#his smile right after is so adorable

[psalmsofpsychosis]

real talk though; if i could surgically remove the Bruce & Alfred scenes out of Gotham TV and make an entire separate Batman project out of them i would, because they're so distinctly different from the rest of the show and from the common Batman comic narratives, it floors me everytime. If we take the whole show as a body, the heart is placed in Bruce Wayne and it bleeds into his relationships with people, but most importantly with Alfred. It's such stark and exciting constrast to how Batman comics generally portray Bruce Wayne or the Batman persona; Gotham!Bruce is so tender and bare and transparent, heart beating and bleeding so close to his skin, you can see when it taints through his shirt, and his moments of absolute irrational sentimentality are not played cheap or like missteps in a planned protocol rational persona, they're utterly sincere and every emotion he expresses is as integral to his character as his moments of analytical calculation.

[seekingthestars]

little floof has the best possible time at con, proceeds to spend the next month crying about it

[thepinkseashell]

HELLOOOO HOW THE FUCK ARE YALL DOING I HAVE HAD A MOTHERFUCKING DAY

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

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

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

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

word count : 20k

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

part two

You have always been first in your class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"I have an idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

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

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

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

"And right now, how do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

"I do too."

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

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

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

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

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

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

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

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

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

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

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

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

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

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

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

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

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

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

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

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

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

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

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

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

"What's there to miss?"

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

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

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

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

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

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

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

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

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

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll ask her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only tell my friends."

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

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

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

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"You'll catch a cold."

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

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

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

"Yn, I don’t-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something friends think about, right? 

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

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

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

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

"I’ll still cut it."

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

He didn't cut his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

2 months later

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

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

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

"What are you doing?"

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

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that you look scary."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

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

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

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

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

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

"I will." 

"Okay." 

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

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

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

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

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deleted your number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yn-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, let me make it better." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It will take time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

[slytherinslut0]

jealousy. | slytherin boy headcanons

author’s note: im completely unhinged, as always. no surprise there. love me some angry snake men🥵 please enjoy.

-your boyfriend sees another guy flirting with you in the hall.

Draco Malfoy.

Sees you from down the hall as he’s walking with his friends.

“You know what, guys, I’ll catch up with you after.”

Would literally ditch his friends to make his way over, collecting himself as saunters up to you and mystery man.

Would instantly grab your ass, no hesitation, grip firm enough to bruise. When you gasp, caught off guard, he’d shift his arm up and around your shoulder, pulling you against him.

“What’re we talking about?” He’d sneer.

His voice would be laced with feign interest, smirking down at you with blaring eyes before shooting daggers at the boy.

He’d simply chuckle at you when you tell him nothing, just school stuff, leaning down to place a possessive kiss on your cheek as he grabbed your hand.

“Wonderful. let’s head to class, yeah?”

He’d pull you away from that dude, shooting him another look meant to kill, a silent warning not to fuck with him.

Finally gets you alone in an empty corridor or bathroom; would waste literally no time at all before pushing you against the wall and grabbing your neck/jaw.

“Who the fuck was that, hm?”, “he was practically eye-fucking you…give me five good reasons why i shouldn’t have him expelled or hexed into bloody Azkaban.”

He’d be furious, but he’d also know that you’d never choose some other guy over him, so he’d soften once he hears the innocence in your tone.

“You’re mine, princess,” he’d loosen his grip, kissing you softly. “Say it.”

Blaise Zabini.

Was listening to music while walking down the hall, instantly rips out his headphones the second he sees you laughing a little too hard with some dude he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’d definitely slow his pace, kind of just watching, not wanting to interfere but also not wanting to look creepy stalking you from a distance.

When the guy doesn’t leave, he’d tired of waiting, saying “fuck it”, before marching over naturally.

This man is so fucking cool calm and collected he’d just saunter right up and join in, making himself at home.

He’d practically take over the conversation because he’s literally just that chill in every situation, seamlessly fitting right in, so fucking charming and loved by everyone.

You’d kind of just end up staring at him, smiling in silent awe, knowing that this was his way of asserting his place, letting the guy know what the fuck was up.

After the dude leaves he’d just causally look at you, smirking that charming smirk, wetting his lips as he hooked an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, leaning down for a kiss.

“Ain’t no one getting you without getting me too, babygirl.” He’d murmur against your lips. “let that be known, right now, forever, always.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Would literally stop everything. The second he’d see you laughing and smiling he’d be completely unable to focus on anything else and would completely zone out of any conversations with his friends.

Would get like super anxious and flustered pretty much immediately.

Wouldn’t want to intrude so he’d just kind of hang back, wait for you against the wall and try not to stare too much.

His adorable little cheeks would flush, and he’d know he seemed utterly ridiculous so he’d try to busy himself with his shoelace or something while he waits.

You’d quickly cut off the conversation and move over to him, instantly being able to tell that he’s overthinking.

He’d smile at you, though you could still see the concern on his features.

“Who was that guy, darling?”

You’d tell him he was just a friend from class, no one special at all, pulling him in for a hug and giving him a quick smoochie on the cheek.

“Don’t worry enz, no one could ever take your place.”

He’d blush, trying to play it off. “Sorry love, I know you’re my girl.”

You’d take his hand, squeezing him hard, never wanting him to doubt that for a second. “Only yours baby, forever.”

Mattheo Riddle.

“Who the fuck-“

Would literally whip his bag at Theo, hastily shoving through the crowded hallway with blazing eyes, tunnel visioned as he tried to figure out where the fuck this dude found the audacity.

You wouldn’t even have to turn around to know he’s there, you’d be able to literally feel the anger radiating off of him.

You’d already know exactly where this was heading, but you’d also know there was no attempting to stop him because it’s pointless. Everyone in the school knows that.

Matty does what Matty wants, and right now, he wants to fuck up this guys face for even thinking about flirting with you.

You’d simply look up at him, noting his tensed jaw and his dark eyes as he glances between you and the dude, before fixing back on you, wetting his lips before he says,

“Is this fucker bothering you?”

Unable to help it, you’d smirk, shaking your head as you calmly attempted to talk him down.

“No Matty, he just asked if he could borrow my study notes-“

He’d heard more than enough.

“Study notes? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so,”

Without giving the guy a chance to react, he’d reach for his collar, shoving his back against the wall, teeth barred and face contorted in a snarl as he’d hiss:

“Bother my fucking girlfriend again and the only study notes you’ll need are the ones on how to drink out of a fucking straw, understand?”

Not interested in the response, he’d shove the guy away, eyes softening instantly as he moved back over to you, thrusting a hand through your hair as he kissed you like it’d been a hundred years, right in the middle of the hall for everyone to see.

And judging by the intensity in his grip, you’d already know, later that night, he’d be extra fucking sure to ask you who the fuck you belong to while he’s fucking you.

When he finally pulled back, he’d smirk at you. “Some bloody nerve on that guy, huh?”

You’d just shake your head and laugh, taking his hand as the two of you headed for class.

Theodore Nott.

He’d spot you from down the hall, his eyes instantly narrowing, gaze darting around as though he was missing something, as though this was some sort of sick joke.

Surely, this dude is mentally unwell, right? There’s no fucking way that he’s-

Doesn’t bother to think about it for even another fucking second, instantly shoving through the crowd to make his way over.

Proceeds to wrap his arm around your waist, other hand finding your jaw and pulling your lips to his before you could even process it.

Would proceed to full-on make out with you in front of the dude, and I mean tongue and all, his grip on your jaw so tight you’d know exactly what he was trying to do.

His hand around your waist might even slip lower, grazing over your ass, and then that’s when you’d attempt to gather yourself and push him back, completely embarrassed.

He’d just shrug, smirking down at you before he’d finally acknowledge the guys’ presence with literally nothing more than a glare meant to kill.

“Move along,” he’d say to the guy while pulling you away, grip tighter than ever. “This one’s fucking taken.”

As soon as he got you alone he’d be damn sure to remind you that you’re his, and only his, making you beg and whine his name before he fucked you like you deserved the pain.

Tom Riddle.

“AVADA KEDA-“

Lowkey kidding but not really.

No one would even dare because that man would make it clear as fucking day what would happen if they tried.

[screampied]

toji realizes he’s in love with you when he lets you shave his face for the first time,

he’s got the biggest grump of a scowl plastered on his naturally crooked lips. as he’s glowering, he’s also trying to prevent himself from smiling because you looked so cute. your touch with him was gentle—like it always was. after you wiped his face with a dampened face towel, you rub your hands against the lower part of his jaw. “soooo,” you utter, breaking the dead silence as he’s just peering down at you. “tell me ‘bout your day, toji.”

with the palms of your hands tenderly caressing against his chiseled jawline—you smear every part of his chin and cheekbones with shaving cream. even the secluded areas underneath his nose. as you do so, toji tchs. “day was fine, baby. ‘n i told ya i can shave myself.”

“i know i know,” you hum, creating a circular motion with your hands before gently making sure every sector near the lower part of his face was lathered with nice frothy amounts of shaving cream. “wowww, you’ve got such soft skin. skin routine when?”

“ugh, y’er insufferable,” he rolls his eyes. although, his skin was surprisingly clear. toji only had a bit of a stubble, hardly any facial hair but it was growing the more he aged. you took it upon yourself to ask to help him shave and he said yes, not realizing how much he’d soon grow to like it. the feeling of your delicate, warm hands rubbing against his face was somewhat . . soothing. with a deep, heaving sigh, toji’s hooded jade eyes meet yours. he spots your pout and his shoulders lower. “alright fine, i’ll teach you one day. only if ya stop poutin'..”

with a cheeky grin, your little pout falters and you smile. “okay,” and you wait for about a good three minutes to allow the spumous cream to souse everywhere on his pores. it takes a while—and as you wait, you take a moment to stare at his features. toji was definitely easy on the eyes up close. naturally long black lashes of his flicker as he returns your loving gaze, and he avoids eye contact for a moment. perhaps you were making him a bit . . nervous. darkened eyebrows of his arch into an almost sheepish raise while he watches your adorable curious simper stretch further. “don’t be so stiff, what are you, nervous?”

“not nervous. jus’ don’t want ya to cut my face off.” he grumbles in a hoarse tone, ogling intently at you opening the bathroom cabinet for his razor. “you know what y’er doin’ right? i’d like ‘ta keep my face.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic,” and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. toji’s got a growing smirk tugging against his lips as he gawks you carefully start to shave in the exact sectors of where his facial hair resides. you did lots and lots of research—he knew this because he caught you reading various wikiHow articles on how to shave a guy’s face correctly. toji would never in a million years tell you, but he found that fact entirely adorable. you made sure you knew how to avoid burns and razor bumps. as you’re fixated on his chin, you mumble, “you’ll keep your pretty face, don’t cry.”

“aw, think ‘m pretty?” toji says, and you see the playful glint in his eyes. he’s easing up a bit, and he acknowledges that you were right. right about his stiffness, he was a bit tense. shoulders raised and all, but now—as of late, he’s starting to calm down a bit the more you talk to him. “i’d prefer the term 'handsome' but that works too, i guess.”

you deadpan, continuing your trail against his face—the razor sings out a shrieking tiiiing the more you gingerly shave with soft, gentle strokes.

it’s somewhat relaxing with the way the edges of the instrument adapts to the chiseled contours on his face. the foam starts to come off within each downward stroke and you’re very slow and precise. “okay, don’t be cocky,” you titter, and he feels his heart flutter a bit at how you’re just so dedicated. you’re so focused that your tongue briefly sticks out of your mouth, trying to make sure you do it perfectly. you tried your hardest not to cut him—you were so careful and that simple detail alone could have been enough for him to propose. “you should let me do this more. ‘s kinda fun.”

“eh. maybe,” toji shrugs, his voice coming out in a rough rasp. he doesn’t even realize it but his expressions significantly soften. he was only this way around you. to him, the thought of that was kind of scary. after you start to edge with the precision trimmer and reach underneath his nose and chin, you wrap it up. successfully discarding all of the foamy cream from his face, spotting his now clean jawline, you break away to rinse off the now grubby blades in the sink. “all done?”

“wait— don’t look yet,” you gasp, preventing him from gazing at himself in the mirror. “i still have to do the uh . . what’s it called again?”

toji snickers. “aftershave, baby.”

“aftershave,” you repeat. “right right,” and you’re so cute, kneeling down towards the wooden cabinet directly underneath the sink. you take out the mini bottle, pouring a nice goopy amount into your palm. you let toji wash his face with cold water first, patting it dry, and then you start to bedaub the facial balm in all the sensitive areas against his skin. he adores the mushy texture of your hands making contact with his face as each second passes. toji’s eyeing you, an almost grunt leaving his lips as a thumb of yours gently tickles against his infamous scar. the scar that slants itself near the right side of his lip. “thereee we go,” you give him a soft smile, the aromatic scent of tea tree oil setting against your nostrils. up close, his pores were now all so clear and you stare in awe for a bit at just how charming he was. the moisture that lays against his skin feels a lot more smooth. you grow silent for a moment before your own face softens. “okayyy, ‘m done.”

toji finally glances into the mirror, seeing his freshly new spotless face and he sees your proud toothy grin in the mirror’s reflection behind him. he cranes his neck to the side, feeling the once rough texture of his jawline now soft. he then lets off a tiny exhale. “looks good. y’er a natural,” and he turns to face you, he’s pondering on what to say. oh, your eyes sparkled with such admiration from his praise that it was just adorable. “thank you, sweetheart. for y’know . . takin’ care of me. y’er really . . sweet.”

and with that, his lips inch down to press a warm kiss against the crown of your head. your heart immediately swarms up with a frantic school of butterflies and so does his. toji prepares speak again and it’s an almost inaudible mumble. you could barely even register what he said at first because it was so hushed, but toji gruffs in a low tone. “i … love you..”

“h- huh?”

scoffing, he hides the burning embarrassed flush against his face by pulling you into his broad chest. you giggle at how he just abruptly snatches you close into his warm body before he slings a beefy arm around you. “i said, let’s uh.. do our skin care together later t’night.”

“awww i love you too toj—”

“oh my god, s-shut up..”

[teddybeartoji]

going to the beach with toji and kids for the first time ever. it's only the beginning of your relationship, it's all kind of new – toji doesn't know what's about to hit him. sure, he's seen you with megumi and tsumiki before, but this? this is something else.

not only is his heart doing flips at the sight of the big smiles and the loud bursts of laughter you're managing to pull out of his kids, you're also wearing a fucking bikini. he hasn't seen this much of you before – the furthest you've gone during the late hours of the nights are steamy, handsy makeouts. he did take your shirt off the last time he had you below him but then you were interrupted by the little spiky haired boy, sniffling about a bad dream. after grabbing a blanket to cover you up, toji rested his forehead against your warm skin, grumbling something under his breath before looking up at you with soft eyes. you weren't mad – quite the opposite; you ruffled his hair and cradled his face, a gentle smile splayed on your lips. you pressed a haste kiss to his nose and then ushered him off of you, whispering something about his adorable son. toji scoffed. and smiled to himself.

the bikini. is killing him. he doesn't know what to do with himself. the scene playing in front of him is heart-warming and he should only be thinking about that, but how can he? the material is barely covering anything and you just look so... fucking good.

sitting in the shade, toji let's his head loll back, his eyes closing as he rests his hand over his face with a groan. he can't do it anymore. he's doing brain exercises to not pop the hardest boner of his life and you are not making it any easier when you keep giving him the prettiest smiles. you're happy, the kids are happy – everything should be good, but no – here he is, suffering because his parter looks fucking amazing. the fact that this is even a problem is mind-baffling to him. he is a strong man, no person is going to get to him just by being beauti—

"could you pass me the water, please?"

you're out to get him, he's sure of it.

toji peeks from under his hand and he's immediately blinded by a devil in disguise. the sun shines from behind you like a halo and the grin on your lips reaches behind your ears. sweat coats your skin and it makes toji's mouth salivate. what the fuck are you doing to him? hands on your hips, you stare down at your boyfriend and you give him another second to collect himself before quirking up a brow.

"toji?" you sound like a siren, you're pulling him in with your silky smooth tone. "the water, please?"

the corners of your eyes crinkle as you smile and toji has never moved faster in his entire life. "right."

he reaches for the bottle in the cooler beside him and gives it to you while making sure to look at you in the eyes and nowhere else. it's unbelievably hard – especially when the water starts trickling from the corners of your mouth and down your neck. toji gulps before turning to look at his kids instead. gumi's brows are furrowed as he's building his sandcastle while miki is busy building hers. toji cracks a grin.

"they're so– fucking cute." you whisper when you curse, a playful smile on your lips as you gush about the kids.

you love them so much already and you're glad that they seem to be liking you a lot too. that makes toji very happy; when the kids ask about you when they haven't seen you in a few days, when you do the same – he knows you really might be the one. it's a big thing to say, to even think, but he can't help it. it simply seems... right.

the water bottle hangs in front of his face and he's pulled away from his thoughts again. he goes to grab it and when he does, your free hand reaches out to him. warm finger wrap around his wrist and he melts at the soft, gentle touch. "come play with us."

a groan bubbles from his throat but it couldn't be any further from an annoyed one – you're sweet and you're excited, you're pretty and you're patient; you always welcome him and the kids with open arms and a bright smile. she would've loved you.

he throws the bottle aside and wraps his own hand around your own. "ya wanna play or the kids wanna play?"

his raspy voice and the stupidly handsome smirk he gives you make butterflies bloom and dance in your stomach. he makes you giddy, he makes you happy.

"i wanna play." you tug at him. "and the kids wanna play."

he can't say no to his little blessings and he can't say no to you. maybe running around will help clear his mind from the mischievious thoughts in his head. he doubts it, but he's needs to try.

in one swift move, he pulls your hand to his mouth while pretending to bite you and his eyes fucking twinkle when he sees your cute surprised expression and hears your little gasp. there's a moment, a second of the most comfortable silence before the corners of your lips twitch and you yank away from his hold, booking it towards gumi and miki with a loud cackle as toji pushes off the chair and takes off after you with fast steps.

your cheeks hurt from laughing as you watch toji catch megumi; he lifts gumi up with just one hand while tsumiki tries to poke her dad in the ribs in order for him to let boy go. when he finally lets the kids go... you feel his eyes on you. adrenaline pumps in your veins and you feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. you can't stop grinning. he can't either. a pair of arms wrap around your middle and your feet are being lifted up above the ground before you can even react.

while the kids are doubled over, running and stumbling over their own feet, toji growls in your ear. "gotcha."

you will take the next step today. no snotty kid of his will cockblock him again – they will be tired from the day and you will be all his to take care of. he'll show you his appreciation for being so good to him and the kids, for being so kind. and so... fucking hot.

he presses a kiss to your jaw but cringes when gumi and miki dramatically scream 'ew' at him. you feel him getting even warmer, his cheeks heating up and you try to save him by shooing the kids with a laugh. toji is grateful. he's happy that you're here.

[kamitv]

Nerd!Nanami who whispers filthy praises into your ear while you’re sitting in his lap and his fingers are curling deep up into your cunt.

He’s got his glasses on but they’re sitting center on the bridge of his sharp nose, allowing them to slide down slowly since he’s too distracted with you to push them up like normal.

You’re facing him and your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, legs spread nice and pretty over his lap while he drives his thick veiny fingers up into your leaky hole. With every moan you let out into his ear, his cock bulges harder against his tight tan slacks.

Rolling his hips up slightly in an attempt of getting some friction, Nanami’s all in your ear whispering to you. “So wet f’me ‘n I’ve barely even touched you all day. Did you miss my fingers that much, sweetheart?” He talks as if you weren’t dry humping him less than twenty minutes prior to this…

Even so, you nod and your lips graze his ear. “Uhuh,” You babble, feeling his fingertips curve right against your g-spot before rubbing against it genteelly.

“Words, pretty girl. Talk to me.” Nanami hushes out to you while dragging his fingers outwards slowly before plunging them right back in and listening to the gorgeous squelch that rings out from your pussy.

Your arms cage his neck all the more tighter and your hips jerk forwards. “Fuck. You w-were busy with work all day Ken’, hnngh… couldn’t s-stop thinkin’ about your hands ‘n how much I—oh fuuck, I m-missed them.”

His lips curve into a knowing smile and he has to adjust his legs below you slightly to stop himself from snatching his fingers out of you and bouncing you up ‘n down his cock for that entire statement alone. Nanami loves it when you talk while he pleases you, he loves the way your words come out all pitched and full of pleasure, just can’t get enough of it.

“Is that so?” He hums simply with a tortuous swivel of his two fingers against your walls that has your legs caging around his thighs tightly. “Did you touch yourself to those thoughts too? Hm?” Nanami’s voice has you dripping all down the skin of his hand, your slick shiny against his wrist as it drips off of him and right over his bulge.

You drop your head into the crook of his neck and roll your hips forward in an attempt of riding the fingers he’s fucking you with. “N-No but, I wanted to.” You admit honestly.

Nanami suppresses a groan. He can only imagine how needy you were for him, probably squeezing your thighs together all day just because you missed him. “Aw,” Nanami coos deeply in that smooth honey-coated baritone of his, “You should’ve done it and then sent me a video. I would’ve stopped working and came to help you, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitches at the thought alone and you immediately start lifting your hips to escape the overwhelming rush of pleasure, to which Nanami places his other hand on your waist and keeps you in place.

“Stay still, pretty girl. Lemme take care of you,” He’s whispering to you again, digging his fingers in and out and in and out while slipping his thumb up and rolling circles over your twitching clit. “Don’t run when y’know she missed me this much. S’not nice.”

“Kento,” You whine in a desperate tone before sliding one of your hands down to hold his wet wrist.

Nanami only increases the pace of his fingers at the sound of your wines, allowing the slicks of your pussy to overtake your small noises rather quickly. Then, he turns his head and kisses at your neck just as you lift and toss your head back. Sucking on your skin, staring up at you intimately, fucking his fingers you adore so much deeper inside you—Nanami makes it so very clear that he just loves pleasing you like this.

“After this,” He speaks hotly into your skin and he can feel your cunt pulsing and clenching around him with every word. “If you help me finish my paper within’ thirty minutes, I’ll fuck you all night jus’ like you want me to.” As his little challenge leaves him, you’re making a mess of his two fingers.

Gasping, “Mmnh, really?” Which only makes him smile because he knows damn well he’s going to do that regardless of the paper he has due tonight.

“Really.” Nanami confirms.

Hell, he’ll fuck you while he completes the damn paper if he has to…

He’s practically picturing it now—having you bent over his work desk, rolling his hips firmly into yours and driving his fat cock in and out of your sopping walls while he simultaneously reaches over to your side and messily writes or types out what he needs to.

Your moans and soft whimpers of his name would be distracting, sure. But Nanami’s pretty sure he can fill you and his paper up at the same time with no problems…

[shycoconutt]

“S–hic–so full, Ken,” you whimper as the last ropes of his cum spill out into your insides. You have never felt a sensation like this before, being absolutely filled to the brim with all of what Nanami Kento has to offer.

You feel the deep hum Nanami lets out in response everywhere–his overwhelming being currently consuming your own. Currently mounted over you, he holds you up by the plush of your ass so your hips are lifted to meet his thrusts. Your body is so contorted that your knees fall and press against your shoulders with every piston of his cock. How the hell did you even end up in this position?

“Oh darling, fuck, I missed you so much,” he moans as he languidly pushes his cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. You watch as his abdomen flexes with every thrust, and you can’t help but marvel at how the low light of your bedroom reflects on his glistening, sweat-slicked skin. Eyes trailing upward, you soak in the constellation of freckles on his shoulders, the swell of his deltoid muscles, the way his damp hair falls forward, messy and unkempt after rounds of orgasms.

Another one of his moans snaps you out of your trance, and you focus your eyes to meet his blown-out, lust-filled gaze. Instinctually, your walls clench at the sight, and your eyes widen in horror when you realize it’s too late.

“Tsk,” he smirks as he breaks his gaze from your own to down where you’re both connected, “she’s so greedy, begging for more after all I’ve given her.”

One of his hands leaves your ass to swipe a thumb against your sensitive clit, causing you to gasp and clench again. “Should I give her what she wants, sweetheart?”

“I-I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up so much,” you mewl.

His eyes flick up again as your words trail off, and you can’t help but notice how the intention behind them has changed, looking as if he has been given a new life–a new meaning. Reaching somewhere behind him, he fiddles around until he finds what he’s looking for–his phone.

Slowly, he shifts backwards to release himself from your gushing heat, being careful to not let any of his seed spill from your folds. He groans as his tip finally slips out and quickly grabs your hand to press against your opening.

“Yeah, just like that, hold it all in for me,” he praises. 

You feel your heartbeat quicken, curious and interested. Climbing off the bed, he stands off to the side and holds out his hand, beckoning you to join him, which you do without question.

“There we go, pretty girl, stand right here for me.”

Following his request, you stand before him with your hand still pressed up against yourself. You feel yourself tremble, not in worry, but in anticipation of what’s to come. Nanami must have taken note, because he is now grazing his fingers up and down the skin of your shoulder.

Leaning in close, lips ghosting over your own, he whispers, “Do you trust me?”

“Always, Ken.”

Your heart flutters as he smiles and kisses you, tongue slipping from his parted mouth to swipe your lower lip. With one final peck, he keeps eye contact with you as he kneels, light pooling into the room from the flashlight of his phone.

You hear a little ding, signaling that he is recording.

“Do you remember what you said to me, baby?” he murmurs, voice filled with love and adoration as he points the camera up to you while his other hand rests against your lower tummy. 

“W-what I said?” you stutter, mind trying to think back to moments ago.

“Yes.”

You try to think, mind still in a daze. What you said?

Oh.

Ah.

So this is what he wants.

Looking at the camera, eyes blinded by the light, you pout, “I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up sooo much.”

You hear a soft groan, and the light moves down your body to your lower half. 

“Show me.”

Slowly, you remove your hand from your core, a mix of your cum and his already pooling at your fingertips, to place your hand above his own on your abdomen. You don’t have to look down to confirm–hot liquid is already dripping down your thighs at an intense rate.

You jolt and gasp when you feel his firm hand pressing into your body, a fresh new wave of semen spilling from your insides. There’s so much–maybe too much–as it trickles past your knees. There’s another groan that escapes from Nanami’s lips.

“Good girl.”

Your body is trembling, your pussy fluttering around nothing, just wanting so badly to be filled again and again. Would it be so bad to ask for more?

a/n: well, well, well, here we are again. what can I say? nanami kento is always on my mind. hope you enjoy! ੈ♡˳

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[gojosprettyprincess]

Mommy kink, slight exhibition kink, this is so funny bc I was planning on writing about dom!choso today but end up writing this?? Not proofread

ꕀ ₊⋆ ⤸

“Shhh, gotta be quiet Cho” you tantalizingly whispered to his ear, smiling at his hazed-out, innocent expression as you bounced yourself up and down his cock, dragging your sweet cunt that's he's so so addicted to, on his lengthy dick, spreading your creamy slick all around it—your hands gripped and squeeze both of his muscular biceps during the process, feeling the raw strength beneath your touch as his head slightly leans against the wooden headboard.

You quickly hastened your pace—trying to get the both of you to cum as soon as possible before his mom comes back to check up on you again. It was your first ever sleepover today so what better way to make it an unforgetful memory then to tease and take advantage of your sweet, doting boyfriend who would do anything for you, as long as it made you happy.

His fingers greedily dug into the soft flesh of your plump ass, grasping your curves possessively as he stared up at you—eyes filled with desire and lust as he captured your lewd expression as his angry cockhead furiously jabs against your g-spot over and over again. Bullyingly impaling your pretty pussy opened around him.

He’s trying his very best to stifle the desperate urges to moan and whimper too much but he just can’t help it—feeling the intoxicating pleasure of his seductive, horny little girlfriend manipulating his poor cock and body and using him as a fucktoy for your pleasure drove him crazy, just like this.

He loves it when you use him as your personal little toy to fuck. He was made for it—hell, he’d even let you use him while he’s asleep if you need to, He doesn’t care. He loves it.

He wouldn’t ever admit it but the dirty thought of even getting caught in such a lewd situation like this made his hardened dick throbbed excitedly against your tight soppy walls—that were two seconds away from milking him dry. No one has ever seen this side of Choso other than you, so the thought of even partially getting caught sent shockwaves through his mind.

He bit his lips and lets out a string of curses under his breath when he notices the streaks of cum coating his pulsating cock every time his cock disappears into your core and appears again and there was even more cum overlaying it, driving him sooo fucking crazy. The sight pushed him closer to the brink of ecstasy. He was so so close to stuffing you full of his seed.

“Your pussy is s’good” he whimpered out of breath. A mischievous smirk tugged at your lips as you adjusted your hips, grinding your ass against him at a better angle—coaxing a loud, unrestrained moan out of him.

“Nghh—fuck, m’so close Mommyy!” he lets out a low, guttural moan, his hands now gripping onto your waist, desperately trying his best to keep up with your pace as his gaze fixated on the rhythmic bounce of your breast which only further fuels his ardor.

He almost got a heart attack after hearing the next door slamming open. The sudden noise startled him, sending his heart racing with fear. You moaned out deliciously as you excitedly bounced faster, giggling at his scared expression. He’s so adorable, who knew a big, strong man could be this cute and vulnerable?

Your tight walls hugged his cock so snugly and warm inside of you, you felt like heaven. You grind your hips back and forth on his lap, causing a ripple of pleasure that made your muscles clench even tighter, making his head fall back while he fought the urge to release a moan that threatened to escape his lips.

“Gon-naa cum! Hahhh!” He quickly announced, before shooting his seed right up into your sloppy pussy—making your head fall back as your back arched slightly, you satisfyingly laughed at the pleasure of your insides slowly being filled up by him. You quickly stuffed two fingers in his mouth to quiet him as you drained more and more cum from his thick balls.

The door swings open with a sudden force, "Heyy kiddos! do you guys need anything? If so let me know and you should get some sleep soon!!" Choso's mom enthusiastically calls out by the door.

You smirked wickedly, pressing your soft boobs against his chest, causing a surge of desire to pulse through him. Before leaning your face into his neck, “Be a good boy and answer her for me, Choso” you whispered in a teasing tone before licking a long stripe of his sensitive neck—making his cock jolted with arousal against your gummy walls, you can literally feel it beating rapidly inside of you with his seed still stuffed inside of you as you cockwarmed him.

“I—ye-yes! We’re ohh!- okay~” he stammered—it was all he could make out before his eyes rolled back from the sudden pleasure overwhelming his senses. His head thumped loudly against the headboard as you sucked on his neck, sending shivers down his spine and causing him to lose himself in the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that consumed him.

“Choso, sweetie are you okay?” His mom questioned worriedly, trying to make out what was happening but couldn’t see one bit because she didn’t have her glasses with her.

“Ye-yes! Please juuust go!” His voice cracked as tears prickled from his eyes, his heart pounding with a crescendo of fear and desperation.

“Okay! If you say so…” she replied with a tinge of uncertainty in her voice, casting a quick glance back before gently closing the door behind her with a soft click.

You slowly pulled away, a smirk played on your lips as you took in the sight of how utterly fucked out he looked. So fluttered and adorable.

You cradled his face in your hand, tenderly caressing his cheeks before pushing it deep into your boobs, gently patting the back of his head as he inhaled your scent with a groan. “Shhh Cho, I got you baby. You’re such a gooddd boy” you cooed comfortingly at him.

You giggled excitedly, feeling his cock rock solid again.

[littlelamy]

sleeping with rafe

Rafe couldn’t sleep without you. Whether it was his bed, your bed, or even the couch, he needed you beside him, wrapped up tight, grounding him in a way only you could. Tonight was no different. The moment you slipped under the covers, he pulled you into his arms, sighing deeply as he buried his face against your chest. After a long, exhausting day, all he wanted was to be tangled up with you.

Usually, he preferred to be the big spoon, wrapping you up in his embrace like a protective barrier against the world. But tonight, he craved your warmth more than ever. He nestled his way down, resting his head on your chest, sighing contentedly as he felt your soft skin under his cheek, the rhythm of your heartbeat lulling him. His hand drifted beneath your shirt, fingers gliding over your bare skin, sending tingles through you.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses against the delicate skin just above your heart. His lips traveled slowly across your chest, savoring each inch, each gentle curve. When he finally reached your nipple, he paused, eyes fluttering shut as he closed his lips around it, sucking softly, his tongue flicking teasingly against the sensitive skin. (rafe having an oral fixation > )

A shiver ran through you, and your breath hitched as you tangled your fingers in his hair, feeling the heat pool low in your stomach. Rafe smiled against you, clearly enjoying your reactions as he took his time, lost in the warmth of you. Each slow pull of his mouth was both possessive and adoring, a perfect blend that made you feel cherished.

“God, you’re so soft… so perfect,” he whispered, pulling back for a moment to watch your face, relishing the flush on your cheeks. He pressed his cheek against your chest again, listening to your heartbeat, tracing gentle patterns across your waist with his fingers.

But as the moments stretched on, you felt that familiar pressure building in your bladder, and you knew you’d have to get up. You tried to shift out of his hold, but Rafe wasn’t having it. Even as you tried to ease your way out from beneath him, his grip tightened, instinctively, possessively and with a sleepy groan.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, his arms looping around you like a vice.

“I… I have to get up,” you whispered, trying not to disturb him too much. He just groaned, shaking his head as he snuggled even closer, tightening his hold like he thought you might just disappear if he let go.

“Just a few more minutes,” he murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss to your collarbone, his face still buried against your chest. “Stay.”

You chuckled softly, heart warming at how attached he was, even if it meant you were stuck for the time being. But eventually, nature’s call grew too insistent, and you had to put your foot down.

“Rafe, I really have to go,” you said, a bit more firmly this time. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at you, pouting slightly, as if to say how could you leave me like this?

With a defeated sigh, he finally relented, loosening his grip just enough to let you slip out of bed. But as you padded to the bathroom, you felt his presence right behind you, half-awake yet determined to stay close. You glanced over your shoulder to find him trailing you, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled, his expression one of pure sleep-addled stubbornness.

He leaned against the doorframe as you entered the bathroom, his gaze unwavering even as you went about your business. You shot him a look, but he only grinned, sliding down to sit by the door, resting his head against the wall with a lazy smile, as if this was perfectly normal behavior.

When you finally returned to bed, he wasted no time in gathering you back into his arms, settling back into his preferred spot on your chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he sighed in satisfaction.

“You’re not allowed to leave me again,” he muttered, voice muffled against you.

You chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that promise, he relaxed completely, his breathing evening out as he drifted back to sleep, held securely in the warmth of your embrace.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[foxy-eva]

Drunk on You

Summary: Spencer is completely and utterly infatuated with you

Request: Pussy drunk Spencer where it’s the first time they sleep together and he’s completely obsessed with being inside her and eating her out (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, oral (fem receiving), protected penetrative sex, slight overstimulation

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Maybe it was a bit cliché to invite Spencer into your apartment for coffee after your date. The ulterior motive was obvious but there was no elegant way of telling him what you really wanted. He didn’t seem to mind when he accepted your offer with a grin on his face. 

The tension between the two of you was palpable once you stepped through your door. The warm amber of Spencer’s irises shone even brighter under the lighting of your living room. It was mesmerizing to look at him, so much so that you quickly forgot about the coffee. 

Spencer couldn’t care less. It was obvious that he knew a hot beverage wasn’t exactly what you craved right then. The way he licked his lips as he looked at you gave away that he was longing for something else, too. 

Stepping closer, you left barely any space between the two of you. The warmth he radiated penetrated your skin and spread through your body. You breathed in his scent, a pleasant mix of his cologne and laundry detergent. 

“So,” you teased as you leaned closer. “Are you gonna kiss me now or what?” 

“Gladly,” he chuckled. 

To your surprise, he took his time with you. His fingers found your jaw, gently brushing along your skin before slightly tilting your head. His other hand made contact with your waist to pull you even closer. Then, unhurriedly and with a precise motion, he finally leaned in to close the distance. 

Once your mouths made contact there was no more holding back, though. His lips were soft yet demanding and he didn’t waste any time to deepen the kiss. Tasting you broke any resistance Spencer had and he couldn’t keep up his demeanor anymore. 

His fingertips dug into your waist before you felt them trembling against your body. His tongue brushed over yours as if you had finally granted him the first taste of water after a life-long drought. When your hands found the nape of his neck to playfully tug at his curls, he unabashedly moaned against your lips. 

Spencer was desperate to make you his and he had no intention of hiding that from you. His lips only left yours to gasp for air before kissing you some more. When you wanted to lean back to look at him, he chased your mouth and immediately closed the distance again.

His enthusiasm made you smile into the kiss and he noticed. That was when he finally slowed down, leaving a few more feather-light pecks on your mouth before leaning back. 

“Sorry,” he awkwardly laughed. “I’ve been waiting so long to do this.” 

“Don't apologize,” you breathed. “I like how eager you are.” 

To prove your words, you took his hand in yours to lead him into your bedroom. Spencer wasn’t the only one who had been waiting too long for this to finally happen. You had no intention of acting shy with him when it was clear how much the both of you yearned for each other’s nearness. 

Right beside your bed you came to a halt and turned to him. Patiently he watched as you undid the buttons of his dress shirt and brushed the fabric over his shoulders. Once the shirt dropped to the floor, your hands wandered along the waistband of his pants. 

Your eyes followed the movements of your fingers and you couldn’t ignore the outline of his hardness straining against his trousers. You looked at the man in front of you and found him staring at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes. 

“Can I touch you?” You asked and he nodded. 

Your palm carefully made contact with his clothed cock and a sigh immediately escaped Spencer’s throat. He leaned into your touch and twitched against the fabric of his confines. You decided to free him as you undid his pants and slowly pulled them down together with his underwear. 

As you took your time to admire the beauty of your lover, you completely forgot your surroundings. Only Spencer’s hand brushing along your arm brought you back to reality. You locked eyes with him again and felt your cheeks heating up. 

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled. 

His hand found the fabric of your shirt and tugged on it as he cooed, “I want to see you, too.”

Together you got rid of the remaining pieces of clothing until both of you were completely bare. You lay down on the mattress to continue kissing without any barriers between your bodies. 

Spencer hovered over you when he began kissing down your neck. He left sweet pecks on your skin before biting down on your pulse point, drawing a whine from your lips. To soothe the angry skin, he carefully licked along it before moving further down your body. 

“You smell so good,” he groaned as he kissed your breasts. “I can’t get enough of you.” 

He took one of your hardened peaks into his mouth while his hand found the other, teasing it with his fingers until you couldn’t hold back your moans. When he heard your hymn of praise, he hummed into your skin. 

Hungry lips found one another once more. “You are marvelous,” Spencer mumbled into the kiss. 

While he was distracted with his mouth on yours, a curious hand made its way down his body to wrap around his erection. It made him whimper against your lips. Your fingers brushed over velvety skin until they found the weeping tip to spread his arousal over it. 

“Fuck!” he hissed as he looked down his body to watch your hand caressing him. 

“Do you like that?” you teased as you kept stroking him a little harder. 

His hand found your wrist to stop your movements. “Yeah, a little too much,” he confessed and his words made you smile. 

You let go of him and watched as his fingertips danced along your chest and down your stomach until they reached their destination between your legs. Tentatively, he let one finger glide along your slit before spreading your folds apart. When he found you already dripping with desire, he groaned, “So wet for me.” 

He collected your dew on his fingertips and dragged it along your folds before circling your most sensitive spot. The sounds of your pleasure only spurred him further on, caressing you some more before he breached your entrance with two digits, finding little resistance from your body. 

Spencer kissed along your neck as he curled his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot that made you light-headed and let your walls flutter around him. He seemed to relish feeling your body like this, taking his time to explore your core before settling on a steady pace. It didn’t take long for you to dance along the edge of euphoria. 

His lips brushed along your ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait to fuck you.” 

That was all it took for your undoing. Spencer groaned as he felt you pulsing around his fingers, your entire body writhing as you found relief. You were still panting when he withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the loss of contact. 

With a playful smirk spread over his face, he brought his hand to his mouth to lick your release from his fingers, savoring the taste of your cunt on his tongue. 

“You taste so good,” he breathed before moving down your body. “I need more.”

Before he could settle down between your thighs, you grabbed his shoulders. The feeling of being empty was overwhelming and you yearned to be filled out by him. Even though the prospect of having his mouth on you was exciting, it was not what you needed then. 

“I need you inside me now,” you whimpered. “Please, Spencer.” 

He kneeled between your legs when he chuckled, “How could I say no to that?” 

Hurriedly and with little grace you reached over to your nightstand to get a condom from the drawer. Spencer didn’t waste any more time when he took the wrapper from your hands to put the condom on. As he leaned over you, you watched him closing his eyes for a moment before he aligned his cock at your entrance. 

Then, after locking eyes with you, he began pushing his hips against yours. He hissed a curse at the sensation of slowly stretching you open one inch at the time. When he dared to look down between your bodies, he got so overwhelmed at the sight of his cock entering you that he almost came on the spot. 

Quickly, he averted his sight to get his composure back. Your walls fluttered around him and you felt him twitch in response. Once he had filled you up to the hilt, he took a moment to feel your heartbeat deep inside you. 

“Spencer,” you whined as you began rocking your hips against his. “Please!” 

He didn’t mean to tease you or test your patience. He just wanted to fully savor this moment. Feeling you tightly wrapped around him made his head spin. He felt inebriated when he began moving and started to think you had cast some kind of spell on him. 

“You feel so good,” he breathed when he began moving. “So tight for me.” 

Pure magic was the only explanation for what you made him feel. Spencer struggled to wrap his head around the fact that this was reality. Nothing else mattered other than being right there with you, making you his as he fucked you against the mattress. 

“Harder!” you cried and Spencer obliged. 

It proved to be a mistake, though. As he watched you quiver underneath him, the bedframe shaking with his forceful thrusts, he struggled to delay his downfall. Feeling you getting even tighter around him made it impossible to not fully indulge in this sensation. 

With his whole body trembling, he tried but failed to slow himself down. Desperation was written over his face as he attempted to prolong the feeling of being inside you. Of course you noticed it, too. Seeing him fall apart on top of you as pleasure overcame him was exhilarating and you had no intention of slowing him down.  

“Come for me,” you murmured and Spencer’s eyes widened at your words. 

Then, with a particularly hard thrust, he did. Trembling and groaning, the built-up tension was released as his climax washed over him. 

Before you had a chance to wrap your arms around him to welcome him inside your embrace, he pulled out of you and quickly moved down your body. With your head still spinning, it took you several seconds to realize what he was doing. 

Only when you felt his tongue glide through your folds did you comprehend that he had found his new home between your legs. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer!” You hissed at the feeling of his mouth caressing your sensitive center. 

Like a man starved he collected your honeyed wetness on his tongue, moaning into your skin as he tasted your heady aroma. The vibrations he created sent shockwaves through your body, prompting you to buck your hips against his face.

Seemingly unfazed by your reaction, he wrapped his arms around your legs to keep you in place as he continued pleasuring you with his tongue and mouth. 

“So good,” he whispered against your heat. 

Despite his effort to hold you securely against his mouth, you were sure you might start floating at any moment. Two of his fingers found their way into you, adding more pressure and bringing you closer to your undoing. 

It only took a few more seconds until ecstasy overcame you. Your thighs trembled as you rode out your high, rocking gently against Spencer’s face. He didn't let go of you, though. Almost in a trance-like state he kept caressing you, licking up your release as you writhed underneath him. 

Your chest was heaving when you looked at him, eyes closed and half of his face buried between your legs. Spencer didn't even consider stopping, not when you tasted so heavenly, even more so after you came. Drunk on your taste and scent, he would have been more than happy to spend the rest of his night right there. 

It became too overwhelming for you, though. The constant stimulation was too much to bear and almost became uncomfortable, so your hands found his curls to pull on them. “Enough,” you murmured.

In an instant, he removed his mouth from your core to litter your inner thighs with little kisses. Then he looked up at you, a wicked grin painted on his glistening face. He wiped himself clean with the back of his hand before plopping down beside you. 

“Sorry, uh…” he muttered. “I got a little carried away.” 

You placed a kiss on his lips, noticing your own scent still lingered on them. 

“I’m not complaining,” you purred. “I just need a little break. We can continue later.” 

The glimmer in his eyes at your words must have been akin to someone witnessing a miracle. Content with the prospect of doing all of this again, he wrapped you into his arms. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[kamiversee]

Big ruby shaded eyes, matching that of her father’s, have this adorable thin layer of gloss over them as she pleads with her parent for the millionth time.

“Daddy pwease?” She has the cutest little pout on her face, one that’s worked on her mother time and time again that’s sure to work on her father too—

“No.” Sukuna says yet again.

The child is tired of asking and receiving that same answer over and over. She doesn’t understand one bit why but she hates hearing that word. Folding her arms, she lets out an annoyed puff, “Mommy would never tell me no…”

One statement and there’s already another vein bulging in the right corner of Sukuna Ryomen’s forehead. “Go away, brat.” He breathes out in an overly irritated tone.

The child, unable to take no for an answer and more like her father than she even realizes, takes her foot and brings it down on the curse’s foot in frustration.

If he wasn’t ticked off before, he damn sure is now. “You little—“

“Sukuna,” And there it is, the voice of the sole human in this reality who could ever even dream of cutting the king of curses off mid-sentence. Not only is it you, the mother of his overly insolent child, but you have the nerve to give him that scolding tone he hates (loves).

He scowls for a long moment before looking down to the smaller human who carries more of your features than his. “Fine, child.” Sukuna drawls out after a long roll of his many eyes.

Then, with a big smile plastered all over her small face, her hands are shooting up and she’s making a grab motion with her hands.

Sukuna stares down at her and sighs, “You really are a spoiled brat, y’know…” He grumps while leaning down to pick his daughter up with one out of his two pairs of hands. “…Just like your damn mother.”

The child’s smile fades for a moment and she tilts her head, “Damn?” She repeats in a confused tone, making Sukuna’s heart spike.

“Wait-, don’t… don’t say that.” He’s been down this road one two many times—having taught the child how to say ‘fuck’ the moment she began spewing words. He received an earful from you that he didn’t care for so, here he is now, “That’s a bad word.”

His daughter blinks, “But, Daddy said it.”

Sukuna groans lowly in irritation, “Daddy can say whatever the hell he wants.”

“Hell?” Oh she had to be doing this on purpose, knowing her mother was only a room away.

“Child.” The curse scolds, “Are you trying to irritate me?”

She shrugs playfully, “This is what you get for telling me no.”

“You asked me if you could draw on my face.” He deadpans.

“And you should’ve said yes,” You suddenly chime in, entering the room, “Instead of teaching her more curse words.”

The little girl snickers in Sukuna’s arms and he swears he has an image of the child being flung across the room for just a moment. That image is interrupted by the girl speaking again.

“Like fuck?” She says loud and clear. “I heard Daddy say it again earlier today—“

A big hand goes over her mouth (practically her entire face) and she’s cut off by her father who’s innocently smiling at you, his darling wife.

“Ignore her. I was just about to let her draw on my face so,” He glances down at his daughter who’s giggling victoriously beneath his palm and then sighs, “If you’ll excuse us.”

You’re left smiling at the two as Sukuna turns away with his daughter and exits the room—the sound of them bickering as soon as they’re out of sight heard moments later.

And the next time you lay eyes on the two, Sukuna’s got a face full of stickers and marker and his little mini-me has a mocking face full of her father’s markings. To which you just had to take a million and one pictures of.

[moechies]

kinktober ⋆౨ৎ entry #1 ; cockwarming w toji fushiguro .ᐟ

dear diary ♡,

a couple days ago, mister toji taught me how to 'cockwarm.' it's where i simply sit on his . . . cock, and warm him up -- he says. i was so nervous ! he is so big , and i thought it was going to hurt tons ! it burned a little , but felt so much better after settling a little. mister toji was touching me so softly all over, calling me sweet things, and even played with my tail! i'm so embarrassed -- i must've been blushing so much! i think i may ask him to do it again today , i hope he doesn't get angry . . . i love mister toji so so sooooooo much ! ♡

“c—can we do it when you’re done?”

“what?”

he can tell by the way you’re fidgeting and your ears are twitching— you need something. you pinch at the skin of your thigh, nervous with little courage as you ask.

“the— the thing you taught me. last week. the warming one?” you quip, tugging on toji’s shirt as he finishes up cleaning the dishes in the sink.

“oh.. y’want my fat dick in y’r lil bunny pussy is what ‘m hearing, is that right ?” he emphasizes on dick. he’s so blunt, and it makes you want to crawl and hide. he turns to you with a checkered apron hanging onto his neck, hand leaning against the sink. his smug smile spreads across his face, seeming to enjoy the way you grow flustered.

you whine at his choice of words, thighs rubbing against eachother with need. he acts as if he doesn’t see you writhing besides him, your arm purposefully pressed against your chest to suppress your sore tits.

he can practically smell the sweet slick spilling from your pussy bunny, smearing over the crotch of your panties.

toji briefly tugs at the string that holds the back of his apron together, swiftly pulling it over his head before tossing the piece of fabric onto the dining table. he steps forward, figure pressed against yours and you unconsciously stumble back. he makes you so weak.

“uh huh—“ you’re about to beg again, but he’s quick to scoop you up by your legs, hoisting you up into his arms. you yelp, but make no effort to get away — instead, nuzzling your face closer into the crevice his neck, dizzy at the detected mixed scent of his woody colonge and tart sweat.

he chuckles when you huff at the intial drop of your body onto the matress of your shared room, your plush body sinking into the pillowy sheets. your legs part naturally, taking up your invitation and having him slot himself right where you need him most. his broad shoulders press up against your plush thighs, spreading them further than before.

“bad bunny. y’know you can’t just have cock in ya twenty-four seven, right?” his left pointer finger tugs your flimsy shorts aside, and right thumb presses against the soaked patch of your cunt. you mewl under his touch, soft pads of your feet coming up to press him away. you gently shove at his bicep, but he barely moves. he knows you don’t want him to move anyway. “‘m n—not a bad bunny!”

“you are.”

“n—not, ‘m not mister!”

“hmm, i dunno about that.” he hums, pressing against your clothed clit. “are ya ever not in heat?"

"sir, please, n’more questions!" you whine in fustration, yelping when his pointer and thumb meanly pinches at your swollen bud. your eyes bulb with tears, meeting his that suddenly glare so meanly in comparison to his often soft, emerald ones.

"do you know who you're talking to?" toji growls, squishing the chub of your folds together, the slight simulation to your clit making you flinch.

"y—yes, sir. but please . . . mister, need you here, need your cock here!" you whine, ears sullied and pointed low. your hand moves his to take ahold of his finger, pressing it against your aching slit.

"there there . . ." he coos, thumb sliding over your clothed slit but paying it no attention. he presses a warm kiss on the soddened fabric, low lidded eyes and a smug grin that meet yours when he does. you're adorable like this — absolutely worked up and so terribly desperate; it's his favorite version of you.

"m—mister," you stammer,

"c'mere doll." he sits up against the headboard, pulling you onto his lap. you yelp when you feel the chub of his cock pressing against your folds, grinding down senselessly. toji laughs, getting a hold of your bicep to halt your hips movements. "don't be so greedy, bun."

"hnn—" you whine, tail thumping against his thigh. you slowly tug down his sweats, ears perking up when you realize the missing piece of fabric below — he's not wearing boxers!

he notices the way your eyes light up, cheeks begin to flush, and your expression grows brighter than before — you're one step closer to where you need to be. he almost hates the adorable expression sprawled across your face, chuckling when you look up to him with big-doed eyes searching for a green light.

you salivate when you tug the sweats just low enough, his cock slaps against his stomach. he scoffs, watching his cock leak against his soft skin. he’s getting old.

“inside now— mister—“ you pant, drool spilling at the corners of your mouth. you whine again, hands weakly tugging aside your shorts along with your panties, and aligning his cock head with your fat slit. “mister . . .” you whine, hinting for help.

“y’can do it.” toji grunts, placing a hand onto your plush hip. “ mmh, you got it.”

maybe you don’t ‘got it,’ because it burns so terribly when your folds swallow his cock!

“m—mister, mister !” you whine, quickly pulling yourself off his bulbous tip at the initial burn. he watches your slick stretch from your wet slit to his cock head, making him groan.

“calm down . . y’r rushin,’” he readjusts you, pulling your quivering hips close before you’re hovering over his cock again with small tears. “my bunny can’t do it herself, can’t she? whatta dumb lil’ thing.” toji chuckles, “there there.” he whispers with a sultry voice, making your cunt quiver around nothing.

you whine when you feel him tug down at your hips, whining when his hot tip presses against your slit once again — your slits kissing.

“big sir, s—so big,” you whine, a stutter in your voice from the stretch down low.

“slow down, hurts ‘cause you’re rushin.’ see?” he coos, lifting and lowering your hips over and over, fucking you on his tip. no — you don’t see because you’re awfully lightheaded, hands weakly stabilizing yourself above him but little do you know it’s solely his support keeping you up.

your cunt squelches with each and every single movement, a low ‘pop’ that elicits from your pussy whenever he moves you. “good girl. you can take it, am i ever wrong?”

“i—i can, can take it . . .” you slur, head fluffy and hands weak against his pelvis. “good girl. now sit.”

he grunts, pulling your hips down suddenly all the way, your cunt kissing on his dewy balls. “fuck, damn it.” toji groans — you cry at the stretch, cunt sore and raw when he grinds you down further than possible. “m—mister !”

he chuckles again, breath labored as he pushes the loose strands of his hair back. “worst part’s over, doll.” toji presses down at your arch to lay you against him. he can still feel your body twitching from hiccups of your previous fit — poor bunny. “i—it is . . “ you hiccup. he pets at your soft ear that trails down to your waist, giving your plush skin a soft pinch with a hum. “mister . . feels good . .” you purr, tail twitching incessantly again.

“course it does.”

[severepink]

Observing Adam

Where I go way too deep into something that probably isn't that deep. It's long, it's long as hell.

Okay, so you'd think with how Adam talks he's just a typical misogynist, right?

This man worships pussy. So much so, he's named a whole ass angel, one of his best, Vagina. You'd say that he objectifies them and thinks of them as being lesser, but I don't think that's the whole story. In fact, I think he might be the original simp.

All of these exorcists so far have been women. All of them. He refers to them as ladies or bitches interchangeably, he sees them as being completely capable of absolutely decimating leagues of some of the most vile beings who have ever existed, and they have, to the point it was only after thousands of years that there's been a risk to this hierarchy.

He's a self-centered, egotistical, loud-mouthed, arrogant asshole, no doubt about it, but I'm beginning to suspect something now.

If Adam and Lilith were created from the same dust, if they were created as equals, I am more than willing to bet... Lilith is also a self-centered, egotistical, arrogant asshole. But, she's likely far more intelligent, composed, and duplicitous.

Lilith was allowed to refuse Adam and leave of her own free will and garnered her own independence. A new wife was created for Adam, she was replaced. My guess, is she thought Adam wouldn't be able to live without her, to come back and find herself replaced entirely, she was enraged.

I believe both Adam and Lilith were both incredibly dominant individuals who fought over ideas, thoughts, and ultimately in the bedroom as well, if we take into account the creationist stories.

I'm willing to bet she likely manipulated Lucifer into twisting humanity against its original concept. What if Lucifer's intention truly was to just spark something within Eve, like independence and thought and creation, but it was Lilith's poison within the fruit that tainted her, then subsequently Adam, with sin.

Lilith thrived in hell, while Lucifer's dreams of creation were dashed. She didn't suffer as he did, instead the power of her voice grew with hell. Her voice grew so powerful that heaven found it to be a threat, her actions instigated the beginning of exterminations.

Charlie said that when she was a little girl, she didn't know Lucifer at all. I don't think this was because of Lucifer, he's seen here, picking her up, inviting her to share in his thoughts and dreams, showing her something wonderful. Something she could see within herself.

Charlie says that it's this moment that sparked her will to fight for her dreams. Which is strange, because at the very beginning of the story, Charlie says it was her mother's dream that was passed down to her.

Lilith took Charlie away. In this scene, Lucifer wasn't done showing Charlie his thoughts and dreams, he's still yearning to show his daughter these things at this point.

Lucifer loves his daughter. He loves Charlie so, so, so much. So why wasn't he allowed to build a relationship with his daughter for the longest time? He was waiting for the opportunity to get to know her, but with how much he adores her why didn't he do it sooner? He didn't comment on 'It took you a while-' he just said he missed her smile. They don't want to be pulled apart, again.

Now, we know Vivziepop has said that Lucifer and Lilith love each other, but Lilith 'wears the pants' in the relationship. We see all of the pictures all over the walls of a supposedly happy family. I don't think the relationship was as loving as originally portrayed and Lilith is a woman who desires control above all else. She likely tried to mitigate what influence Lucifer had over their daughter when she thought his angelic thoughts and behaviors became more than what she approved of.

Lets take it back to Adam and Lute for a moment. Again, Adam is a loud mouthed idiot, he's a jerk. The moment he realizes there are demons in heaven, he's ready to go on the attack. It's only because of Lute that he didn't end up doing something absolutely idiotic.

I gotta say, Lute and Adam's relationship is an absolutely fascinating one. He's a disrespectful dick head in how he talks, but how he acts is a different story. He allows Lute to man-handle him. He does listen to her, even if he's a whiny bitch about it.

Look at him, this is the face of a man listening, a dumb one, but a dude listening all the same. He doesn't manhandle her back, he doesn't even pull away until she lets go of his collar. Of all the shit he complained about, between being grabbed and being told what to do, his biggest complaint is that she's telling him to shush.

We know that Adam is the one who suggested the exterminations to begin with, so Sera says, and this was because of the power that Lilith was amassing. To him, Lilith is a threat. Even when he was willing to move on, to go to another wife when Lilith didn't want him or want to submit to him (fair babe, he's a bit of an idiot), she came back with an angel and proceeded to manipulate his new wife Eve. This is the supposed progenitor of man-kind, the original dick (hilariously enough), the reason civilization even exists at all. He and Eve had to fight for their lives after being tempted with the fruit. They had immortality, they had no ideas of shame, they were supposedly 'innocent' creatures before Lilith and Lucifer came along. He and Eve had to fight tooth and nail to survive after being cast from Eden. I think it shows in how willing and ready he is to take lead and do what he believes needs to be done, now out of a need for entertainment rather than a need to defend or protect. But, he still stopped to listen to Lute's advice. In the mythological story of Adam and Eve, Adam is the one who has to tell Eve that god said don't eat the fruit. Eve never heard god speak to her, so she was vulnerable to the snake's manipulations. She will now die because she ate it, and because she did not want Adam to take another wife, convinced him to eat it unknowingly. Funnily enough, Adam tried to explain to god that 'she lied to me and gave me the fruit' and in this actual mythology, Adam was punished for listening to his wife. Even without mentioning Lilith in the original mythology, Eve didn't want Adam to take another wife, so when we consider it within the context of Hazbin Hotel, it may be likely that's how it went down. Eve knew of Lilith, knew that she could be replaced, and decided that she would take Adam with her.

I believe that Adam does and did rely on the women in his life to help him with direction. I think Adam knows he can be an idiot and is willing to listen, even if he doesn't agree with what he's hearing. He did listen to Charlie in the beginning, he just didn't believe in her, like everyone else and he, out of anyone there, probably had the most reason not to. Cain and Abel were his and Eve's sons, his own child became the first murderer. Out of jealousy, the same kind of jealousy that no doubt has caused Lilith to act how she did. Adam isn't going to have empathy for sinners. His family, his legacy, were filled with the original sinners. He probably had to kill his son Cain in hell during the first exterminations. What do you think he would have had to feel, if it came to be a fact that sinners could be redeemed? That maybe his son, could've been redeemed? Or any of his progeny for that matter? How did it feel when his sons, his progeny, weren't given the same mercy as the Hellborn that Lucifer managed to keep protected through some deal with the angels or god? Not to mention that Charlie could've been his daughter. Charlie is the product of the people who completely and totally destroyed the paradise he'd been born into. She's the daughter who is protected and immune from the slaughter while all of his sons and daughters are judged and killed. I believe, even though he was a dickish prankster to Charlie, he was surprisingly patient and even somewhat amicable, willing to even ask her how her weekend was like he was just trying to get to know her.

Adam could just see all of the angels under his employ as being disposable. He doesn't have to name them, or think about them in any individual fashion. But, he knows Vaggie, recognized her instantly. Thought she was badass. Lute's the one who saw her, tore her wings off, and walked away. I'm surprised they even let her live, because this just goes against everything they're doing. They're an army and they saw one of their own showing empathy to the enemy.

Look at this dumb ass. He's being a shit-head, a dick, a bastard. But, he admires Vaggie's ability to pull Charlie, congratulates her, this dude isn't even judging her for being a lesbian. I don't think it's because he objectifies women, this dude loves women, he just does. He respects fellow vagina lovers. I don't think he respects liars in the slightest though. He's being underhanded, he's trying to be manipulative (he's not very good at it). I think he's brutally open and honest about everything and that's probably one of the reasons he's such a bastard anyways, because sometimes you just need to shut-up and he's not good at that.

I don't think he respects Sera for that either, he's more than willing to let others know what the hell he's doing, but under Sera's lead, he can't be open about it. I don't think it's his jam to act this way, it's why he sucks so bad at it and I think that's why Lilith is so antithetical to him. I also think that's why he's possibly even being manipulated.

It's kind of crazy that Adam is the only one who tries to come up with what allows someone to get into heaven. So here's his list: 1. Act Selfless: Maybe at one point he was! He had to have been, to be one of the progenitors of mankind, he would have had to work, sacrifice, and give to his wife and children for them all to survive. Eve would have had to do the same, no doubt. He may not seem selfless, due to his raunchy behavior, but he's served heaven since he's been there. He's served humanity in some kind of facet. 2. Don't Steal: Considering the only other humans are his spawn, he likely had to try and get them to not steal from one another for them all to have an equal opportunity of survival. He and Eve likely both knew they would need to work together to survive.

3. Stick it to the man: This, however, is interesting. Who is 'The Man' he speaks of? God? The only other people over him or were equal to him were women. He speaks like a rocker, and I think in this case he's using the term 'The Man' in a gender neutral way. I think he allowed some amount of Authority to Lilith when they were supposed to be seen as equals, it comes so naturally to him as a character when it comes to the other women he's been interacting with. I think she is the 'man' that he's been sticking it to- Pun somewhat intended. ((This third one may also simply be a tongue in cheek reference to when Alex Brightman played Dewey in School of Rock on Broadway! Thank you to the user who brought this to my attention!))

Adam is a bit of a hypocrite, isn't he? He likes to fuck, he's made that abundantly clear. Full of lust you could say. It was his original purpose after all, and he is judging Angel Dust for something he probably would've done himself at one point or has considered doing (maybe not the having sex with men part). Angel Dust does all of these things, Adam doesn't even deny it. He even looks nervous. He's angry, but doesn't deny that Angel has done those things. He doesn't explain it away or try to lie or move the goal posts, he's just asking what is an actually very valid question.

Why isn't Angel Dust there if he can do things equal to what Adam himself hasn't done? Serenity continues that line of thought. It isn't until Charlie is realizing no one knows what it takes to get into heaven.

Adam is more than willing to let Lute take the lead here, he's willing to give her the stage to clap back, he's giving her back-up antics. By all means, they could be pushing and fighting one another, there could easily be body language expressing something other than their general comfort around one another. They aren't fighting for a spotlight like you'd expect Adam to try and do considering his egotistical attitude.

Adam fucking sucks at keeping his mouth shut and he sucks at lying. He nearly blew the secret out of the bag once, this time, Sera is the only one who tries to stop him and to be honest? Lute looks a bit too thrilled at it. He knows he fucked up, but he doesn't think it's a big deal that anyone would know. For fucks sake, they've already condemned souls, his progeny, to suffer. What's the big deal if he kills them?

I have to re-iterate what's happening here. Charlie is proud she caused this chaos, that she caused these angels to fight amongst themselves, even if in this case it's a good thing. But, this is like history repeating itself to Adam, the reflection of his ex-wife, entering his domain, causing strife among his people, being happy about it.

And the venom he expresses when it comes to the 'liar' portion, god Alex Brightman destroyed when he got to this portion specifically. There is some vehement disgust in his tone when he says liar.

Adam isn't a good person now. But, I think he used to be a good person. By all means, Adam himself could've been the first murderer when his wife made her mistake. He, at one point in time, had to have been good enough to foster civilization itself with Eve. Both good and bad. Adam's original purpose was to be fruitful and multiply. Ordained by god (or maybe just angels) himself, divine power directed and created him to fuck. He didn't chase his ex-wife down, he was given a new one, Lilith was allowed to leave. When he left things alone, when he tried to move on, his ex-wife and a scorned angel destroyed the paradise he was in with Eve. He had to struggle and toil, he had to feel shame in his own body. He had to find out his first born son was the first murderer. His second son killed. We don't know if this is going to be canon in the story, a lot has changed, and if Adam is the first soul who reached heaven, then what did happen to Abel? Was Abel considered a sinner? Or did Cain kill Abel after Adam had passed? Either way, he had to witness his children kill, he had to watch his descendants behave in a range from saints and monsters. He's seen genocides, he's seen famine, war. Adam is desensitized to the plights of his descendants. Maybe he even saw it as a duty to cleanse the universe of their existence at one point, because they were his responsibility.

At the end of this episode, he is properly scolded by Sera and does seem ashamed of himself. He isn't huffy, he is reminded that he should be ashamed of acting that way.

I love Lute's enthusiasm, she's absolutely brutal when talking about Vaggie and with how she handled Vaggie. I think it's funny that Lute is so brutal she's even made Adam uncomfortable. It's cute that he's made uncomfortable by the excitement and all he does is tell Lute, the premier hype woman over here, to chill. She's so proud of herself too, look at her.

He fully expects these exorcist bad bitches to go in there and fuck shit up. But, you know it's hilarious that he's throwing horns? This dude, this angel. First human soul in heaven, loving rock n' roll, the devil's music, and throwing motherfucking horns. It's poetic really. I think we can probably assume where things are going.

Now, this is the first point we've seen Adam being a real piece of shit to Lute. I don't think Adam likes it when people think he's too dumb to notice something, especially something so damn obvious. This is such a drastic moment of vitriolic, uncontrolled anger directed towards Lute. Adam knows he isn't the brightest tool in the shed. He likely knows he's obtuse and misses shit. It's why he sucks at lying, he knows he's not smart. That is why I think he's afforded women opportunities to direct him without fighting back against their advice and their choices. I'm sure Lilith made it obvious how dumb she thinks Adam is. I'm wondering if this might be where their ground breaking fight might've come from. Who's to say he didn't allow Lilith to take the lead, or listen to her like he's done with Lute here and now? Perhaps to an even greater point? He listened to Eve and ate from the fruit of knowledge and he was punished for it. Being seen as so dumb he can't formulate a simple fact is a sore spot for him.

Adam is incredibly powerful. It took a bit out of him to exercise that power, probably because he's out of practice just like Lucifer said. At one point, he probably wasn't so sloppy and weak willed. He's gotten lazy. Sloth like.

I think it got real personal here. How viscerally and personally he attacked Charlie. No one but Charlie truly thought sinners could be redeemed, or that they were even worth it. Not even one of the original sinners. Maybe he never considered the possibility, maybe what happened really did make him see the world as black and white to cope with that happened to him, his wife, his children. Charlie's desire to fight this idea would destroy the foundation for all of his coping through the years. He stopped seeing them as family, even though he's grandiose about his founding role in humanity. Does that itch the guilt that may lurk under the surface?

I don't think Adam thought much of Charlie at all. I don't think he had any intention of coming to kill her in the beginning, despite seeing her, despite who her parents were. But, I think with the constant push, with how eager she was to disrupt the pre-conceived idea of order, it reminded Adam and reflected her parents so much, he was eager to kill her for revenge against them. I think this electrical interference on the mask is a direct reflection of sin. Namely, wrath, in this moment.

Now, this. THIS. Is something that made me want to write this whole fucking essay. Is Lucifer implying that he not only gave Eve the Fruit from the tree of knowledge, but FUCKED HER TOO? Homies, I'm sorry but holy shit. That is some hydrating tea. I'd be pretty pissed too, fucked over twice by women who were supposed to be literal soul mates, who you were made for, who were made for you?

I knew he would have a goatee, I could almost hear it. I gotta say, I'm a sucker for how he looks. I think he's hot. He is a bastard, but so are a lot of the hot dudes in this show. It's just a theme.

This exact series of lines prompted so many of the thoughts that I had about Adam and why he thinks or acts the way he does. At one point, Adam did have to work himself to the bone and learn to survive from scratch alongside Eve. He isn't entirely without cause to not think that he deserves some respect or recognition from his descendants.

But, that doesn't give him the right to act like god himself. It's... well... Blasphemous. Isn't it? One of the worst sins is to think yourself to be worthy of worship, as if you're a god.

This is the moment that gave me empathy for them both. You could probably see the kind of loving person Adam could have been at one point with how he looks at Lute, even as he's laying there, dying. He's not crying like a bitch, just looking at Lute softly. Lute screaming for him, screaming his name. They cared for each other deeply.

And this... and this.... and this. WHAT DEAL DID YOU MAKE, LILITH? Did you make it with Sera? Did you make it with Adam? Did you make it with Lute? Did you really just want a little 'vacay' away from the hell you helped create? Left her husband, depressed and lonely. Left her daughter without any care or guidance. Maybe Alastor was sent in her place, perhaps? Seven years since he was seen after all, but why wouldn't he show up sooner if Lilith did care? Did she make a deal with Lute and Adam? Did she let Adam smash it so she could stay in heaven? Did Lute let her stay in exchange for getting Adam out of a position of power? Or was it maybe Sera who commissioned Lilith with a deal? Either way, I'm in full belief that it wasn't Adam's idea to move the extermination day up. I think he's a patsy, a scapegoat. I think Lute may have been manipulated, potentially, into manipulating Adam into this position. Was it even really Adam who came up with the idea to do the exterminations? Or was he the one who simply decided to fight originally because he was told heaven was at risk due to Lilith's rising power? The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions. I think it could be any number of these. Either way, Lute certainly does think she had authority over Lilith. Is it Lute just having hubris? Or is Lilith truly bound, just like Alastor, Husk, and Angel Dust?

Of course, now that we know a soul can be redeemed... and we certainly know that angels can fall. I don't think this will be the last we see of Adam.