#he can call me adorable any time he likes

[rafeswhre]

orrrr rafe having to deal with a tipsy reader but lowkey being overwhelmed at the whole situation cuz she’s being so lovey dovey and clingy but they’re not dating? 😭

rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, suggestive comments

a/n: this is my first time posting i’m so scared loll hope you like it, thanks for sending it🫶🏼 btw english isn’t my first language, let me know any mistakes.

“I don’t know, Top!” You laughed loudly while talking to Topper, who, to be honest, wasn’t actually funny. It was probably just the number of drinks you’d already had.

“Girl, you’re tipsy!” Topper laughed at you while sipping from his whiskey glass.

“I’m not.” You rolled your eyes and tried to take another shot—at least, you tried.

“You’re done.” Rafe took the shot from your hand and moved it away from you. By the way, who knows where he had come from; you hadn’t seen him since the party started.

“What do you mean I’m done? I’m just starting.” You gave the guy in front of you a funny look.

“I mean you’re done, princess. Let’s go.” Rafe took your arm and started guiding you through the crowd.

“Baby, you’re soooo boring.” You pouted at him once you arrived in the parking lot.

“Baby?” He raised his eyebrows, looking at you.

“What’s wrong? You call me princess all the damn time, I don’t say shit to ya, big boy.” You rolled your eyes.

“Watch that mouth of yours.” He leaned back against his car.

“Why are you so grumpy all the time?” You slowly got closer to him, resting your hands on his shoulders and giving them a little squeeze.

Rafe looked closely at your hands moving down his arms. “I’m not grumpy all the time.”

“I’m not grumpy all the time.” You imitated him in a funny voice and burst out laughing before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “’Course you are.” You whispered in his ear.

Rafe cleared his throat and looked everywhere but at your eyes. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He tried to escape your little grip.

“I don’t wanna go home, Ray!” You pouted again. “Let’s stay here; we could have so much fun! More fun than we’d have in your car, let me tell ya.”

“Why are you so complicated?” He rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so boring?” You teased him, poking his arms. “Although I can think of ways to have fun in your car too.” You got close to him, giving him a significant look.

“Stop saying stuff like that.” He opened his eyes wide, feeling out of place.

“Are you freaking out, Rafey?” you asked, teasing.

“Don’t call me that.” He frowned.

“Why not? That’s what all your bitches call you.”

“No! Just- just get in the car, kay?” He opened the passenger door so you could get in.

“We adore a gentleman.” You said as you climbed into the car. He closed the door and walked around the car to get into the driver’s seat.

The atmosphere filled with an overwhelming silence; Rafe hadn’t even started the car. You felt a little guilty.

While it was true that you weren’t entirely sober, you weren’t drunk either. You knew what you were doing; it was just that the bit of alcohol had given you the confidence to tell him things you wouldn’t say when fully sober.

“Rafe?” you asked nervously.

“Mmh?” He didn’t even look at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—I know we’re friends; I didn’t mean to make you feel bad—” Suddenly, you felt like the alcohol in your body had disappeared.

“Hey, hey.” He looked at you. “It’s alright, it’s not that, kay?” He buried his head in his hands.

“So? What is it?” You tilted your head to the side, confused.

He sighed. “You know, all your attitudes and shit.” He waved his hand in the air, trying to make you understand. “You’re getting all touchy and clingy.”

“Oh—” You looked away.

“No, no, hey.” He gently took your face and made you look at him. “Look at me, baby. It’s not a bad thing; it’s alright—it’s just—you’re kinda cold all the time. I’ve never seen you this way, it freaked me out.”

“You’ve never been with a tipsy girl?” You giggled.

“Nah, yeah, I have. I said I’ve never seen you this way. It’s different.” He turned on the car.

“What do you mean? Why would it be?”

He turned on the radio.

“Are you ignoring me, Rafe?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” You frowned.

“Nah, I’m not.” He said while steering with one hand on the wheel.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

[lumarhorrors]

Hiii i had this idea of like a nerd and hes like student counsel president and hes obsessed w the reader. and maybe like make him a service top w overstimulation

I had to look up what service top is and still have no clue 🫠. If its bot what its supposed to be I'll rewrite it later.

Cw: smut, service top,

You and the student Council president were good friends. You were more of a soft-spoken, but stern person in the Student Council. You voiced your opinions and ideas very strongly which got his respect quite quickly. And his heart too. You happily accepted his confession when he did and it was so sweet to see the stoic and strict Council president just crumble and stumble to even get the words "I love you" out of him.

When the two of you first got frisky he told you that he just wanted to do whatever you wanted and to please you in any way. You found it so sweet especially when he was so soft and gentle your first time. He's check on you and if you were uncomfortable with something or a position he's change it so you'd also enjoy yourself. You learned pretty quickly he found pleasure in making sure you were happy and comfortable and enjoying yourself. If you weren't liking it neither was he.

As time went on you suggested more kinky stuff such as tying him up and riding him. He was all for it especially when the time came and he saw how much enjoyment you got from it. He loves it when you call him baby or pretty boy in bed and out of bed. That man is such a sucker for you. He loves to call you his Prince or baby boy and he adores how flustered and giddy you get at the names. When you both made your relationship known to your student Council members the council president absolutely brags to his friends has amazing you are and how you treat him like he's the most perfect this in the world.

But poor boy can get insecure especially if one of the jocks takes interest in you. He'll never bring it up because he doesn't want to seem like a jealous boyfriend but he can't help but think you'll be better off with someone more dominant. During sex, you have to reassure him many many times you love what he did how he makes sure you're enjoying what he does and how he puts the effort into changing what he does if you're not comfortable or aren't enjoying things.

Trust me this man can be obsessive and he'll love you to death. But his stern and cold attitude still applies to everyone but you and that ticks off a lot of council members so they always have to get you to ask him things because? He can never say no to you man's to in love and obsessed. Your his cute nerd that's stern but fair of course he's doing what you want. Especially to see that big smile and giddiness you do it makes his heart flutter

His favourite things to do with you during sex are have you ride him or pressing your legs against your chest so you can feel him hitting your prostate over and over. God he loves hearing the small gasps and moans you make it drives him to the edge till he's painting your insides white.

I'm so upset because half of this got deleted on post 😭😭😭

[minolikeswords]

Poly!Boothill x afab Reader x Argenti- sfw and nsfw headcanons <33

tags: @mr-self-destructxx

cw: multiple positions, boothill and argenti are adorable, poly relationship, praises, degradation, ropes, lots of fluff, DP, DP + 1 hole, manhandling, soft dom argenti, hard dom boothill, dacryphilia, creampie, blow jobs, facials, face fucking, paizuri, cunnilingus, cum play??? argenti really likes tits! Let me know if I missed anything <333

Mino’s notes: going feral I love these two sm

© minolikeswords do not translate, copy, or repost my work to other platforms.

Minors do NOT interact or you will be blocked!!!! Nsfw under the cut <3

Sfw!

- Boothill loves to cuddle. Because he’s a cyborg his metal body cannot perceive touch the same way skin can, but he does feel warmth and pressure from another body. He loves having you and Argenti lying in his arms or on his chest.

- They both enjoy physical affection a lot, but Argenti is more subtle about it. Due to their respective jobs, often times you’re all in an ldr with one another, so when you are together they try their best to make the most of it. Argenti loves sitting next to you and have some part of your body touching his, and Boothill is clingy as ever, head resting on one of your laps as he cleans his revolver or plans out his next big heist from the IPC.

- Argenti likes washing yours and Boothill’s hair! Whether you have long or short hair he takes meticulous care of it in the shower, brushing his hands through them and rubbing your scalp so good you think you’re going to fall asleep.

- Boothill loves to sing you both to sleep. It doesn’t happen all that often because sometimes picking up a guitar can be particularly challenging after what happened to his daughter, but he loves how happy it makes you both.

- Argenti adores telling people about you and Boothill. Any and every excuse he gets, he’ll take to admire you both <333 he also enjoys gift giving and showing you he loves you through his actions, and loves picking up trinkets for you and Boothill during his travels.

- Boothill is a sweet talker! He adores showering you both in praises and affection, grabbing your face in his metal fingers and pressing his nose against yours as he tells you how good you are to him, kissing up against your neck and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

- As much as I like to think they’d enjoy celebrating any relationship milestone outside, truth be told I think both of them would prefer something quieter in your house spending quality time together. Argenti cooking and preparing dinner, Boothill helping you around the house as you prepare for a cozy night together <3

- Boothill enjoys PDA, he loves showing you and Argenti off every chance he gets, he calls you both his lovers when addressing you guys. Argenti is more subtle with it, but he still likes holding your hands and praising you in public in a way that makes it known you guys are involved.

NSFW!

- Sex with them is never boring, they both make sure of it. Even when they’re being slow or gentle, they take pride in being so thorough your legs are wobbling afterwards and your eyes are filled with tears of pleasure.

- Boothill loves giving head, have you seen his tongue? He eats pussy like he’s a starved man, making Argenti hold you down while he sucks on your clit until you’re coming undone on his face. He’ll take his time with it too, especially if you’re too demanding, letting Argenti play with your tits while he teases your clit and slows down or stops right as you’re about to cum.

- Loves having you lay on your back while Argenti fucks your tits and Boothill uses your mouth. Soft grunts leaving Argenti as he silently admires your face as Boothill fucks your throat, a metal hand gripping your cheek to keep you in place as you drool all over his cock.

- On the subject of tits, Argenti also loves giving you facials during titjobs. He’ll pull out from between your tits just to cum all over your face, he really likes it when you stick your tongue out and look up at him when he’s doing so. He’ll take his time praising you after.

- As much as he loves talking about you both and admiring you, Argenti is quieter during sex. He prefers to focus on your pleasure. He loves watching your reactions, what makes you whimper and cry out for more, occasionally he’ll praise you but it’s not often. Boothill however? It’s a surprise if that man isn’t talking. If his mouth isn’t spewing out the filthiest and dirtiest string of words just to make you squirm and blush with need, then he’s praising you so well the tips of your ears are pink.

- Boothill likes getting risky with the ropes. Especially during sex with him when Argenti isn’t involved, he likes tying you up keeping your legs spread while he fucks you. He loves how embarrassed you get and how desperately you pull against the ropes, begging to touch him and trying to pull away.

- They enjoy leaving bruises on you and each-other. Argenti’s aren’t as noticeable as Boothill’s, who’s metal fingers leave marks all over your body and his sharp teeth marking up both your throat and back, and also Argenti’s. Argenti really enjoys leaving hickeys around your tits, collarbones and thighs. For Boothill, since his only none metal parts are his neck and face, Argenti likes to leave a hickey or two there, they’re usually smaller and they fade quick but Boothill loves showing them off.

- Argenti likes double penetrating one of your holes with both his and Boothill’s cock. He thinks you look so pretty when your eyes go rolling back and you grip onto one of them, whimpering and whining and begging for more. He loves taking care of you and making you feel good <3

- Boothill is embarrassingly into watching Argenti creampie you. His own cock doesn’t produce sperm anymore, but shoots out lubricant, and as helpful as that is, he also just really loves watching you get filled up with cum, especially when it leaks out of your sensitive pussy. Sometimes he’ll get right between your legs and lick Argenti’s cum right out of you.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Zommari Reraux is quietly terrified by Tousen.

Not that the man has ever threatened him. If anything, Tousen was consistently polite, if not outright Congenial with him and the other arrancar, whether they deserved it or not.

It's the eyes.

Zommari relies on his eyes- he has hundreds and hundreds of them, taking in the world around him from every angle, keeping him safe. More importantly, when his eyes take in the world, they take the world into his heart.

That's why he calls his resurrection ability Amor- for him, to see the world is to love it. He loves Las Noches, the way the light of the moon and stars outside and the artificial sun inside dance in it's shimmering halls. He loves Hueco Mundo, the sight of the vast horizon of the desert expanding the horizons of his heart. he loves everyone he sees- how they move, their colors, the sight of thier faces! Zommari wishes he could take them all- take everything! And keep it in his heart, where it's safe.

He's downright gregarious for an arrancar, following his colleagues and superiors around, watching them with adoration- with Amor. He makes a point of trying to look all of them in the eye at least once- to see into their souls, to feel the connection- to keep some part of them safe in his Amor. Just in case.

So the first time he looks into Tousen's eyes is something of a shock.

"...It doesn't cause me pain, if that's a consolation." Tousen speaks up after a too-long moment of silence from Zommari.

"I- I didn't mean to offend, Lord Tousen!" Zommari yelped, stumbling back to the other side of the lift from the underground laboritories of Las Noches to the top of the dome. "I was just- you don't act like you're blind?"

"On the contrary, by definition I do!" Tousen teased, dropping back to rest on the elevators railing, perfectly aware of where it was. "Should I be groping for objects I've misplaced? Constantly searching for the furniture or running into walls?"

"I- I'm sorry. I've. I've never met anyone like- well. Missing senses aren't exactly adaptive for Hollows." Zommari muttered. "...What's it like?"

"Dark!" Tousen nodded cheerfully.

Zommari stared blankly.

"...Or so I'm told, at any rate. It's not like I have anything to compare it to- I've been as I am for as long as I can remember." He shrugged, waving his elegant hand evocatively. "Don't pity me- I can't miss something I've never experienced."

"You don't find it frightening?" Zommari muttered.

"Mr. Rereaux, I live like this." He pouted, disappointed.

"No, I mean- I can't imagine not being able to take the world around me into my heart! The light is- Even to those who can see, I can't explain it!" Zommari sighed.

Tousen was silent for a long time, face turned so his neutral expression wasn't quite pointed at Zommari. When he did speak, his voice was soft, small.

"...Perhaps my heart is too full of grief to let any light in."

"What do you mean?" Zommari asked, the chill of dread creeping up his spine.

"Do you know what Bankai is?" Tousen asked, voice light and pleasant with menace.

"It's um. Like a second resurrection?" Zommari tried.

"Imagine if the you that is you and the you that is your resurrected form could build a new psychic ability together- the shape of that mutual creation between you and your soul is Bankai."

"...Oh. Huh." Zommari hummed, still trying to parse the first part of the sentence. "What form does yours take?"

"Mine is a Senseless Void!" Tousen laughed darkly, then pointed his face up at Zommari with a grin that carried a sharper edge than Hallibel's teeth.

"-And I'm using 'senseless' in the most literal meaning. Anyone within is not just blind to light and reiatsu, but they are deafened, can't smell or taste or touch- you can't even feel your own heart beat! The sensation is as close to being dead as one can get without actually shuffling off the mortal coil!" he laughed, delighting in laying out the horror of it like setting the main course of a shared meal.

Dozens of Zommari's eyes had opened up without his permission to stare at the shinigami in horror. "That sounds like being in Actual Hell."

"Really?" Tousen smiled as the lift finally reached the roof and the gate pinged open. "I find it quite soothing!"

Zommari was pretty sure he set a new personal record for his Sondido getting the hell out of that elevator.

AEIWAM Question: What do the various Espada Think of Tousen? Follow-up question, will they, the bunch of dumbasses that they are (because Aizen made them for loyalty, not thinking), declare him their unquestioned leader once Aizen, Gin and Urloquia fork off to see the cosmic taffy pull (also presuming that Barrigan winds up face down in a ditch per canon)?

Bless you for asking this, I needed something to chew on. I'm going to answer these one at a time because the post would be insanely long, and how the thought of him Before the Battle of Karakura Probably:

---

Aaroniero and Arruruerie are SURE they've met before, and that they owes the man a debt of gratitude.

It's possible, they suppose. They have consumed and absorbed the memories of so many hollows that maybe they remember the face from a hollow he killed.

At least, that's what they hope is going on.

But they have Nightmares. Not of being pursued by Shinigami but of being the Shinigami in hot pursuit. Dreams of walking through a city, surrounded by humans that adore them. Names and Faces- Rukia and her dipshit older brother, Jushiro with the nice couch they sometimes pass out on after long nights- if Jushiro's husband wasn't already there. ...Memories, of meeting each other, and falling in love. How it felt as natural to look up to her as it was to gaze at the moon. How waking up to him felt as natural as the dawn. Memories of being married by Captain Ukitake, after Tousen had done them the inexplicable favor of organizing the whole party and acquiring wedding rings. He loves organizing things for people. Ukitake had smiled. Especially weddings. I just hope it's not guilt from the one he didn't get to. His husband had frowned.

That's impossible, of course. They know who they are, how they arose from the vile muck in the shadowy pits of Hueco Mundo. They never stood in the sun one late afternoon, to marry, not with how it burns.

...and yet.

There's no harm in being polite, right? They don't mind locking Glottineria in it's scabbard with an audible click when he comes into the room, to affirm lack of hostilities. Or giving him the cup of tea Aizen gives everyone at his insufferable meetings afterwards- it's not like they can drink it! ...And if sometimes, when they've been working late in the lab studying the effects and causes of Hollowfication, when Tousen gets tired and starts to call them "Kaien" and "Miyako"-

-Well, what's the harm in answering in the voices he expects to hear?

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 21/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

Yeah, I don't even know y'all. Some people stress bake or stress clean, I stress-hammer out like 12k words in four days? Thank you to everyone who is following this :) I still love everyone in this bar!

“Hey Sally?” Evan very deliberately did not look up from the book he was looking through, staring at the brittle, yellowed pages as though they held the secrets of the universe instead of some faded illustrations of different types of protection runes,

Hmm? Sally replied, the lazy, half-asleep tone making Evan smile.

She had curled up right in front of the living room fireplace, having started a roaring fire pretty much the instant Evan’s parents had departed for dinner with a couple of Dad’s work colleagues. The fireplace was purely decorative…there wasn’t a flue, and usually the firebox contained only a set of decorative candles. Sally adored hearth fires, though, and took every opportunity to transfigure herself a fully functioning fireplace whenever his parents went out in the winter.

“You know that spell we were working on today?” he tried to keep his voice light, nonchalant. As though he just wanted to debrief on the lesson and get his familiar’s feedback, like he had a thousand times before.

He never had been able to fool Sally, though. He heard a faint rustle, and when he finally looked up from the page he had been staring at blindly for the last twenty minutes, Sally had gotten up from her indolent sprawl. Her tail curled neatly around her feet and she was watching him steadily, her mangled ear twitching back and forth.

Aye? Sally’s voice was the perfectly calm, steady tone she always took when she was about to have a serious conversation with him. Clinical, almost. He appreciated it…sometimes when he talked to his parents or others in his coven, he felt like he spent half the conversation trying to parse out how they really felt just through their tone. There was never any bullshit with Sally. No hidden agendas or meaning.

“You teach me a lot of things like that,” he started, frowning down at the pages of the huge book in his lap. It was some tome Sally had had his parents borrow special from a coven library in Philadelphia. The book was bound in calfskin, and its pages were thicker than he was used to…vellum, maybe. The ink had mostly faded to a rusty red and the spidery handwriting was hard to read.

I do, Sally acknowledged.

Evan licked his lips and finally set the book down carefully on the couch cushion beside him. “Why?” he asked, voicing the question that had been racing through his head in faster and faster circles this last week. Ever since…

You heard me arguing with your mother, didn’t you? Sally sighed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted quietly.

That had been happening a lot, lately. Especially on nights after his weekly call with Maddie. He was so worried about his sister—she sounded so tired when he talked to her these days, and he kept getting the feeling that she was holding something back. Trying to keep him from noticing something. He was so tempted to go up to the house she and Doug had bought right after their wedding; just show up unannounced and refuse to leave until she told him what had her sounding so sad whenever they talked. He just wasn’t sure how that would be received.

He hated that he no longer knew how Maddie would respond to something.

Regardless of how your parents feel about me or my lessons, they entrusted your training to me. Your mother may complain all she likes, but there is little she can do to me and she knows it.

“She said you’re training me like people are still trying to burn us at the stake,” he said, and Sally sighed.

Evan, she began. You are extremely powerful. And I would never have you be ashamed or fearful of your magic, but nor would I have you ignore the realities of it. The lessons I give you, the methods and spells that I teach you…yes, they were designed for times and situations that are long gone. But they are also spells that require more discipline. More deliberation. More control. You are quite strong, little love. But that means you must also be quite skilled.

Which was the line of reasoning that he’d heard Sally use when his mother started in on why she was teaching him such old-fashioned ways of casting, and adding spells that no one used to her regimens. It made sense. And Sally never lied to him. He didn’t even really have a suspicion that she was lying to him. But…

“You were scared,” he said finally. “When you said it wasn’t like I’d ever have to use the defensive magics you were teaching me. I could feel it.”

Emotions bleeding through the bond between a witch and their familiar was just a fact of life—but Sally was old enough and disciplined enough that he rarely picked up anything from her that she was not deliberately allowing him to sense. The spike of fear he’d felt from her during that argument, though…that had not been deliberate. Sally never let him feel it when she was worried or afraid.

Ah. Sally looked away from him, her golden eyes fixing on some point over his shoulder.

“I just—Sally, all these spells. And the practice. Does it…does it mean something?”

Divination has never been one of my talents, Evan, Sally said gently, cutting straight to the heart of the question Evan was too afraid to ask. She uncurled her tail from around her feet and leapt primly up onto the couch, staring at him until he sat back against the cushions so that she could climb onto his lap. His hand automatically drifted to the thick ruff of fur around her neck, scratching gently as she pushed her forehead against his, purring softly.

“You don’t have to have a full divination dream to know something’s coming,” he said. Reading the future wasn’t one of his talents, either. Divination magic had never run very strongly in the Buckley coven line. Still, he knew familiars all had at least a little instinct for it. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deliberate in the lessons that Sally had been drilling him on for the past five years. Something beyond simply trying to teach him better control through more difficult spells.

Evan. I…it isn’t something specific. Only a sense. Neither stronger nor weaker than any such feeling I’ve had about dozens of my witches over the years. I’ve learned to listen to such senses when they come, but I do not feel the need to be ruled by them. Don’t read too much into it.

Evan swallowed, his hand stilling in Sally’s fur. “What is it?”

Sally closed her eyes briefly, sighing to herself. That I must do my best to make sure you can stand on your own. That if I love you—and oh, my boy, I do, I love you as my own, don’t ever doubt that—I must make you strong. Strong enough to thrive when others would see you wither. Strong enough to…endure.

“You make it sound like someone is coming to try and burn me at the stake,” he said shakily. Sally’s comforting purr ceased, and she sat back in his lap, reaching up with one paw to bat at his cheek.

If ever they do, I will make sure you know how to make them regret it, little love, she swore vehemently.

*

Evan held it together as he helped Tommy—and he was helping now, not mostly dragging, so hopefully that vampire regeneration was kicking in better now—out of Greenway’s house and onto the porch. He took a moment run back inside and grab the leatherbound book from where he’d dropped it on the floor when the explosion happened, shaking his head dizzily when he straightened again.

Pain throbbed dully behind his eyes, and he was still sweaty and panting, but he didn’t feel nearly as shaky as he was expecting to after using such intense magic. He was even able to slip himself and Tommy through the between and back into the car without much difficulty, though he had to take a moment to breathe through a flare of nausea once they were settled in the seats…him driving, of course.

“You gonna be able to manage?” Tommy asked urgently, reaching up like he was going to lay his hand on Evan’s shoulder before he seemed to realize just how bloody it was. Not that it would have made much difference. Thank God Tommy had let him borrow a few changes of clothes, because what he was wearing now was just as ruined as the previous set he’d been wearing.

He’d feel a little guilty about it, but Tommy was basically holding his own liver in place while the hole in his torso healed, so he doubted his vampire would care much about ruined clothes. He took another deep breath, silently assessing.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, I’m all right,” he said, and couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of his voice. He…he really did feel pretty good, all things considering. His head hurt, but it didn’t feel like someone was trying to explore his ocular cavity with an ice pick the way it usually did when he strained himself. His heart wasn’t pounding painfully in his chest, and best of all, his magic didn’t feel depleted yet.

Sure, he wouldn’t be able to cast another control hex right now; probably wouldn’t be able to fire off more than a couple of weak fireballs. But he also didn’t feel like he was on the verge of passing out. It was strange…but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Are we going back to your house?” he asked as he accepted the bloody keys that Tommy dug out of his pocket with a slight grimace, wiping them on his pants leg before sticking them in the ignition.

“Not yet,” Tommy grunted. He looked down at his chest and probed at the wound, hissing out through his teeth. Pain had deepened the creases and lines on his handsome face, and he pressed his head back against the headrest as Evan drove, closing his eyes. “I want to go off-grid until this heals up.”

“How long is that gonna take?” Evan asked anxiously. He didn’t like the idea of Tommy being down for the count if they encountered anyone else on their tails, especially with his magic not at a hundred percent either.

He liked the idea of Tommy hurting even less.

“Few hours,” Tommy said, gritting his teeth as he reached around the seat and grabbed the hoodie he’d been going to use to cover himself as he ran for Greenway’s porch originally. He tore it into a couple of pieces and wadded one up, stuffing it against the wound in his chest with a grunt of pain. “Can you…” he started, leaning up a little and offering Evan the other part.

Realizing what his vampire wanted him to do, Evan took it without looking away from the road and quickly stuffed it against the entrance wound in Tommy’s back. “Uh, hate to tell you, but I don’t think the seats are salvageable at this point.”

Tommy huffed out a short laugh and immediately had to wipe the dribble of blood that spilled from his lips away. “I’ve been thinking about getting a truck for a while now, anyway. It’ll heal faster if I also don’t have to replace half my blood supply.” He was quiet a moment, and then said, “I’m going to need to hunt.” He sounded apologetic. “It’ll take hours to expel all the debris and close up the organ and muscle damage…bagged blood won’t cut it. I won’t—look, Evan, I won’t kill anyone. It’s been a long time since I killed anyone for blood. But yeah, I’m gonna need you to find a neighborhood where no one’s gonna mind anyone else’s business very hard. Once I get a couple of good drinks, we can grab some clean clothes, and—”

Evan saw an exit coming up on the highway. “Do you have any cash?” he interrupted. Tommy frowned, and then jerked his chin towards the glovebox.

“Few hundred in there. Why?”

Evan didn’t answer, instead taking the exit and following the signs past a few gas stations and fast food restaurants. Tommy watched him a moment, before leaning back against his seat again and closing his eyes, clearly trusting whatever Evan was planning to do. He frowned, though, when Evan pulled the car to a stop and he opened his eyes again to find that Evan had parked in front of a cheap-looking chain motel.

“Evan, whoa, we both look like we just we fucking murdered someone,” he said, his voice still rough and strained with pain.

“I got it,” Evan said quietly, before murmuring a simple spell—one most witches mastered by the time they were seven or eight years old. A brief rush of warm wind sprang up out of nowhere, swirling through the vehicle and around his body. The blood that had been drying into a tacky mess on his clothes, hands, and face dissolved into nothingness, and Evan was left just as clean as he’d been when they first arrived at Greenway’s house.

“That must save you a lot of money on laundry detergent,” Tommy said as Evan leaned over and opened the glovebox.

“It is nice not having to haul things down to a laundromat,” Evan agreed, digging around until he found a thick, manila envelope folded up under the car’s registration. He opened it to find several bundles of bills—small denominations and worn enough not to arouse suspicion—a leather wallet, and even a few passports from different countries. “This…seems a little paranoid,” he said, raising a questioning eyebrow at Tommy. His vampire shrugged one shoulder.

“It used to be important to be able to disappear…quickly. Supplies are different, but the habits haven’t changed.”

Sally used to talk like that. Evan nodded thoughtfully and counted out a couple hundred dollars in twenties and tens out of the stack of cash. “Be right back,” he said, and checked to make sure there was no one around who might see the absolute bloodbath the cabin of the vehicle had become before opening the door. He jogged across the parking lot and into the rundown lobby, where a bored-looking clerk sat behind the desk reading a celebrity magazine that looked to be about two years out of date.

“Hey, can I get a double for the night?” Evan asked, deliberately pulling out the stack of cash instead of his wallet. He knew how places like this worked—had taken advantage of them more times than he cared to count, especially in the first few months after he’d been banished.

“Gotta sign in,” the clerk said, completely ignoring the ancient computer next to him and shoving an old fashioned register across the counter. He did not ask for Evan’s ID. “All I’ve got left is a single, unless you wanna pay for a suite.”

Evan shot the clerk a deadpan look, well aware that ‘suite’ in a place like this just meant the hot water probably worked reliably and the carpet might get vacuumed more than once a month. “Single is fine,” he said, singing a completely random name on the register and counting out twenties on the counter until the clerk gave a satisfied grunt. It wasn’t like Tommy needed to sleep anyway.

The clerk handed an honest-to-God metal key dangling on a big plastic keychain over. “Room 106. Corner on the side facing the McDonald’s. Ice machine’s broken.”

“Shocking,” Evan said under his breath, but smiled politely when he took the key, making a mental note to check for bedbugs and be prepared to cast a more intense cleaning spell once he and Tommy got to the room.

That was less of a production than he was anticipating. The room was fortunately on the far corner of the motel, the cracked and weed-choked parking lot empty around them (right, only had a single available his ass) and the security cameras very obviously just for show. Evan cast a look-away charm over Tommy anyway, helping him into the room as quickly as possible and settling him down on the foot of the sagging bed.

The room was like every other no-tell motel room Evan had ever stayed in—dingy and smelling strongly of mildew. The only furniture was the aforementioned sagging bed—a full-sized mattress, at least, small mercies—a rickety table and chair, and a couple of nightstands on either side of the bed. Evan clicked the lamp sitting on one of them on and turned back to his vampire with a worried frown.

“All right,” Tommy said, grimacing as he plucked at the wadded up piece of sweatshirt still packed into the wound in his chest. Evan’s stomach turned a little at the sight of the bloodied hole—he hadn’t had time to examine it closely or even really think about what was happening until now. “As soon as the sun’s down, I’m going to head out and hunt…this should be mostly closed by then. We need to call Howie. And let’s look at the…fuck…” He broke off, hissing suddenly and hunching over.

“What?!” Evan demanded, stepping forward, his hand hovering uselessly over Tommy’s shoulder, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him worse. Tommy shook his head.

“Debris. I think some splinters just punctured my liver again. God, I hate getting impaled.”

“That, uh, that happens a lot?” Evan’s mind was racing, his eyes glued to the way Tommy’s face was creased in pain.

“I feel like once is enough to decide getting impales sucks, but yeah…you live long enough, you get to experience the wide range of ways people can fuck each other up multiple times.” He sighed, cracking his neck back and forth a couple times in what Evan was coming to recognize was a nervous gesture. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Evan blinked, confused. He wasn’t the one currently rebuilding his chest cavity.

“Your magic—Evan, you can’t tell me that wasn’t a major spell. And everything else you’ve done…” Tommy trailed off again, the lines on his brow deepening. It was concern this time, though, not pain.

“I don’t…uh, I’m not—” Evan looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as he probed at the glow of magic in the back of his mind. He hadn’t taken the time to think things through at Greenway’s house. He had only reacted.

It was only after he’d dealt with the blond vampire that the thought of consequences had even occurred to him, and he’d waited for the effects of using so much magic to slam into him even as he concentrated on getting his vampire out of the house and into the car safely. That hadn’t happened, though. It still hadn’t happened. He didn’t exactly feel great…and he was definitely tapped out as far as major spells like the control hex and would be for a while. He was weakened far more than he would have been if he still had a coven bond to fall back on. But this didn’t feel any worse than a moderate hangover. He’d had worse headaches after some of Sally’s more intense training sessions.

“I’m okay,” he said finally, wonderingly.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he looked Evan up and down. “Are you sure?” he asked, doubt thick in his voice.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” He couldn’t explain it…but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tommy stared at him, and he shifted uncomfortably before dropping down into the single chair by the round table that was the only other furniture in the room. The chair rattled ominously under his weight.

“I wasn’t just asking about your magic,” Tommy said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Evan froze, just blinking at his vampire stupidly a moment, before he let out a shuddering breath. How could…how could Tommy know… “I don’t feel guilty for what I did back there,” he admitted, his voice almost too quiet for his own ears. “I should, I know I should—”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy interrupted firmly. His words were still ragged, his voice tight with pain. But he stared at Evan steadily, nothing but absolute surety in his tone. “That was self-defense, Evan. Don’t think anything else. Those vampires would have killed me and taken you straight to Ortiz…you saved both our asses back there.”

Evan took a deep breath, looking down at his hands again. “I wanted to hurt them,” he said. “They…I never met any of the other witches Jo—Greenway was working with, but I, I, I know the reasons they must’ve had for going to him. And, and he killed them. Maybe he didn’t actually do it himself, but he let them die. He was going to let me die. And those vampires helped. I wanted them to hurt.”

He was angry. He was so incandescently angry at the people who were pulling on all the strings that had entangled him. Innocent witches had been killed, and for what? Politics? Because some vampire didn’t want to share power? Evan’s life hadn’t been that great, but it had been his. He’d been eking out a living, had almost made it to a point where he might have been able to start building something a little more permanent for himself, almost to the point where he might have been able to be…if not happy, at least content. And it had all been ripped away from him because of Ortiz, Greenway, and whoever else was working with them. Once again, he had a target on his back. Once again, he was being hunted for something he didn’t fucking do.

More than that, though…they could’ve killed Tommy right there. It was pure luck that the chunk of Greenway’s desk had missed his vampire’s heart. Tommy could have died right in front of him, and Evan was no longer startled by the wave of revulsion that washed through him at the thought, the way his magic stirred angrily at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let anything happen to Tommy; would not be able to bear it if anything happened to Tommy. He was done fighting the instinct.

“They deserved it,” Tommy said softly. Evan looked up at him, startled. “Don’t feel bad about wanting to hurt people who already hurt you. Who would’ve done worse if you’d let them. Would you have done that to them if they’d been willing to walk away and leave us alone?”

“What? No!” Evan sat up straight in the chair. “I’d never…that’s not what magic’s for!” I wouldn’t…”

It took him a moment to realize that Tommy had sat back slightly, and was just looking at him with an expression that made Evan’s stomach flip slightly. It was…soft. Softer than Evan thought he had seen his vampire’s face so far, a small smile on his lips that Evan could only describe as fond.

The effect was somewhat ruined by the blood that still smeared the corners of Tommy’s mouth, but it still made Evan fall silent.

“That’s why you shouldn’t feel guilty,” he said simply. “You’re a good man, Evan. But that doesn’t mean you can never show your teeth.”

How many times had Sally tried to drive the same sort of lesson home to him?

Before he could respond, though, Tommy shuddered, cursing to himself in a language that Evan couldn’t identify as he suddenly dropped the piece of sweatshirt he’d been holding against the wound in his chest. “Damn it, give me a minute,” he hissed, before he squared his shoulders and dug his fingers into the still gaping hole in his chest.

“Tommy!” Evan leaped to his feet, but Tommy just shook his head, rooting around in the meat of the wound, a grotesque, wet sound filling the room until he pulled what looked like a clump of bloody tissue from his chest. He held it up, and Evan realized with a flash of horrified disgust that it was another chunk of wood.

“Goddamn it,” Tommy groaned, dropping the bloody mess on the floor between his feet. “How much longer ‘til sunset?”

“Couple hours,” Evan said distractedly. He bit his lip, looking at his vampire—the tired slump of his shoulders, the lines of pain that creased his handsome face. Tommy was hurt…and until he healed more, he was in greater danger. They both were, really. And Tommy was going to have to go out to…to hunt. If he wasn’t going to kill anyone—and Evan believed him when he said it—he would have to be out longer.

Tommy was hurting.

“Would witch blood heal you faster?” he asked.

It was Tommy’s turn to freeze. He went still as a statue, his blue eyes boring into Evan’s before flicking down to his throat and back. “Evan,” he breathed out. “No. I’m not going to ask you to do that.”

Evan took that to mean that the answer was yes.

He swallowed, and again Tommy’s eyes zeroed in on the bob of his throat. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He stood up, and took a step towards his vampire, who still sat frozen, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Whatever spell held Tommy still shattered, and he shuddered again, though this time Evan didn’t think it had to do anything with the pain of his wound. He took a deep breath, as though scenting the air around Evan, his hand twitching upwards before curling into a fist and slamming back down on the bed.

“Are you sure?” Tommy said, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. Evan’s stomach flipped again, a shiver running through him that he wasn’t sure he was ready to examine too closely.

“You can do it without hurting me, right?” Evan asked, and now Tommy reached for him, pulling back with a grimace of distaste when he remembered the bloody mess he was.

“I’d never hurt you,” he said, a fervency curling through every word that made it sound like a promise. A vow.

Evan breathed out, his magic humming through him in wild approval. “Then let me help you,” he said.

Tommy’s eyes sheened over with scarlet light, before he visibly reined himself back in. He looked down at his bloody hands and held them up towards Evan almost beseechingly. “I—can you?”

With a small smile, Evan murmured the spell, his vampire’s hands whisking clean in a matter of seconds. Immediately, Tommy reached for him, curling one hand around Evan’s wrist, loosely at first and then tightening when Evan made no move to pull away. He tugged lightly, drawing Evan closer.

“How do you want to do this?” Evan asked, “Um, are you gonna—” He made a gesture towards his neck and was surprised when Tommy instantly shook his head.

“No. No, not there,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. His hand tightened on Evan’s wrist again, his thumb brushing gently over the pulsepoint. It was strange. He knew, intellectually, that Tommy could crush his wrist into powder with barely any effort…could throw him down and drain him dry, and Evan wasn’t sure if he’d be able to defend himself against it.

But Tommy wouldn’t do that to him. He knew it; down to the marrow of his bones he knew it.

Tommy would never hurt him.

He nodded his permission to Tommy’s unasked question. The red glow grew brighter in his vampire’s eyes, eclipsing the blue entirely, and when Tommy spoke again, Evan could see the hint of fangs in his mouth.

“Lie down. I won’t take much, I promise. But just in case.” Tommy let go of him, getting painfully to his feet so that they could trade places.

Evan grabbed the bloodstained comforter off the bed and tossed it to the floor. He was mildly surprised to see the sheets underneath appeared to have been laundered recently…at least there were no creepy-crawlies waiting for him. He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the mattress, looking up when he heard Tommy swallow roughly.

“God, Evan,” Tommy murmured, so low Evan wasn’t entirely sure he was meant to hear it. “Thank you,” he said, louder, before slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Evan’s hip. “I—it won’t feel like it did at Gerrard’s party without the thrall,” he warned. “I could put you back under,” he offered uncertainly, but Evan could tell he didn’t really like the idea. Truthfully, Evan didn’t either, remembering the helpless way he’d rutted up against his vampire’s body under the effects of the thrall with a blush. He shook his head.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just take what you need.” He offered his hand up, and had to look away when Tommy slowly took it, something disbelieving and tender in his red, red eyes.

“I can stop myself,” he promised. “If it starts to hurt too much, or you start to feel dizzy or sick, just tell me.”

“I trust you, Tommy,” Evan said, and knew in his heart that it was absolutely true.

Tommy closed his eyes and pulled Evan’s hand closer to his mouth, inhaling against the soft skin of his inner wrist with a quiet groan. “Evan,” he murmured, his name sounding like a fucking prayer in his vampire’s mouth.

Then Tommy bit down, sinking his fangs into Evan’s wrist.

[dairy-farmer]

So. That Normalized Public Sex AU where the canon-ish Bats get trapped there and gotta get back home but the reality of the Timpile bulldozes them to put it lightly

That inspired me. Omegaverse!Reverse Robins get stuck in Canon Gotham (sorry for any ooc-ness)

(cw and tw for brief mentions but no actual discussion of misgendering, racism, and other bigotries)

I'll call them norm!Gotham and pack!Gotham for normal and omegaverse

Because of instincts, packs are possessive of eachother but the Bats turn it up to eleven so unlike norm!Bats they're isolated and myths, practically unheard of outside of Gotham's criminal scene unless all hands are on deck like an alien invasion

Oh yeah, the actual plot. Because pack!Robins are possessive and isolatory, they don't even contact anyone for help, they set up fake IDs that can vanish when nessecery and get to work on dimension traveling tech to get back home

And despite them being in the hellhole that is Gotham, they're putting their all into getting back home instead of vigilanting unless it serves them in going back home or keeping up their fake IDs or peaceful time away from

Because while they could help out this alternative Gotham, it isn't theirs. the lack of secondary genders makes it uncanny and lifeless, and on top of that?

Pack!Tim is an Omega, and he's pregnant

Timpile!! Alphas Duke, Steph, Cassandra and Damian utterly adore and pamper their omega whose only in his first pregnancy! (Maybe they're all sires, maybe just one of them is, your pick)

Dick and Jason are here too, but as far as the five are concerned, they're puppies and will still be their puppy siblings even after they present

So yeah, pack!Robins wanna go back home where everything is their normal. Good god, the rest of their pack must be turning Gotham upside down just to get them back!

So yeah, what's going on is that Duke, Steph, Cass and Damian rotate who stays in their house (in a neighborhood least likely to suffer rogue attacks) and who goes to work to pay the bills

Tim limits going outside since a lack of secondary genders, judging by his research, has led to a world less tolerating of anything outside the M/F gender binary to put it lightly, and he'll no doubt be misgendered due to being pregnan

not that he won't have outdoor walks with his pack, everyone needs fresh air for their health, but only in solitude by themselves

So while Tim works his brains off to get them all home, everyone else assists where they can, and keep Tim from overworking himself; his alphas pamper him in food and hugs, makeouts and sex

pregnancy hormones have increased his libido so much, slick ready at a moments notice, and his alphas eyes glaze more and more as as he swells with their child[ren], nevermind how plush and soft he's grown, how the scent he once had a tightlid on airs out all his feelings for everybody to know 24/7 and how much more he lactates for his alphas and pups to drink it all up

His pups wanting cuddles? They do bother their Alpha parents, but Tim can never turn away his baby brothers and cuddle with them in the nest

And his mates spoil them with gifts and cooked and baked meals and the softest nesting materials

This world feels dead, all the wrong scents are too strong for them, they have to DIY their own scent patches, and they're already baby proofing the house in case the child(ren) is born in this world

Birthing in this world instead of the Manor . . . None of them like thinking about it

This world is so dead, and Tim can only work so much towards getting them home when expecting a child(ren)

It's no wonder then the house reeks of the packs pheromones. that his Alphas are glued to his scent glands, that he is to theirs, and they kiss and fondle and fuck him everyday to strengthen their mating bonds and reaffirms their mating bites

It's no wonder the Alphas on their turns to work find themselves turning fuck sessions they join into orgies with Tim as their pillow princess, all nice and sleepy in the nest where Dick and Jason climb into to cuddle and sleep in and do their daily parent-puppy scenting rituals

It's all compensations and reactions to being trapped in a world that's lifeless without the nuances of secondary sexes. No wonder they've become so much more open with eachother

But they're a big pack. A pack of seven. Four alphas, one omega, and two pups. They'll survive here. Their pack back home is surely working to getting them home too

They'll come home. Surely.

•

In the meantime, the norm!Bats are highly suspicious of the sudden but rare appearance of new rogues dressing so much like but so differently to them!

And they're said to be metas with the accounts of fangs and barks and rumbles. Goons and rogues who fight them call them feral

But given the accounts of a majority of them being POC (black, asian and Arabic), the claims of them being metas are initially brushed off as racism (consciously or not, people have biases)

Until one of the rogues uses what is quite literally Signal's meta ability. So they take the meta theory out of the trashbin but are side-eyeing it since, again, the meta claim could be due to straight up racism instead of actual facts. How accurate are those claims to details on their powers, truly?

So while the pack!Robins are in a fluffy porno with sprinkles of hurt/comfort, and a dash of action for getting back home; pure fluff in the pups eyes

Norm!Bats are in a action packed mystery!

•

Uh oh, there's ideas I wanna propose but I dunno how to connect the dots, uh, uh ,uh!!!!

•

[hypothetical back and forth dialog]

"we can help you get back home, you don't have to commit crimes anymore if you just turned yourself in—"

"no can do!" The blonde heckled

Nightwing was knocked into the wall with enough force to break something that kept him down alongside Red Hood

To his horror, the older vigilante felt his mask get peeled off, and the blonde rogue shriekef

"Pack check this out!" She called her teammates Pack, maybe they did have animal traits?

When her accomplices ran over, he swore the other woman whistled

"wow, we've absolutely gotta prepare the shovel talks for when our littlest grows up." The Meta

The pretentious rogue said "littlest born so far."

The quiet one signed at her team "Red Hood unmasked is oldest pup." Pup? "Oldest pups will have wanting courters swooning for him."

"oh yeah," the blonde hero, "they don't stay young forever, they're gonna want their own families and we gotta make sure they're good enough for them."

His and Jason's identities made them talk about shovels talks, and the meta's powers matches . . .

He used what little strength he had left, "Duke!"

They all flinched and Alternate Stephanie put his mask back on, than ran from the scene with the rest of her Pack

(this doesn't make sense since logically the packs would instantly clock the norm!Wayne as the norm!bats just as it is in pack!Gotham but plot bunny what-ifs don't care about consistency)

•

[hypothetical; norms sneaks a camera into packs master bedroom/nest room somehow]

This was fucked up

This was so fucked up

When they planted the cameras, they returned to watch the live footage from the Batcave, yet discovered only one of them still working, meaning the Pack had sweeped their house but missed a singular camera

The bedroom camera

Damian had called dibs to attend the gala tonight with Bruce, and Alfred was preparing to train new servants, so it was up to the rest of the Batkids to stay up all night and gather information

Hell Duke didn't have patrol or school tomorrow, so just this once he acted his age and stayed up late

They knew the Pack was possessive and their own ages reversed but it was so surreal

Jason looked at the older not-Duke, not-Damian, or Steph or Cassandra as the latter bridal carried a Tim with more chub on his stomach onto the bed, placing him in the center

Not-Tim brought his hands down on his fat, rubbing his hands on his stomach, eyes fluttering shut

No, that wasn't all fat, he had more weight on him than their Tim but "not-Tim is pregnant," Red Hood saw enough pregnant people to not notice it

His Tim's breath hitched

The four not-them got to undressing not-Tim while rubbing their hands all over his body

"what the fuck?" Stephanie whispered

Not-her got on the bed and began prodding at not-Tim's very apparent cunt, inner-thighs slick with abnormal amounts of vaginal fluid

"precious, pretty omega, sleep, let your mates pamper you"

Not-Steph stuck her fingers inside, and Not-Tim gasped, face flushed, drool escaping and eyes hazy

Not-Duke licked it up and licked and kissed at his lovers mouth, moving onto sucking and biting at his neck, grasping at his hair, the audio of their noises filled the cave

Not-Cassandra and Not-Damian held one of Tim's hands each, using their free hands to fondle him, and whispered what could only be sweat nothings

"gorgeous, bred omega. pupped lover. Perfect mommy."

"Rouhi, divine omega, not a day will go by without us filling your womb."

The five were perfectly positioned that they got a perfect view of everything

Not-Steph taking her fingers out to suck them dry of fluids, taking off her shorts to stick her dick ('alternate universe' Jason reminded himself) into not-Tim and rocking their hips slowly

Strings of saliva connecting Not-Duke to not-Tim and the bruises blooming on the latter

Not-Cassandra and Not-Damian fondling not-Tim, whispering praises and worship, teasing his nipples and licking up the milk—milk!—that came out of it

All of them touching their lover as though he and his body were something divine, to be worshipped

'we should turn this off' Jason wanted to say, to do himself. Waited for others to say

He was more concerned with keeping his eyes on the live footage, shameful as he felt

Not-Stephanie and not-Tim shook and gasped

Semen poked itself out of not-Tim

Not-Tim relaxed even further into the blankets and pillows, breathing steady

His lovers, hazy-eyed, looked straight in their direction, grinning

Cassandra squeaked

Only one of the cameras was left

This was planned

This was debauched

This was a show

The cameras had no means of recording audio

Jason saw the four reveal the earpieces they had in their ears, the microphones on their shirts, before Dick finally shut the batcomputer off

"our security and systems are compromised" somehow it felt like their least important issue

Jason looked around the room to see his siblings shocked still, legs pressed together or spread wide apart with a jacket or blanket to cover them, faces redder than ever before

And not out of rage

"He's ours" one of the four was last recorded to say

Tim looked more frightened than the rest of them, running back up into the Manor after Jason glanced at him

•

[hypothetical, norm!Damian sneaks himself to pack!Tim all alone, very visibly pregnant]

not-Tim laid in bed, relaxed in a plush nest, sleepy and delirious, but noticed Damian's presence

Damian had . . . Maybe a lot to loose if the Pack weren't lying about omegas fighting to the death

But if he played his cards right, he could get information out of not-Tim

"puppy, oh puppy you smell packless. You look like our future baby. Puppy come here. Do you feel that kicking? It's your baby sibling. Oh, I can't believe Damian put you in my womb at all, I can hardly believe it . . . "

Damian looks at this not-Timothy as he felt the baby kick. He tried to kill his own Timothy countless time to guarantee his place by Father's side

But an alternate him who was older and thus unthreatened by Drake had- had- made a wife out of his younger brother alongside his siblings and reaped and shared his reward every night?!

Could he have just done that this entire time?? His own Drake could conceive as well, inheriting his place by Father's side would be a guarantee with his own heir secured, but Timothy actively hid it. Something about how the masses would tear into him for not being masculine enough

Hell, Damian only knew Drake had a fertile womb, or one at all because he sought any knowledge he could get on Drake including medical records when he got desperate in his assassination attempts

And if his lessons and research on Western culture were any indication, psuedo-incest as it was called ranged from barely better to barely worse than fratricide, but his siblings and classmates stated multiple times how backwards Western morality was

So what was the answer?

Oh God he's spiralling, were his assassination attempts all for nothing? Or was it his only option because Drake would be evil according to West mortality to court him at all due to meeting him so young?

Before Damian knew it, not-Tim scooped him into the blanket fort and wrapped his arms around him, purring all the while

Damian needed to think about this

Damian needed to rethink everything he thought he knew

•

Just imagine, an omegaverse!Timpile being utterly loving towards their precious omega and igniting a fire in their dynamicless counterpart as they did so, even after they leave the normal!Gotham behind to reunite with their pack back home

tw//cw omegaverse

batstim

canonverse interacting with alternate universe is my FAVORITE of all tropes its so good!!!! seeing tim get red watching the live feed of omega tim getting gangbanged and running away not because he's embarrassed or humiliated but because other tim has a cunt and all the other bats are expressing confusion about how this must be something exclusive to this weirdo freako other universe unaware that tim has a pussy. all the other bats watching older versions of themselves fucking tim and clearly doting on him because he's carrying one of their babies but they're all clearly preparing to be parents together. then jason and dick staring at these young versions of themselves, dick coming to terms with the fact that he's the youngest, the baby in that universe and that everyone looks out for and protects him instead of the other way around.

just everyone slowly digesting this new dimension and everything going on with it.

[kingkaizen]

Hi my love! I absolutely love the stuff you write for Nanami! I was hoping that you could write something (any length you want❤️) about the reader give him a handmade gift? I love making stuff for my loved ones and would love to see how you think he’d react to a hand made gift

∘ a/n: hi love! thank you for this adorable request i hope you enjoy <3

∘ ft: nanami

∘ includes: nanami on his birthday!!

The savory aroma of spices filled the air, weaving all throughout your house. One of your favorite traditions for Nanami’s birthday is to cook him dinner. Although you sadly couldn’t get him to call out of work for just this one day, you knew that he would be home just in time to enjoy dinner with you on his special day. After years of being together, you continue to try to top all of his birthdays after the last. He’s one of those people who chooses not to make too big of a fuss over them, claiming “it's just another day.”

To you, Nanami’s birthday is your favorite holiday. A day where you get to celebrate him in every way you know how. It always starts off as soon as he opens his eyes, showering him in kisses, low groans leaving his body as he slowly begins to wake. You know you’re not actually bothering him, but he would never admit to you how much he enjoys being woken up like that. You already had coffee made for him, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stay with you long before work. Walking him to the door, he gave you one last kiss on the forehead before heading out.

Now, you can hear his keys jingling in the door, excitement immediately rushing throughout your body as you finish plating his food. It’s not long before you hear footsteps coming towards the kitchen, a tired looking Nanami walking through. Without a word exchanged, he opens his arms, a clear sign of what he’s craving. You move towards him, instantly melting in his arms as he wraps himself around you. A tired sigh leaves his lips, hands rubbing your back as he physically relaxes against you. 

“I missed you so much, my love.” Nanami whispered. You look up at him, watching as his eyes tell you so much without him having to say a word. You could tell his day has been hard on him, as they mostly always were. He places a soft kiss on your lips, making your heart flutter in ways you couldn’t describe. 

“I missed you more, honey.” You reply, kissing him on the cheek before pulling away. “I know you must be hungry, come sit down.” You motion to the now finished meal, watching Nanami smile as he takes a seat. “I’ll be right back!” You say, quickly walking to your shared bedroom, pulling out his gift. You were very excited when his idea for his birthday gift came to your mind. Trying to think of something that he could use, it wasn’t hard to come up with the perfect handmade gift that he would absolutely adore.

Stepping back into the kitchen, you held up a black box decorated with a red ribbon on the top of it. Nanami couldn’t help but smirk at your face, seeing the excitement written all over you. Handing it to him, you make your way to your seat next to him, watching in amusement as he tears through the ribbon to get the box open. He takes out a tie decorated with pictures of you and him, all sewed together. You know how much he loves his ties, and being able to make him one littered with happy pictures of the two of you makes it even more special.

“This was the best gift I could’ve ever asked for.” Nanami looks at you lovingly, taking your hand into his. “Seeing how much effort you put into making this day special…” he trails off, palm coming up to caress your cheek. “This means so much to me.” 

A warmth spreads through you, feeling his hand on your cheek and the weight of his words. You lean into his touch, savoring the quiet moment between you, letting the day’s efforts and all the love you’ve poured into this day settle around you both.

"I'm glad," you whisper, squeezing his hand. “I just wanted you to feel as special as you make me feel every day.”

Nanami smiles, a soft, genuine smile that he reserves only for moments like this. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few heartbeats, letting the world outside fall away. Then he clears his throat, looking down at the meal you prepared.

“Well,” he says, a hint of humor glinting in his eyes as he picks up his fork, “I can’t let this go to waste, can I?”

You laugh, watching him take his first bite, his expression softening as he savors the flavors. Moments like these—his quiet appreciation, the warmth in his gaze, the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours—make you fall in love with him all over again. 

For tonight, it's not just another day. It’s his day.

© kingkaizen | do not copy, steal, or duplicate!

[eightsixtiism]

As a Max fan, I do admit that Max isn't perfect and I absolutely adored Lando before especially with his friendship with Max and Carlos. Lando is getting hated mainly because of the things he says and some of his actions. One was the trump thing, second, was when Max was congratulating him and he decided to snitch despite the race being over (not a big issue for me personally cause all drivers snitch). Third is the way he acted when he won the Dutch GP especially when he decided to use Max's catchphrase (I know it wasn't Max's before), most of us found it rude especially since well max's catchphrase and Lando saying that seemed as if he was mocking Max and the worst thing was it was Max's home race. Fourth, the cooldown with Lewis when Lew was merely being nice and he decided to somewhat insult him (I feel insulted despite Lewis saying it was fine). Fifth, When he called Max's win in Brazil luck not talent, I mean luck was a part of it but talent had a much larger contribution. Sixth, when McLaren fucked up and he made his engineer beg for Lando to give the place back to Oscar despite him being only there because McLaren fucked up and Iscar was doing an excellent job defending (Fuck Mclaren strategy tbh). Seventh, podium in Hungary ('twas fucked up) Oscar couldn't even enjoy his win because Lando was the center of attention despite Osc having a phenomenal drive. Eight, when Oscar had to give up a win (it was a sprint but it was still a win) just for him to lose big time from Max. Ninth, when Oscar once again had to back off to give Lando a chance to catch up to Max but he couldn't pass Charles. Tenth, this is mostly due to how the FIA has been acting. They have been acting like a knight and shining armor for Lando, especially during the quali. This is not hate, I do think he is a contender for this season, the way he's been acting is somewhat the problem. (I think I have more but this is enough lmao)

there's a lot to be covered here so i'll answer the ones that caught my eye.

3) now that i've thought about it, i'd understand why max fans in particular would be mad about it. max coined the phrase, his friend essentially used it to take a dig at him. me personally, if this is what you're getting so seriously pressed about then i actually don't know what to say. this is a sport, shithousery will ensue between friends, enemies, acquaintances— everybody. it's not like lando completely ridiculed and encouraged any more hate towards max; i don't know if i can say the same for max, though.

4) that one i felt taken aback by it too. don't know why he said that, it's definitely something he could've avoided saying. but if lewis isn't bothered about it, i'm not going to be. if he was, i certainly would be and will hold lando accountable (i still do anyways)

5) this is so palpably hearsay and i cannot believe you still think this. at this point, i feel like a broken radio trying to reason with you guys and tell you that that is not what he meant. i'm sure you've come across people explaining what the actual meaning is, so let's not sit here and still believe this foolishness. if, for some reason, you still don't get it, there's a post here that explains it perfectly.

6 and 7) you are talking all about unrightful lando wins, but didn't lando have to give his place up for oscar? oscar didn't overtake lando by his own will and win, so why won't we use that against oscar? some people do, but we all know it was mclaren's fault for putting them in that position. they could've easily let them stay where they are and fight for p1, but they didn't and that is how it panned out. after them guilt tripping lando into giving the place back, are we still blaming lando for this? i know you shouldn't be because as you said, 'fuck mclaren strategy'.

8) mclaren were seemingly championship contending... up until they claimed they weren't after the brazil gp (honestly, odds were stacking up against them that they weren't because they kept fucking up more than they should've). i can tell you are either quite ignorant or haven't been a fan for long, because it seems you are too used to someone winning the championship by their own merit because of the very pitiful gap in performance between the red bull drivers, but forget that many championships have been won with the help of teammates, one of the most infamous being lewis and valterri. oscar giving up his place was to help lando (who's higher in the standings between the 2) get more points and close the gap. it wasn't a rightful sprint win, we are all aware, but that's how this sport works.

10) i was going to go hell on this take, but @landhoe-norris worded it perfectly in their post:

"Imagine thinking that an organisation that rigged a race so that your favourite drivers would win a championship, an organisation that has allowed him to run other drivers off the track for the past three years without repercussions, is now being biased against him because he ‘has the wrong passport’ when in all seriousness your favourite driver is the epitome of ‘white privilege’ and has been since he stepped into the sport."

there's nothing more for me to say.

all in all, lando is not as bad as you guys make him out to be. if anything, max, in my opinion, is worse. and looks like he'll always be.

[svgurugeto]

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄.  It was a bold move —-- and perhaps quite idiotic, looking back on it.  The exorcist was incredibly private about his hideouts; the higher-ups at the Vatican didn’t even know where he lived, despite their endless poking and prodding.  Suguru needed that boundary in place —-- it was his way of escaping the horrors of this world.  Not to mention his way of avoiding any further harassment to take on more than he already was.

But offering up an invitation into his private dwellings was equivalent to extending something much like an olive branch.  Suguru was placing a lot of trust in Satoru —--- but also, and perhaps more than that outward display of trust, the exorcist wanted him to know that he hadn’t meant any harm.  He hadn’t meant to pry —-- to see what he had seen, which he knew right away was something Satoru thought to be a weakness; a vulnerability.

While Suguru knew some of the myths around Satoru’s abilities, he wasn’t fully proficient —-- even the strongest Hunters didn’t have a full grasp of the way power scaled within that underground world.  Those that prided themselves in their understanding of the supernatural only knew as much as their subjects allowed them to know.  That, or they died in pursuit of such forbidden fruit —- chronicled only by those that had accompanied them, or the notes they had scribbled down in their journals mere seconds before their untimely demise.

The exorcist knew about Satoru’s long-distance teleportation abilities, sure —--- but he didn’t know about the wings.

For a moment, Suguru thought he had hallucinated them… those dark shadows stretching across the sidewalk and pavement alike, cast by the flickering street lamp to his left.  In the blink of an eye, they were gone —-- along with their surroundings; once a reflection of Roppongi, only to be replaced by a glowing FamilyMart sign.

Suguru thought he was going to throw up.  Motion sickness took its toll as he attempted to breathe... in through his nose, out through his mouth. What a fucking night this was. The warping of time and space left him dizzy, the sensation of the world beneath his feet almost entirely foreign.  His legs were shaky, though Suguru was determined to not crumble to his knees again  ( once was more than enough. )  His position in front of the convenience store kept triggering the motion sensors —---- automatic doors opening and closing, over and over again; even after Satoru stepped inside to gather his choice of snacks.

Suguru waved a dismissive hand as Satoru asked if he wanted anything.  He had half the heart to ask for dramamine, but ultimately thought better of it.

A slow walk back the rest of the way was much appreciated —-- Suguru still working off what remained of his wobbly sea legs and all.  He slid his hands into his pockets and made every effort to enjoy the cool night air.  It was much quieter here —-- and, subsequently, much easier for him to breathe.

❝ Gojo-sama?  Your nest must adore you, ❞  Suguru replied with a slight rolling of the eyes, though he found humor in the honorific the vampire had so breezily tacked on. ❝ Satoru… ❞  he let the weight of that name resonate in the air a little, a comfortable silence growing between them.  ❝ I've always thought your name was a beautiful one.  Plays nicely with your nature —-- how curious you are, and all. ❞  Suguru cast the other a smile, craning his neck a bit in the process.  ❝ I’d much rather address you by your given name.  If you don’t mind. ❞

❝ And no kidding about the trust thing. Though Geto-san is reserved for the suckers who’re paying my bills.  And my clients, I guess... —-- You can call me Suguru.  I think we’re well past formalities at this point, anyway. ❞

Suguru contemplated lighting another cigarette for the remainder of the walk, but his fascination over the way Satoru practically led him to his own home occupied way too much space in his mind to bother with anything else.  He stayed a step or two behind the vampire, watching through curious eyes as the other identified his apartment building and led them through the lobby. It was a public space, after all —- Satoru didn’t need to be welcomed into the cold entryway that held each resident’s mail —- but what was completely unusual about this whole thing was the way the vampire knew exactly where he was going.

Suguru hadn’t given him an address… just the general area in which he lived.  Even the FamilyMart wasn’t enough of a giveaway.  Was this the infamous Six Eyes ability? Probably… though that casual realization didn’t make this whole walk back any less unsettling.

Suguru watched as the other man unlocked his door with nothing more than a hand hovered over its handle.  ❝ Creepy, ❞  the exorcist mumbled, not bothering to match Satoru’s all too confident smile.

The vampire was like a kid in a candy shop as he perused Suguru’s home, looking over every weapon, every tool in his arsenal.  Suguru kicked off his boots and hung up his coat whilst Satoru surveyed his new surroundings —-- he figured he might as well get comfortable before this guy ultimately decided his fate.  A tightly fitted black t-shirt revealed the smooth bumps of titanium jewelry pierced through each nipple, and the depictions of demonic forces and supernatural entities that had lingered in his mind were sprawled across each bicep and forearm in permanent black ink.

Suguru even let his hair loose, untying the bun that kept those longer black strands of hair out of his face.  He was honestly fucking exhausted —- he had started this day in Ho Chi Minh, only to find his way back to Tokyo for another high-risk exorcism. And now he had a vampire poking around his home… 

Though Suguru’s interests were piqued the moment Satoru stepped into his main artillery.  He lingered in the doorway, leaning against it as Satoru removed one of his weapons from its casing. 

It was strange, watching him hold it with such care.  Like he had seen it before, somewhere.

❝ That one?  Hm… I think it belonged to some famous Hunter before I got my hands on it.  I don’t know much about it, though.  Picked it up from some exorcist in training who wanted me to keep it safe. Something tells me this isn't your first time seeing it, though. Care to share it's history with the rest of the class? ❞

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒? 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑. His interest was already piqued, so he found the additional confirmation of Suguru's knowledge of vampires' abilities -- or, rather, a specific-to-him kind; long distance teleportation. Sukuna could move fast, in a blink to humans, wickedly so, but there was a distinct difference in how other special-grade vampires moved swiftly through space and how space, seemingly, moved around Satoru instead. He kept himself within an uncomfortable proximity, Infinity silently thrumming between them -- Suguru's last puffs of smoke wafting around the warped space that veiled him.

The shadows that stretched bloomed out of the already darkened corners of the exorcist's peripheral vision, sprouting forth yet intangible, twin blurred depictions of ---- ... wings, perhaps? A trick of the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, ultimately, as the mere motion of them was blurred away entirely, enveloped inwards, cancelled out in the ability to process exactly what had happened by the snapping suddenness of their arrival in an entirely different alleyway. The lighting shifted in tandem with how the shadows receded in a blinking withdraw back away from Satoru's body, falling into the cracks and crevices of the brickwork behind him, illuminated now by the steady gleam of the FamilyMart's neon sign indicating it was open for business.

The disorientation of abrupt and yet seamless teleportation was likely stunning for a human; they hadn't moved an inch in placement or even orientation to the earth; the world had warped around them, a freshly painted canvas smeared by a wipe of a hand ---- or wings, in this instance. Satoru slowly slid his eyes away from Suguru's own, a mercy to give the man a moment to collect himself from the inevitable whiplash. The vampire stepped toward the automatic doors without issue, intent on having his fix of sweets. Maybe he'd get some mochi, some candy, and a soda.

❝ Want anything? ❞ He slung the offer over his shoulder, then proceeded inside.

Whether or not Suguru joined or had a request, Satoru was quick and polite, gathering his things, paying at the register, and offering the cashier a sparkling smile when she stuttered to tell him to have a nice night ---- whilst she clearly gawked at him, quite understandably, due to the absence of his sunglasses providing no screen to dilute the potency of his eyes. The fluorescent lighting, at the very least, decreased the glowing effect enough to cease any worry of being inhuman.

Clearly he didn't care enough to slide the glasses back on, intent on making a b-line from the shop to Suguru's place ---- and Suguru already knew what he was, who he was. This was freeing.

❝ Inviting what I am to your home like this... you're giving me a lot of trust right off the bat ---- albeit it's pretty reluctant, yeah? It's been noted, exor-- ... ah, actually... ❞ Satoru turned whilst walking a few paces ahead, walking backwards to face Suguru as they made the short last leg of their trek to his apartment. ❝ -- do you prefer Geto-san? I suppose you're welcome to call me Satoru, given you already know soooo much about me ---- and I have a feeling I'll get shot down if I told you to refer to me as Gojo-sama. ❞

He chuckled at his own joke, a genuine mirth flickering across those vibrant eyes. He was playing a minigame in the several steps they took thus far ---- Six Eyes darting around each apartment building to seek out any residuals, any energies that marked a space as Suguru's... ----- and he narrowed it down, give or take that there were clearly wards placed to protect against supernatural tracking methods.

Not Six Eyes, though, not with Satoru this close by at least. The imagery was diluted, like he was looking with the wrong prescription on a pair of glasses -- but he saw the warbled runes and hovering energies and turned to follow forward to that complex without the need of Suguru's navigation. Satoru turned, then opened a door to the lobby area -- able to enter, at the very least, the baseline of a private residence if public entry was permitted. They climbed up a few flights of stairs, Satoru leading in an eerie accuracy, turning to the correct hallway and reaching the correct door.

Audaciously, he reached out before Suguru could even begin to fumble with his keys, turning a hovered hand just above the handle -- the distinct clicking of a bolt switching, then he touched the knob and turned to open it, grinning practically ear-to-ear. He opened Suguru's door for him, stepping back to let the guy enter first in a mockful inside-joke amongst vampires; inviting in the owner of the home, what a silly gesture, he even threw in an 'after you' motion. Suguru truly gave this vampire too much power.

Satoru stepped in after him, eyes piercing around immediately upon the entryway, reading the invisible runes cast across the wooden frame of the entry's threshold. Flares of energies like lightning bugs went off around him, so many -- artefacts, amongst the mess of strewn clothes and other signs of human life half-gathered in heaps onto tops of a cushioned chair, a dirty ashtray and an empty can of soda on the coffee table, an outdated TV, mismatched furniture housing... ah!

❝ Ooooh, so many goodies in here -- ❞ Satoru all but cooed, setting his plastic bag of treats down in the entryway's small corner for hanging coats and setting keys down, kicking his shoes off accordingly before he immediately started sniffing around.

❝ Eugh, so Christian, ❞ he murmured mostly to himself whilst surveying a stack of books and an ornate rosary, cross, strewn atop the creased spines of multiple variations of bibles. But that wasn't all -- glass-encased, there were artefacts of genuine worth --- dusty, of course, and messily sprinkled throughout whatever surface didn't have old dishes nudged alongside a vessel of holy oil, genuine from scent alone, and a capsule of ashes from a saint. Many books, texts of languages which shifted into translation of Japanese once Satoru's Six Eyes hovered upon them for a second longer. He drew his physical gaze elsewhere, collecting information within mere glances, taking everything in.

❝ Silver bullets, a bunch of salt, some silver kniiiiives, hey -- you even got the wooden stakes, nice shout out, those are classics. ❞

Satoru stepped further into the apartment, ignoring the living room ---- the sparks that filled his Six Eyes drew him directly across the entryway's space into the first room. Bold, putting everything important right here, but he supposed it made sense if Suguru never had company over ---- which... clearly he hadn't, at least not in some while.

Satoru stopped in his tracks in the center of the room. Was that ---- ...

❝ Where'd you get this one? ❞ Satoru was already stepping forward and removing the casing ---- an open blade, two-tiered and askew, dusty and dirty, genuine from not only sight and aid of his Six Eyes identifying it but ---- it still had the centuries-old scent of his blood on its uniquely shaped blade, smallest near-imperceivable specks near the base of its hilt. Satoru picked it up from the stand with an odd sense of care to his hold, gripping its hilt and then placing the tip of the outermost and longer portion of the blade's two-tiered prongs against his other hand's waiting fingers, the flat side. He peered down at it, at his lack of reflection upon its dull gleam, almost nostalgic.

[earl-grey-love]

The way I can't hold back my smiles whenever I think about Barbs even in public 🫣 I keep thinking about the date attached to the latest UR of him. He's so unbearably perfect, I swear.

[sysig]

Time Loops are they/them culture (Patreon)

Bonus of my little guy in ISaT style:

[angelstrawbabie420]

crazy how i have no one

[giantkillerjack]

So incredibly pleased to see fans sexualizing not just old men but fat old men!

Something inside me just sings to know that Pat from BBC Ghosts could inspire such a large amount of lovingly crafted pornography on AO3!

As a fat fellow who hopes very much to be a fat old man myself someday, what a gift!!

(Actually, as a short fat white boi with brown hair, I bet could do a pretty easy cosplay! OMG AND MY TALL WIFE COULD BE THE CAPTAIN. OMG. DEAD MUSTACHE HUSBANDS. OMG.)

[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.

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my nuggets again. Explodes them.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ YES, I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, AND YES, SHE'S REAL! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: what happens when your gamer boyfriend brings you on-screen for the first time?

contents: fem!reader. use of she/her pronouns + reader is referred to as gojo's girlfriend. toji slander bcs he deserves it.

author's note: everyone welcome streamer!gojo to the world! he'll be here for a while...

"oh, please," satoru laughs, leaning back and grinning at the screen in front of him. he tosses his hair, but it falls back into his eyes just seconds later. "no way you guys all thought i would lose that one. c'mon, have some faith in me!"

you watch satoru reply to the hundreds of comments lighting up the side of his monitor, smiling endearingly at the way he laughs at some and practically chortles at others.

it was only after the two of you started dating that satoru disclosed his streaming hobby, and to your surprise, he was pretty popular. thousands of people tuned in to watch him play some game or another every night, and well, it paid better than you'd expect.

satoru whistles, hands resting comfortably behind his head as a particular question catches his attention. "ah, do i have a girlfriend?" he muses, grinning as he shoots a quick side-glance at you. "yeah," he continues, snorting when what looks like a flurry of no fucking way's flood the chat.

he clicks his tongue disappointedly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "what, did all eight thousand of you think i couldn't pull? thanks a lot," satoru deadpans, waving his hand and sighing dramatically. "i don't know what any of you mean. i'm a catch!"

you snicker at that, and your laughter only increases when satoru turns and gapes at you. he juts his bottom lip out, face sinking into an adorable pout at he crosses his arms. "even my own girlfriend's laughing at me," he mumbles petulantly. "hmph!"

satoru sticks his tongue out at you childishly, and you blow a kiss back. he pretends to faint before turning back to his monitor, quickly skimming the comments before he gasps. "what do you mean, she probably doesn't exist?!" he sputters, clutching his heart exaggeratedly.

the look on his face is priceless — imagine getting told by thousands of people that one, they think you can't pull, and two, that they don't even believe your significant other exists. naturally, satoru reacts as dramatically as ever. he pretends to ignore everyone in the comments before calling them out individually.

"oh, i see you, toji... fishy-guru," satoru gripes, wagging his finger at his screen. "my girlfriend exists and she's mine! don't even think about it." he pauses, squinting at the chat before correcting himself with an eyeroll. "fushiguro. whatever. either way, she's real and she's all mine."

satoru swivels his chair to face you, making an incredulous face as he gestures to the screen. "can you believe this?" he grumbles, ocean-blue eyes focused on you. "these guys don't think you're real."

you shrug, toying with the corner of his sheets as you smile back at satoru. he's so childish, but that's just one of the many things you adore about him. sure, he's an annoying brat, but at least he's a total sweetheart too.

your boyfriend extends his hand, beckoning you to come over to him. "c'mon, darling," he cooes, scrunching up his nose at you. "wanna help me prove these losers wrong?" satoru mouths please, and the puppy eyes he gives you are cute enough to convince you.

so you hop off his bed, running a hand through your hair as you stroll over to where he sits in front of his monitor. beaming like a kid on his birthday, satoru takes your hand and twines his fingers with yours.

smiling smugly, satoru pulls you on screen and into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. you watch the chat erupt with she's real's and how did he pull a girl like her's and smile, flicking satoru's forehead affectionately.

he ignores the thousands of dumbstruck users in his comments and holds you close to his chest, adjusting his grip on your waist to make his lap as comfortable as possible for you. satoru's adoring eyes are fixed on you, only you, even as his chat explodes.

suguru-geto: haha i already knew

toji-fushiguro: how the fuck did a loser like him pull her?

yuuji-itadori: gojo has a girlfriend??? what did i miss??