tear running down your cheek. Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry even if there wasn’t a dragon. “Again: who are you?” His tone is harsh and you want to cry even more, but you bit your tongue.

“I- I came to find the dragon,” you confess, swallowing around the knot in your throat.

He looks at you like you are a joke, not even trying to help you to your feet. “What dragon?” He asks, his tone amused.

You get up and look at him, trying to look as serious as you can when you say: “They- They told me there was a dragon here.” You fail.

He chuckles, inspecting you up and down, his eyes zeroing on the few tears that escaped your eyes. “No dragons, just me,” he finally answers, his tone a lot softer than before.

“Uh-oh… Sorry. I’ll be on my way, then.” You try to get pass him, sniffling as you do so, trying really hard to get out before you start sobbing.

He sighs, and adds: “do you want some tea?” He offers you his hand, and weirdly enough, you don’t feel threatened or scared, you feel calm around him.

“Really?” You don’t want to sound too hopeful but you are thirsty and tired and you want to cry because there is no dragon and you basically lost hope of everything.

“Yeah, come on.” He motions you to follow him inside the rock house, and you are surprised about how cozy and homey it feels inside, like out of a fairy-tale kind of thing.

He makes some tea as you lean against the door frame of the kitchen, trying to look around as much as possible without looking too snoopy about it. Not that he seems to care that you are curious about everything, he just looks at you every once in a while like making sure you are still there.

“Why were you looking for a dragon?” He asks when he sets the tea cup on the table in front of you. A similar one in front of him. You sit and start sipping on the best tea you’ve ever had.

You sip the tea for a couple seconds, trying to decide if you can trust him, at the end you decide why not, your life is already ruined. “To kill the king,” you say. He chokes on the tea he’s drinking, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop from giggling.

“What?” He asks again when he recovers, his face red from the coughing.

“To kill the king,” you repeat. He still looks stunned so you give him more context: “I- I was bought when I was in the womb. My parents promised me to him in exchange for gold, and the day we marry is approaching. I don’t want to do it, he’s a foul man, and I didn’t choose this. I overheard some servants talking about the dragon in the mountains, and I though… I thought they would help me.” You try not to sound too bitter about it, but you can’t keep the despair out of your voice.

He looks at you like you are suddenly the most interesting specimen of a bug. “You escaped the castle and came here?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully. There was a lot more implied in that simple question. You escaped, but not only that, they are probably looking for you and the king would probably kill those guards you ran away from. You try not to be too sad about them, they were cruel with you, laughing at you every time you passed, talking about how the king got a new hot wife.

“Are they still looking for you?” He asks, a lot smarter than you give him credit for.

“Probably.” It’s the truth but it still carries a lot of pressure as you say it. You understand though, you know it’s not his problem and you shouldn’t even be there. You’d find another way to escape the king. “I’ll be out of your hair, I promise. You didn’t sing up for any of this.” You realize the sun is setting in the horizon and you don’t know if you could find your way back to the village. Fuck. “I need to go. The village is a long journey from here,” you try not to sound scared, but an edge of fear permeates your voice.

He surprises you by saying: “Stay. I have a guest bedroom and there’s no way you could get back to the village if it’s this dark.”

You want to say no, to refuse, that’s improper, but the idea of going back to that golden prison is enough to make you say: “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” It’s a promise you do to him, but also to yourself. That man showed you more caress that anyone in your life, and you didn’t want to cause him unnecessary trouble. You’ll leave in the morning.

Problem is… You never do.

The next day he prepares breakfast, and insists on showing you around his house. It’s so beautiful you are mesmerized. His garden especially. It’s so colorful and big and calm…. You feel an instant connection to the earth, and to him. He’s so easy to be around, he treats you so differently like what you are used to. And you like it. You like it so much that you get distracted until the sun is setting once again. And he never tells you to leave.

And days pass. One day turns into another, and you… never leave. You know someday they will come back for you. You know you can’t run away from your problems. But right there, in the side of the mountain with that nice man that took you in… It feels possible to run away. It feels possible to avoid the awful destiny that was set for you before you were even born.

He teaches you to cook, to take care of plants, to polish wood… He’s like a handyman that can do all, and you are his new apprentice, even though he insists on doing all the heavy lifting. But on top of that, he just… amazing. He takes care of you, but also you two argue about stupid stuff until you are red faced and you want to hit him, just to end up laughing when he tells you a stupid joke. You have the most fun you had in ages with him.

Until one day all shifts (pun intended).

You are laying around under the tree as he does some gardening. He wouldn’t let you near the roses in case you got hurt. “I have something to tell you,” he breaks the silence.

“What?” You ask, looking directly at him, a spark of something unknown raising inside of you, like bugs in your stomach, crawling around every time you set your eyes on him, on his beautiful smile.

He looks at you intently and says the most ominous thing: “I- I think it’s better if I show you, actually.”

“Show me what? Why do you sound so serious?” You try to joke, but it doesn’t land because he still looks at you with a poker face.

He looks worried, apprehension settling on his features. “Just… Wait until I’m done to say anything, please?” His tone is more than pleading, is more like he’s begging you to understand, and you don’t know what could possibly be so bad.

“Okay…” You tell him, anxiety spiking.

And then he turns. Literally. His body contorts and cracks, and there’s a bunch of things happening at once, and before you realize, there’s a dragon in front of you. A full on real dragon. What? He’s majestic, as big as a house and skin covered in the most precious scales. He looks like a work of art… you are mesmerized.

“You said there was no dragon!” It’s the first thing out of your mouth, an edge of hysterics creeping in your tone.

You laugh then. You laugh so hard and so much you have tears rolling down your eyes. He changes back, and tries really hard to cover his manhood with his hands, failing and making you laugh even harder.

“You are a dragon,” you say when your laughter dies down.

“I am,” he says simply, approaching you slowly until he’s right in front of you. “And I will kill the king for you,” he adds.

There’s no point in asking why he didn’t tell you sooner, you understand why. Why would he? Why would he trust his deepest secret to you? But him showing you now? It meant more than the world, it made you forget about everything and anything chasing you down. It makes you happy. He makes you happy.

“No. I don’t care about the king. I just… I love you. I think what I feel is love, I never felt like this before.” You tell him, heat creeping up your cheeks. He looks at you like he’s surprised, like he wasn’t expecting that at all. “Do you feel it, too?” You ask shyly, your hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat faster and faster.

“Ye- yes. I love you, too.” His confession is followed by his hands cupping your face, so soft and tender, you feel a tear running down your cheek as he kisses you for the first time.

You should have known better than to think your life could be so perfect.

You don’t hear them before you are captured. At least four soldiers appear at the edge of the garden and catch you before you can scream. You think about him, about your dragon, and lament how confused he will be when he returns and you aren’t there. You worry he would think you abandoned him… But you can’t do anything as they take you away from the only place you felt like home.

They don’t even wait a whole day before they are dressing you and pampering you in the best silks and makeups. Nobody says anything as you silently cry during all the process. The servants looking worried but not arguing with anyone, three guards at the door of every chamber you enter.

You are caged once again.

You walk to the aisle in between a crowded place full of people who don’t like you, nor the king for the matter. They just want to appraise his old self to gain some benefits, the same as your parents did even before you were born. He looks like a nightmare standing in front of the altar, and you want to run, to run far away, back into your dragon’s arms. But you can’t, guards all around the open garden the ceremony is taking place in. You stand before your soon to be husband and have to swallow back the tears and bile, his rancid smell hitting you like a brick.

The minister starts speaking about love and marriage, and you cry during all his speech. You dream of being far away from there, as far away as possible. Or at least as close to your dragon as you could.

When you hear the people mumbling around you, you turn around, a shadow obscuring the sun. You look at the sky and sigh, so happy to see him you could cry. Maybe you would cry if you weren’t so shocked that he actually showed up.

He roars as he lands, people running in all directions, hiding in every possible place. “YOU STOLE FROM ME!” He growls, breathing fire to the sky and making people cry out in fear. You look at him in all his glory, fascinated by every inch of his skin.

“We- we saved the queen to be,” the guard’s words are short lived as your dragon looks at him and breathes fire right over his body, instantly burning him to the ground. There’s a chorus of screams and cries again, and you have to bite your tongue to stop from smiling.

“She’s not yours! SHE’S MINE!” You shiver at his words, feeling them so deep inside you think you might combust, butterflies dancing inside your stomach once again.

“You can’t take her! I bought her,” the king’s words don’t help his case at all, your dragon roaring and launching for him.

It all happens so fast, one second he’s there, and the next one the king’s head is rolling onto the ground as everyone screams and runs away. You are shocked to the core, but he doesn’t let you wallow in that. He picks you up and takes flight. You realize he’s being very careful not to pickle you with his claws. You don’t know where he’s taking you, but soon enough you are in a place you know, a place that brings you memories of joy and love… The garden.

As soon as he sets you down, he orders you to: “Go inside.” His tone is harsh, almost a growl.

“No,” you answer, not recoiling, not moving. You approach him more, your hand softly caressing the scales of his chest.

He roars over your head, trying to scare you away: “Go inside, I’m not in my right mind right now, I can’t answer for my actions.” You aren’t scared of him, though. He saved you from your most fearsome nightmare, he’s just the big monster you are in love with.

“No,” you repeat, a big smile playing on your lips when you look up at him.

“Come on, princess… Please.” Him begging in that form does something to you, such a big and scary creature asking you to go inside so he can protect you from himself… You are more sure than anything that you are safe. Safer than you’d be with anyone else. Human or monster.

“No. I want you. I love you.” Your words finally go through him, making his big body shiver, you feel it under your hands, a big shake that leaves you breathless. “Take me, my dragon.” You know adding that isn’t necessary, but you are more than ready to be a bride, to be his bride.

“Don’t joke around,” he growls, grabbing your body with his big clawed hand and positioning you to look straight into his yes, his big dragon head so beautiful you have to reach out and touch him. He scrunches his nose, making you giggle.

“Make me fully yours,” you say again.

His responding growl is so loud it makes the earth vibrate under your feet. You shiver in anticipation. He tears your wedding dress of your body, wrapping his wings around you to create a bubble, so you won’t feel a single spark of cold in your human skin.

Your wedding dress is torn off your body as he launches for your body, your naked form shivering at the cold temperature around you, but he solves that easily. He wraps his wings around your body getting you close to his much warmer scaled body. You sigh happily.

He lets you down onto the ground and you look up at him, completely vulnerable. “Fuck me. Claim me. Love me.” You lower yourself to the ground, your upper body to the ground, your ass up. You know what you must look like: an offering, a sacrifice. And you are okay with that. You are okay being his.

“You sure?” He asks again, always the gentleman, always worried about you. You are more sure of this that you were about anything else ever.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chant as his claw proves your entrance. You look around in time to see him biting on his fingers, two seconds later he’s claw-less and his now not-dangerous fingers enter you. You cry out and bury your face on the mossy ground, his chuckle making you flush all over.

He plays with your pussy for what feels like an eternity, making you come twice before he starts stretching you fully. He gets to three fingers, way bigger than anything you tried before, and you can’t stop moaning.

You come again as he spits on your pussy, the sensation so filthy and so good you scream and fall over the edge again. You feel tingly all over after that, your pussy relenting under his ministrations and somehow widening further, accommodating one more of his fingers. “My saliva has magic in it,” he explains, his tone amused as he keeps finger fucking you. You don’t know if you can come again, you didn’t even know that much pleasure was possible.

“Come on, come on, please,” doesn’t matter how much you beg, he doesn’t relent.

He starts scissoring his big fingers inside of you, stretching you impossibly wide, and you squirm under him, a pleasure so big you don’t know how to deal with it, your body pliant under his actions, your brain completely void of thoughts. And then he stops and you curse him so loud he starts to laugh, moving your body and making you squirm under him. He grabs your hips to stop you from moving and you feel the tip of his cock against your entrance.

He enters you slowly, so slowly. You want to scream, but your brain is frozen with the over-sensitivity of his dick inside of you. He can’t fit inside, there’s no way, he’s probably just aiming for a third of his length, but right now, with just the tip inside, you feel like you are about to burst. You reach down and rub your clit, unlocking something inside of you and crying out so loudly he roars as your orgasm makes your pussy constrict around him. He pushes in a bit more, and you keep coming.

From that point on, it’s all a blur of sensations and emotions, so much pleasure you are blind to the world around you. His dick is barely inside, but it seems to be enough for him, and more than enough for you. You feel like he’s going to split you in two in the most amazing way. He feels so big inside of you that you think you might die if he keeps rubbing against all your special spots at once. And if you do… You’d die happy.

“Take me. Take all of me,” that’s all the heads up you get before he’s filling you, one last thrust inside before his hot seed floods your insides. It propels you over the edge one last time, the world fading into blackness.

You pass out.

When you come back to your senses, you are laying on a bed and there’s a warm body behind you. You sigh happily as he kisses your forehead and makes sure you are comfortable and warm. You feel such intense love for him in that moment, that you have to turn around and try how well it would feel to fit his human dick inside of you (this time all of him).

He feels perfect.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Nature Conservation

Male Crocodile Hybrid Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, no pain, stalking, kidnapping, oviposition, non-human genitals, big slimy reptile dick, fucked senseless, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 550

(Y'all voted for crocodile man so y'all get crocodile man! Not beta read. Please forgive any mistakes.)

Wreck, the crocodile man, was massive. Large even for his species he was over 7ft. tall, and all muscle. His entire body was covered in thick scales, his fingers clawed and his back studded with sharp ridges.

And his long slimy cock, normally tucked away in his genital slit, was currently pounding away relentlessly into your shaking body.

Drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as you made a symphony of pleasured noises.

Wreck couldn't be happier. Your tight warmth felt just perfect around his large reptilian cock. You were made for him, he was convinced of it.

When he first saw you he was intrigued and watched you intently. You were a conservationist working to preserve the mangrove habitat that he called home.

Most humans he had to scare off, they came here drunk and got garbage everywhere. But not you. You did the opposite.

But you weren't stupid, you came with a group that you led to stay safe. Dangers lurked in these waters.

You noticed the croc man watching you and feared he may be hunting you. Which was true. He was hunting you. But not for a meal.

It took him a while to coax you into letting him get close to you. But Wreck was persistent.

It started by shouting conversations and curiously asking you questions followed by gratitude for your efforts to clean the environment. Soon he could sit by you and share food with you.

Wreck figured if he brought you some cooked food it would subconsciously make you aware that he was a capable provider. And it would also put you at ease because you could see he wasn't hungry and even had food to spare. So you would know he had no interest in harming a human for a meal.

He integrated himself into your group and helped you all gather garbage. He even posed for photographs that would be used to promote the work the group was doing.

Finally he got you alone. He clasped your mouth shut and dragged you into the water, swimming away with you to his cozy little cave before anyone noticed your absence.

Wreck wasted no time at all in removing your bothersome clothing and sliding his tapered dick right into you. It was so slimy that you didn't need any preparation and there was no pain, just a sudden fullness.

It had all happened so fast that you were stunned by confusion. One moment you were sitting at the water's edge beside Wreck and the next thing you knew you were being bred.

He put one of his hands at your hips and the other on your chest, claws raking carefully against your flesh but not breaking the skin.

You whimpered loudly as he fucked into you, and began moving back against him, desperate to have him even deeper.

His large body molded around yours as you both came hard.

You were panting, starting to realize what had just happened when, much to your surprise, the cock in you deposited a large egg inside you.

The day had started with dreams of cleaning up the environment for the animals and your crocodile friend. And now you were the environment for a crocodile egg.

And if Wreck had his way then this certainly wouldn't be the last one.

[greaseonmymouth]

I saw this shared around on Threads (why do I go there, I hate it) and commented on as 'this article is so good' and 'must read' including by a few people whose opinion I normally respect, and seeing as monsterfucking and monster everything is like a special little interest for me, I of course instantly clicked through to read it

and I have to say

what the everloving heterosexual fuck is this

two fat paragraphs about omegaverse that don't even mention its origins - I mean - I just - gaze upon this phrase, and despair:

During estrous, Omegas’ vaginas ooze with “slick,” responding to the Alpha’s intoxicating pheromonal perfume.

IT'S CALLED "SLICK" BECAUSE IT'S FROM SELF-LUBRICATING ANUSES. THE REASON THE OMEGAS NEED SELF-LUBRICATING ANUSES TO BEGIN WITH IS BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE VAGINAS.

I. have been rendered figuratively speechless. the straights don't know what slick is. the. i. how. how did we end up like this

their dicks swell at the base, creating a “knot,” which lodges them inextricably in the Omega’s slick-soaked (I am so sorry) vagina.

"(I am so sorry)" girl you're writing an article about monster smut and then you have the gall to be embarrassed by the this tame ass (or should i say vagina?) heterosexual omegaverse?

okay, okay. deep breaths. we've only just got started. we started by covering Morning Glory Milking Farm, a minotaur/human erotic romance novel, which well - I've read it, and it's not a bad book by any means, it was actually very very good, a solid story with a great cast and perfectly paced and satisfying romance and loads of sex - is very straight. it's just a minotaur. it's a big guy with a big dick. it's your standard gentle giant/normal sized girl romance. it's not very freaky, but you know, I don't blame the average reader for coming into this thinking this is some out there stuff. gotta start somewhere, right? we didn't all come up through draco/the giant squid crackfic in 2005, you know? and now we've covered Sarah J Maas and we're entering omegaverse territory, this is getting knottier now, right, freakier? this article is going somewhere, right?

you can imagine the intrigue, enemies-to-lovers, and other story lines involved as each captured female eventually finds the member of the barbarian tribe who is destined to worship and fuck the living daylights out of her for the rest of their lives. Oh, and their dicks have a sensitive spur on top designed for clitoral stimulation. It’s just as blue and velvety as the rest of their big alien bodies.

okay so the minotaurs aliens are blue now, i guess.

It seems, also, like the romance genre as a whole is being pushed by monster romance to make things in human-human books as freaky as possible.

ohh?? are we finally getting a proper freak on now??

This genre, “why choose?” or “MMF” (or sometimes even MMMF or MMFM), and also known as “reverse harem,” always features a heroine who is showered with sexual attention by men who are also sexually involved with each other.

having a thousand yard stare moment over here

this author seriously thinks that all these heterofied monster romance tropes are paving the way for the real freaky stuff that is, checks notes, "two hockey players fucking each other while the heroine calls the shots"

this author is positing that human queer erotica/romance are freakier than monster erotica/romance. like. she said that. with her whole chest. black on white.

on one hand a monster, an inhuman being, and on the other, a queer person, a human being. and apparently the real freak is not the minotaur or the blue alien. it is the queer human.

is this satire? it has to be, right?

because if it's not satire, this article is an entire case study in itself on the monstering* of queer people. stunning.

*academic term

[yeyinde]

The 141 finding out you've never had sex.

Just casually drinking, playing cards. A joke causes it to slip out.

body electric: the virgin edition

Gaz, the instigator, mutters something about not having been fucked in ages. this springs up a sudden surge of comradery, because, yeah. neither have they.

Soap's devote Catholicism (i like to imagine) leaves little room for flippant intimacy. he tries to be a good boy. key word, of course, being: tries. but the last serious relationship was years ago. back when he was grunt. he's pent up. abstinence, yeah? he holds it tight in his hand. but the thing about fists is that they're often mistaken for anger. Soap's a realist masquerading as an optimist. he knows whoever falls into his jowls next will be a MacTavish by the time he's through with them. and commitment. well. his comes at a price. a hefty one.

Ghost prefers casual flings where he doesn't have to take any clothes off. unzips his trousers, frees his cock, and then tries to pretend he's a real, flesh and blood, human. to feel something, anything, except a vacuum between hollow bones. but his tastes are peculiar. on the side of unhinged. he hasn't found the perfect body yet satiate himself with.

Price. well. with his bloody hands, he thinks he'd rather not dirty the same people he swears to protect. and divorcing at the age of 30 does that to a man, maybe. his role as a captain (an excuse in retrospect) also keeps him from unleashing his wants. the very same ones that are probably best under lock and key, anyway. it's just for the best, really. something he ought to do because the moment he has another chance to sink his teeth into someone's neck, he'll tear them apart. break them into pieces.

despite bringing it up, Gaz knows the real reason he's single is because he's pushy. he wants. so he takes. and then takes some more. more. more. until his gullet is full of the person he's obsessed with. carrying them around in his breast pocket everywhere he goes. the perfect mate. the one he can shower with unfettered affection. a deluge, in all honesty. one with the ideation to drown. biblical floods. trapped beneath him. he likes it more than he should, but. singedom, then, he supposes.

and then you roll the dice. admit, sheepishly, that, technically, you have them all beat. zero is always lesser than five, ten, twenty. but it's this misstep—zero, never—that catches their attention.

suddenly, you're not surrounded by kin but a pack of wolves. all hungry in their own ways, all starving. it just makes sense to quench their hunger with you, doesn't it? friend, ally. pretty little thing. so sweet for them. and perfectly mouldable. putty they shape to their hearts desire. the perfect mate.

Soap grips his rosary. the sign of the cross, heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, digging into his palm like the burn of a baptism. what's devotion if not pain? he cuts himself on the gold. offers blood of the sacrament to whoever might be listening, and leans in, sniffing.

Price's knuckles are white. he leans back, hidden in shadows. all you can see is spark of burning orange from his cigar as he takes mouthful after mouthful of smoke, contemplating. assessing.

"that so?" he doesn't even need to look at his Lieutenant to know that the man has gone still. too bad for you, it's not from shock.

Ghost barely holds himself back. keeps tight in his seat. fists clenching. unclenching. he has a good enough read on the people around him to see the unfiltered desire ripping across their face. scorching. but to bite, with his mouthful of jagged, seraded teeth; ones meant to rip, break, tear, would ruin you. permanently. unequivocally. and—

"wanna give it a go?" all eyes turn to Gaz, electric in his seat. eyes smouldering umbre. "i mean, you trust us the most, don't you?" us. it's stunning, he thinks, the way Gaz can weave tapestry in the air like this with just his words. one tangled like shibari binds. "and we care for you a lot. we'll be gentle. it's up to you, of course, but—"

Soap's bloody hand disappears under the table. you gasp. "yer askin' fer it, ain't ye? beggin' so pretty fer it."

"n-no, i—"

"mind your manners." Price. his voice is chiselled into char, authoritative; low. a lulling command spoken in a breath of smoke. "and don't lie, love. or i'll have to take you over my knee."

the tension is thick. Soap's arm moves, slow. deliberate. Ghost has clench his jaw to avoid bearing his teeth. snarling.

Gaz cuts it with a knife. hews compliance into your skin with a fine needle point. "it's okay. we'll take such good care'a you. make you feel so good."

your submission is a heavy thing. oppressive. the shallow dip of your chin, the blistering heat simmering under your flesh, burning right, is the prettiest fuckin' thing he's ever seen. he does clench his jaw this time. tight, tight. tight

until something pops.

"okay." you yield. head bowed. beautifully submissive.

when he looks around, catches the predatory crackle in the air. his hackles raise. immediate. instinctual. and ah, right.

it's easy to forget he's surrounded by a wild pack of stray dogs. starving ones, too.

[foldingfittedsheets]

A basic human skill that people usually lock down around the age of three or four is impulse control. To conceptualize an action and it’s consequences before taking it. Maybe considering how that action affects other people. We then refine it through most of our childhood.

When I was a teenager my hold on this ability became… tenuous. I became a volatile and dangerous creature.

It’s probably not unique to me, but I had a perfect storm in terms of mental upsets. I had just mastered enough basic social skills, so I finally had a strong group of friends when my dad suddenly needed to move for work. Ripped away from my support network, blooming with hormones, I was dragged to Arizona. I was always a child of forests and mist and suddenly everything was hot, dry, and extremely pointy and aggressive.

Additionally to being abruptly transplanted I found myself an object of affection in a way I’d never been before. Lonely and desperate to make friends the only people who wanted to spend time with me had romantic designs. I just wanted to figure out my shit but I had a baby lesbian flirting with increasing aggression in art, a soft boy making heart eyes at me in biology, a senior nerd asking if I wanted to play Halo at his house and could he hold my hand?

Reader, I snapped. I didn’t want this romantic attention but I also didn’t want to be alone. My brain coped the only way it knew how, by simply cutting out decision making. Any action was the right action to take.

It started with the boy in biology. I’d stolen his pencil out of mischief and to my overwhelming fury instead of trying to steal it back he just softened his eyes and chucked me gently under my chin, a gesture so overtly sweet and romantic that I saw red.

I stabbed him with his own pencil.

I honestly and truly have no memory of it. It happened as fast as a snake striking and I was instantly filled with terrified remorse. Unfortunately that manifested as psychotic giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t know why- I’m so sorry!” I said, while hysterically laughing. I ended up having lodged some graphite in his palm and had to tweeze it out with my nails while apologizing furiously. (It’s very important to note here that he forgave me and we’re still friends)

That was weird, I thought. Why didn’t I think before I stabbed someone?

The next event was equally catastrophic, and I had even less reason to do it. In gym with two girls I was tentatively befriending, we were warming up running laps. I started racing one of them. At breakneck speed we were sprinting around the gym.

This time, there was a blip of thought before I fucked up. I should get the other girl! I have no idea why or what the plan was but I turned on a swivel and body checked the other girl. We both fell down in immense pain. I think that’s the moment I broke my tailbone. Her knees were horribly bruised and she looked at me in bewildered pain. “Why did you do that?!”

I had no idea. I apologized and helped her up, both of us hobbling like newborn horses, bruised and hurting.

By this time there’d been enough social upheavals that I was reduced to spending time with some girls I had nothing in common with and low key disliked. Sat at a table listening to this girl talk about how she wanted to be a stripper when she grew up I thought, You’d better put the cap on before you throw it.

I then chucked my empty water bottle directly at her face. It bounced off her forehead with a bop! that would have made a sound mixer weep at its perfection.

All eyes turned to me is startlement. I stared back at her, stunned by my own action, just as confused as everyone else at the table as to why I’d done that. One of the girls to my right said, “Were you trying to hit that fly?”

“Yes!” I lied, “I’m sorry, I thought I could hit the fly!”

Everyone laughed at my antics and I joined in rather than admit I had just chucked something at her for no reason.

Things did start to improve after that. I solidified a friendship with the girl I’d raced (who I developed a massive crush on and ten years later would go on to date). My outbursts turned more whimsical rather than aggressive. Like accosting a girl leaving the cafeteria to look deeply into her eyes and say with great compassion, “It’s going to be alright.”

My new friend and I snuck into the van that delivered our cafeterias baked goods and lay giggling in the back. When I’d impulsively hopped in she’d joined me and made it a game.

After a year in Arizona I broke down crying to my mother, an act of great desperation, and we ended up moving back home. My impulse control returned to normal teenage levels and life resumed in a happier state of mind.

[lina-lovebug]

Pretty Boy

Warnings!!: oral - both fem and male receiving, fingering, teasing, praise

Kurt Wagner was a saint.

He prayed daily for his own sins. He didn’t believe in telling someone he would be praying for them because he had no business in their privacy. To be honest, Kurt didn’t much like to hear the shameless and endless berating against those who did not follow the book of God.

Kurt Wagner took a vow.

He took a vow of celibacy, believing himself to be restrained and would wait until he was wed to give himself to whom he loved. But if he’s being honest with himself, he took such a vow because he never thought he’d get married. 

“Look at me,” he’d say, “who would want to devote their life to someone who looks like me?”

You did.

You called Kurt Wagner “the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen”, and from then on, he knew he was fucked.

You showed up like the sun, shining and unexpectedly beautiful. So stunning that Kurt never thought you’d look twice at him.

Let alone be underneath him.

Kurt wanted to do you justice. He pressed his lips against yours with desperation, like a dehydrated man having his first drink of water. It was sloppy at first, because all he wanted to do was touch you. His hands carved out each curve of your skin, memorizing it in his mind like a beautiful painting.

His tail trailed up your dress, which you wore specifically for him. It was his shade of blue, and allowed him a glimpse at your lace underwear when you bent over. You had been teasing the poor boy all day with subtle touches and even trailing his own hand up your dress, teasing your inner thigh underneath the dinner table.

“Kurt. . .” you pleaded, begging for him to touch you. But you made it quite difficult for him today, seeing as he had a raging hard on at dinner and couldn’t get up.

He’d make you beg for it.

“Hmm?” He hummed teasingly against your skin, tracking hot kisses down your neck.

“Kurt, touch me.”

His tail laced itself around your underwear, tugging it down your leg with such slowness that you knew he was doing it on purpose.

“I need you,” your voice was breathless as he brushed his canines against your pulse point.

“Need what, mein schatz? Use your words,” he encouraged softly, gently biting down on your neck whilst grinding his hard on against your sopping wet core.

“Your finger. Please,” his three fingers weren’t normal or human sized, but thicker.

Thick enough to make you wonder how good it could make you feel.

With your underwear at your ankles, his hand began to venture downwards whilst continuing to mark you with his mouth. He had made several impressions upon your neck already, but craved more. He wanted your entire body to be decorated in hickies because they’d remind him that you chose him.

He hissed quietly as he felt you, “Bei Gott, (Y/N). . .all this for me, my love?” You were soaking wet and he dipped a finger inside. You lulled your head back gently, savoring the feeling of his thick and long finger.

Never in a million years did you think Kurt would be such a tease.

He went achingly slow, savoring your walls around his singular digit as it slid in and out with ease. But he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

Which was where his predicament lied.

He didn’t want to break his vow to God. 

So, he’d compromise.

By making you cum in every other way possible.

But god damn, did he want to press his cock inside of you and watch as you two became one.

“Faster, Kurt,” you gasped, and he did as you wished. Working his slender finger into you, seeking out your g-spot whilst his other finger began to gently circle your clit. Your eyes widened gently, hips bucking upwards involuntarily and earning a deep chuckle from Kurt.

“Look at you,” he whispered in awe, “so pretty.”

You mewled at his words, and Kurt watched your pretty pussy before taking his thumb off of your clit. And replaced it with his tongue.

“Kurt!” You gasped unexpectedly, one hand coming down to tangle in his hair. He smirked against you, his tongue tracing circles around your clit before gently taking it into his mouth. You further clenched around his finger, getting closer to that sweet release. 

“Taste so sweet, liebling,” he practically moaned against your clit, sucking on it gently whilst working his finger further inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you cursed, thighs encapsulating his head but he fucking loved it. Your plush thighs around his head, legs quivering with the need for an orgasm made him harder.

If that was even possible.

“So close,” he purred, “cum. Cum on my finger. Let me taste you.”

With a few more pushes and his sweet tongue, you released with a weak cry. He still worked his finger inside of you, drawing out your orgasm and leaving you panting against the bed. He pulled his finger out slowly, licking it in view of your eyes.

That’s when you saw it.

He was straining against his pants, pre-cum soaking the front.

“Kurt,” you whimpered softly, sitting forward. He looked down at you, confused momentarily.

“Are you alri-agh!”

He was extremely sensitive. Once your hand gently wrapped around his cock through his sweats, his eyes shut and his hand wrapped around your wrist as a low moan released.

“You-you don’t have to,” he said. He didn’t care if he had to go jack off later. Well, he did but he knew his vows. 

“But I want to,” you pressed, “you made me feel so good. Let me make you cum, baby.”

He was putty in your hands at that point. That small plea paired with your begging eyes led him to sitting on the bed whilst you got on your knees, and he swore this sight was better than the Heavens itself.

His cock sprang free, gently hitting his stomach and he watched as you looked at it. He felt nervous, wondering if maybe you thought it-

A startled moan left his mouth as you dragged your tongue along his shaft. His hands gripped the sheets below him, his citrine eyes staring down at you. 

You further pressed on, your lips around his tip and you soon realized just how much he needed this. How much he deserved this. You slowly bob your head, taking him in inch at a time. Your warm mouth alone made him feel like he was already close.

“Zu gut,” he whimpered softly. You pulled back momentarily, deciding to tease him.

“What was that? Use your words, baby."

A strangled moan escaped him as you fully took his cock into your mouth. His hands gripped the sheets tighter, refusing to lay a hand on your pretty head. He didn’t want to make you gag or choke on accident, but he was using every ounce of self restraint.

“Just-just like that, (Y/N),” he was embarrassed but you savoured those precious little sounds coming from him. They were whimpers and soft moans, which encouraged you to deep throat him.

His tail flicked wildly on the bed, twitching every so often when you took him deep.

His eyes rolled back gently, but he didn’t want them to. He wanted to look at your pretty face, your eyes as you graciously took care of him.

“Close, baby?” You questioned, pulling away momentarily. He nodded eagerly, and you laced your hand with his. You licked his tip before taking him back into your mouth, and his hips bucked forward. You gagged slightly at the sudden jump, but it only made you want him more because he was enjoying this so much.

He felt it building, and fast. 

“So nah dran. . .” he gasped, his German sounding babbled, “I-I’m close.”

His hand clenched around yours, squeezing as his tail twitched wildly. You felt him cumming quickly, and kept him inside your mouth. He came soon with a weak cry of your name, panting slightly as his cum filled your mouth.

You swallowed, not complaining because his sounds and facial expressions were enough.

“Thank you, mein schatz,” he breathed out, his eyes practically glowing as he wiped your hair from your face.

“I’d do it everyday if it means you keep making pretty sounds,” you responded, earning a purple hue on his cheeks.

But he didn’t oppose.

[paymechildsupport]

"You're not my Husband..." // Doppel!Francis x Reader 🐄🩸

@cassanderasblog --> Thanks for the request <3

-!! CW: Dubcon (in a sense), – Brief mention of murder, – Very slight body horror

-!! Very brief size kink 

Spouse!Reader x doppelgänger!Francis  

▷ —--------------------

▷ —--------------------

▷ —-------------------- (s-s-s-sma-smash)

“You’re not Francis.” The words are sharp, punctuated, your glare burning straight through the mimic of a man in your living room

“No, I’m not,” The creature grins- if you could even call it that–, mouth a waning black chasm, no teeth, no tongue, nothing. How this thing managed to bypass the doormen you had no clue,-- how could someone fuck up this bad? 

“Francis’s” eyes darken, – literally. The whites turn into an inky black, eery small spheres of light peeking out where his pupils should be. 

Oh dear. 

The wired phone you keep on the kitchen counter goes off behind you. Glancing once more at your “husband” you slowly back track, hand inching to the phone. 

He just watches as you hesitantly pick up the ringing phone, making a click when it’s pulled from its cover. 

“Attention, this is the D.D.D, – we detected an unknown life force near your residency. Please, do not panic. Keep your door locked and do not approach anyone of suspicion. If you see anything weird, do not investigate. Dispatchers are coming to your location to liquidate the threat”   – Well, it was a little late for that. 

“... cancel dispatch” your lips form the words slowly. There’s silence on the other end, 

“Excuse me?... you want dispatch–” 

“Discharged. Threat neutralized.” 

Even “Francis” is stunned, – staring at you, unblinking, – flabbergasted. 

“‘Got it under control, thanks,” You hang up before they can answer, placing the phone back in its place. 

“Francis” just stares.

-

“You’re a doppelgänger , right?” 

“Perhaps.” His eyes narrow

“Alrighty then, prove it.” 

Unzips. 

—-------------

“Francis” stares, wide eyed, gaze fixed upon the water stains on your ceiling. Even with all the lights off, he can still see your snoozing frame tangled in the sheets beside him, (perks of being non-human). 

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, the movement captivating whatever posed as your husband. 

Your body looked serene, the faint light emitted from his glowing pupils illuminating your chest. 

“Ahah-!” You were practically in hysterics, tears flowing down your rosy cheeks, nails raking into the headboard of your bed. “Francis” could only lie there, enamored by your blissful expression as unfamiliar sparks of pure pleasure coiled inside, heating everything up until it was practically molten. 

“Mmph-!” you choke off your moans, slapping a hand to your mouth lest your neighbors hear you impaling yourself on your husband’s doppelgänger 's cock. 

You swivel your hips, his eyes widening; no one’s ever ridden him like you are, – no one’s ridden him period. You were surprised the doppelgänger  even had a dick, – let alone it being almost twice the size of the actual Francis’. You had stuffed yourself full of him, bouncing mercilessly. Your husband had neglected you horribly in the past,-- never coming home, always giving you the cold shoulder, even when you had gotten down and begged for him to look at you, just once –your thirst for intimate touch was at an all time high. 

“Francis” grunted, surprised at how wonderful this new sensation was. The delicious heat in his stomach bubbled over, bottoming out through his cock. Your eyes widened at the warm sensation of him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You had to bend down, biting deeply into his shoulder to stifle the screams lodged in your throat. 

You inhaled deeply, desperately trying to catch your breath as “Francis” could only glance over, the slight pain in his shoulder from your teeth barely bothering him, (because, well, one, you were the only one who could breathe and two, he wasn’t human). Your head turns, sloppily kissing him on the cheek, to his absolute shock. 

“Francis” brings his right arm to his left shoulder, fingers gingerly grazing the marks left by your teeth. It still tingled. 

He looks over at your slumbering frame again, now tentatively reaching the same arm in your direction, hesitantly touching your peaceful face. You do not stir, so he continues downward, fingers carefully glazing over your nose, your mouth, your jaw, and finally stopping at your neck, your pulse vibrating through his hand. Humans were so interesting, he thought, – and you had just grabbed his interest by the throat with a viselike grip. 

He gently tucks a stray piece of hair plastered to your sweat slicked forehead behind your ear, grinning in that creepily endearing way of his. How the original Francis lucked out, – he almost felt bad about killing and devouring his corpse, – almost. How could he have fumbled so badly, – you were an absolute treasure, and “Francis” was now determined to keep you all to himself. 

Such a greedy little creature. 

… You’re never going to be able to get rid of him after this. 

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(requests for more Francis, -- doppelgänger or no, -- are open and very much appreciated !)

I love him a normal amount I swear 🙏🙏🙏