#he’s so insightful 🥰

[babygirlspurgeon]

“You can call it a drink, but you don’t drink it, but it’s in a cup, so it’s this little concoction in a cup.” - Matt Boldy, 2023

[mobius-m-mobius]

#there are two types of actors 😂💖

[yuwuta]

cute nurse yuuta but also unhinged nurse yuuta, you see? nurse yuuta with cold fingers and needles. white rooms and white gloved fingers touching you. nurse yuuta who is making mental notes of every detail of your skin, your needs. and of course the short exchanged words. and who is mesmerized by how softly the needle pierces through your skin, by how you trust him. he's done it a thousand times before, it shouldn't be this special. the delicacy in which his body moves as to not make it any more uncomfortable than it already is. he wonders if he could make you drift away slowly, warmly falling deep into unconsciousness without notice. those thoughts trouble him often. it's tempting.

I always liked hospitals and nursers. And blood tests. It's definitely not the usual harmless Yuuta.

oh…….. the more often he has to graze your skin, to draw your blood, to check your temperature, the more he keeps thinking about how he almost wants to keep you under his care forever…. how he kind of wants to be the only person to have to care for you. 

and it’s not that he wants to hurt you to keep you there, he just wants to be the only one to touch you, he wants to be the only one you trust. and he wants to know everything about you, he knows the ins but he wants to see it affect your outside too. he knows your blood is warm in the vials, but how does it feel against your cheeks when you’re flustered? when you’re happy? when you’re scared? does your skin feel cold everywhere—where are you warm? he’s seen the graph of your heart on ECGs, but who does it beat for? can he make it beat for him? if he gave you part of him, would you keep it, would he be able to live inside of you? they’re very tempting thoughts; troublesome, but tempting….

[avatardoggo]

we’ve been texting back and forth for the whole week 🙈☺️😳🥰

[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.

[moonlight-records]

Paddock Throuple | OP81 & LN4 (sm!au)

pairing: oscar piastri x reader x lando norris

summary: an insight to the paddocks favorite throuple outside of f1 before a race weekend

warning: none!

fc: none!

oscarpiastri tagged yourusername and landonorris

liked by yourusername, landonorris, yourbestfriend, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc, and 1.6m others

oscarpiastri this is why lando and y/n need to be supervised when they're together

view all 982,403 comments

user025 LANDOSCARY/N NATION WAKE UP!!!

user842 what are they doing in the first photo?? 😭

user5936 THE PURPLE HOODIE IS SOOO CUTE WHERE IS IT FROM???

↳ user382 i think it's lando's hoodie on his store! ↳ user5936 runNING RN I NEED IT

carlossainz55 is lando trying to...crawl into the game?

↳ oscarpiastri yes but not to shoot since he's bad, the balls got stuck ↳ landonorris RUDE OMG??? ↳ yourusername don't cry cause he's right ↳ carlossainz55 they're right you are not...the best ↳ landonorris THE SLANDER IS--WILD

logansargeant y/n! grab me a coke while you're up there 🙏

↳ yourusername i got you bestie! 💕

user8739 YES OFF TRACK PHOTOS WE'RE SO BACK!!!

yourusername YOU LOVE US AND YOU KNOW IT!!!

↳ landonorris YEAH, WHAT Y/N SAID!! ↳ oscarpiastri just because I love you both, doesn't mean my statement isn't wrong. ↳ landonorris BOOOOOOOO ↳ yourusername 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅

yourusername tagged oscarpiastri, landonorris, logansargeant and alex_albon

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, logansargeant, alex_albon, arthur_leclerc, and 1.1m others

yourusername someone say mclaren & williams double date? 👀

comments on this post has been limited

logansargeant did someone say adventure?

landonorris we should run it back like NOW

alex_albon best night ever!!

arthur_leclerc what is happening in the second photo?

↳ alex_albon lando and oscar trying to hold logan up but it back fired so i came to his rescue ↳ landonorris alex failed at his rescue mission ↳ alex_albon SHUT UP 😫 ↳ logansargeant i think alex did a great job at saving me 🥰 ↳ oscarpiastri well if someone didn't scare us, it would've been a perfect photo ↳ yourusername oops?

charles_leclerc you are all menaces together i love it

↳ landonorris i was about to say we weren't better when streaming 😂

lewishamilton44 did someone win me something?

↳ yourusername yes king 💪💪

oscarpiastri okay i'll admit it, the amusement park was fun

↳ yourusername YES I WIN!!!

landonorris tagged yourusername and oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, maxverstappen, and 1.6m others

landonorris pre-race date night ft. spiderman 🥵🫢

view all 1.1m comments

user9473 stop y'all are so CUTE 🥹🥹

user34 omg omg I WAS AT THE SAME AQUARIUM AND THOUGHT I WAS INSANE ↳ yourusername not insane! ↳ user34 OMG YOU RESPOND!!!

alex_albon IS THAT SPIDERMAN?!

↳ oscarpiastri yes, yes it is ↳ landonorris met a REAL celebrity today ↳ yourusername ugh soooo upset i missed spidey 😫

user406 THE SPIDERMAN ONE AHAHAHA

user3857 please tell me y/n is coming with y'all to Singapore!! PLEASE!!!

↳ yourusername 🤭

yourusername tagged landonorris and oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, alex_albon, arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen, logansargeant and 1.3m others

yourusername pretty boyfriends and prettier helmets 😮‍💨😮‍💨

comments on this post has been limited

maxverstappen i swear they never can agree on the weather

↳ yourusername of course not! one is always too hot and one is always too cold

landonorris i feel like you're only dating us for the helmets

↳ oscarpiastri and the paddock passes ↳ yourusername 😮...what?

logansargeant y/n i got our drinks ready

↳ yourusername LETS GOOOO!!!

landonorris you know i didn't get a good luck kiss

↳ oscarpiastri i second this. how are we suppose to do good without our good luck kiss to start the race weekend? ↳ landonorris we can't ↳ yourusername oh you big babies, i'm coming!!

[cherrygirlfriend]

drew starkey's lowkey/secret relationship with author!reader

when drew was casted in the movie adaptation of one of your novels, he looked you up, first on google and then on instagram.

when he saw your page, he messaged you asking for your insight into the character he was going to be playing; in reality, he just wanted an excuse to talk to you. the two of you messaged each other for a bit, but mostly just stuff related to the character he was going to be playing.

when they started filming, you'd occasionally visit on set and have casual conversations with drew and the rest of the cast but nothing that significant; you thought that drew was attractive and vice versa but you were in a relationship so just kept it friendly.

a while after the filming for the movie adaptation had wrapped, your friends dragged you to a party, to 'get back out there' after your breakup. when your body bumped into a man's solid chest, the last person you expected for it to belong to was drew.

after that mishap (that ended with drew's drink spilled all over his shirt) you two spent pretty much the entire night huddled in a corner, talking about books, movies, and generally getting to know one another.

that night you ended up going home with him; but the morning after you got really freaked out because hooking up with people randomly wasn't really your thing; you made a hasty exit out of his place, but later that day he ended up calling you, and after nearly thirty seconds of considering just declining, you finally answered.

you ended up talking it out with him, and because you seemed to get along, you agreed to 'hang out' with him when both of you had time, and what was supposed to be 'just coffee' turned into you two in his bed.

afterward, you talked, and decided on a friends-with-benefits kind of situation, due to your recent break up and the fact that drew's work had him traveling constantly.

months went by, and you didn't even notice how casually hooking up and hanging out whenever he was in town to you two constantly texting one another, facetiming when he was away, and basically spending any time possible together.

all of your (and his) friends noticed it, and though they tried to tell you two to 'just be together', you both were stubborn, and insisted that there were no feelings there, just friendship and casually hooking up.

at midnight on a random wednesday, when drew was away filming, your doorbell rang. and when you went to open it, it was him. drew just let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around you.

and for you both, it felt like home.

BONUS:

yourname

Liked by drewstarkey and others yourname: happy birthday to the cheugiest guy i know! one year closer to the retirement home baby 🥰🎂 thanks for making the best morning (and midnight writing session) coffee. Comments are off. 4 November

[artists-ally]

Hello sweetheart 😘 I really really adore your writing so much ! So, I dare to send in an idea as well 🥰 maybe you're dating Harvey but he barely had time for you lately, so one time he wants to surprise you with dinner at his apartment and you enjoy your time together. Then you both end your evening with lovely passionate smut and lots of cuddles afterwards. In the morning he wakes up before you and takes time in admiring you, realizing how happy he is to have you ? Hope that's not too cheesy ❤️ thank you so much in advance!

{Warm} Reader x Harvey Specter

This has been sitting in my inbox for god knows how long. I thank you for your patience my dear. I love this idea so much, and this song Warm by SG Lewis is just perfect. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. P.S. nothing is EVER too cheesy for me to write <3

Word Count: 3,998

Warnings: Just some good ole fluff and smut, some very soft dom!Harvey.

Tagging: @rosedpetal @blacktreacle22

Summary: After a particularly brutal month in the office, you've noticed some changes. Harvey is just... not present. Rather than demanding his attention, you just simply float by, knowing eventually he'll return his negligence. And boy does he ever.

~~~~~

“Yn, you really just need to grow a set and tell Harvey he’s being a jackass,” Donna scolds through the phone.

I roll my eyes, “Donna, I told you before. I don’t mind. He’s focused on winning this case, and it quite literally is the life and death of this firm. So, while I appreciate your ‘words of affirmation’, I didn’t ask for them.”

“I know, I just hate to see you so neglected.”

“Oh please,” I pff, flipping my head to move a chunk of hair out of my eye. “Neglected is probably the last thing I am. I can entertain myself. I actually haven’t minded the space. Every once and a while it’s good to go back to the basics. I’ve finally learned how to take care of the plants, I can make a mean lasagna too. I’ve even gotten back into reading. For fun.”

“Sheesh, clearly something is wrong if you’ve been reading voluntarily.”

I snickered. “I don’t know, I saw a book recommendation on instagram and fell in love. Childhood penpals turned strangers, turned back to penpals and she found out he’s the world's biggest rock star and he’s been writing songs about her the entire time.”

“Sounds exactly like the fairytale mushy-gushy shit you love. How you found Harvey to fill those shoes I’ll never understand.”

“He’s just… I don’t know, exactly what I need? My life is perpetually disorganized and he’s too organized. We balance each other out. It just works, and I love our life. I love our dynamic, and I love him. Since he’s so busy, and I have the energy and mental space to, I don’t mind picking up the slack. Again, things will balance themselves back.”

Donna sighed, and I knew that flat line was on her lips. “I know, you’re always so insightful. Optimistic bitch.” I cackled a laugh. “But in all seriousness, Harvey needs you. You’re right, he is too organized. He needs you to unwind him. I know how he is, and he needs a kick in the ass every once in a while. So, if by the end of the week, he doesn’t come around a little, just push him. He’ll fold. Especially for you, and that ass of yours.”

A smile bloomed onto my face, the door of our apartment building coming into view. “Thanks Donna, I’ll let you know how tonight goes. Maybe I’ll stop by the office in the morning and bring the crew some coffee, a few bagels as well.”

“This is why you will always remain my favorite. Now go eat that Chinese food, you sexy son of a bitch.”

“How did you know I had Chinese food?” 

“Because I’m Donna.” Then the line went dead.

Psycho. My psycho, but still a psycho. 

I did indeed have a takeout bag hooked in my elbow filled with Chinese food. Sesame chicken and wonton soup for me, beef and broccoli with pork lo-mein for Harvey. I got a small order of pork fried rice and some scallion pancakes to share. I was about ten seconds away from crouching in an alley and eating myself into a coma. 

The city streets were just beginning to fill up with Friday night festivities. Those heading to lavish dinners or exotic clubs, dressed to the nines with pristine hair and outfits. I looked down at my beat up orthopedic sneakers that kept the never ending foot pain of being a museum tour guide at bay. Here I was, surrounded by the most eccentric and busy place on earth, with absolutely nothing to do.

And that felt amazing. 

I scurried up the steps to the apartment building, greeting our doorsman with a smile and a wave. He gave me one back, pulling open the big glass doors. The mild April chill vanished and the comfortable, still air caressed my cheeks. The elevator door chimed open, chimed closed, and ascended to the top. 

21… 22… 23… the floors climbed and climbed. What was I going to watch? The new season of Bridgerton was out, I could watch that. No, the next season can’t possibly be as good as Charlottes. Maybe a movie? Didn’t that second Dunne one come out? I’m not sure I understand the first one enough to comprehend the second. 

The ding sounds, and I step off, juggling my keys as I rattle off more ideas in my head. 

There's always The Big Bang Theory, maybe Two Broke Girls? Nah, I’ve seen those a thousand times. Maybe I should watch something new. No, nothing sounds interesting. I could try to read, but I don’t wanna risk spilling anything on my book. Once in third grade, I was eating a bowl of cereal in the morning, and I spilled the entire thing on my book. If You Give A Mouse A Cookie was never the same again. 

When the door opened, I toed off my sneakers, kicking them in the corner. I threw the keys in the bowl and hummed a song aimlessly. In the kitchen, I pried a plate out of the cabinet and began to spoon food onto my plate. I won’t tell Harvey, but I stole some of his lo-mein. 

“Yn,” a voice spoke. 

I spun so hard I knocked my hip into the kitchen island corner, a scream bubbling out. “Jesus fucking christ Harvey! You could warn me next time, fucking hell.” 

My heart thrashed in my chest, my eyes going a little wonky from adrenaline. I swallowed, bending at the waist to catch my breath.

“Sorry, my love,” he smiled, coming to raise me from my hunched over position. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“A simple text would’ve been lovely,” I sighed, rising to my full height. “What the hell are you doing…”

All words died on my tongue as I looked around. The table was decorated with a white cloth, candles skewed about. There were flowers in a vase on the counter, beside it a card with two small boxes. There was champagne chilling in a metal bucket of ice, a box of chocolate covered strawberries and cherries next to it. 

“Harvey, what’s all this for? Our anniversary isn’t for two months.”

He grinned, that smirk going right to my chest. “No, it’s not.”

“Then what's all… this?” I waved my hand around, noticing a few balloons blown up and taped to the archway. I somehow completely missed the rose petals lining the floor. 

“It’s because I love you,” Harvey grabbed my hips, pressing our fronts together. “You’ve been… dealing with me for weeks now. My absence, my constant mood swings and lashing out. And I know what you’re gonna say-”

“That I know you’ve been stressed and need some time to focus on the case?”

Harvey tilted his head, a flat expression on his lips. “Yes. That.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Harvey. I know how important work is to you, and I know that you’ve really needed to focus so the firm doesn’t crumble and-”

“But I need you to know that you are a thousand times more important than work,” he says, placing his palms on my cheeks. He kisses me softly, stealing the air from my lungs. “Then the firm,” another kiss.  “And anything that has to do with that hellscape. I love you, Yn. And I don’t know what I would do without your constant flexibility with my chaotic life. So this is a very small token of my appreciation. The first part, at least.”

I hummed against his lips, letting my arms lay across his shoulders. I kiss him deeply. “The first part?”

“Mhmm,” he nodded, hands falling down my back, a less than PG-13 flex of his hands on my ass. “First, I want you to open those little boxes. Then, we’re gonna eat and have some dessert.”

“I feel like there's more to this list,” I smile, making my way back to the counter to get our food. One second to the next, Harvey gripped my arm and pulled me back into his chest. I could feel his desire pressing into me. “Looks like I’m right.”

“You’re always right,” he whispered, breath tickling my ear. He kissed the side of my neck, leaving a little bite below my ear. “Go sit, I’ll get the food.”

A new thrill fueled my body, propelling my steps to the dining room. I sat, playing with the end of the table cloth as Harvey brough everything over. The champagne, the card, the boxes and the food. Before he made his way to his seat, his palm cupped my neck and he tilted my head back. His deep, lust filled eyes locked with mine before he kissed me again. 

“Open whichever you’d like, darling,” he sat opposite me, tucking the napkin across his lap. 

“Just because I did what anyone would for their love doesn’t mean you need to shower me with gifts, Harvey,” I said, giving him a pointed look. 

“And if I bought them just because I wanted to?” 

Point taken. I read the card, a picture of a polar bear wearing sunglasses on a beach with a coconut in its hand plastered on the front. 

Classy. It made me giggle nonetheless.

To my Yn,

Thank you. I’m sorry. I love you. Thank you for being here, even when I wasn’t. I’m sorry for my absence, I promise I’ll be more conscious of my time spent at the office. I love you, more than I ever thought I’d ever be able to love anything. You are everything I’ve always wanted, and everything I never knew I’d need. After this last month, I didn’t understand just how badly I craved you. Your smile, your laugh, your warmth. The taste of you in the morning, and those adorable snores at night. No matter how many times I do it, I’ll never get tired of kissing you. Never tire of taking your breath away. I’ll never get sick of you being the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing before I sleep. 

You are forever entwined in my soul, Yn. And I wouldn’t dare to imagine it otherwise. 

I love you. <3 Harvey

I looked up at him, tears lining my eyes. He just winked at me, fork scraping his plate as he shoved a mouthful in. 

“Fuck you for that,” I sniffled, brushing away the tears as I blinked. “That was so uncalled for, you didn’t need to do that to me. That’s so unfair.”

He smiled, “I know you love that shit. And before you ask, Donna didn’t come near me when I was writing that. It all came from up here.”

I laughed as he touched the side of his head. “Good to know all those years at Harvard Law taught you something other than corporate jargon.”

“Open the boxes, little devil,” he sipped his champagne, nudging the boxes towards me. 

Both were a dark blue velvet, unlabeled. They were closed with a silver ribbon. The first one I grabbed was about the size of a book, and something rattled inside. I undid the bow, lifting the lid. Inside was a Kindle. I gasped, pulling it out and looking it over. 

“Harvey,” I grinned, mouth falling open. “You did not.”

“But I did,” he smiled brightly. “Unlimited.”

I could jump his bones from across the table. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Well, after you find out I got you a case, a Pop Socket, and one of those stands with the remote clicker so you don’t even have to hold it, you might love me a little more.” I squealed, pushing out of my chair as I crashed into him. We nearly tipped backwards. Harvey laughed, rubbing my sides as I latched onto him. “I knew you’d appreciate this. I know we haven’t been together much, but I remembered you showed me a video of some girl who had one.” “You remembered that?” A new set of tears choked my voice. 

“Of course I did. And I also remember you telling me that if I bought you another set of earrings you’d use them to pierce my ears, so that option went out the window.”

I swatted his chest, Harvey’s smile easy as he eased me off of him. “This is perfect, thank you so much.”

“Of course, my dear. Now open the next one.”

What could be better than a Kindle Unlimited? With a stand AND a remote to turn the pages for me. Harvey has no idea what he’s done, I’ll literally never get out of bed again. 

Practically ripping the box in half, I take off the lid and peer inside. 

I blink a few times, looking from him to the box. “My passport?”

“Yup.”

“I feel like there is something I’m not getting here.”

“There is.”

“Are you gonna tell me or make me guess?”

“I’m not that mean,” he rolled his eyes. 

“I mean you have been ignoring me for the past month,” I feigned being upset, letting out a little yelp when he threw a piece of broccoli at me. “You're literally four years old.”

“We’re going to China.”

Everything stopped moving. I dropped the box, my small, navy blue passport skittering across the floor. My ears buzzed, my fingers buzzed. “I- What?”

Harvey grinned. Fuck, I missed that grin. “We’re going to China. We won the case last night, and I am desperate for some time with you. You’ve always wanted to go, so why not now? I have everything set up. We’re gonna stay in the mountains, we’re gonna go hiking and see some shows. I also know you’ve wanted to-”

“We’re going to China?” I had to make sure I heard him right? I’ve been learning the language for years now, engrossed with their rich culture and history. The cuisine, the art, the music… everything. Had I been in a different timeline, I would’ve moved there. 

“Yes, my love. We’re going to China. Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” My eyes nearly fell out of my skull. “I can’t take two weeks off of-”

“Yn,” he cut me off, knowing I was going to spiral into a never ending list of reasons of 'why this and why that'. “It’s all been taken care of. All you have to do is pack a bag and get you cute ass in my car on Sunday morning. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“But-But Harvey… what the FUCK? WE’RE GOING TO CHINA? Oh my god, I have to call Donna.”

“Can you call Donna tomorrow? I have other things I’d like to do before you go blabbering to her about how amazing and awesome I am for planning this.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Donna planned this, didn’t she?"

“She did find the panda place. And the art festival. But everything else was my doing. You can applaud now.” Cocky, arrogant son of a bitch. My cocky, arrogant son of a bitch, but one nonetheless.

I looked at him, dumbfounded. He did all this for me, just because he had a crazy workload. I feel like it should be the opposite, me pampering him, congratulating him on his huge win. Not him fueling my book obsession and planning my dream trip. 

But it was yet another reason I loved him more and more every day. He just did these things, without prompting. Without need. He felt like he was neglecting me, leading to… all of this. 

We ate our dinner, chatting about anything other than the case. I asked about it, twice, and he completely side-stepped my attempt. I wanted to know, but if he didn’t want to talk, I wouldn’t push. I told him the plot of this terrible Mafia romance book I finished earlier in the week, and he listened to every grating, awful point I made about it. All with a dopey smile on his face. 

Harvey cleared the plates, setting them in the sink. He brought more champagne, the strawberries and the cherries. In a calm silence, we devoured them, eyes raking over each other. I risked a look below the table, seeing just exactly where he wanted the next phase of the night to go. 

“You looking at it makes it worse, you know,” Harvey leaned back in his chair, my legs propped in his lap. He stroked his hand up and down, fingers dipping into one of the holes in my jeans. 

“Good,” I smiled, a sinful intent in my eyes. 

He looked from my smile to my eyes and back down. With a curse, he threw my legs off his lap and pulled my chair close to his. Harvey enveloped his mouth with mine, the sweet taste of chocolate mixed with the sour berry and tarte champagne. Every flavor on his tongue became my own. 

I was in his lap the next second, legs folded against his thighs. Harvey kept me firmly planted. Steady. He wouldn’t dare let me fall. I got lost in him, suddenly aware just how long it had been since I truly had him. Truly tasted him. Truly craved him.

He stood, taking me with him. The familiar route to our bedroom whirled by. I landed on the bed with a soft bounce, tugging on the collar of his shirt until he laid on top of me.

“So demanding,” he whispered on my lips. I wrapped my legs around his hips to emphasize my need. “Fuck… I love it when you get like this.”

“You made me this way, Harvey,” I pleaded, eyes catching him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you what you deserve,” Harvey sighs. It’s not heavy, but it’s noticeable. “Let me take care of you, Yn.”

“I just need you to-”

“I know, my love. Let me worship you. Treat you how you deserve. You’ve been so patient with me, now let me return the favor.”

Well, I’d be stupid to deny him.

Delicately, he kissed down my torso, lifting my shirt over my head and throwing it for tomorrow's problem. He removed my socks, then my jeans. From ankle to knee, he kissed and bit my skin, making me squirm against the sheets.

Every nerve ending in my body was on fire, the tips of my fingers and toes pulsing with anticipation. With the last remaining pieces of my clothes gone, he spread my legs, kneeling to the ground. 

The sight of Harvey Specter on his knees between my thighs was… empowering. Not that he hasn’t tasted me with his tongue, I’ve just… always been on top. Never so… exposed.

A heady sigh left my lips, body going lax with the first pass of his tongue on me. I clenched my legs against his ears, muffling my whines. He pushed them against the mattress, eyes pinning me as he sank his teeth into the muscle of my thigh. 

“You know better than to hide those pretty moans from me, my love.” Yes, I do know better. “Scream my fucking name if you want.”

I just might. 

He made quick work of me, practiced movements easily sending me up and up and up. He’d slow back down, torture me with more bruising marks on my thighs while I writhed and begged for him to let me release. I arched up off the bed when he added his fingers.

I was so close, a month's worth of pent up desire threatening me all at once. My mind and body were on fire. I couldn’t hold off any longer. I chase that high, circling my hips against his face. His hands, firmly planted on my inner thighs, I shook, that month long ache finally subsiding before roaring back to life. 

When I thought he’d stop, he kept going. Around and around and around his tongue went. Teasing and sending an endless supply of pleasure through my body. 

“H-Harvey,” I gasped, my body up in flames over his never ending devotion.

“I’ll stop when I want to. Fuck Yn, you taste so sweet. Almost as sweet as hearing you beg for me to let you cum. Can you take one more?”

Again, I nodded, content to let him spend however long he wanted at my aching core. My second release came much sooner than the first. He didn’t bother teasing me, knowing it would ruin all his hard work if he stopped. With a few more sweeping passes, he licked me clean, sitting back on his heels to look at me. He wiped my cum off on the back of his hand, giving me a wicked grin.

“You are so fucking beautiful, all laid out for me to do as I please,” Harvey said, beginning to strip. 

“Please Harvey, have me. Any way that you like.”

He chuckled, kneeling over me. “I will, but like I said, I want tonight to be all about you.”

“Well I want you to fuck me.” I am not very good at being subtle. 

“How can I deny you when you ask so nicely,” he purred, closing our lips together, I parted my legs for him, desperate for the friction of his body on mine. His chest, his stomach, his hands lacing with mine. I needed all of him all over me. 

It didn’t take long for him to slip inside me, every inch of him stretching me in the most desirable way. I hummed as he stilled, his need clear in the way his arms shook to keep still. 

“Move, please please move,” I begged, threading my hand in his hair. With a reluctant drop of his head, he rolled his hips into mine, our bodies finally meeting in full. 

“I was trying to be gentle,” he reasoned. 

“Fuck gentle, I need you. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know my love, I know.”

With each thrust into me, a new sensation bubbled inside me. My toes curled, my back bowed, my eyes fluttered shut. He quickened his pace, heavy breaths falling from his lips into mine. His air was mine. Every muttered curse and moan and praise went straight through me. He needed me as much as I needed him.

~~~~~

With my mind not fully awake, I lazily fling myself off my stomach and onto my back. My arm knocked into something hard, and I squinted against the morning sun. Oh, Harvey.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, crashing back down against the pillow. 

He chuckled, kissing the hand that accidentally hit him in the face. “It’s okay.”

“Are you going into the office?” I asked, still keeping my eyes closed. Man this bed is so comfy…

“No?” He said, a question in his tone. “Why would I?”

“Why else are you up so early?”

“I was just looking at you, my love. It’s been a while since I’ve just… looked at the love of my life. Taken the time to appreciate just how fucking stunning you are.”

My heart melted, a lovesick feeling welling up in my chest. I turned over, facing the handsome lawyer and grinned ear to ear. “I’m sure I look fabulous after last night.”

“You’ve never looked hotter. Lips swollen from mine, hair a mess from my hands… your body covered in my-”

“Okay,” I snatched his lips between my fingers, silencing his next words. “I did just wake up, at least let me shower before you destroy me again.”

“Only if I can quote on quote destroy you in the shower before I cook you breakfast and fuck you again on the counter.”

My eyes snapped open, meeting his blown out pupils. “You certainly have a vivid imagination for…” I looked over at the clock on the side of the bed. “... eight thirty-seven AM.”

“Wait till you find out I’ve been awake since six. With nothing to do but plot all the ways I could ruin you.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, offering my lips as a peace offering. He quickly accepted, kissing me deeply. “Man, I missed this.”

“More than you could ever know.”

[alienaiver]

HHHH FIRST OF ALL TJANK U THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!! this is everything aND MORE 🥺🥹🧡🧡🧡 ilysm dira u write so well its alWAYS SUCH A JOY TO READ UR WORKS AND TAKES ON TROPES AND CLICHES THEYRE ALWAYS SO FRESH AND WELL DONE !!!' 😭🧡🧡🧡

Senpai - Komori x reader

for the Haikyuu Request Game - requested by @alienaiver

He heard the story, like everyone else.

That hotshot from Karasuno with the buzz head had managed to score the legendary beauty that was Karasuno’s third-year manager. 

Relationships between players and managers weren’t uncommon but as far as Komori knew, the girls were usually the ones that were younger.

But there he was, Tanaka Ryunosuke, the proof that exceptions confirm the rule.

If only Komori could have been as lucky, he thought, as you graduated and left the school.

-

He’s a first year and training camp is a terrible mix of consoling his cousin and trying not to fall behind.

He needs to prove his place on the court just as much as Kiyoomi but he needs to prove his place on the team a little bit more.

“Here, your water.” You smile as you hand out the bottles, golden sunlight casting a halo around you as you walk through the throng of people catching their breath.

He’s not been in love before, has merely fancied one girl over the other in Junior High.

But this, the rapid beating of his heart, the longing pull that starts behind his navel and steers him towards you, always towards you, this must be love.

-

“My girlfriend-” It’s not polite but Komori has learned to tone out Washio every time he starts a sentence like that.

“So, what do you think?” Washio’s grinning at him and Suna‘s smirking next to him like he knows exactly what’s going on but choosing to enjoy the show instead of helping.

“About what?” 

“What I just said.”

“I wasn’t li-” Komori interrupts himself by turning his head, still way too attuned to your sight. But could it really be?”

“Earth to Komori, are you listening?”

“You guys go ahead.” He grins and fears that it must look a little bit hysterical, “I just realized I urgently need a coffee before we watch that movie.”

“You’re right.” Suna’s voice drawls lazily as he eyes Komori, ever the instigator, “I’ll come with you.”

“No, no. I’ll get you one. I know what you drink anyway. Go on, go ahead.”

-

“Is he okay?” You ask when Sakusa hides in the corner yet again.

The worry is visible on your face, painting shadows where none have been before.

He’s seen you cheerful, has seen you determined, but never worried like this. It creates a strange feeling in his chest, pulling him apart in two very distinct directions.

He wants to see more of this, wants to explore all there is to explore, see all the colors of emotion you can be painted in.

And he wants you to be never worried at all. Wants the shadows to disappear until you’re bathed in nothing but light.

Your hand is warm on his elbow as the two of you look over at Kiyoomi.

His voice is thick as he speaks but for a different reason than you must assume.

“He’s not good with crowds.”

“What can we do to help?”

That’s how he knows that he’s lost to this feeling.

Because in all your struggles, helping others has always come first.

-

By the time he makes it into the coffee shop he’d seen you walk in, he fears you might have already left again.

But there you are, waiting for your drink, still as beautiful as you’d been years ago.

“Senpai?” 

Oh god, he shouldn’t have called out to you like this, your name would have been way better, right?

But you look up and he cantell you recogniz him, pleasant surprise washing over your face.

“Komori-kun!” You smile. “What a surprise!”

“I just saw you walk past and had to say hi.” He tells you, feeling surprisingly shy all over again. You’ve always had that effect on him.

“What are you doing? Can I buy you a coffee?”

You laugh, taking your cup from the barista just as he utters the words. 

“That’s very sweet of you. I was just out shopping but I have some time, we could sit down and chat a bit if you want?”

He nods eagerly, following you to a table.

“What have you been up to, Senpai?” He asks, too happy about the fact you’re willing to spend your free time with him to care about anything at all.

-

You’re giggling at the back of the bus, heads stuck together over a movie playing on his phone. Kiyoomi is sleeping next to them, his curled-up body the reason you’d come back in the first place.

Talking to you has always been easy, the only Senpai he’s allowed to call by first name.

He wonders if you know how he feels about you. If it’s as visible on his face as it is on the inside.

Second-year just started and he’s already dreading the end of it, having to go through another year without you by their side. By his side.

He knows so much about you now, has learned so much in one year of knowing you yet feels like he doesn’t know enough.

He knows why you decided to become a manager instead of a member of the Girls Volleyball Club but he doesn’t know how you feel when you watch them instead of playing yourself.

He knows you’re struggling with a chronic illness you’re still not fully grasping the extent of but he doesn’t know how you feel about it on your good days, on your bad days, on the days that fall in the middle of it all.

He knows that you love their team but he doesn’t know how you feel about him, just that he’s younger than you, will always be younger than you and all girls in his class are looking at the older guys instead, never the other way around.

-

“Oh no, I should get going.” You look at your watch with a frown on your face. “I totally lost track of the time.”

“Oh, we should, I mean, we could…” Komori’s stumbling over his words now, “I’d like to do that again. If you want, I mean.”

You smile politely. “It was very nice, but I don’t go out for coffee often.”

Komori’s thinking of Tanaka, of the rare exceptions proving the rule, and he takes his heart into his mouth.

“What about a date?”

“Huh?” You look surprised, but not in a negative way, and he soldiers on.

“I’ve been interested in you ever since you were a manager for us but I was too shy to confess to you back then. But we’re older now and we’re both single and I’d like to take you out on a date. Only if you’re comfortable with it, though. I don’t want to pressure you, Senpai.”

Your face had been open and curious up until his last word, your brows furrowing at the formal term. Komori knows when he’s fucking up and this seems to be the moment for him.

“Or you can take your time and think about it first,” he tries to save what he can. “I can give you my number.”

There’s a moment of stillness between the two of you, as if even the world is holding its breath to wait for your answer.

“Yes, that would be okay.”

His hand’s shaking as he scribbles down his number, his heart in his throat.

He’d never thought he’d get the chance to confess to you, not after you graduated.

But as you leave he can’t help the thought that this isn’t going to work out.

He’s just not Tanaka.

He’s not the exception.

-

It’s custom to hand your second button to the person you like the most on the day of your graduation.

But by the time he graduates you’re no longer a student at their school.

He plucks the button from his jacket the minute he steps out of the house, pushing it into his bag until it’s somewhere hidden between his books. He hopes that it will be out of sight and out of mind but he cannot stop thinking about it.

Not when Kiyoomi throws him a knowing look.

Not when seemingly everyone passing them wonders aloud who had gotten his second button first.

And it’s not that no one asks for the button.

It’s the fact that he’s learned what he wants and even if there might be another person out there for him, someone like you but not like you, they’re not at school with him today.

-

One day, two days, three days pass without a word from you.

Komori should have known.

“You seem down, man.” Washio blocks the door of the changing room, worry in his eyes.

“Yeah, you were so happy after you ditched us at the movies, what happened?” Suna’s trying to act as cool as ever but the fact that he’s staying behind with Washio tells Komori that his teammate is worried.

“‘s nothing guys.” He tries to deflect but Washio’s not stepping aside.

“Spill.”

And maybe it’s the fact that these boys have not been on a team with him in High school, have never met you before or known his awkward self trying to hide his crush, but as soon as the first words fall from his lips he can’t stop talking, pouring it all out.

“Damn.” Washio huffs out when he ends while Suna’s on his phone again, chewing on his lip as he types.

“That’s her?” He turns his phone to your instagram profile. It’s a picture of you smiling at the beach, volleyball  tucked under your arm. 

“Yeah.” Komori mumbles, worried for whatever Suna might say next. But he just pockets his phone and claps one hand on his shoulder, pressing the firm muscle as if to tell him, without words, that he knows exactly what he’s feeling right now.

At least he’s not going through this alone.

-.-.-.-

“My name is Komori Motoya. I played Libero at the Dōshō Junior High. I look forward to playing with you. Please take care of me.” He bows with the other boys but none of them stick out to you like he does.

It’s not that he’s got talent. Because Sakusa does too.

It’s not that he’s tall. Because Sakusa is taller.

It’s not even the fact that he’s cute. Because Tsukasa might be cuter.

You can’t tell what it is, but you can point out when it shows.

In the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles or his mouth curls when he thinks.

In the way he manages to make everyone open up - even you - and never seems to get tired of listening to his cousin's rants. 

You know he has a great future ahead and you wish him the best of luck, hoping against all common sense that your future might intertwine.

Sufferers of chronic illnesses and future sports stars rarely have many things in common.

At least you’ve had High School.

-

One hour. Two hours. Three hours.

You can’t take it anymore, phone pressed against your ear as you wait for the call to be picked up.

You don’t wait for your best friend to properly greet you before the words spill from your lips like the surge of waves.

“Do you remember Komori?”

“Komori?”

“Komori Motoya? Libero? Second Year? Do you remember him?”

“Please, I’d never forget that tall bean pole of sweetness. You had such a crush on him, it was insane. What made you think of him?”

Your chewing on your nails now, a trait you thought you’d gotten over.

“I met him today. We-we had a coffee together.”

“Oh, that’s cute.”

“CUTE?” You huff and apologize for your outbreak instantly, pacing your room now in another futile attempt to calm yourself down.

“He confessed to me. I don’t know what to do!”

“What do you mean? You say yes, of course.”

“But- What about never dating younger guys?”

“Please. you’re both grown ups now, that’s different. But tell me all the details first, I have to live through you, remember?”

-

“Here, take my jacket.” Komori’s jersey jacket envelopes you like a blanket, still warm from his own body heat. It smells like him too, a little bit sweet and a little bit citrusy.

You try not to dip your nose into it and fail but he’s not noticing it, eyes ahead as you walk, his hand a steadying presence on your back.

“I can gather the things myself.” You remind him. “Surely you need the rest after training.”

“It’s okay.” He smiles down at you and your steps falter the slightest bit, your heart betraying you by jumping at the familiar sight. “You would have to walk multiple times and with me we can get this done in one.”

And you think that’s it. That he’s just helpful like he always is. But he always, always cuts into your resolve with his words and his smile. Always, always makes you think that maybe, just maybe, you should give in.

“Besides. I like spending time with you.”

His hand brushes yours as you walk and you wonder what would happen if you just took it, felt the warmth of his pulse under your fingers, allowed yourself to be loved by him.

But your future is still dangling in front of you with its fangs revealed. The future is scary and unsure of many things but tests and doctors telling you all the things you won’t be able to do.

Love is often a fickle thing. 

You’d rather look back knowing you could have had him than look back and know that you lost him.

-

You give yourself 24 hours to think this over before you text him. 

At 23 hours and thirty minutes you decide that enough is enough and send him the text you’d spent thirty minutes revising with your friend yesterday.

There’s no answer.

No read sign, no dancing dots. 

You tell yourself that he’s probably still training and force yourself to put your phone away.

Two days pass until your phone vibrates with a message you’d almost given up on.

But as you open the text, you freeze in your spot.

“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number. My name’s not Komori.”

He’d given you a wrong number.

But he’d sounded so certain, so honest…

-

“Never have I ever broken a bone.” He teases, eyes sparkling as he watches you take a sip of your soda.

The rest of the team is sprinkled across the restaurant, Sakusa just a few seats over talking with your first-year manager about the importance of sanitizing the volleyballs properly.

She’s clearly infatuated with him and he’s clearly oblivious to it.

“Never have I ever broken my word.” You test him and his mouth curls as he thinks before shaking his head.

You shouldn’t look too closely at his lips, shouldn’t think too much about his eyes, but the end of the school year is nearing, graduation looming over you and the sight of his face is the only thing keeping you sane some days.

-

Two days.

Two days you spend doubting yourself, your perception of him.

On Monday you give in to the quiet voice mumbling in the back of your brain, reminding you of hours spent in the gym with him, laughing at his jokes, marveling at how easy comforting others comes to him.

He’s a good guy, always has been.

You think of his shy smile as you type the numbers you’d googled earlier, think of him blushing as you listen to the ringing on the other side.

“EJP Raijin management, Nishida Sadao speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hello Nishida-san, I am calling today with an unusual request but I hope you can help me…”

-

You cry on your graduation day.

Most people cry on their graduation day. 

Some of them shed happy tears, and some of them get their heart broken.

You wonder if you’re the first to break your own heart.

When will the time come when you can trust your decisions?

When will the time come when you can allow yourself to live?

You tell yourself that you will find someone else. Someone like him but not like him.

-

You’re still wearing your office attire, well aware of how out of place you’re looking as the doors open and one athlete after the other leaves the gym, throwing you curious glances.

Every time you hear the creaking sound of the door opening, you stand up a little straighter, fight the nervous fidgeting of your hands and the urge to chew on your nails again.

This time, a dark-haired man steps out, golden eyes landing on you just like with everyone else before. But while everyone else had looked away again, trying to seem polite, his eyes widened in surprise and he let out something that sounded like a string of curse words before he slipped back inside.

A second later, the door opens again, this time to Komori who’s looking at someone behind him.

“Suna, what are you doing? What do you me-” He stops when he sees you, blood rushing to his face in a blush so vivid you’ve never seen before.

“Hi.” You speak first when he seems unable to open his mouth.

“I tried texting you.” You soldier on this time, tongue dry in your mouth, heart hammering in your chest. “But I got the wrong number. At first, I thought it might have been on purpose…”

“It wasn’t.” He bursts out, blushing even more as he stammers. “I must have… I didn’t… I meant.”

You lift the bag in your arms, a thermos peaking out of the top. “Do you want to go for coffee?” You ask, well aware that it’s well past 6 p.m.

But his eyes glitter as he steps closer, just like they did in High School when you handed him his water bottle.

“Are you sure?” He asks and you know exactly how he feels.

You nod, a smile pulling at your lips.

“After all, you still owe me your second button.”

-

Love comes to those who grasp it.

Love comes to those who are patient, trusting that when it appears once it will appear twice.

Love comes to those who know that right person wrong time is not the end of it all.

After all, time isn’t linear.

It overlaps like the petals of a rose.

-

Liberos are usually the shortest player on the team. Komori isn’t.

Managers usually fall in love with the older players. You didn’t.

How lucky to be the exception to confirm the rule.

But, as Suna thinks to himself, watching the two of you leave that night, there might not be a rule to this at all.

And if there is no rhyme and rule to this game, he might still have a chance.

[ithebookhoarder]

It's completely fine if you don't do this but I loved your Colin one, so can you do how the other brothers would react if they found out you were pregnant??!?!?!?!

Unexpectedly Expecting (Anthony / Benedict Bridgerton x AFAB!reader):

A/N: Thank you for sending this in! I'm combining this with another request - I hope that's ok? 👇 As both were on a similar track, but I can always do more later on this because who doesn't love imagining the Bridgerton boys with little ones?! 🥰

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, references to doctors and medical professionals, pregnancy symptoms like nausea and morning sickness, mentions of trouble conceiving a child, sex references, swearing, blood (let me know if I missed any!).

Masterlist:

Anthony Bridgerton:

As Viscount Anthony would likely be expecting to have children and heirs of his own and yes, it would be a concern if you weren’t falling pregnant as a couple. However, I think it upsets him more than anything because of how upsetting it is for you. He loves you and seeing you beating yourself up and making yourself sick with worry is heartbreaking. 

He has so many siblings and they have children so the Bridgerton estate and line will continue, he soothes, hoping it would take some pressure off of yourself. If you fall pregnant then that would be a blessing, but you weren’t a failure. In fact, for all he knows, he could be the issue. It’s impossible to be certain either way and he would never let you take that on yourself. Any arguments you’d have would be about that and nothing else. 

“If you think I will sit here and allow you to abuse yourself in such a way then you are sorely mistaken, my love-“

“-You don’t understand, Anthony! This is my fault. Even if you do not agree. To society, to the rest of the world, the blame will lay solely on me! That’s all that matters!” 

“No! You are all that matters and I will not allow you to keep torturing yourself this way. We will stop, do you hear me? No more talk of heirs or blame or anything to do with the subject. Let us just enjoy our life as it is for now. The future is unimportant.” 

Violet would side with Anthony, as would all his siblings. They love you too and want you to be happy - even if Violet does offer some tips and insights on ways one could assist with falling pregnant, but only at your request.

Still, when you’re not with child months later you start to lose hope. 

It gets worse as more of the Bridgerton siblings start getting married and falling pregnant. They would never rub it in your face, but it doesn’t make it any less painful when you see them or their partners caressing their bumps or discussing what names they could choose.  

You’d wish them well, obviously, but inside you feel like you’re dying. Even Anthony holding you close and pressing a comforting kiss against your cheek does nothing to raise your spirits. 

With each passing day you become just a little more certain that you’re not destined to have a child… which is why you’re utterly stunned when you miss your monthly bleed - not once, but twice… 

You didn’t say anything at first, obviously worried that it was just delayed from your recent stress. However, when it happens again you start to dare to hope for the impossible and you’re all but racing to get a physician to confirm the diagnosis. 

As soon as you do, you’re racing straight back to your husband to share the good news. You don’t care if he is in a meeting, at his club, with his family or even in the middle of the street. You still sprint to his side and blurt the news for everyone to hear.

The tears are instantaneous, as is the cheer of delighted disbelief he gives, throwing his arms about you and spinning you around until you’re both dizzy. “This… this is the greatest blessing we could have received, my love. I’m so happy… we’re going to be parents? We’re having a child?… oh, lord. We’re having a child.”

This man has been acting as a father to his siblings for so long you have no problem imagining him taking to the role like a duck to water. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be scared out of his mind to think of the responsibility of raising a child of his own. 

You can expect this man to be badgering his mother with a never ending list of questions - heck, he’d even swallow his pride and ask Simon and Daphne for advice if it came to it. After all, ‘if Hastings can do it, it can’t be too difficult’.

You’re laughing too hard to even try and correct him.

This man would be so protective of you whilst you were pregnant - especially after the troubles you’ve had getting to this point. 

“I really think you ought to have a maid accompany you when you journey to and fro. I should hate for something to happen to you."

“Anthony, I’m only going for a walk around the garden!”

“But still-“

Anything you could possibly need he has already bought three of them. No expense is spared for you and your unborn child - including summoning doctors from their beds in the middle of the night if you even think something might be wrong with either you or the baby. 

Speaking of doctors, he would fight anybody who tried to banish him from your side when the time comes. He and his mother, should you wish her there, would be at your side the whole time. They would be your biggest cheerleaders and would do whatever they could to ensure you were cared for and supported, whether it be mopping your brow, holding you as you pace around, or advocating for you against any doctor who tries to violate your wishes about the birth. 

And when you are finally handed a crying, wrinkled, cherub with Anthony’s eyes… well, it’s all worth it. You have never felt a love as pure as this, except for when you met Anthony, and nothing can ruin such a perfect moment. 

Benedict Bridgerton:

Benedict would be so calm about possibly having children with you. If you do have children, then they will be loved and adored - obviously. But if you don’t? Then that doesn’t matter. It means you two can continue your adventures together for a while longer, travelling wherever your heart desires, visiting galleries and indulging in your bohemian lifestyle with all your friends.

You have your freedom - even more so now that you’re married. Society doesn’t care what you do now that you’re no longer on the marriage mart. It’s liberating, and any pressure to produce heirs comes from only you or your loved ones, so it’s non-existent.  

However, if you did want children then Benedict would be more than eager to help create them… and get creative about doing so. 

“Benedict! That is not how a child is conceived… no wonder you’re a student of the arts. The academy of science would never admit you with such a lack of understanding about basic anatomy!”

“You’re right, my dear, but you have to admit - this is a hell of a lot more fun.” 

He would be nothing but supportive of you and so gentle every time your monthly bleed approached, especially if nothing happens. He understands how your hopes rise and how hard it hits you when you realise it hasn’t yet worked. He’d never insult you or diminish your feelings. 

If anything, he would be quick to shoulder any possible blame, refusing to let you even begin to suggest that it has anything to do with you or your body. You are perfect. End of - and he’ll fight anyone who suggests otherwise. 

“You can’t rush things, angel. After all, the best things are worth the time and effort. Michelangelo took over four years to finish the Sistine Chapel, and Da Vinci sixteen years to paint the Mona Lisa. Some things are worth the wait… and if it doesn’t happen how we wish, then we’re already creating something so beautiful between us. Our family will be perfect, no matter how it looks, how it comes about, or even when it does.”

And when it does? Well, then you’ve never seen him look so happy, tears pouring from his eyes as you confirm the good news.

You also fear for a moment that he’s about to swoon, he goes so pale and he even starts to breath heavily as he paces back and forth, muttering ‘I… I’m going to be a father? A father? Me?’. His imposter syndrome would hit him with full force and it would take several weeks for him to process it enough to calm down and be excited rather than terrified. However, he’d never have been anything other than positive towards you. You know it’s his love for your unborn child that makes him panic about being a good father.  

Also, he would be SO supportive once you are expecting. He would be there holding your hair back if you felt nauseous and bringing you endless cups of tea without you even asking. 

He wouldn’t complain in the slightest about staying in with you, rather than going to whatever social events his family had organised. As he argued, it gave him ample time to finish whatever piece he was working on next and he got to keep you company in the meantime. 

I just feel he’d paint something for the baby, whether it be a piece to hang on the wall of the nursery, or the wall of the nursery itself. You’d find him stood in front of the nursery wall, covered in paint, but beaming ear to ear. 

“It’s beautiful, Benedict.”

“Well, our baby should be allowed to enjoy the full beauty of a spectrum of colours, rather than just ‘white’ on the walls - and the sooner they begin to understand the art of composition, the better in my opinion.”

You would also be receiving gifts from all your artistically minded friends, which is heart-warming. They’d crown them their newest ‘little liberal’ and would devote themselves to ensuring your off-spring would have a well-rounded eduction about the higher arts of life - something Benedict is keen to endorse.  

“When are they not ‘too young’ to have an art tutor?” 

“Maybe wait till they can hold a paint brush first, Benedict.” 

“What about poetry?”

“Again, I think they should probably learn the alphabet before we try them on Wordsworth or Donne.” 

Given what he says in his book I know he’d secretly want a girl but you know that as long as it’s happy and healthy then that would be enough. After all, it would be yours, made from your love in a living, breathing creation greater than any painting or sculpture. 

He would be awe struck when you hand them to him, afraid he might break them somehow. He would just sit and stare at them for hours, admiring them like the finest sculpture.

“I promise to be the best possible father you could ever want, my love. I will do whatever I can to protect you and make you, and your mother, feel cherished. I won’t let you down… even if you turn out like most of your Uncles and have no idea what the difference is between a sonata and a sonnet.”  

[minswriting]

Hello! Hope you're doing good. Saw you had requests open for hotch so this is something i haven't been able to stop thinking about. You're dating hotch and you find his voice attractive, but he doesn't understand why you get flustered hearing him on work calls and then he suddenly realises and teases you about it

i decided to write something a bit different so enjoy!!

nsfw | mdni | please only be 18 or older when interacting with my content | a.h x reader | oral (m), hotch talks you through it 🥰

when you had walked into the room to show your boss the information you had found out, you hadn’t expected to hear his speaking to the police chief in such an authoritative tone. “you cannot speak to the press about the investigation and give them information regarding the case that hasn’t been confirmed yet. that’s putting potential victims in harms way and we risk having the unsub escalate or disappear completely,” hotchner said harshly, furrowing his eyebrows at the chief of police.

“well it’s my precinct and my jurisdiction,” the police officer spoke. “it’s my right to let the public know about this man and what he’s doing to women.”

“while falsifying information?” aaron asked, tilting his head. “i’ve been avoiding having to do this for the ounce of respect i hold for you. however, from here on out all press conferences go through my communication liaison, end of story,” and with that, aaron walked away from the officer, walking up to you. “sorry about that,” he said much calmer.

“huh?” you blinked, looking at aaron. “oh-uh- it’s perfectly fine,” you said. truthfully, it was more than fine. his voice had that authoritative tone that never failed to insight a reaction out of you. you always had a dazed feeling whenever you heard him take on that tone of voice. maybe it was the daddy issues. maybe aaron was just very hot. either way, it turned you on. regardless, your feelings had to be put aside until later. so you spoke to hotch about the case.

when night had fallen and the team had gone to the hotel to check in and have a night’s rest, you were chosen to room with aaron. though you didn’t mind at all.

as you stepped into the hotel room after aaron opened the door, you sighed, putting your things down. aaron followed, closing the door behind him before he placed his things down as well. he then wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to him as he rested his head on your shoulder from behind. “you seemed distracted today,” he murmured into your ear.

you grabbed his arms, holding them around you. “i was,” you said, biting your lip.

“why was that?”

you turned around in aaron’s arms to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “your voice does things for me,” you murmured softly.

“yeah?” he smirked. “you like it when i am authoritative?” he asked, licking his lips.

you blushed but smirked back, nodding your head. “indeed i do,” you said back.

“mm,” aaron leaned down to kiss you on the lips, pressing himself against you. “why don’t you show me just how much you like it?” he whispered against your lips.

“i will,” you whispered back. and with that, you got on your knees in front of aaron, looking up at him. his dark eyes looked down at you as you began to unbuckle his belt. you unzipped his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to reveal his hardened cock. you licked your lips as you looked at his length. it was red and angry, an indication that he needed that release. he was big and girthy, veiny too.

you looked up at aaron, his brown eyes looking down at you. he reached his hand to caress your cheek, tracing your lips with his thumb. “go ahead,” he commanded softly.

and without any hesitation, you began to lick the tip of aaron’s cock, causing him to let out a hiss of pleasure. his hand moved from your cheek to your hair, entangling his fingers in your locks. you licked the slit of his cock, teasing aaron before taking him into your mouth slowly.

“fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes and throwing his head back gently. aaron relished in the feeling of your warm and wet mouth around his cock, taking him slowly inch by inch. you made it about halfway before easing back up his length. you did that a few more times, slowly gaining a rhythm. “you always do so well, taking me in your mouth,” aaron spoke gently.

you hummed around aaron’s cock, sending vibrations down his length. he was unable to help the small jerk of his hips, sending his cock further into your mouth, causing you to gag slightly. aaron let out a moan of pleasure as you continued your ministrations on his length.

“you love when i get authoritative,” he continued to speak, his voice wavering slightly. though he tried to keep his composer. “i go stern towards one guy and you’re immediately ready to take my cock in your mouth. perhaps i need to be stern towards you?” he asked, pulling at your hair gently.

you hummed around his cock once more, causing aaron to moan. you began moving your head a bit faster, using your right hand to jerk off the rest of his length that you couldn’t fit into your mouth. “my naughty girl,” he groaned. “such a slut for me,” aaron looked down at you, watching his cock go in and out of your mouth. “my good little whore,” he smirked as he looked at your face.

your eyes were glossy from his length hitting the back of your throat, your lips were already getting swollen due to the girth of his cock, and your hair was already a mess from aaron’s fingers. god you were absolutely perfect.

you hollowed your cheeks as you sucked aaron off, adding to his pleasure. you continued your movements, sucking him off and jerking off the base of his cock.

it didn’t take long for aaron to feel his orgasm coming. he let out a shaky moan, his cock stiffening in your mouth. “keep going, princess. you’re doing so well,” he moaned. “gonna cum. will you swallow it for me?” he asked.

you hummed in agreement around his length.

“good girl,” aaron said as he threw his head back in pleasure. he had both hands entangled in your hair as you sucked his cock. and after a few more movements, aaron was cumming into your mouth with a loud groan. his seed was filling up your mouth, landing on your tongue. and it was continuous. “fuuuck,” he moaned out. you sucked hm off through his orgasm, wanting aaron to be completely milked before you stop.

and when he finished, aaron pulled out of your mouth, leaving a trail of cum and saliva on your lips. “you did so good for me, baby,” aaron said breathlessly as he swiped his thumb across your bottom lip. you looked absolutely perfect. “now it’s time i ravish you, yeah?”

you smiled, nodding your head. “yes, sir,” you replied.

and ravish you he did.

[mobius-m-mobius]

This is the anon who just watched bottle rocket. I found a 25min behind the scenes for it on youtube, and that was. One of the funniest things I have ever watched. There was precisely one (1) woman on there who remembered they were supposed to be promoting the film and fully everyone else is sitting about going 'I dunno man, it just sort of happened ¯\_(ツ)_/¯' The biggest actor they got goes 'I popped over for three days, how am I supposed to remember anything?' Someone says 'we were in talks about making the movie but they'd never even read the script aloud even though they were all living together ...' and another goes 'I'd come in to give them notes and could not for the life of me figure out what they thought about them ...' Then even the one woman who knows what she's on camera for goes 'they're brilliant boys, but they kept sort of just ... wandering off???' and yet another says 'I struggled to find evidence that they ever did any work. I mean presumably they did because a script landed on my table and it was brilliant, but I coulda sworn they weren't doing a thing.'

[The actor playing Bob's older brother yeets in to say "don't buy Owen and Wes' 'aw shucks' act they know exactly what they're doing]

Cue Wes "aw shucks I knew what I wanted the sets to look like but what even is lighting 😆" and Own "aw shucks I'm pretty sure the studio just took us on because they saw us floundering around and figured somone's gotta bite the bullet and throw us a line 😆"

Then all together they go: "and in conclusion we had a bucket of laughs and loved the film but test audiences hated it soooo bad and Sundance wouldn't even take it lol" at which point they all suddenly recall they're supposed to be doing promo and not recounting 'my one weird year with Wes' and speedrun through "Oh right and then it got a great review from a major magazine and a cult following and it's a great film you should go watch it byeeeeee!"

And they're right. It IS a great film and everyone should go watch it. 10 out of 10 perfect crew, perfect bonus features.

Hi again Bottle Rocket anon!! 🚀🎇💖

Oh my gosh I'm so glad you've taken some time in between to look for bts because that particular feature (right here if anyone's interested!) is absolute gold and one of the best things I've ever seen in my entire lmao, have probably watched it as often as the movie itself 😅

Welcome to the perfect insight into Owen since seemingly not doing a thing and somehow ending up with magic is kind of the reputation he's gained, which in a way is as charming as he is but definitely glosses over the fact that like Wes, he's always known what story he wants to tell and how to get there even if the path doesn't line up with one anyone else is following or, y'know, seems comprehensible in any way lol

Honestly couldn't pick a favorite anecdote if I tried, everything you listed is right up there as well as someone commenting their surprise at none of them carrying notebooks then everyone walking in with one the next day even though you just know not a single note about the movie ever made it in there, said biggest actor comparing the experience to being on Hollywood Squares for the day, and Owen trying to exchange his studio purchased first class ticket for coach to pocket the difference then finding out it would go back to their credit card and being like eh guess I'm flying first then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Btw just to add a fun easter egg element to your watching progress, the actor who plays Bob's older brother is actually Owen and Luke's older brother Andrew (which likely goes a long way towards him being like yeah no don't fall for Wes and Owen's bs 🤣) and Owen loves having him on set so if you keep an eye out you may see (and sometimes hear!) quite a few cameos of his 😉

[wholoveseggs]

Heyy gorgeous! I’m here once again lol. I was thinking about enemies to lovers this time. Elijah and reader despise each other. She’s always getting on his nerves and he’s always making her embarrassed etc etc. She’s also misbehaving - like interrupting him mid sentence, being sassy and he’s just trying to hold it together. One day they get into a fight or they have to train together (like he did with Gia in s.2) and there’s just too much sexual tension between them. Some angry sex and so on…? Thank youuu🥰

Misbehavior

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah Mikaelson is controlling, arrogant and absolutely infuriating, you don't know how anybody can stand him. That is... until he gets you in his bed.

♡♡ Thanks for the request lovely @msveronicag ! I love this idea so much and I got a little carried away with it ♡♡

8.2k words - Warnings: smut, dom!elijah, blowjobs, choking, spanking, rough sex, tinsy bit of ass play, Elijah being a smug little control freak...

You were back in New Orleans, visiting your old friend Marcel. He turned you nearly fifty years ago and he had always been a mentor figure for you. You left the city to go travel the world and discovered everything it had to offer. But you always remembered your roots, and Marcel was still the man you looked up to the most. So, when he called, asking if you wanted to come help him keep the peace and order in the city, you were happy to agree.

You knew the Originals had arrived in town and you were interested in meeting them. They were an endlessly fascinating bunch of lunatics from what you heard, and you couldn't wait to meet them.

But when you finally got the chance, you were surprised by a few things, number one, they were all ridiculously hot.

And number two, you instantly hated Elijah Mikaelson.

He was just so arrogant and stuck up. His constant use of posh words annoyed you to no end, and his perfect hair was just begging to be ruffled.

He just strolled into Marcel's loft one day and started giving orders. Talking to Marcel in a way that immediately pissed you off. You didn't like to hear your friend being talked to like he was beneath anyone, and so you spoke up.

"Excuse me," You drawled lazily, looking up from where you were perched on Marcel's couch. "Just because you're some original pain in the ass doesn't mean you get to control everything."

Elijah was clearly used to being obeyed. He slowly turned to you, regarding you with that arrogant sneer you came to detest in just a matter of minutes. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, looking at you as if he could barely see you.

You hated when someone pretended not to hear or understand something. Especially when they understood perfectly well, but were hoping for you to be scared into backing down. Well, that wasn't happening.

"If you didn't understand, I'll repeat it in simple terms that even your elderly ears will comprehend," You snapped at him, standing up to meet his eyes more equally. "Be. Nice."

He gave you a slow, crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes, then he looked back to Marcel with his eyebrows raised. "Are you going to control your little pet?"

You saw red, and opened your mouth to respond, but Marcel gave you a look that screamed 'don't', so you kept quiet, glaring at Elijah.

You couldn't stand the man, the way he would always be wearing a suit, his perfectly styled hair, and those dark, judgmental eyes that seemed to always be on you, looking down at you.

He was just one of those rich assholes who saw a regular person like you as something lesser, and you weren't going to let him walk over you. You'd think after living for one thousand years he would have gained some insight on human behavior, but no, he was just an old, pompous jerk.

You weren't sure what the hell Elijah and his siblings had done to Marcel to make him act the way he did around the Mikaelsons. But he was different around them. More obedient and less himself. You didn't like how the Originals acted like they owned the city.

Regardless, you weren't stupid enough to make enemies out of them. They were valuable allies, so you kept quiet for the most part, and just rolled your eyes and sighed whenever Elijah would open his arrogant mouth.

Marcel needed you to help train some new vampires that had turned recently. You would have them do drills and spar. Things were going well, the new recruits acclimating well to their new state of being.

When you saw Elijah and Marcel enter the room, you immediately felt defensive, you knew that prick was going to say something.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him, his presence putting everyone on edge.

"Keep training," You said, gesturing for them to keep practicing. They were hesitant at first, but did as you instructed.

You walked towards Elijah and Marcel, trying to get the man to leave before he said something wrong and ruined their progress. You stood between the two men and looked up at Elijah with a forced, tight smile.

"Is there something you need? I'm a little busy here." You told him.

He raised his eyebrows at your tone, looking at you as if he was studying you, his eyes moving from the top of your head to your feet, and it felt like he was stripping you naked. He glanced around the room at the others with an amused smirk, and it irked you to no end. He turned his eyes back to you, tilting his head.

"They're not doing very well, are they?" He said, looking down at the trainees.

One of the vampires completely missed their punch and fell over, they were still adjusting to how strong they had become.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "They're new, they're not perfect yet. And you're not helping, your presence is distracting them." You told him. You weren't about to admit he was right. You weren't going to give him that satisfaction.

“They need a proper example on how to fight,” He smirked and looked at Marcel. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order."

Marcel nodded, then stepped forward. "Come on, I'll show them." He said.

But Elijah shook his head, holding his hand up. "I'm not talking about you."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "I'm not sparring with you, Elijah. You're too powerful." You told him.

You weren't scared, you knew you could handle yourself. But, he was an original, and you were just a vampire. He would win, easily. And you had no interest in being humiliated by him.

"It's just a friendly match, it doesn't have to be a contest," He said, and you didn't believe him for a second. "Unless you're afraid of getting hurt." He taunted.

You could tell he was enjoying this, he had a small smile on his face, his eyes shining with amusement. He knew you couldn't back down. If you did, he'd call you weak, and a coward. That's just the kind of guy he was.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, getting into a defensive position.

"Ready?" He asked, and you nodded.

Before you could even react, he punched you, and you went flying across the room, landing on your side, and you heard him chuckle. "This is who you got to train your recruits Marcellus?"

You growled and stood, launching yourself at him, and he dodged your hits easily. He grabbed you and twisted your arm, holding it behind your back, and you hissed at the pain. He pulled you closer, and his lips were next to your ear. "Yield."

"Never," You snarled, and he laughed.

"So, prideful, but I can break your arm and force you to yield." He said, twisting your arm more.

"C'mon Elijah, let her go," Marcel said, and Elijah smirked.

"As you wish," Elijah said, releasing your arm, and you turned to face him, glaring. "I thought you were stronger than that, but I was clearly mistaken."

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that hurt.

"I think that's enough for today," Marcel said to the vampires, and they all filed out, leaving the three of you alone.

"I don't know why you insist on acting the way you do," Elijah said, shaking his head. "It's quite unbecoming."

You raised your eyebrows. "Oh yeah, and how exactly do I act?" You challenged.

"Childish and impulsive." He answered, and you scoffed. "You need to learn some manners." He added.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. He was insulting you, and talking down to you, and it just pissed you off even more.

"Enough, both of you," Marcel said, getting in between the two of you. "You're both acting like children."

"Maybe because I'm dealing with a child," You muttered under your breath, and Marcel gave you a stern look.

"She's disrespectful, and ungrateful," Elijah said. "Perhaps I should teach her a lesson in obedience." He threatened, his eyes flashing darkly.

"No one needs to be taught a lesson in anything," Marcel said, looking pointedly at you. "Just. Stop." He sighed. "Both of you, just stop. I have a headache, and you two arguing isn't helping."

You glared at Elijah, and he glared back, but neither of you said anything. Marcel let out a long sigh and walked away, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I need a drink," He muttered.

You watched him go, feeling a little guilty for upsetting him. He had a lot on his mind and he needed your help, not your petty arguments with Elijah.

"He's right, you know," Elijah said, and you turned your glare on him.

"You think I'm the problem? You're the one who antagonizes me, and talks down to everyone. What's your deal, anyways?" You asked, crossing your arms.

His lips turned up into a smug smile, "I'm not trying to upset you. I'm simply stating the truth."

"I don't like you." You said, shaking your head.

"The feeling is mutual," He said, and you raised an eyebrow.

"What the hell did I ever do to you?" You asked, and he laughed, moving closer to you.

"You constantly have your mouth open, yet nothing of substance comes out. You look down on me, despite knowing nothing of my past, and you think I owe you something. Your insolence is tiresome, and I'm sick of seeing your face." He said, his eyes boring into yours, and his gaze was so intense it was hard to maintain eye contact.

He was so close to you now, and his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up. "Your mere presence is distracting."

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammering in your chest. You were angry, but you also wanted him. You hated that, but it was a truth you were having a hard time denying. You couldn't stop your eyes from moving over his body, and the way his stupid suit fit him so well, showing off his body.

"Well I think you are a self-righteous prick who can't accept the fact that people are allowed to have opinions that differ from yours. Just because you've lived for a millennia doesn't mean your opinion is more valuable than mine." You said, your eyes going to his lips, then back up. "You need to chill the fuck out and not take yourself so seriously. We aren't all your fucking minions. We don't all bow down and worship you."

He leaned in and his breath was fanning over your face. "You have got me all wrong."

"I don't think I do," You said, tilting your head up. "And you don't scare me."

His lips curved into a smirk and his eyes looked down at your lips, his hands coming up and gripping your waist.

And then he was kissing you.

His lips moved slowly over yours, and his hand cupped your jaw. He kissed you with such tenderness and care that you didn't know how to react. You didn't know if he was just using this as a way to humiliate you, but you were too far gone, and you kissed him back.

You knew it was a bad idea, but you couldn't stop yourself, and you didn't care anymore. He pulled you closer and his tongue swiped at your lower lip, and you let him in, moaning softly as his tongue moved over yours. He was an excellent kisser, and it annoyed you as much as it turned you on.

He pulled back, a smug smile on his face, "that's what I thought."

You blushed and looked away, your head spinning from the kiss. "Asshole."

He laughed and stepped away from you, adjusting his tie, "You're welcome."

You were so annoyed and flustered, and you glared at him. "Fuck off."

He chuckled and left, leaving you standing there, confused and aroused.

He was infuriating.

You had decided to leave New Orleans. You hated that Elijah was getting to you, and you didn't want to risk him using your feelings against you. You knew it was a mistake, he was messing with you in ways you didn't even think possible. You knew about his reputation of being manipulative and cruel, and you weren't going to get sucked into his game.

You had everything ready to go, you just had to tell Marcel. He would understand, although you weren't going to tell him about Elijah kissing you. That was just embarrassing.

But when you got to his loft, the only person there was Elijah. Sitting on the sofa, reading a book. He looked so good he was practically glowing, and you wanted to punch him for it.

He didn't look up from his book, "Marcel is out."

"I'll come back later," You said, turning, but he was in front of you, blocking the exit.

"We need to have a little chat," He said, looking down at you, and you sighed, crossing your arms.

"About what?" You asked, tapping your foot anxiously and looking at the door, wishing you could escape.

"Why are you avoiding me?" He asked, and you laughed, rolling your eyes.

"I'm not avoiding you, I have better things to do than waste my time with an arrogant prick," You said, and he narrowed his eyes at you.

"That's not true," He said, taking a step closer, and you took a step back, not liking the intensity of his gaze.

"Yes, it is." You said, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Why did you come here?" He asked, moving closer again, and you walked backwards until your back hit the wall, and he was caging you in.

"To tell Marcel I am leaving." You said, and he cocked his head.

"Where are you going?" He asked, and you frowned.

"Away."

"Why?" He asked, leaning forward, his face inches from yours.

"Fuck off." You said, exasperated by his line of questioning, it was none of his business.

His eyes flashed dangerously and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, holding them tightly.

"You are not as smart as you think you are," he growled, his lips inches away from yours.

You could feel his arousal pressing against your stomach, his hips pushing into yours.

"Neither are you," you snarled, trying to get out of his grip.

But he held your wrists tightly and leaned down, his teeth scraping against your neck.

"You talk so much, yap, yap, yap. But you never say anything meaningful," he whispered, his breath hot on your ear, "perhaps I should put your mouth to better use."

Your heart was beating frantically and your pussy was soaked. The tension between the two of you was finally breaking and the hatred was dissolving into something else entirely.

"I'd love to see you tr-"

His mouth was on yours before you could finish your sentence. It was rough and needy, his fangs digging into your lip, and his hands still pinning your wrists above your head.

His knee moved between your thighs and you moaned, rubbing yourself on his leg.

Elijah chuckled darkly, his tongue tracing the wound he'd made.

"How pathetic," he murmured, his hips rolling forward, his hard cock pressing against your core.

"So is your dick," you lied, trying not to gasp at the sensation, it definitely didn’t feel pathetic.

His fingers dug into your wrists, his eyes flashing with amusement and arousal. His free hand slipped underneath your dress, stroking your wet pussy.

"And yet here you are, dripping wet, and ready for me," he smirked, his fingers slowly circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Wearing a cheap, skimpy dress, practically begging me to fuck you,"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," you groaned, your hips moving in rhythm with his hand.

He slid his middle finger inside your cunt, pumping it in and out, his palm grinding against your clit.

"Oh so, this is all just a figment of my imagination, is it?" He asked, adding another finger.

Your legs were shaking, and your breathing was heavy. You couldn't think straight, his fingers were hitting all the right spots.

"Fuck," you moaned, your back arching.

He kissed you hungrily, his tongue dominating your mouth, and his fingers pumping faster.

"Cum for me," he demanded, his teeth grazing your neck.

"No," you moaned, but your hips were moving on their own, seeking release.

"I wasn't asking, darling," he growled, his eyes meeting yours, compelling you, "Cum."

His voice echoed in your head, and you could feel the wave of pleasure wash over you. Your orgasm ripped through you, his fingers still moving inside you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

You were trembling, your legs barely holding you up, and your brain fuzzy.

He let go of your wrists, and pulled his fingers out of you, before licking them clean. He took a step back, smiling at the look on your face as he adjusted his cufflinks.

"Now, on your knees," he commanded.

Your legs obeyed immediately, sinking down and looking up at him.

"What a lovely sight," he said, smirking.

He cupped your chin, running his thumb over your lips.

"I've been imagining your lips around my cock, since the first day I saw you," he said, unbuckling his belt, giving your cheek a little slap.

"Now open up and take it all,"

You opened your mouth and he shoved his cock inside. He was big, bigger than anyone you had ever sucked off. And he wasn't shy about using his power to keep you in place. His hands were tangled in your hair, tugging and pulling, and his cock was hitting the back of your throat.

Your eyes were watering, but he didn't care, he kept going, using your mouth, making you gag. He felt amazing on your tongue, hot and hard, and the taste of him was driving you crazy. You could feel yourself getting wetter, the more he fucked your mouth, and your hips were rocking, desperate for friction.

"Look at you, taking it so well, such a good girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming deeper, and his voice sounding strained.

Your eyes met his, your mascara running down your cheeks. He looked so good, his lips parted and his eyes glazed with lust. His dominating nature was intoxicating, and you were drunk on his cock. The feeling of him sliding down your throat, and his moans of pleasure, made you feel so good, it was addictive. Your hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing your clit, and making yourself moan around his cock.

He slapped your face gently, tutting.

"Naughty girl," he said, his voice a low rumble, "keep touching yourself, and I'll punish you."

You looked up at him, and rubbed yourself faster, daring him to stop you.

His eyes darkened, and he pushed himself deep inside your mouth, his cock pulsing as he cummed down your throat.

"Swallow it," he ordered, and you did, licking his cock clean.

You were a mess, your makeup smeared, and your body trembling with need. You wanted to be fucked. So. Badly.

Elijah looked at you, a smirk playing on his lips. He grabbed you by your hair and pulled you to your feet, his eyes roaming over your body.

"Such a pretty thing," he said, pushing you back against the wall, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your neck, "I knew you could behave."

He pulled his handkerchief out and wiped the tears and mascara from your face, before putting it away.

"There we are," he smiled, tucking his cock back into his pants, and buckling his belt.

"Are you not going to fuck me?" You asked, frustrated that he was leaving you unsatisfied.

"Oh no, my dear, that's your punishment," he said, grabbing a bottle of scotch and pouring a glass. He glanced up at you, seemingly confused on why you were still standing there, and nodded towards the door.

"You may go,"

You huffed, and walked towards the door, feeling angry and humiliated. But his voice stopped you.

"Oh, and darling?"

You turned and saw him grinning at you.

"Don't think I'm done with you,"

You were definitely leaving now, you had to. You couldn't stand another moment in New Orleans. The way Elijah had used you and humiliated you. You couldn't handle it, you had to get away. You needed to be as far away from him as possible.

But Marcel insisted that you come to a party he was hosting, it was a goodbye celebration for you. And you didn't want to let him down, he was one of the few friends you had.

You were packing your things, planning on leaving immediately after the party, when you heard a knock on your door.

You opened it to find a large box, wrapped in beautiful silver paper and tied with a blue ribbon. There was a card attached to it, and you picked it up, curious to know who it was from.

Wear this. I will be picking you up at 8 – E

You groaned, not wanting to see him. You had been doing your best to avoid him, and this was not helping.

The dress he had sent over was gorgeous, it was black and long, and the fabric was silky. The straps were thin and delicate, and the cut was low, and it was sexy, but not revealing. It was an expensive designer brand that was impossible to get, and the fact that he had somehow just had one that was your size pissed you off.

He was so smug and cocky, and the worst part was, he had great taste, and the dress was perfect. You didn't want to like anything about him, he was even good at being infuriating.

At exactly eight a car arrived to pick you up, and Elijah was in the backseat, waiting. He was dressed impeccably, and his eyes roamed over you, a smirk forming on his lips.

"You look stunning," he said, as you sat down, and the driver pulled away. "It's nice to see you in fine clothing."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the compliment, and staring out the window. His hand went to your thigh, pushing up the dress a little to reveal the top of the stockings you were wearing.

"Is this for me? How thoughtful."

You swatted his hand away, giving him a glare. "I don't dress for any man. I dress for myself,"

"Of course, I would expect nothing less from a strong independent woman," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, refusing to engage with him. He leaned over, his lips brushing your ear, and his fingers sliding over your thigh. "You do lots of other things for a man though, don't you?"

You bit your lip, the memory of being on your knees for him, and how good it felt to have him fuck your mouth, flooded your mind. You kept your composure, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"No," you said, glancing at him.

He chuckled and put his arm around you, his fingers dancing along your bare shoulders. You wanted to push him away, but the heat of his body was nice, and you didn't hate the way his touch made you feel.

"We shall see about that."

When you arrived at Marcel's party, you were greeted with cheers, the local vampires loved any excuse to celebrate.

Marcel gave you a hug and poured you a drink, "I'm going to miss having you around, but I understand."

You gave him a smile and took a sip of your drink. "I can never stay in one place for long,"

"I know, and that's what I admire about you," he said, before turning to a vampire who had come to talk to him.

You were standing alone, looking around at the crowd of people. Trying to avoid Elijah, but also keeping an eye out for him.

"Having a good time?"

His voice made you jump and you turned to find him standing behind you, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"It's alright," you shrugged, trying to act cool, and not like you had just been caught looking for him.

"You seem lonely," he said, leaning closer.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said, taking a step back, but his hand reached out, grabbing your arm, and pulling you against him.

"You keep lying, why is that?" He whispered, his breath warm on your ear.

You shook your head, your heart racing. You could feel his body pressed against yours, and his lips ghosting over your skin.

"Is it because you're attracted to me?" He asked, his tongue darting out and licking the shell of your ear.

"No," you said, but your voice was unsteady, and your breath caught.

"Oh, so you just suck any man's cock then? That's an interesting hobby."

You tried to move away, but his grip tightened, and he turned you to face him. His expression was teasing, but his eyes were dark and intense.

"I apologize, I'm not usually so crude. It's just that seeing you in this dress..," he trailed off, his eyes roaming over your curves, his voice thick with lust.

You blushed, your skin burning, and your pussy getting wet. He was so close, his hands sliding down your body, his touch setting your nerves alight.

"I don't like you," you said, but it sounded weak, and he grinned.

"I know," he murmured, his fingers finding their way under the hem of your dress, dancing along the bare skin above your stockings.

"So why are you letting me touch you?" He asked, his lips brushing against yours.

"Because you are irritatingly fucking hot," you admitted, your body melting into his, his closeness clouding your senses.

"Ah, and there is that honesty I have been searching for," he smirked, his hands gripping your ass.

"Shut up," you said, your eyes locked on his. "Why must you be so arrogant?"

"It's not arrogance, it's confidence. You should try it sometime."

He was smiling now, his eyes twinkling. He had truly pissed you off with his boundless ego and you were done with him. You gave him a little push and then stormed out the exit. Marcel would have to understand, you just had to leave this stupid city, right now.

Elijah followed you, grabbing your wrist, and pulling you into a side room, away from the noise and bustle of the party.

"Have I upset you?" He grinned, pressing you against the wall.

"Yes," you seethed, your jaw clenched, and your blood boiling. You pushed hard on his chest, but he didn't budge, just looked down at your hands with an amused expression.

"What can I do to make it better?" He asked, pressing his palms into the wall on both sides of your head.

"Fuck off."

His grin widened, and he leaned in, his nose nuzzling against yours.

"No," he said, his lips brushing over yours. "I don't think I will,"

Your eyes closed as his mouth captured yours. The kiss was soft and sweet, his lips moving slowly, exploring yours. It was intoxicating, his taste and scent overwhelming. You felt yourself giving in once again, kissing him back, your hands clutching his shirt, pulling him closer.

He hummed, pleased, and his hand slipped behind your head, angling your mouth for deeper access. He was such a control freak, and it only turned you on more.

"You like me," he stated between kisses, his hips rocking forward, his cock hard and straining against his pants.

"No I don't ," you lied, trying to ignore how good his body felt against yours, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And yet, here you are," he smirked, his fangs scraping along the skin, "ready and willing."

You moaned, tilting your head to the side, and allowing him better access. He ran his fangs along your pulse point, nipping at the skin.

"Tell me you don't want me, and I'll stop," he whispered, his hands pulling the straps of your dress down, his mouth trailing kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts.

"I don't," you moaned, even though you knew it wasn't true. You wanted him, desperately.

"Naughty little liar," he said in a teasing tone, his hands squeezing your breasts, and his thumbs rubbing over the hard peaks of your nipples. He was getting you so worked up, it was so infuriating and so arousing.

He suddenly stopped touching you, moving back and leaning against the wall across from you, acting like nothing happened, his hands clasped in front of him.

You looked at him, confused and turned on.

"What the fuck?"

"Tell me you want me," he said, his expression smug.

"I hate you," you replied, frustrated, scowling at him and trying to fix your dress.

"That's not an answer."

"I'm not going to beg for it," you snapped, annoyed and desperate. You hated that he had this effect on you. You wanted him so bad, but he was making you work for it, and the game was getting old. But there was a part of you that liked it, the way he was challenging you, the power play, it was hot. But he was pushing his luck. 

"I’m just going to go find someone else," you said, trying to sound cool and disinterested, but failing miserably. You were too flustered, your skin flushed, and your breath short. 

He laughed, shaking his head and holding out his hand, gesturing for you to take it. "I don't think so," he said, a smirk playing on his lips, "come here."

You looked at him, hesitating, but your desire won out, and you placed your hand in his.

He smirked, his fingers interlacing with yours, and he guided you upstairs. His pace was slow, leisurely, and it was maddening.

"I thought you lived at the compound?" You asked, following him down a hallway.

"I have multiple residences," he said, unlocking a door and pushing it open.

You rolled your eyes, of course he did, he was so fucking extra.

"After you," he said, his eyes shining with amusement.

"How chivalrous," you muttered, stepping inside.

His loft was elegantly decorated, with a large four poster bed, and expensive art on the walls. It was so very him, but you kinda liked it.  His taste was refined, and the space was masculine and sexy. You could already picture how the night was going to go, him fucking you on the large bed, the curtains drawn, and his fangs in your neck. Your pussy clenched at the thought, and you bit your lip. This man had you all twisted up, and he had barely even touched you.

His hands found your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, and his lips brushed the back of your neck. "Do you like what you see?" He murmured, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass.

"It's alright," you smirked, turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. "The view's pretty good," you teased, looking into his eyes.

"Get on the bed," he murmured, his breath hot on your skin.

"Or what?" You teased.

He didn't say a word, just stared at you, his gaze intense. You felt a rush of adrenaline, and excitement, and you decided to push your luck. He was so cocky, and it was time to put him in his place. You stood your ground, trying to maintain eye contact, but it was impossible, he was so dominating. He gripped your hips, and lifted you up, throwing you onto the bed. You landed with a bounce, and he was on top of you, his hands pinning your wrists above your head.

You giggled and tried to break free, using your forearms to try and push him away. He was such a powerful man, and it made you feel vulnerable, but in a good way. In a way that had your pussy soaking, and your skin burning. He smiled and nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Behave," he warned, his lips moving down to your chest, and his fingers tugging at the top of your dress.

"Make me," you taunted, knowing it would set him off.

He ripped the dress off of you, making you gasp in surprise, and he sat back, his gaze roaming over your body, clad in nothing but the lingerie and stockings.

"I don't have any other clothes here, asshole!" you whined, annoyed that he had destroyed your beautiful dress.

"I'll buy you more," he said, his voice husky and deep, "so many more,"

He slid down, his tongue running over the swell of your breast, his hand pulling the lace fabric aside. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, and bit down, his fangs sinking into your flesh. You cried out, the pain mixing with the pleasure, and the sound of his low growls vibrating through you.

You squirmed and pulled this hair, trying to get him to stop, but he just bit down harder. Your back arched and you whimpered, tears forming in your eyes.

"Elijah!"

He released you, and licked the wound, sealing the bite, and making the pain subside.

"Are you done being a brat?" He asked, his hands stroking your sides.

"Yes," you panted, still trying to recover from the bite.

"Good," he murmured, his lips trailing down to your stomach.

He pulled at the band of one of your stockings, letting it snap against your thigh. He did the same to the other, humming softly as he did, before finally moving down, and burying his face between your legs.

He was frustratingly good with his tongue, his mouth sucking and licking, his hands spreading your thighs wide. You could feel the pleasure building, and your orgasm fast approaching. Your hands fisted in his hair, and you rolled your hips, trying to ride his face. But he held you still, controlling how much pleasure you received.

He eased two fingers inside you, slowly pumping them as his lips closed around your clit, his tongue swirling over it. You kicked your legs, the sensation was intense, and you were so close, the pressure building in your core.

He curled his fingers and the dam broke, a loud cry tearing from your throat as you came. He continued to work you, prolonging the bliss, and making you tremble.

He stopped and looked up at you. His face was glistening and his pupils were dilated, his eyes dark.

"Just admit that you like me," he teased, kissing your inner thigh.

"Not a chance," you smirked, still catching your breath.

He growled, and flipped you over, yanking your ass up, and spreading your cheeks.

"Then I'll have to make you," he said, his thumb tracing the seam of your asshole. His other hand coming down and spanking you, making you squeal in surprise.

He rubbed the sting, soothing the pain, and then smacked you again, this time a little harder. You gasped, burying your face in the pillows, and your fingers digging into the sheets. He alternated, slapping one cheek, and then the other, the pain becoming more intense each time.

"Elijah!"

He ignored you, his hand coming down on your ass, hard, and you cried out, your body shaking. He kept going, the blows landing faster and faster, and you were sure there were tears running down your face, the pain overwhelming.

He paused, his fingers ghosting over the heated skin.

"I'm sorry, am I being too rough?" He asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

You glared over your shoulder at him, and he smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I thought you were a gentleman," you shot back, annoyed with him.

"I can be," he purred, his finger dipping lower, and tracing the entrance of your pussy, "when I want to,"

You moaned, pushing back against his hand, and his fingers pumped slowly. His other hand went to the back of your neck, pressing your face into the mattress, holding you still.

He added a third finger, stretching you, and making you whimper. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Just give in," he whispered, his voice husky and low. "It'll be so much easier."

You bit your lip, trying to fight it, but he was too skilled, and your will was fading. You moaned, rolling your hips, and grinding against his hand.

He pushed his thumb into your asshole, making you gasp, and he chuckled, his other fingers curling and hitting your g-spot. The stimulation was overwhelming, and the pleasure was building fast. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension in your core reaching its peak. He was relentless, his fingers and thumb pumping in and out, the sounds of your wetness filling the room. You were moaning, begging, pleading, the need for release consuming you.

"Tell me," he commanded, suddenly stopping. "Tell me how much you like me." His hand moved from the back of your neck and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and making you gasp.

"Fine! Fine! I fucking like you, ok? I like you! I like your stupid face, and your stupid hair, and your stupid sexy accent, and your stupid dick!" You snapped, frustrated and desperate. You couldn't take the teasing anymore. "Are you happy now?!"

He chuckled, letting go of your hair, and pushing your head back into the pillow. He leaned down and kissed your ass cheek, his lips brushing against the hot, sore skin, before he moved, flipping you onto your back. He spread your legs, and settled between them, his fingers running along your thighs.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you, and kissing him hard, biting his bottom lip. You were tired of waiting, and you needed him. He growled, his hands cupping your face, and his tongue plunging into your mouth. The kiss was passionate and desperate, his body pressed flush against yours.

You unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, and running your fingers over his muscles, feeling the strength of his body. You then tugged at his belt, taking out his cock, and stroking him, your thumb swirling over the head.

He smiled and groaned as you touched him, his hips thrusting into your hand. You spread your legs wider, but he made no move to enter you, his hand moving between your thighs, and rubbing your clit. You moaned, the sensation too much, and you pulled at his wrist. He was being so fucking frustrating, and you wanted him inside you, now.

"Stop teasing me," you complained, glaring up at him.

"Why? its so much fun," he said, smiling wickedly. "I could watch you squirm for hours." He pushed the tip of his cock against your entrance, circling your clit, but still not penetrating you. 

"Tell me again," he said, "tell me how you like me, how much you want me," his hips rocking, his cock pushing and withdrawing, but never going deep enough to satisfy you.

"You are an arrogant prick, who knows exactly what he does to me." You said, your breathing labored.

He smiled and slowly eased into you, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt him inch his way inside, and you moaned, your head rolling back. He filled you completely, stretching you, and making your body burn with pleasure. It felt incredible, your pussy throbbing around him. He groaned, and nipped at your neck, his fangs gliding against the skin. You clutched at him, your nails scratching his back, as his hips started moving, slowly fucking you. 

You were already on the verge of orgasm, the tension coiling inside you, ready to snap. He felt too good, his cock hitting all the right spots, and his fingers playing with your clit. You were falling apart beneath him, your back arching, and your thighs quivering. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affected you, as the waves of ecstasy washed over you, you bit down on your lip, trying to hide just how good he felt.

But it was no use, your body betraying you, your cheeks hot and your walls tightening around him. He smiled and kissed your neck, his tongue swirling over your pulse point.

"See, it's not so hard to give in," he purred, his hips slowly rolling.

"Shut up," you managed to get out, still panting, and your limbs weak.

"Already cumming on my cock, and we haven't even really started," he teased. He began to fuck you in earnest, thrusting hard and deep, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each stroke. 

You gripped his biceps, your nails digging into his skin, and you could feel his muscles flexing under your touch. His cock was so thick, stretching you, you spread your legs wider, wanting him even deeper.

"Look at you, so desperate for me," he smirked, his hands moving to your hips, lifting them and changing the angle.

You moaned, and he chuckled, his lips ghosting over your neck.

"So responsive, and so beautiful. My sweet girl," he whispered, his words washing over you.

"I'm... fuck- not… your girl." you breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears.

"Maybe not yet, but you will be," he said, his voice confident, his eyes locking with yours.

He was so sure of himself, and it only turned you on more.

"You wish, Mikaelson."

He laughed, his breath warm on your skin. He thrust hard, hitting the spot deep inside, and making you cry out.

"I do," he said, his eyes searching yours, "and I always get what I want."

You knew it was true, he was so fucking cocky, and the worst part was, you wanted him to have you.

He leaned back, pulling you up with him, and holding you in his lap, his cock impossibly deep inside. His hands went to your hips, guiding your movements, and his eyes never left yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, rocking your hips, and taking him deeper. The way he was looking at you, intense, and possessive, it was doing things to you. You couldn't tear your gaze away, your chest heaving, and your nipples brushing against his chest. You squeezed his cock, trying to make him go harder, faster, but his pace remained steady, firm, his grip on your hips tightening. It was all too much and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, overwhelmed by him, and everything you were feeling for him.

He groaned, and smacked your ass, hard. You whimpered and dug your nails into his shoulders. His hands ran up and down your back, soothing the sting.

"No hiding," he said, his voice firm. "I want to see all of you."

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes, your eyelids heavy, cheeks flushed and your mouth open in a silent moan. 

"That's it," he murmured, his lips capturing yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. "Show me how much you like me," he teased, nipping at your lower lip.

You placed your hands on his chest, moving your legs to straddle him, and his cock slid deeper. You rocked back and forth, slowly at first, and then increasing the pace.

His expression was serious, his eyes fixed on you, and his hands holding your waist. It was like he was memorizing every inch of your body, and the way you felt, the way you moved. You could see the desire in his eyes, the lust, and something else, something softer.

"I like the way you're looking at me," you murmured, your nails dragging along his chest.

He hummed and grabbed your wrists, pinning them behind your back, his other arm wrapping around your waist, and pulling you flush against him.

"I like the way you feel," he replied, his hips rocking into you.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," you teased, knowing it would get a rise out of him.

"Only the ones I can't stop thinking about."

"Mmm, are there many of those?"

He laughed, shaking his head, and kissing your shoulder.

"None that compare to you."

His words, so unexpectedly sweet, made your heart flutter, and a blush creep onto your cheeks.

"Elijah..." you breathed, and he seemed pleased by your reaction.

His hands went to the small of your back and he pulled you closer, your breasts pressed against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, your skin warm and slick. The anticipation of what was to come sent a shiver down your spine. You threaded your fingers in his hair, gripping it as his hands went to your ass, guiding you on his cock.

"You don't have to leave, you can stay here with me," he said, his voice low and his eyes locked on yours.

You shook your head, not wanting to give in, not wanting him to know how much he affected you. How much you actually wanted that, wanted him.

"I don't like you that much," you replied, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

He smiled and kissed you again, his hand running down your back. You rolled your hips, grinding against him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. Your movement picked up, and he moaned into your ear, his grip on your ass tighter. You could feel the pressure rising, the intensity becoming overwhelming. Your body tensed, your orgasm close, and Elijah gripped your hips and slowed you down, wanting to make the moment last.

"Stay?" He whispered, his nose nuzzling yours.

"You are so annoying," you muttered, and his chest rumbled with laughter.

"Is that a yes?"

You nodded, and his lips pressed against yours, his hands lifting you up and down. You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound. The kiss became messy, both of you chasing the pleasure, the friction and the heat almost unbearable. You broke the kiss, panting, and the coil in your core snapped.

You moaned his name in long, drawn out syllables, your forehead pressed against his. He held you tight, his body tense as your pussy clenched around his cock. He watched you, his breathing heavy, his eyes glazed with desire. His hands traced your spine, lightly grazing the skin, and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You could tell he was fighting the urge to cum, wanting to drag out the moment. You looked at him and gave him a small smile, no more teasing, no more games. You touched his cheek, and kissed him, the kiss soft and sweet. Your breath caught in your throat, the intimacy of the gesture overwhelming. His arms tightened around you, his lips moving against yours, and you knew he was falling too, his control failing him.

He let go of your hips, his fingers clutching your ass. You wrapped your legs around his waist and rode him hard and fast, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone. He groaned into your mouth, his cock throbbing inside of you, and you felt him cum, his warmth flooding your body. You rested your head on his shoulder, catching your breath, and trying to make sense of what just happened. You never imagined that sleeping with Elijah would feel so right, so complete. Your mind kept telling you that this was a bad idea, but the connection between you was too strong to ignore.

He kissed your neck, his lips grazing the skin, and you let your eyes drift closed, succumbing to the warmth and comfort of his arms. He really was too good at this. 

"I meant what I said, about you staying." He murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "I like you, a lot."

He pulled away, brushing a few errant strands from your face, his fingers lingering. His dark eyes held nothing but sincerity and you knew then, in that moment, that despite your resolve not to like him, this wasn't just going to be a one time thing.

"I know," you sighed, your hands stroking his jaw, "you are very persuasive."

He chuckled and kissed you again.

"You'll stay?" He asked, his smile growing.

"I'll stay."

"Good," he hummed, kissing your neck, and nipping at your earlobe. 

His lips captured yours, and he kissed you, the passion and desire still burning. He kissed you until your lips were bruised and swollen, until your heart was pounding, and your skin was flushed.

"I still think you are an asshole," you said, once he'd pulled away.

"And I still think you are a brat," he smirked, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You laughed, and rested your head on his shoulder, enjoying the moment, the closeness, the warmth of his arms, and the steady beat of his heart.

You couldn't help but surrender.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[blackbird5154]

𖤐 Encyclopedia of Terzo 𖤐

I've been thinking a lot about how the personality of Papa III was created. Tobias set the basic framework, the archetype, the cliché from which he drew. But the real implementation of Papa was on stage, where his image developed through improvisation. Some things were conceived on purpose, some were invented on the spot, some came out unplanned, due to circumstances. Papa turned out to be as lively and unpredictable as life itself. In many senses, he lived on stage.

Thanks to the research of concerned fans, there is quite a lot of material. It occurred to me to collect them in one post for those who want to get acquainted with the canonical image of Terzo. This catalogue uses materials from two users, Cityofmeliora's and myself. You can use them for fanfiction or just for your own amusement. So, allow me to introduce Papa Emeritus III!

Cityofmeliora: Transcriptions and facts

Radley @cityofmeliora has an academic degree in Terzo Studies. He did a great job watching probably 100% of the Terzo videos and bringing us some interesting insights about his personality from the Terzo mines.

▸ notes / thoughts on Terzo's characterization (Terzo is so disappointed and depressed and i love him)

▸ Terzo's mom was mentioned twice

▸ quotes on Secondo and Terzo's age gap / the Emeritus brothers having different mothers

▸ TF on the archetype of Papa

▸ about Terzo's height...

▸ Terzo's sweet tooth 🍰🍫

▸ Secondo lied about being able to speak Swedish, and Terzo lied about *not* being able to speak Swedish

▸ according to the Nameless Ghouls, Terzo is better than Secondo because he has hair and is "less smelly" 😂😂

▸ TF breaks character a little too much and accidentally makes it canon that Terzo has a child 💀👶

▸ Who is Mysterious Spectre?

▸ transcript: Terzo's first concert - Linköping, Sweden (June 3, 2015)

▸ transcript: Sweden Rock Festival (June 4, 2015)

▸ Terzo lying about his knowledge of Swedish AGAIN!

▸ Terzo talking about his mom <3

▸ Papa Nihil taught his sons to sing

▸ Terzo hates it when people are bad at clapping 👏👏👏

▸ Terzo knows he's always yapping <3

▸ Terzo is hard of hearing 🦻

▸ Terzo did WHAT in Poland? 😳

▸ Terzo totally not bragging about his Grammy 🙄

▸ Terzo + children 🥰

▸ Terzo had eye infections???

▸ "And it is very important that you respect the fact that there are kids and there are"

▸ Terzo thinks 'Cirice' is a sad song

▸ Terzo getting angry

▸ Terzo's fucked up sore throat voice 🤒

▸ Terzo mentioning Secondo 😎

▸ Terzo mentions his parents 🧑‍🤝‍🧑

▸ Terzo + family 👪

▸ Terzo + being old 👴

▸ Terzo saying quesadillas are his favorite food 🧀

▸ Terzo is NOT a fluent / native Italian speaker 🤭🇮🇹

▸ Terzo + musical instruments 🎹🎸🥁🎺

🆕 Terzo hates it when people pronounce "Meliora" incorrectly ☝️🤓

🆕 What does terzology know about the overthrow of Papa III?

🆕 sad, sad Terzo + 'If You Have Ghosts' 🌙

Blackbird: Observations and analysis

My modest contribution to terzology was an attempt to summarise observations and look inside the head of the mysterious Papa III.

▸ Part 1: Terzo's responsible attitude to work

▸ Part 2: The jokes about height

▸ Part 3: The relationship between Terzo and Secondo

▸ Part 4: The ideas behind the birds and the bees speech

▸ Part 5: Terzo's other beliefs that he broadcast

▸ Part 6: Terzo and his loneliness

[yandere-yearnings]

Okay but see I'm so petty I would ignore vio forever now until he apologized that man needs to get on his mf knees if he even wanted me to look his damn direction fr

the promised continuation of the vio angst🥰 i didn't screenshot all the asks requesting for it bc then this would just be a very long post of nonnies slowly cursing vio out more and more violently with each pic ahaha (which i love tbh😩💕) but know that i've read each and every single one🥺🩷 i wrote this one in his third-person limited so there's a bit more insight into his thoughts❗❗

(that being said, there isn't much grovelling and his asking for your forgiveness here which i'm really sorry abt. i did try to go that route originally to align w/ some of the requests i've gotten, but vio actually just isn't the type. at least at the point in the relationship being depicted!! gotta keep in mind he is super arrogant and has probably never apologised once in his life😔💔 tho, he is suffering in his own way, rest assured. the silent treatment kinda broke him haha)

warning that there is a bit of violence here and gaslighting (??), ig just typically what you'd expect to see in a yandere work,, this really ran away from me bc it's like 800 words😭

Three days had passed. Vio sat inside his trailer, feet up on the dressing table, more annoyed than he’d ever been in his entire life. Blue hair in his reflection, mussed from his constant ruffling, looking unkempt and barely like himself — and it was all your fault. His agency was paying you a salary in five figures and your only job was to take care of him, which inherently, you were doing, but you were also ignoring him and Vio couldn’t stand it.

His eyes flicked over almost instantly when you walked in, tracking every movement from your shutting the door to hanging your coat over the back of the closest chair. All Vio could see were the snowflakes in your lashes because that was all you’d let him, your gaze downcast, avoiding his. Pride made him bite his lips, because actually, he fucking missed the way you’d look at him. He missed your voice and he missed your pretty words, and it was all lumping in his throat so he couldn’t admit it although he wanted to.

Something weak sounded from him; a desperate grab for your attention that didn’t work. He kicked his script to the floor knowing you’d pick it up, then watched with a clenched jaw as you did exactly that, not even a fleeting glare in his direction. Somehow, Vio felt like he was running out of time, papers placed back neatly and your back already turning, it was the curl of worry in his gut that had his hand snapping to your wrist and tugging you back to him.

“You,” he gritted, frustrated at the pull back, at your resistance — no, your refusal of him. “Don’t fucking ignore me!”

Clearly, you weren’t listening, for all that Vio wrested you into his lap, your eyes wouldn’t even meet his through the mirror. Your bones solid against his palm, and he squeezed, hard enough to take you in, to let out the anger. Though, watching your face twist in pain, tendons in your neck constricting just to cut off the whimper, Vio didn’t even know who to be mad at anymore. 

All he wanted was for you to give in. 

He’d missed you so much, he would dream of you saying his name again. As you always would, and give him that love he was addicted to — yours, that tasted like kisses to open flesh. Raw and sincere to the point that Vio would rather stay splayed and bloodied instead of getting help. He didn’t feel like he could come back from this, or who he’d become because of you. If he was falling from grace, he’d hale you with him.

“Y/N…” This time, it came as a whisper, erratic mind lulled quick to the sensation of your pulse pressing firm against his fingers. Counting throbs, taking breaths for you, telling himself to be kinder, kinder. “Talk to me,” his forehead rested on your shoulder blade, “let’s not do this anymore, hm?”

Gentility got a rise out of you, it seemed, in the form of a gasp and the violent twists to free yourself that followed. “Don’t you dare,” your tone was accusatory, yet when Vio leaned away he saw the tell in your tears, “you’re not allowed to act fucking civil after what you did.”

His brow twitched. Irritation. He didn’t have a clue what you were talking about. Either way, acting was already his whole career — it might as well have been his entire damn life, and he wasn’t going to be reminded. If you weren’t a director and he wasn’t the star of your show, he didn’t need you telling him what he could and couldn’t do. His grip on you tightened.

“I didn’t do anything,” he hissed.

Outside it had begun to rain, heavy droplets melting the sleet from the windows. Steady patters the furthest thing from therapeutic in his current headspace, Vio almost missed your broken, “liar.”

Knocking his knee to white wood had the make-up brush holder tipping, contents rolling around, more noise buzzing in his head as he adjusted you. Finally, you were forced to focus on him, and Vio's eyes were unblinking, boring into yours. “You’re making baseless accusations.” 

“You told me no one would love someone like me.”

“I asked you who could,” Vio bit back instantly, then, his voice softened, “...and the answer is me.”

Purple dotted into red when he let you go, wiping at your wet face. Speckled like poison in a garden of roses — what he was to you, and what you were to him. Vio thought it was fitting, beauty in that you were both to die of each other. His incurable illness. His darling disease. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to that gaffer.

“Only I can. Only I am allowed. Remember that, and love me in turn.”

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#44: The Family Gifts (1.05)

I love that they have this scene take place in a souvenir shop. 😊 Rick already turns the whole world into a gift shop when it comes to finding things to gift to Michonne so it’s only fitting that he’d find the perfect thing to get her in this place.

But what's extra special is now Rick's history of getting Michonne gifts has expanded to thinking about gifts for the son she gave him too - with RJ being the ultimate gift for them both. And seeing these two converse as parents in this scene was super heartwarming 🥰...

The scene starts with Rick knocking on the shop's door and then they open it and have the cutest little look exchange before entering the shop. It’s so subtle but I love it. 😊 They’re in such a good, peaceful, lighthearted mood and I always love those moments where it’s so clear that on top of being husband and wife, Rick and Michonne really are best friends. And yes I got all that just from a quick playful look. 😋

They enter and when Michonne walks pass those touristy license plates she taps them with her stick and keeps walking. I love that when she hits the rack Rick immediately looks over at her wondering what that’s about. He looks like if the license plates did something to her then he's gonna have beef with them too lol.

gif cred: @nat111love

Michonne says, “Never did like those” and I love that Rick immediately knows why as he says, “No 'Michonnes,' huh?” Michonne says, “Not even once” and I like that in TOWL we’re even just getting these tiny insights into the characters from the world before.

I know so many with unique names could relate to this license plate moment. And 'Michonne' really is such a unique and pretty name and uncommon as Okafor noted. 'Michonne' is also Rick’s favorite word. I’m convinced. 😌 And ever since this scene, my headcanon is that Rick, RJ, and Judith definitely work together to create some type of 'Michonne' license plate and gift it to her. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

As Rick continues to look at the license plates he stops and sees one that says 'Junior.' And y’all, the second I saw the junior license plate my heart was already bursting knowing exactly where this was going.

I love that they make it a point to show that there are Rick and even Richard license plates available too but the one that catches his eye is 'Junior.' It just shows how Rick is already so proud that his son is his Junior. 🥲

And then my heart just does flips and leaps hearing Rick say RJ’s name for the first time as he so sweetly asks Michonne, “Is this a terrible gift to bring to RJ?” Y'all, I'm smiling and crying at the same time. 🫠 Like how precious is this. 😭

You just know on this road trip home Rick and Michonne have been talking a lot about their kids and I love that Rick is thinking about his son and wants to bring him a gift. Especially because, as I mentioned in an episode 4 breakdown, they have a book they're bringing to Judith so I'm sure Rick wants to make sure they have a gift for RJ too.

I knew after episode 4 we were going to be seeing Healthy & Alive Rick all through episode 5 and that was so clear in this scene. Cuz this is the real Rick right here. Being a whole father. Being his affectionate gift-giving self. I love to see it. 😌

gif cred: @kris-lulu

There’s also something so sweet about him wondering if it would be a 'bad' gift. It’s bittersweet because it’s a reminder that Rick hasn’t had a chance to know his son or what he'd like but it’s great knowing he soon will have the chance to learn it all. 

Michonne smiles and then informs Rick that “No one has ever once called him Junior.” I love that when so many of us heard that we immediately decided that this means Rick will be the only one to call RJ 'Junior' and it’ll be their father/son thing. 👌🏽

gif cred: @krislulu

Rick says, “Ah okay” and puts the license plate back, and then Michonne smiles at him clearly finding him so cute in this moment and knowing the father of her child is the best man on earth.

And then she has the warmest kindest tone as she tells Rick, “You’re bringing yourself back. That’s more than enough.” I love this so much. 😭

gif cred: @kris-lulu

It's so touching that Michonne wants Rick to know he’s the gift. The gift that’s more than enough too. 🥹 Like truly their family is going to be so much more whole with his return.

The wording of 'bringing yourself back' also always makes me think of how he’s literally coming back but also he’s been acting like himself again, so it’s like Rick is bringing his true self back rather than burying it. And that’s also more than enough.

I love that Michonne is always reminding Rick of how cherished he is. And it’s also this reminder that him being with them is the best thing he can do. Just like when she said I only feel safe with you, Rick is again getting this confirmation that his presence is as needed and valued as his protection. 👌🏽

Rick says, “The Brave Man, huh?” and I like how this shows that Rick has been thinking a lot about who he is to his kids.

This got me thinking about how when Rick decided to die he had to surrender the idea of ever seeing his wife and daughter again. He accepted that all he’d ever have is the fading memories and just the honor of having got to love and protect them at all, even if for far briefer a time than he’d hoped. So now, it has to be pretty surreal for him to know he really will be back with them and with the son he wanted but didn't know he had.

gif cred: @nat111love

And if he’s at all worried if he’ll live up to his kids' expectations of him being The Brave Man, Michonne so wonderfully quells those doubts when she again so sweetly and sincerely says, “You are. More than ever.” 🥹🥹🥹

I know I’ve said it 1000 times but I adore the way Michonne believes in and uplifts Rick and this line right here might be my favorite example of that.

gif cred: @nat111love

I love how Michonne can always sense Rick's subtext and underlying feelings and then address them in the perfect way. Because she can sense that Rick is nervous about meeting his son for the first time and maybe worried about how it’ll go just showing up in his life after all these years. But Michonne saying this is reminding Rick that by choosing to come home, especially when he had been so convinced prior that he couldn’t and shouldn’t, is a brave thing and very commendable and he really is the great man his kids think he is.

It’s so precious too that Rick gets to see that it’s not just his kids but his wife who truly views him as The Brave Man. Like even tho Rick said last ep that he’s not the brave man, Michonne wants him to know their babies got it right with that title. 💯

And by pushing through all the fear that was keeping him chained to the CRM, Michonne thinks he’s the bravest he’s ever been for doing that. 🥹 I appreciate how Michonne and Rick find so many ways to say 'I love you' even without saying the three words directly. And this was 100% that. They really breathe life into each other with every encouraging word and gesture.

gif cred: @nat111love

As Michonne turns around we get even more adorableness as Rick spots a name bracelet and thinks what he thinks when he sees most any item, “this could be turned into a gift for Michonne.”

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

So being cute and sneaky trying to not get caught with the jewelry since he wants to surprise her with it later, he grabs the 'Michelle' bracelet and breaks it so that it becomes an M bracelet.

gif cred: @nat111love

Can my extra self break down all the reasons I adore this real quick? 😋

One; I absolutely love that because Rick notes every detail of Michonne he knows she’s missing her signature M necklace and so, as he’s always been so good at doing, he finds a way to essentially replace the one she lost.

Two; I love that Rick said if this place doesn’t have ‘michonne’ gifts he’ll find a way to make one.

Three; Something about him making the M bracelet on his prosthetic felt symbolic to me. He literally lost that hand because he’d choose being with Michonne over his own limbs. And now after doing everything he could to be with her, he has her and is still finding ways to give her every good thing he can.

Four; if I'm not mistaken, I believe it was said by Danai that the initial M necklace was from Michonne's mom and so I love that Michonne’s two M pieces of jewelry came from two of the people that love her most. 🥲

Five; After all those years of Michonne wearing that wedding ring with her necklace, I love that her husband is now with her and getting her new jewelry…and he’ll also be giving her some even more meaningful jewelry by the end of the ep. Amen. 😏

Six; It’s just so romantic and thoughtful. It’s so Rick to do this. And I love all these heartfelt gestures that add to Richonne’s epic love story. 

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

Rick pockets the bracelet, waiting for the right moment to gift his wife. Michonne then says, “He might be ready for this” as Rick turns around and sees Michonne holding a hatchet, similar to one of Rick's signature weapons in TWD. I adore that she saw that weapon and was like this would be a good fitting gift for Rick’s mini-me. 😋

And then something I always appreciate so much is hearing Rick ask, “Is that who he is?” I think it’s so sweet and such a sign of what a good dad Rick is. Of course, he’d be flattered if his son followed in his footsteps but the question shows that he also wants to know who RJ is regardless of him. You just know he’s prepared to love RJ whether he’s like him or not and I just love that he wants to know all about what RJ is like. 

And then it’s great that Michonne gets to tell him just how much she meant it when she said their kids are some Richonne kids when she says, “Judith has a sword. They’re us.” Hearing her say their kids are her and Rick never fails to elate me. 🥰 It’s such a true statement.

I love imagining that now that they’ve reunited Rick has got to see firsthand that Judith doesn’t only have a sword, she’s a whole pro with the sword just like her mom. 😌

I love how proud Michonne is of her kids. She raised them to be survivors while still giving them a childhood. And seeing Rick and Michonne talk as RJ and Judith’s parents in this scene was everything. The best mom and dad. 💛

But they’re also the best husband and wife and I love how that got to take center stage in TOWL.

So after this lovely parents moment, Rick is back to reminding us why he’s Husband of the Year ever year when he spots the absolute perfect minty fresh gift to give his wife.

And y’all, I gotta do a part two because this next part has Rick saying one of my favorite things of all time and it needs its own post. 😇

But as for this moment, Rick and Michonne are such a gift to each other. And their kids are such a gift to them. And this scene is such a gift to me. 🥰 And honey, because we’re spoiled rotten with this miniseries, this gift of a scene just keeps on giving with what comes next. 👌🏽😌