#he's batting his little eyelashes
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decaffeinated-heads · 6 months ago
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I dunno what it is about big woman and little weasle ships that bring me so much joy
I doodled this like three days ago and was bored:p
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survivedthenight · 7 days ago
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kind of obsessed with this headcanon actually
 korean mota twitter you’ve done it yet again
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hyohaehyuk · 1 month ago
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Lovingly gazing into your coworkers eyes while he's talking about the sexual and emotional tension of your characters is crazy 🙃
JA: Yeah, and then also playing that off against that tension and the aftermath of some of those fights. It suddenly rebuilds this sexual and emotional tension. Like you said, you get to explore the breadth of a relationship. But yeah, they’re each other’s endgame, aren’t they? In the books, they always come home to each other. I think it’s telling that that seems to be the denouement or the end of a lot of the novels: Louis and Lestat being petty and in love.
cut via wolfganglestat
transcriptions by greedandenby
Full video (unfortunately i can't find the original source so i am linking 2 videos posted by fans on yt):
youtube
youtube
Interview With The Vampire | Nicole Drum from Comicbook.com talks with Jacob Anderson and Sam Reid
#jam reiderson#jacob anderson#sam reid#interview with the vampire#iwtv#quoting comments from the link#the fact that they just threw them in a hotel room for this#WHY ARE THEY LOOKING AT EACH OTHER LIKE THAT??? đŸ„”đŸ„”#i feel like im intruding on something intimate here#I'm sorry I couldn't concentrate watching Sam gaze and nodding to Jacob. I'm sure he didn't listen either. look at his face#cant stop heart eyeing each other for even a second#why is sam BATTING HIS EYELASHES at jacob. sickening#there’s really nothing that can come close to the high of experiencing that first press run as it was happening#just a dozen of us pointing at them and going hey aren’t these guys acting a little gay#I was watching those interviews like
. well surely looking at your friends mouth every five seconds isn’t very friendly
.#They were behaving in insane ways#i love the early interviews cause they totally forget they're being interviewed and just started talking to each other.#they not even interested in the interview they just wanna stare into each others eyes#the interviewer is third wheeling at this point#i love how sam never breaks eye contact while jacob is looking at him.#it’s only after jacob turns away that he does as well but he continues to look back at him and through the screen.#his continuous nodding and saying “ya” and “mmh” to let jacob know he’s listening is so cute#also jacob just stares at sam when hes yapping into the camera#but the moment sam turns to looks at him he gives a little nod and smile to leet him know he’s listening/agrees.#Youtube
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takami-takami · 8 months ago
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Still thinking about how much this is Hawks.
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dennisboobs · 1 year ago
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why does he do any of this
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ratatatastic · 2 months ago
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happy we love defending our teammates around here from mr aj "thats one of the biggest things is im very loyal to my teammates and no ones going to take liberties and take any cheap shots towards my teammates" greer
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if youd like to know what caused aj to go after kastelic its because of two hits on adam and jesper that happen within 7 seconds of each other and while casters were quick to note the jesper hit they never mentioned kastelic basically riding adam near the benches hard not even a few seconds before that and those within tandem is what makes aj go enoughs enough! and shed his gloves
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there has to be something so funny about jesper and uvis hovering nearby as aj just (insert the dog eating cabbage angrily video)
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despite wrastling the shit out of a guy aj wants more and honestly a perfect addition to our kitty lineup!! oh delightful little cat!!
boston bruins @ florida panthers | 10.8.24
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bubblybloob · 7 months ago
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I can't help now but imagine that when Cold finally falls prey to the hibernation scheme (as they all will, eventually 👁👁) Hunted will take the opportunity to put him in the washing machine until the mange crust is all gone.
First of all, who’s to say they fall to the hibernation? đŸ‘ïžđŸ‘ïž
Secondly, NO DON’T WASHING MACHINE MY BOY I’VE BEEN THERE IT IS HELL HE WON’T SURVIVE-
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killuaisaprincess · 7 months ago
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đŸ„’
“You just wanted Gon to open that for you.”
Killua’s expression falls, and he puffs out his cheeks.
“N-No, I didn’t! Isn’t that right, Nanika?”
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nukacourier · 2 months ago
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Idk if anyone thought otherwise but James DOES get jealous and often did concerning Arcade before they were dating
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watatsumiis · 11 months ago
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twirling my hair. i looove to write characters so so so so so wrong because thats how they are in my head actually
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lemongogo · 2 years ago
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they ddi not havw 2 animate douma like that 

 hand over my face .not looking(i am peeking thru)
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the-acid-pear · 1 year ago
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I have yet to keep inspecting the sweepstakes, I need some air and food first, but I might as well share what I've been thinking about Mike today, because I heard of an interpretation saying Mike was a camera man for Spamton which ... Is very interesting. Like for me this makes me think of Mike as someone who admired Spamton, someone way smaller than him, definitely younger imo, who simply excitedly followed along with the orders given. I mean, up to a certain point. I mean this feeling is reinforced in the q&a when asked about Mike, that makes Spamton get very defensive, almost protective. In my eyes it almost creates this almost platonic familiar bond dynamic whatever. But like this is just a shot in the dark, bc what we know is, 3 lines, period. But if when chapter 3, 4 and 5 come out and Mike is there and I'm right about these things then I'm gonna feel like a god tbh.
#luly talks#not gonna put this one on main tag bc its a bit too vague and speculative and shit but im leaving rbs on in case some1 is like hm ur into#something here nemo im which case i will wag my tail and bat my eyelashes#but am i making sense anyway?#like just to make sure: my idea of mike is a camera man younger and smaller than Spamton who admired the guy#and spamton out of idk fondness bc he reminded him of his old self kinda took the guy under his wing in a way#that's why he's so protective and shit#although unrelated to this bc just. putting that there and NOT touching it but it's interesting what Spammy says right after name dropping#mike if you believe in the cameraman interpretation (which i saw in a video i then stopped watching bc i wanted to explore that shit myself)#bc he right after says to not believe anything you see on tv but this could easily imply mike did do his part but the editing team changed#shit. but its just very curious what involvement Mike could've had because. why would he be as targeted as he appears to be?#and what caused him to also abandone spamton? is mike even fucking alive? judging by Spammy's q&a dialogue you'd assume he is#but i mean that's official but not canon right so it's a bit hard to judge?#but Mike seems to be the only one he isn't really resentful towards for leaving him almost implying it wasn't Mike's choice?#i just can't wait to see more of this bc it's gonna reveal a whole side to this little puppet previously unknown#in fact i think that after breathing some air im gonna go look at the snowgrave neo fight flavor text and cry and piss and etc#I'm still not over spamton begs the audience to stop taking the furniture i can see the poor guy being evicted as he tries to plead not to#so vividly wugh. my poor little guy of questionable morals . . . 😱#also don't get me started on the commemorative ring man what on earth is going on there.........
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subskz · 1 year ago
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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 đŸ„° 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
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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."
âœčâœčâœč
The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat cafĂ© 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 cafĂ© 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.
âœčâœčâœč
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.
âœčâœčâœč
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 cafĂ© 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.
âœčâœčâœč
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.
âœčâœčâœč
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."
âœčâœčâœč
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.
âœčâœčâœč
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. 
âœčâœčâœč
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.        
âœčâœčâœč
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.
#FINALLY!!! turning the lights down low scattering rose petals lighting candles
my date w invisible thread is upon me at last đŸ„°#also i’m doing a sahar-style live reaction so apologies if i comment on literally every little thing that happens hehe im excited#hitting me w the clay metaphor right off the bat...i'm in awe of how perfectly you described childhood development w just a single analogy#molding the reader when she’s young n impressionable and leaving those imprints to harden beyond repair even after she's grown#what a beautifully melancholy way to describe her relationship w her mother and how it affects her view of herself i love it so much ㅠ#lesm inho. leemingo. LEMINHO!!! THE LAZY SMILE NOO U ALREADY GOT ME 😭😭😭 it’s so fucking over and i only just started oh my god#his eyes being the first thing she notices when they meet
the reader is just like me fr but describing them as black holes that draw her in#is making me crazy IT’S SO TRUE!!!! the most mesmerizing eyes known to man that warp space n time this comparison is absolutely stunning#the chill in his hand reminding her of a horrible memory like that 😞 so heartbreaking but also such a clever way to give insight into#the reader's character as well as insight into the the type of relationship she n lino will have and how it will likely resurface old wound#“u weren't sure what u would find on the other side nor did u have any desire to find out” u conveyed the odd magnetism of his eyes SO WELL#im very glad she got a higher grade than him i was not prepared for the smugness that would ensue if he beat her -_-; but a detail i really#adore is how casually lino takes the loss i feel like it goes to show that he truly doesnt have any ill intent despite being so provocative#the cat cafe is called limbo PLEASE THATS SO CUTE 😭 lino mimicking her words
n dodging the pillow i cant stand him actually#to be minho is to be insufferable and get away w it
she should throw a brick at his head next (<- madly in love)#oh my god the part where he laughs at her for hitting her head but from that point on covers that edges of the tables to protect her 😭😭😭#i’m going to be sick to my stomach thsi is the most minho expression of care on earth. all the careful linoisms u included are killing me ㅠ#comparing his eyelashes to the wings of a butterfly ARE U KIDDING!! that has me clutching my heart it's such delicate n gentle beauty#i love that he’s just as competitive as the reader but in a much more lighthearted way
he sees it almost like a game whereas she sees it as#a very serious demonstration of her worth. minho eventually becoming the one she wants to prove herself to rather than her mother#is so intensely sweet and heartwrenching at the same time ): in just a few months he's shown her a healthier love than her mother ever did#THEIR FIRST SNOW TOGETHER NONONO 😭 this entire scene has me inconsolable oh my god LINO W HIS SNOWBALL HE IS SO ANNOYINGLY CUTE#“u cant decide if ur shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him” critical hit on my heart
u painted such a#lovely picture of his laughter i can clearly envision his wild giggles and the way his entire body laughs w him when he’s really excited ㅠ#I WAS GONNA COMMENT ON THE SNOW NOT SPARKING THAT SAME AWFUL MEMORY THIS TIME 😭 his laughter brought her so much warmth she didnt even have#the chance to think abt it i'm so devastated by this parallel
little by little she’s healing w him and melting the frost her mother left#the way the reader grabs her fork to threaten him like he did w the spoon HELP theyre rubbing off on each other without even realizing it#every character detail u included is so well thought out u did a brilliant job ㅠㅠ it makes them human and the story all the more immersive#lino letting her eat first while he cooks the meat and him blushing everywhere when she feeds him MY BABY 😞💔 he thinks he’s so slick
#asking how she’d dispose of a body over dinner
lee minho master of romance everyone 🙏 but literally OF COURSE HE WOULD
6K notes · View notes
syluss-littlecrow · 3 months ago
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better than the devil
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<sylus x fem!reader>
where you find out if Sylus really has horns, and why he avoids letting you touch them
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genre/warnings: smut, pwp, unprotected sex, size kink (i mean bro is PACKING), breeding kink, sylus’s horns are ✹sensitive✹, dirty talk, sexual tension, missionary, a fuck ton of horn play, horny horns, cumming untouched, orgams galore!, so much cum♡
w/c: 2.9K
a/n: gotta thank the loml @bro-atz for helping me with this a little ehehehe >:) I hope this destroyed yall as much as this destroyed me to write it!!đŸ„č
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They say he takes the form of some dragon-like creature—with large black horns and wings. 
The first time you witnessed it with your own two eyes was when he choked out a serpent wanderer ten times his size before it got to you. You were semi-conscious at that point of time, the fatigue threatening to take over, but you had caught a glimpse of his silhouette—two thick appendages that curled proudly past his dirty silver hair, and large wings that hung off his back—before you blacked out. 
“Staring at me isn’t going to get any of your curiosities satisfied”, Sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. Your gaze flickers to his face, but Sylus has his eyes on his phone. 
Then his gaze shifts to you. 
“What are you thinking about, sweetie?”
Of course, you couldn’t just tell him outright that you wanted to see him magically grow his horns out of his head. You doubt even Luke and Kieran have seen it themselves. 
“Your horns.”
Sylus lowers his phone onto his lap, then he cocks an eyebrow, which turns to a furrow in seconds. 
“What gave you the idea that I grew horns?” He asks, his tone laced with mock and caution. His attention is fully on you now. 
Yeah, maybe that was not a good question to ask. Then again, being around someone as direct as Sylus had made you pick up his mannerisms quite a fair bit. 
“Nothing really”, you brush off, attempting to derail the conversation before something goes wrong. “I’m just curious.”
“Talk”, Sylus demands, albeit in a soft tone. “I’m listening.” 
His crimson eyes burn a hole into your head, and you now only realise the way he has you cornered on his couch, his large frame looming over yours. 
You sigh, realising he’s not about to let it go anytime soon. 
“A few weeks ago, during one of the battles we had, where I almost died-“
“Get to the point, sweetie”, Sylus cuts, seeing through your guise. 
You pout. “Right. Before I blacked out, I saw you appear right in front of me, with horns.”
Sylus raises his eyebrows, seemingly in amusement. “You sure you weren’t hallucinating?”
He earns a smack on his chest. You’re ready to let him disprove you further or whatever, but your body jolts when you feel Sylus snake his arms around your waist before he carries you effortlessly off the corner of the couch and onto his lap. 
You watch his eyes grow soft when he locks his gaze with yours. His expression is unreadable.
Your eyes widen in amazement when the thick pair of horns curl past his locks, the black a stark contrast with his white hair. He looks like he’s wearing bows in a funny, demonic type of way. Not that he has to know that. 
You continue to stare at his horns, visually taking in the rough yet smooth texture and patterns that run downwards as the horns grow thicker towards the base. 
“What are you really?” You wonder aloud, your fingers reaching out to feel the interesting texture of his horns, only for him to pull away quickly.
“It’s not the right time for you to know”, he replies curtly. You notice the glint of concern in his eyes, shrouded under the indifferent expression he wears. 
So you decide to leave it for now, at least. 
Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from annoying the ever-loving shit out of Sylus about his horns once you found out about it.
He would stare at you with his eyebrows furrowed, muttering that he should have never told you about his horns, only for you to bat your eyelashes at him, much to his annoyance. 
“At least let me touch them if you’re not gonna tell me more about them”, you would whine. With a frown, he would push your forehead with a finger, giving you his standard answer.
"No."
“Then could you at least tell me why you won’t let me touch your horns?”
He would rest his thumb and index finger on his chin, feigning a thinking stance before his expression drops deadpan and then the curt answer leaves his lips.
“No.”
You’re putting this right next to when you were fighting for your life to get that fucking brooch months ago. 
While the thought continues to eat into your curiosity, you mostly let Sylus off the hook after a while. For some reason, you’ve been noticing that Sylus has been walking around his mansion with his horns freely out. Maybe because he’s shown you his full horns once that’s why?
Or he’s just straight-up taunting you. 
You feign nonchalance, only stealing glances at the thick appendage that stood out against his pale locks from time to time, but never really bringing it up to him, for now at least.
You hear the raindrops patter against the large windows of Sylus's room one afternoon. At least the heavy clouds are hiding the sun on top of the dark curtains drawn, and it makes Sylus's rest a little more comfortable. 
He's sound asleep beside you on his bed, but you're seated up on your phone, the sound of the rain also slowly luring you to grow sleepy. You stretch a little, careful not to wake the male beside you. Sylus grunts softly, and you feel his hair tickle your thighs.
Through your peripherals, something catches your attention. The black on white is undoubtedly hard to miss.
Now that Sylus seems dead asleep, you're considering taking a chance to take a closer look at his horns, and maybe even touch them. 
Carefully, you shift your weight closer to Sylus, monitoring his expressions and movements. When the coast is clear, you lean closer, staring at his horns with much amazement. It's a lot different now that you're this up close to admire them. 
His horns aren't simply a simple shade of jet black–at different angles, you notice how the scales of his horns shimmer like an oil spill under the soft light. Close up, the base of his horns are thick, and as it extends, it curls, almost fully wrapping around his head. 
“So pretty”, you mutter to yourself. Your fingers are reached out as if by instinct, barely inches away from touching his pretty crown. 
You pause, weighing the risks of attempting to touch his horns. How fucked would you be if you actually did? 
Your eyes scan Sylus’s calm sleeping face. He doesn't seem to have even noticed his horns have grown out. 
“It’s just a little touch, he won't feel it anyways”, you convince yourself softly, your resolve firming as your curiosity begins to bubble over your rationale.
You let your fingers brush his horn, feeling the cold and scaly texture beneath your fingertips. Your eyes are sparkling in amazement even more, now that your curiosity has been satisfied. You press your fingertips onto the appendage, enjoying how nice and cool it feels to the touch.
Just then, you hear Sylus groan slightly. Your hand immediately retracts before you fully freeze, watching the way he presses his head against your leg, his eyebrows slightly scrunched before it returns back to relaxed. 
Close call. 
You obviously don’t learn your lesson, because your fingers are on his horns almost immediately once more. You grow more curious about the feeling of running your palm across his horns this round. 
So you do.
Your hand starts from the thick base, and you stroke it, following the horn's curl, enjoying the way the texture of the scales run smooth under your palm.
And then Sylus makes a sound beneath you. You squint in curiosity, wondering if you heard it right.
So you run your hand from his tip to the base this time. 
And this time, Sylus lets out another moan. You definitely did not hear wrong. 
Your cheeks are slowly flushing when you realise what you're doing to him. But for some reason, it makes you want to do it more.
So this is why he doesn't want you touching his horns? 
With a cheeky smile, you run your fingers along his horns in various ways and places, eliciting more pretty and erotic reactions from Sylus. 
You giggle to yourself, trying to ignore how he's making you aroused with all the noises he's making with every stroke you give his horns. 
You want to go for the next round, wondering how far you can take this.
Obviously not very far, because the next time you do, Sylus’s hand catches your wrist before you're about to touch his horns again.
He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, pink dusted on his cheeks and his breathing shallow.
“Are you having fun, kitten?” He asks with a frown.
Fuck.
You feign a smile, trying to wave your hand from his grip, of course, your attempts futile. 
Sylus’s other arm curls around your thighs, locking you from leaving the bed while Sylus lets his sleep leave his body from the rude interruption. 
“Denying me of satisfying my curiosity only makes it worse”, you shrug. Well, if only Sylus had just let you have a little touch

The corner of Sylus’s lips pull up to a half smirk. 
“Right”, Sylus replies, a hint of annoyance and something else laced in his tone before he shifts above you in one swift motion, trapping you underneath him on his bed. 
“Then, I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that actions have consequences?”
You swallow hard. 
His hand that grabbed yours is placed on his chest, and he forces you to trail down his body, feeling his thick chest, then his abs under your touch, all the way down until he stops you right on his thick erection.
“You should take responsibility, don't you think?” Sylus asks with a raised eyebrow. 
You know it's pointless even attempt to escape when he’s devouring your lips like he hasn't eaten in days. It's so intoxicating. You would never admit your greed, but Sylus knows you well enough to feed you so good. You want to pull him so impossibly close.
In between breathless kisses, your warm hands trail from his biceps to his shoulders, to his neck, and right to his hair.
You test waters–letting your fingers rake through his hair, grazing the base of his horns. You get his green light when he doesn't swat you off, on the contrary, it makes Sylus grow more desperate in the kiss.
You confidently stroke his horn, from base to tip once more, and the moans that leave Sylus’s lips sound like fucking heaven. 
His crimson eyes finally meet yours, and he almost looks like he's in pain. 
“If you keep doing that–ngh–” Sylus trails off with another strained moan when the sensation of you stroking his horn buzzes right to his cock that he has shut his eyes to hold back. 
“This?” you tease, sliding your palm down to his base once more, rubbing the scaly appendage, watching him failing at trying to keep his composure. 
“Fuck”, he hisses, diving into your lips once more, eating you up. 
He pulls away briefly, pressing his lips just below your ear.
“You’re gonna be taking responsibility, kitten.”
He presses himself close onto you, so close that you feel his cock just pulsing against your pelvis, only separated by his black sweats. Sylus takes your chin in his fingers and steals your breath away once more, uncontrollably grunting with every stroke your hands play with his horns. You feel his cock twitch, then pulse before the feeling of warmth spreads across your skin, accompanied by a long, drawn out moan in your mouth.
It makes you dizzy with bliss, realising what you've done to him. 
Sylus pulls away once more, catching his breath, his eyes reflecting something more feral when you met his. 
But all you do is flash a cheeky smile at him, letting your fingers caress his cheek. 
His fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and he yanks them off, almost growing feral for the second time when his eyes meet the sight of the way your pussy is glistening so much that a wet and thin string of arousal sticks itself in between your pussy and your soaked panties. 
Well, Sylus is holding the short end of the stick anyway, because when he tugs his sweats down, your heartbeat accelerates as your eyes land on his cock–thick, red and completely covered in white and thick cum, some staining his underwear, twitching slightly with dribbles of cum seeping past his cockhead when the fabric brushes past his balls. 
He looks so fucking delicious when he's messy like that. Shit.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself, staring at me like that”, he teases. He doesn't even look embarrassed.
“Maybe I should play with your horns more often”, you reply with a smile. Sylus narrows his eyes at you, his expression mixed with annoyance and affection. His fingers press against your soaking clit, enjoying the way the smile on your face gets wiped, replaced with a contorted expression of pleasure when he rubs it in slow circles. 
“I’m strongly against that idea, sweetie”, Sylus responds, leaning in to take in the expression of your mind slowly growing dumb and blank just from his slender fingers rubbing you out. “It’ll give you a little too much leverage over me.”
Through the hazy and building pleasure, you still manage to reply, “that's the whole point.”
Sylus only smiles at your reply, his fingers leaving your clit. You're about to protest, that is, until he grabs you by your hips, dragging you closer to him, then pressing your knees to your chest, before his wet cock slowly enters you from below. He watches your face contort in pleasure–your eyes rolling back and your eyebrows furrowed–while soaking in the fucking delicious feeling of your cunt warm and wrapped around his cock. 
“S-so good”, you whimper, his fullness knocking out any ounce of breath and sense out of you at a dangerous pace the his cock inches even deeper into you.
“Such a nice and warm pussy hole”, Sylus grits, pushing himself even deeper, his control slipping when he's buried himself all the way in. “Fuck, you're so good for me, kitten.”
You're clawing his pillows when Sylus starts fucking you, and you're looking at Sylus with such a glazed out expression–and you know it drives him fucking crazy. His palm rests on the bulge that his cock is pushing every time he enters you, and it makes your thighs shake. Your moans grow in pitch and tone on top of the sounds of lewd wet skin slapping. 
He lets you wrap your legs around his waist in return for letting him scatter love bites across your neck.
So you decide that it’s the perfect time to aim for his sensitive spots once more.
Your fingers tug against his scalp, then alternating to stroking his horns once more, throwing Sylus into another round of pleasured daze. 
You feel his cock fill you up even more, and it makes you greedy to how far you can push it.
“I really should make you regret this”, Sylus mutters, failing to suppress another groan when your fingers scratch against the base. 
His thrusts become more like ruts, his cockhead hitting your g-spot over and over as payback. Sylus sprouts a satisfied smirk as he watches you completely come undone on his cock. You throw your head back while stars flicker in and out of your vision. The pleasure is growing so fucking good that you're choking on your moans too. 
“Right there! Fuck, that feels so fucking good, Sylus”, you sob through wet lashes and heavy pants. 
Sylus is mesmerised by your pretty expressions and the pretty sounds you always make for him when he's breaking you apart. 
Maybe you finding out about his sensitive horns is his punishment for indulging in these sick pleasures. Nonetheless, he still wouldn't have any other way.
Your hands find his horns once more, and he falters for a split second. But he doesn't shake you off since he's much too focused on trying to force an orgasm out of you.
Your pussy squeezes him before it starts uncontrollably fluttering against his cock. Ah, his goal is slowly being fulfilled.
As your orgasm dangles above you, you react with periodical squeezes on his cock and his horns, which definitely draws a much larger reaction from Sylus. 
“So close”, you whine, your orgasm slowly filling the crevices of your brain, plunging you deep into pleasure. Your cunt clenches on his cock, and you unintentionally yank his horns.
Sylus fucking growls, pressing himself so fucking deep into you, his cum fucking spurting into you–so much that some is leaking out from your plugged pussy hole and onto the bed. 
He pulls his cock out momentarily, letting his cum ooze from his cockhead, his eyes darting to the loads seeping out of your hole, before he slides his cock into you once more. You gasp at the fullness, another squeeze to his horns, which only stimulates Sylus once more, and his cock fills you up with another warm and sticky load. 
He’s panting, but he musters his energy to meet your eyes. 
“Sweetie”, he calls out to you amidst his dick attempting to take over his brain. “If you don't get your hands off, your pussy won't be able to hold anymore, I guarantee.”
He's met with a fucked-out and sly grin from his partner. 
“And I thought you enjoyed challenges.”
Sylus scoffs at your comment, realising that he really has to teach his kitten a lesson to not touch things that aren't hers.
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cyberesc · 3 months ago
Text
IN THE PALM OF HIS HAND.
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pairing: Prohero!Bakugo x Prohero!Reader
synopsis: After every mission, Katsuki makes it a habit of checking you for injuries. It’s a routine that’s as comforting as it is embarrassing, especially when your friends start to get the wrong idea.
rating: fluff
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The hum of the city buzzed in the background as you and the rest of your team made your way back to the agency. The mission had been a success—minimal collateral damage, civilians unharmed, and the villain apprehended. But the moment you stepped through the doors of the agency’s lobby, you knew what was coming.
Katsuki Bakugou, your ever-determined longtime friend, was already making his way toward you, his gaze sharp and focused. You barely had time to greet the others before Katsuki was in front of you, his eyes scanning you up and down like he was searching for something.
“Kats, I’m fine,” you started to say, but it was no use.
Without a word, his hands reached out and cupped your face, his palms warm and calloused against your skin. He tilted your head gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he examined you for any signs of injury.
It was the same routine every time you finished a mission. No matter how minor or major, Katsuki always insisted on checking you over himself, making sure you hadn’t gotten hurt in the line of duty. It was sweet, in his own way, but it was also
 a little embarrassing, especially when it happened in front of your friends.
“Seriously, I’m okay,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up under his intense scrutiny.
“Just shut up and let me look,” he muttered back, his voice low but firm.
You sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue. Katsuki was nothing if not thorough. His red eyes flicked over your face, lingering on a small scrape on your forehead that you’d barely noticed.
“This,” he said, brushing his thumb lightly over the scrape, “looks like it needs disinfecting.”
“It’s just a scratch,” you protested weakly, though the concern in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re getting it cleaned up.”
By now, you were well aware that the rest of your team was watching. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Kirishima grinning like an idiot, Mina whispering something to Kaminari, and Sero trying—and failing—to suppress his smirk.
They’d all gotten it into their heads that you and Katsuki were more than just friends. It wasn’t hard to see why, what with the way he was always looking out for you, always making sure you were okay, but the truth was
 well, the truth was you wouldn’t mind if they were right.
But Katsuki had never said anything to make you think he saw you as anything more than a teammate and a friend. Sure, he was protective, and sure, he got in your personal space a lot, but that was just how Katsuki was. He cared about the people in his life, even if he had a funny way of showing it.
“There,” Katsuki finally said, letting go of your face with a satisfied nod. “No other injuries?”
“Nope, that was it,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Good as new.”
“Hmph.” He gave you one last look, as if double-checking, before stepping back.
You exhaled in relief, glad to have your space back, even if you did miss the warmth of his hands. But before you could fully regain your composure, Mina was suddenly at your side, her arm slung around your shoulders as she grinned up at you.
“You two are just too cute,” she cooed, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Honestly, how long are you gonna keep us all in suspense?”
“Mina, come on,” you groaned, trying to brush her off, but she was relentless.
“What? It’s obvious! The way he looks at you, the way you let him fuss over you—” She glanced at Katsuki, who was glaring at her but not denying anything, “—you two are like a married couple already.”
“Shut it, Raccoon Eyes,” Katsuki snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ain’t nobody asked for your commentary.”
“Oh, touche, touche,” Kaminari chimed in, winking at you. “C’mon, Y/N, you’ve got to admit, it’s kinda romantic.”
“Yeah,” Sero added with a grin. “You’ve got your very own knight in shining armor.”
You could feel your face heating up even more, and you shot a pleading look at Kirishima, hoping he might intervene. But Kirishima just laughed, clearly enjoying the show. “Hey, man, they’re not wrong! You two have some serious chemistry.”
Katsuki looked like he was about to explode, and you decided it was time to put an end to the teasing before it got out of hand. “Okay, okay, that’s enough!” you said, holding up your hands. “We’ve all had a long day, so let’s just
 chill, alright?”
Mina pouted, but she finally relented, giving you a playful nudge. “Fine, fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re gonna keep an eye on you two.”
You rolled your eyes, grateful that the attention was finally off you, but when you glanced back at Katsuki, you found him staring at you, his expression unreadable.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—to diffuse the tension, but Katsuki beat you to it.
“Next time, don’t get hurt,” he said, his voice gruff but soft enough that only you could hear. “Can’t stand seeing you like that.”
Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was nod. There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable that made your heart ache.
“I’ll try,” you managed to say, your voice a little shakier than you’d like.
“Good.” He nodded, satisfied, before turning on his heel and heading toward the locker rooms. But before he disappeared, he glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze locking with yours. “Get that scrape cleaned up.”
You watched him go, your mind a whirlwind of emotions, and it wasn’t until Mina nudged you again that you realized you were still staring.
“See what I mean?” she whispered, winking. “Totally smitten.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands, but the truth was, you didn’t mind as much as you pretended to. Because even if Katsuki’s habit of fussing over you was a little embarrassing, it was also the highlight of your day.
And maybe, just maybe, one day you’d find the courage to tell him how much those moments meant to you.
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© property of cyberesc 2024. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works and do not repost/copy onto any other sites.
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dmitriene · 4 months ago
Text
kind of continuation to this drabble
könig knows you're nothing like the other girls he was used to shag, and he's smitten by it, in the way you calmly agree and stay in his apartment, when after breakfast in bed he says that you're not going anywhere and gonna stay beside him, he's sure that you have some small job like as a charming waitress in a cafe, friends you would like to see, family after all, but you look at him through batting eyelashes and hum in agreement, stretching on the sheets beneath you.
he calls you his girlfriend as a test, and your eyes sparkle with naive adoration as you stretch your arms in his direction, making könig bend his whole body down to your level with rippling muscles, so you'll swipe your soft palms against his wide shoulders and loop your hands around his thick neck, pressing a smudgy kiss to his rough, stubbled jaw, nuzzling in his shoulder like some docile pet, only mewling adorably when he catches your lips into a sloppy, lewd kiss.
you really just stay, don't run away, don't call him a weird creep, use his bathroom to wash and wash loads of his thick, sticky cum out of your still aching, puffy pussy, without twitching when he suddenly decides to join you by snuggling up from behind, his bulky frame crowds almost all the space in the shower, shielding you from all the water that now drips down the broad expanse of his back, as his hardened, chubby cock presses against the small of your back.
könig is fisting the length with one of his free hands that aren't curled around the curve of your waist, creeping to paw at your soft breast, until you claw at his wrist when he guides his throbbing cock between your folds, and they're already slick with your tacky arousal, your spine arching delicately as you wiggle your supple ass, pressing back against his fat, leaking tip that nudges at your pulsing hole, letting him slip inside without a stretch, pussy comfortably loose as you whimper sweet, throaty mewl when he bottoms out.
you let him cream your cunt till it's leaking out of you again, oozing between your supple, wet thighs, legs shaking and starting to buckle beneath you as könig whines in your ear, biting at your lobe with hoarse moans, dumping load after load in your fluttering, gushy cunt, scooping you in his arms when your feet does give up beneath you, making him carry you out from the shower, and with hasty wipes of a towel against your smooth skin and between your legs, he carries you out to the living room.
könig makes you wear his clothes and just a pair of cotton panties beneath, and it's not a problem to you at all, you walk around his apartment just the way he wants, using his lap instead of a couch or a chair while in the kitchen, and you let him cum in your pussy even with your legs hoisted up on his shoulders as he rams in you with messy jerks of hips, sprawled on the kitchen table, so his cum would stain your panties and make you walk all oozing with his claim.
it's doesn't matter if your life now reminds one of a fleshlight, you ain't complaining, cuddling against könig's brawny chest for some head strokes and little rubs behind your ears, pressing kisses on his rough face, making könig grin in boyish, lopsided way, before moving his hand down to squeeze and grope at your round, doughy tits, calling you his albernes haustier, and like the obedient one, you just nod and smile adoringly.
main masterlist. quidelines.
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