#i love him so much ur honor my heart will burst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astraystayyh · 11 months ago

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my rin i can't tell you how many times I've reread your feedback since you rbed it, i was, still am, in disbelief that you took the time to not only read my fic but also leave the sweetest most thoughtful feedback on it :( i can't find the words to tell you how much i appreciate you, every word you wrote warmed my heart beyond belief, you really made this fic more special in my eyes, especially since it's coming from YOU, a writer i admire so so so much, so thank you I can't tell you how grateful i am for this :((((

NOW onto your tags HEHHEE you are so cute ㅠㅠㅠ a sahar-style live reaction and a date with invisible thread AKSKJD still makes me giggle

im so happy you liked the clay metaphor :')) that was one of the first parts of the story i wrote and it felt like a defining description of who yn is because of what she went through

LEE MINHO!!!!!! the man of the hour wah what a joy to write for him, truly :') AND DOESN'T HE HAVE THE PRETTIEST EYES EVERRRR

and you're so perceptive ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ your attention to details throughout your reblog AMAZED ME it felt like you were peering into my brain and citing every reasoning i had for x and y line :')))

YESSS he's just having fun, he likes having a competitor because it stimulates his intelligence,, no mean bone in his body :')

LINOISMS 😭😭😭 coming from THE expert in minho i am so flattered. i am first and most fervent defender of minho best quiet lover agenda!!!! like he's so!!!!! loving!!!! love is in the small things and he's living proof of it

do u remember that skz code episode where minho bursts out laughing at the thought of pranking seungmin and han ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ that was what i envisioned just the cutest giggles jumping up and down I LOVE HIM

EEEEE YOU NOTICED ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ her picking up his cute mannerisms they're in love ur honor

you complimenting the characterization of minho and yn when YOUR characterization of chan left me in SHAMBLES ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ truly the biggest honor it feels like im being complimented by a a master of a craft

immmm soooo glad you enjoyed that particular conversation about colors :(( I've always loved to think about how colors can be associated to feelings so i wanted to include it in their discussions,,,, AND YESSS OFC U PICKED UP ON IT ㅠㅠㅠㅠ he does feel invisible too (as you pieced up later!!!!!) just in a different, more subtle, way

LMAOOOO me inspired directly by his vlog cooking for felix :')) he has such distinct quirks it was so fun to think of how i could include them heheheh THE MOSS THEORY STANDS CORRECT!!!!!! they do a lot for each other i think that's what i wanted to highlight the most, how loving someone means healing wounds you haven't inflicted,, it's a two-way road of caring and being there for each other :'))

HEHEHEHHE U ARE RIGHT YOU'RE ALWAYS RIGHT ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ her being broken doesn't mean she isn't enough, the cracks can now be filled with gold, leading way to a better version of herself :'))

and yessss the sad meow meow (cutest minho depiction) scene was rlly a breakthrough in their rp, she knows he goes through bad days just like her and he learns that he can trust her with them. THEY'RE GROWING (me acting as if i didn't write this)

EEEEEE IM SQUEALING AND GIGGLING BECAUSE U NOTICED ALL THE PARALLELS ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ i need to say again how much i appreciate you taking the time to do this it like warms my heart beyond belief i swear i feel very yellow now :')))

that was such a challenging part to write but it was also necessary as u pointed out :') firm believe of healing isn't linear and there's nothing wrong with that!! we can't expect something that had hurt us for years to be erased in mere months,,, but they're getting there :'))))

I'm smiling like an idiot i swear you're insane to me rin INSANE ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ i really wanted it to come full circle and to know that i somewhat achieved that :')) CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MUCH THIS AND YOU MEAN TO ME. thank you thank you thank you x 100000.

you're the absolute sweetest rin i can't ever tire of saying it :(((( your words truly made me so so so happy "it's like you carefully stacked more and more to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together" this is one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever said about my writing i genuinely can't thank you enough for this reblog, I'll keep it safe in my heart for colder days. thank youuuuu once again my angel and i can't wait to read more from youuuu as well <3333

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.

#feedback 🤍#subskz

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the-demelza-robins · 4 years ago

Text

american high school!jily (pt II)

hi! here’s a short chapter before The Big One (which is set on Halloween night and will hopefully come out on Halloween, if I have the energy). thanks so much for all the positive feedback, it makes me really happy! also you can read it on AO3 if you want

read part one here

James and Lily are in the same math class; this fact is not new. What is new, however, is that today, he drops his bag in Sev’s seat, the one right next to her.

“Hey,” he says, then nods once, as if this is normal. It is not.

“Hi,” she responds, because she doesn’t know what else to do. What she does know is that suddenly she’s aware of him, aware of the solidness of his form beside her. He’s tall, taller than Roger. She never really noticed that before.

He fiddles with his pencil. She blinks once, twice. She’s probably so attuned to his movements because he took Sev’s seat. Yes, that must be it. James sitting next to her means that Severus “I’m a fucking white supremacist” Snape can’t. Math has always been the worst, too — Lily cut Sev out of her life junior year, after he published that article, but he refuses to listen to her when she tells him to stay away, and sits next to her whenever he can. She has no friends in math class, no one to shoot him dirty looks and drown out his murmured apologies and arguments.

But James is here, now. Even if he’s not her friend. Even if he doesn’t know the significance of what he just did.

He’s still here. And that’s something.

***

Lily, please save me, the note reads, written in James’s messy scrawl. It took her a long time, as well as a lot of not-so-subtle hints from James, to realize that he’d written it in the first place. It takes her a little longer to decipher his handwriting, which is fine, because she’s ahead on the problems they’re supposed to be working through, caught in that in-between of being too good for regular math and not good enough for honors. As she looks at the curled-up bottom portion of his notebook, she senses Sev glaring daggers at her from across the room. Perfect.

From what? she writes back, letters neat and compact. James reads it almost immediately and takes a long time to respond.

The evil eye that Snivellus is giving me right now.

Ha, ha.

A smile spills out of the corner of his mouth as he writes back. Are you two involved in some sort of torrid love affair I didn’t know about? Am I making him #jelly?

That hashtag made me throw up in my mouth a little. She pauses, pencil flicking against the desk. She knows he’s watching, knows Sev is watching, and so she picks up the paper again and adds, and no, I am not involved with Sev. Would rather make out with Tony the Squid.

His smile widens, now, and she catches it in her peripheral vision. Not our school mascot. That’s too far, Evans.

It occurs to Lily that she’s acting exactly like elementary school James would. She’s laughing about Sev. Her past self would be disappointed.

But her past self didn’t know what Sev would become. She angles her body more towards James, away from her former best friend’s skin-crawling stare.

***

James sits with her again the next math class, and the one after that, too. She knows things about him, now: knows that he doodles soccer balls in the margins of his notebook; knows that he can’t stop moving, and sometimes when he’s bored of tapping his pencil he’ll tap his foot against her chair leg, unconsciously; knows that he has a little scar on his neck; knows that he can make her laugh with one passed note; knows that he still hates Sev as much as he did in eighth grade.

Lily’s the first to step into the math classroom today; or, at least, she thinks she is, until she spots Sev hovering near her seat, muttering to himself under his breath. Lily steels herself and walks by him, pointedly ignoring him as she slips into her chair.

“Lil —”

“Don’t call me that,” she says immediately, and glances towards the door. She’s forgotten what it feels like to be alone with Sev: like she’s been stripped bare, vulnerable, underneath all the layers of hatred and hurt.

Sev huffs, haughtily, in a way that’s so quintessentially him that it causes Lily physical pain. “You’re blowing it all out of proportion. I was looking at the situation from a purely economic perspective—”

“You were being fucking racist, Sev, and you know it,” she snaps, trying and failing to calm down. So easy, she is. The same conversation, every time: the same circles ran, with no ground lost or gained.

Sev opens his mouth to argue back, but before he can, a new voice cuts in.

“Should’ve known I’d find you here,” says James, speaking in a way she’s forgotten that he’s capable of: sharp, sharp as cut glass.

“This has nothing to do with you, Potter,” Sev says stiffly, gaze settling on James, who in turn looks at Lily, brow furrowed.

“You’re in my seat, Snivellus.”

Sev’s face turned red. “It was my seat first.”

“Then I guess it depends on what Lily wants.”

They both turn towards her, and this is where I get to choose, Lily realizes, with a startling burst of clarity. She knows she doesn’t want Sev, doesn’t want him near her, doesn’t want him begging for forgiveness with crocodile tears; she sucks in a breath, says, “That’s James’s seat.”

James smiles, just for a second, then slides into the seat next to her and starts to take out his math notebook. Sev stands, watching them, hands curled into fists; Lily can’t meet his eyes. Yes, he’s virtually unrecognizable from his childhood self, but rejection — rejection for James? James, who had made his early years a living hell?

She stares at the desk until she hears Sev’s retreating footsteps, knowing that to glance up and see the look of anguish on his face would make her feel even worse.

“Glad we got rid of Snivellus, huh, Evans?” James whispers, and he’s too close, sitting next to her with his pencil already tapping against the desk, a hand wafting through his hair. Lily feels like a child again, except this time she’s chosen the wrong side. She’s one of them now. Sev will never speak to her again.

Isn’t that what she wants? He’s a terrible person; she doesn’t long for his friendship. Still, a part of her — a very small part of her — wants him to want her. Another wave of revulsion consumes her; for a moment, she just stares at James, wondering how she’s gotten here. “I’m not like you, James.”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

She could yell at him. She could ask him why, all those years ago, he felt it necessary to call Sev Snivellus, to joke about his greasy hair and unwashed clothes, to ensure that he’d have no friends save Lily.

But in this moment, Lily’s more angry at herself. So instead, she turns towards the front of the classroom, hoping to find some sort of respite in calculus.

Sev doesn’t approach her again, after that.

***

Texts with Roger Davies, Tuesday, October 27th, 9:33pm

Roger: did you get rodriguez’s approval for the theme?

Lily: yeah, we’re all set!

Roger: okay great

Roger: i’m so glad that we’re finally done with that process

Roger: james was being so annoying about choosing it

Lily: lol i thought he was funny. and it didn't derail us that much

(Lily doesn’t know where that instinct comes from, the one that tells her to defend James’s honor. Maybe she knows, in her heart of hearts, that he’d do the same for her, without question, because that’s just the kind of person he is. Maybe she imagines him in math class, tapping his pencil against his desk, focused but also not, a reassuring presence. Maybe the image in her head is shifting from the boy he once was to the boy that now sits next to her every day: the one who lets her fight her own battles, the one who doesn’t push her, the one who didn’t ask about Sev after their last encounter. She can’t be sure of it yet, but maybe she’s actually starting to enjoy his company — that is, when she forgets about the past eight years of her life.)

(Or, maybe, she thinks, as she lies down on her bed, watching the bubbles on her phone pop up and disappear over and over again, she knows that disagreeing with Roger will extend their conversation.)

Roger: james is always like that tho

Lily: really? he’s been pretty good lately i thought

Roger: always wants things his way

Roger: idk i shouldn’t be talking about this

Lily: lol

Roger: it’s just that ur nice to talk to

(Roger’s never said that to her before. She wonders if it’s because she really is nice to talk to, or if it’s because she’s just there.)

Lily: lol thanks

Roger: and i feel like i can trust you

(He’s never said that to her before, either. They’ve never really spoken about non-yearbook related things. She doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly acting like they’re friends. She can’t say she doesn’t enjoy the familiarity — this is Roger, after all, and any relationship gain with him is a good one — but she feels blindsided. It was October until people burst into her room telling her it’s Christmas, and now she’s just confused.)

Lily: yeah you can trust me

Roger: cool i’m glad

seen by Lily at 9:46pm (there’s nothing more to say).

***

Texts with Roger Davies, Tuesday, October 27th, 9:50pm

Roger: can i ask you a question

Lily: fire away

Roger: are you coming to the halloween thing this weekend

Lily: yeah was planning on it

Lily: why

Roger: cool maybe i’ll see you there

(Oh.)

(It’s Christmas morning in October. It’s Christmas morning in October.)

(Lily doesn't know much about high school relationships, hookups or otherwise, but she does know this: if a boy asks a girl if she's coming to a party, he did it for a reason. And that reason is usually not so that they can discuss the yearbook.)

Lily: yeah see you there

(There's nothing more to do but wait.)

part three

#jilytober #jilytober 2020 #jily #jily fanfiction #mine #my writing #lily evans #james potter #severus snape #jily au #harry potter fanfiction

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itriedandimtired · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday

a/n: GUESS WHOSE BIRTHDAY IT IS– I've had this in my draft since March, and the moment it became May I was like- “why don't I publish this on his birthday?”, so here we are! Happy Birthday Roman Sanders 😔❤✨ also thank you so much to @palette6 (is that the url? They're deactivated I can't tag them :( ) for helping me with parts of whatever this is! :D

AU: Human!AU

Genre: Hurt/comfort

WARNINGS: toxic mother, feeling bad, hint of s*x joke, a little crying as well. it will be fluff by the end tho, oh also a LOT of time skips, bad writing because I'm too lazy to edit-

_____________

Roman jolted up on his bed.

School.

Roman thought, he gets up quickly turning to his door. That's when he stops for a second, recalling the fact he won't be going to school today. Of course, Patton was disappointed, but that was Roman's parents decision.

His parents insisted on visiting his brother, Remus. Roman had just plan to go out with Patton today, but guess his birthday can't go as well as he wishes.

Birthday.

‘One year closer to death’, as Virgil would say.

Roman sigh as he flops back onto his bed. He glance at his bags those he had packed up last night.

He will need to get ready soon.

_____(beep boop time skoop)_____

Roman dried himself up as soon as he finished taking bath. Usual morning, usual routine.

He soon changes into his outing outfit; which includes a pastel red sweater, skinny jeans, quarter white socks and his slip-on shoes.

Ding!

His phone lights up from the notifications.

Space nerd 🌌: Happy birthday, Roman.

Padre 🐶❤: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROMAN!! 💖💗💓💕

Emo nightmare 🕷: yo princey, happy birthday lmao

Okay, that made Roman smiled. God, he loves his friends so much.

He send replies to them, simple ones as his mother already called for him.

Roman shuts his phone then slips it into his pocket as he walks over to his bags, picking them up and walks outside his house in a fast pace.

He placed his bags inside the car, was ready to take a seat-

“You're not going to help your father? Really? ”

Those words from his mother hurts. He takes a deep breathe as he makes his way to his father and helps with what he could. He could tell this will be a tiring day, though anything barely starts.

_____(time skip brought to you by my love for Roman)_____

It was half-way through the journey when Roman had his earbuds on.

“Laying down my pride, I need to tell you how much I need you now.”

He leans against his window as he lets his mind drift off to the song. He loves the song, it reminds him of the time back then when he was mean to others, specifically Virgil.

He really wants to apologize, he really does. He just doesn't know how to. He just-

“ROMAN!”

He flinched at the call, quickly pulling off one of his earbuds as he stares at his mother. “Ye- yes?” He stuttered out.

“Jesus Christ, you're always with your earbuds! What are you even listening to?”

“I was listening to a song-”

“Well, does it have anything to do with your education?”

“No-”

“Then it's not worth it!”

Roman chew on his lower lips, he hates this. He doesn't like it when his mother keeps yelling at him for whatever interest he has.

“Roman, you're falling behind from your friends already. Quit disappointing me.”

Roman only nods at that, he only nods at every single words his mother yelled.

“How do you want it? How do I say it? How do I let you know that I'm sorry? ” the song played.

What a perfect timing.

_____(another time skip I'm so sorry-)_____

“Roman, pass me the tissue.”

Roman woke up from his sleep, barely awake. He passes his mother the tissue box – that's what she wanted, right? – weakly, haven't gaining his energy yet.

He swear he felt the tissue box was lift up, he swear someone had taken the tissue box from his hand. So why had it fallen when he let it go?

“Roman! God, can't you do a single thing right?!” his mother started yelling.

Roman is fully awake now, shrinking himself. He glance out of the window as his mother is still yelling, noticing how they're in front of the hotel they'll be staying at.

Only God knows how grateful he is for that.

Soon, but not soon enough, his mother stopped yelling. “Whatever, just go help your father with the bags.” Roman nods, getting out of the car to his father.

“Here, bring these. I'll bring the others.” His father said as he hands the younger male a bunch of bags. Roman takes them carefully, balancing himself and he makes his way to the hotel's main door.

“Hey, son?”

Roman stops, turning to his father.

“Happy birthday,” his father smiled.

Roman froze, before he returns the smile and whispers a soft “thank you”.

_____(last time skip I swear-)_____

Roman lies on the bed as he stares at the ceiling. He doesn't share the same room with his parents, which he thinks is a very good idea. Not only can he avoid his mother, but he could gives his parents some space if they're into.. something.

Roman chuckled at the thought, Remus had rub off on him. Then he remembered what happened that day. It's not that he's not used to is, because he is. He doesn't even know why his heart broke so much that day whenever his mother yells at him.

Could it be because it's his birthday? He doesn't know either. He never really feels like anyone care, so why is today any different? Why is his heart so sensitive specifically that day? Why are his emotions so messed up? Why-

Then he broke down. Roman burst into tears, he doesn't stop for quite a while. He doesn't know how long has he been crying, but it sure as hell feels really long.

His phone's ringing is what stopped his crying. He looks at his phone, realizing it was his friends who are calling him, and he's not in the mood for that. So he waits, until the ringing stops.

And when it does, he sighs of relief. The notification, however, changed his mind.

Space Nerd 🌌: Roman, I believe you do not want to upset Patton. I suggest you answer the phone next time.

Emo Nightmare 🕷: Dude, answer ur phone tf

Padre 🐶❤: answer the phone plsss :(

Roman stares at his phone, if Logan and Virgil agree on a thing; he knows for a fact that he should be doing whatever that is. But doesn't mean he can't disagree. Patton saying it, however–

Whatever, it was too late for that anyway.

Riiiingggg!

Or not. He sprinted to the bathroom, splashing water to his face. He messily wipes the water away before he answer the phone.

“Roman!!” Patton speaks happily, as Virgil only shows his ceiling leaving Logan to formally greet Roman.

“Hey guys! What's up?” Roman greets through the phone, Virgil then lifts up his phone revealing his eyes and eyeshadows under them. “What's up? It's your birthday, duh!” Virgil says.

“Yep! Oh, we prepared something!” Patton informed, getting up from the chair he was sitting on and sprinted to somewhere else. Roman is shocked, to say the least. This is his first birthday to celebrate with his friends, even if it's through the phone. He clearly hadn't expected anything more than a “Happy Birthday”.

However, here he is; laying on a hotel bed while he's face timing his friends, confused to why had his friends prepared something for his birthday.

Then Patton is back, with a paper in his hands. “We were planning to give it to you today, but you didn't come to school. But that's alright! I will read it out to you, alright?” Patton says cheerfully.

“Alright??” Roman answers- well, more like questioning.

“I will start with mine first! May I?”

“Of course, Patton. Go ahead.” Logan speaks, for the first time since his greet.

Patton takes a deep breath, before he starts reading the paper.

“Hola, Roman!” Roman quickly recognized the usage of Spanish, and he must admit; he's impressed that his friends even remember that he could speaks in Spanish. “If you're reading this – well more like listening now – happy birthday kiddo! I know you're going through some stuff, especially with your self-esteem–” Roman quickly teared up at the words “–but you stayed strong, and that honestly impressed me. I've always said this but, I'll always be here for you. You don't have to be afraid, because I'll fight for you just like how you Fight For Me.” Roman chuckled at the Heathers reference as he rubs his watery eyes. “Thank you, Puffball,” Roman muttered, luckily loud enough for the others to hear.

“You are very welcome! Logan, do you want to read yours by your own?” Patton asks directly at the logical male among the four. “That would be,, nice, Patton. Ahem- Roman, I'd like to wish you a happy birthday.”

It was quiet for a while, to the point Roman questioned if Logan is done. That was, until Logan speaks again.

“I also would like to let you know, you might as well be one of the greatest things that's ever happened to me. Having you as my best friend is an honor, admittedly. Though you could be loud and obnoxious at times, you still stick with me until now. I always thought friends will never be my main priority but, you proved me wrong–” Logan takes a deep breath “–I started my journey alone, until you came along. From that, the four of us got along. I am never great with emotions, so I hope you get what I mean.”

Roman was stunned, he never thought Logan out of all people would be the one who said such a thing.

“What I'm trying to say is, thank you Roman. For everything you've sacrificed, though it might looks silly, I know it means a lot to you.” Logan spoken again, which froze Roman even more. The tears he had wipe away are just coming back again threatening to fall off his eyes.

“Virgil? Would you like to read it by yourself or-”

“God- please read it for me, I don't think I have the courage.”

“Certainly,” Logan flips the paper he was holding. “Oh- I don't think me reading this would be a great option, so uh- Patton, if you'd like?” Logan phrased unsurely.

“Of course!” Patton flips his own paper before reading Virgil's letter.

“Yo, Princey. Happy birthday. So uh, y'know I'm not good with expressing feelings with words and cliches bs like this–” Patton had look confused when he reads the word ‘bs’, however let it go “–but just to let you know, I appreciate your efforts. I know you've been trying to improve yourself and trying to be less mean to me, and you're doing great. Yeah, you were a jerk and all but hey, past is the past and let's get over it. I know you feel guilty, and you're allowed to. But just know, you don't have to. And oh, another thing;” Patton smiled excitedly, before he reads out the last sentence.

“Thank you for willing to accept me, and now I'd do the same to you.”

Roman was crying, at that point. Sure, he was crying as well before they were video chatting but this time.

This time, he feels happy. He feels loved, accepted and content.

Breathlessly, he whispered “Thank you so much, for everything.”

#roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #platonic lamp #crying #ts remus #roman angst #like- at the start- that's it. only a little #hurt/comfort #lamp hurt/comfort #toxic mother tw #toxic mother #toxic parent #toxic parent tw

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fullsunalicia · 5 years ago

Note

It’s alright!! Maybe Kun x idol reader? Her group and wayv collab and they’re paired up. I can’t think of a good scenario :(

perfect duo — QK

when two vocalists meet, they create love in the shape of a ballad. though, slowly you’re thinking, it’s not only the song you’re pouring your heart into - but also in the flawless man that is qian kun.

dw bubs that’s a good scenario!! i’m still sorry idk the movie, forgive me for being uncultured 🥺 but i hope you’ll like this!

[01:22pm] qian kun: hey! what’s ur favorite coffee? i’ll bring some to the studio :)

[01:23pm] qian kun: oh, and don’t think about paying me back - it’s on me!

“A man after my own heart,” is the very first thing you say to Kun when he first steps into the room, armed with two to-go gups. He grins and sets them down so he can stretch out his hand as a greeting, and you take it. His grip is firm and reassuring. Both of you burst out into laughter as you try to “out-bow” each other, and you settle on admitting defeat so you can sit down and talk.

It’s a wonder you even manage to speak. Qian Kun is beautiful, breathtakingly so. You had known of him for a long time, since he had debuted before you. It was a big honor that this collaboration was able to happen, and with a lot of luck, you were chosen to participitate in it. Not only is Kun a feast for the eyes, his voice is pure honey, too.

To put it short, you’re basically collaborating with your celebrity crush. And you’re desperately trying to stay professional. But how does one manage to do that, when Kun smiles in such a cute manner while he offers you the coffee?

You jolt yourself out of your daydreams and accept the drink with just as big of a smile. “Thank you so much,” you tell him, and Kun waves you off. “I’ve been craving one all morning, but today it was a little busy in the dorms, so I decided against coffee and for being punctual.”

“I would’ve forgiven you, anyways. Enjoy your coffee.”

He’s assertive, as expected for a leader. But it’s not an order, at least Kun doesn’t deliver it that way. Softly spoken, kindly. It’s a favor you instinctually want to do. So you reach for your cup, and the smile you get as a reward makes your heart flutter.

You really like Kun. He shines with his personality and his looks, and in that way, he’s flawless. Of course you know he’s only human and just like you, he’s adapted to conceal his bad habits. But he’s the closest to what you consider perfect.

“So, what kind of song do you want to go for?

You lean away from the cup. “Well, I’d love to go for a romantic song,” you offer. Even though it’s your idea, the heat starts settling in your cheeks. “I’ve never really written or sung a ballad before, since my group isn’t going for that concept right now. So I’d love to experiment with that, and try it out... If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You’ve never been in love before. But if you had to describe it, maybe it’s the fuzzy feeling Kun sets off in your heart and in your head when he beams at you, nodding quickly as a sign that he supports your idea. “Sure!” the young man says. “I would love to, (y/n). I can’t wait to hear your precious voice in a slow song.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Kun ends up taking you out as “inspiration”. Though you always need to dress up as to not be caught by fans, it’s still quite fun to watch Kun stress over where he’s gonna take you. You know he’s very strict when it comes to work, yet he still enjoys spending time with you as a person aswell. To him, you’re (y/n) first, idol second.

Many afternoons are spent working on the song together, though you’re only concentrated on the melody and composition right now. You’ve helped with composing on your own group’s songs, but songwriting is something you’ve never dabbled in, and Kun promises to help you. You also manage to wrangle the promise out of him to cook for you some time.

That’s how you end up here, at the WayV dorm, 8pm in the evening.

You should never mix work with pleasure, or in this case, a crush. It’s useless - you can’t help yourself to grasp at every chance you can get to spend time with the dreamy man who’s managed to charm you in just a month’s time.

Something in you wants to scold you for being unprofesssional. Come to your senses and leave. But the other half of you is cheering you on and wants to spend the next few hours listening to Kun’s warm laughter, no matter how late it gets. So you raise your hand and knock, excitement setting every nerve in you ablaze. You’ve never met his members before, so you’re not sure what to expect.

The face which welcomes you inside is a familiar one. Dong Sicheng gifts you with a grin as he opens the door open wide and asks you to come in, closing it behind you when you take his advice. “The woman of the hour,” he hums. “Kun’s been really excited for you to come. He cooks for us often, but it’s been long since he went all out for someone that isn’t a birthday boy in our group. We’re glad you’re here, (y/n).”

“Thank you for having me.” The smile you both share soothes your mind, and you let him hang up your coat while you stroll into the living room. The only way to find Kun is to follow the heavenly scent that belongs to the food he’s cooking up. Meat is sizzling in a pan while Kun stirs what you assume are noodles, broad back turned to you.

Perfect for back hugs. But no, that’d be invading his personal space. So you clear your throat to alert him about your presence, and you grin when he turns to look at you. “Good evening, Chef Qian.”

“It’s certainly good now that you’ve arrived.” Kun laughs and momentarily abandons the counter to embrace you. As always, the action makes your cheeks take on all fifty shades of red, and you hope he just doesn’t take notice of it. “Sit, dinner’s almost done. I hope you like your steak medium rare.”

“I do, actually,” you hum. Despite him being busy with conjuring up a nice meal for the both of you, everything is clean and tidy. That makes you jealous. Whenever the members and you cook, it takes hours to clean up, and the dishes are often made your duty. “How’s it going with our little love song?”

“Almost finished. But we’re not talking work today.” Kun shuffles away from the stove to grab some glasses out of a cupboard. He places both of them infront of you, and seconds later, Kun fills them with wine and pushes the drink closer to you. “We’re playing 20 questions today, like the children we are. I think I have to find out more about the woman I’m going to serenade to, don’t you think?”

You try to ignore how your heart starts racing at that, but that’s an impossible task. “Romeo didn’t have to know Juliet to serenade her,” you giggle, and Kun juts out his lower lip in a fake pout. “Are you that unserious about our relationship? Ouch. Maybe we should turn it into a break-up song.”

“Absolutely not. No man who’s mentally sound would ever break up with a woman like you.”

The words seem to suprise you both, even though it was Kun who said them aloud. He escapes confrontation by turning back around to the food, the sound of his utensils scraping the pan snapping you out of a trance. “You think?” you hear youself ask.

Kun looks over his shoulders. This time, he’s absolutely serious.

“I don’t think, I know, (y/n),” the man assures you, completely unaware of the butterflies he brings to life in your stomach. “You’re wonderful. There’s no need to be humble - confidence looks good on you, just like anything else you set your mind to.”

Turns out that WayV’s vocalist is quite the charmer. You never move from the kitchen as the night progresses, opting to sit there together. Occassionaly, he scoops up a piece of his own steak to offer it to you, and you welcome it with open arms mouth. It tastes absolutely amazing. You now understand why his group members are swooning about the food all the time. From time to time, his knee brushes yours, setting off electric currents where your bodies meet. He doesn’t shy back from fixing your hair or raising your head with a finger below your chin.

You really should’ve ran when you had the chance. Now you’re into deep, fallen right into the honeytrap that is Qian Kun.

Though, it doesn’t bother you. Never do you recoil from his touch or do not seek out the chance to be close to him, and meetings where you should be working, you spent talking and ranting. He vents about his stress and pressure as a leader, while you are given the space to confess how underapprecuated you sometimes feel as the vocalist of the group, and how hard you have to work for the company to realize your worth.

You understand each other. Kun and you just click. That’s why it doesn’t take the man long to understand that he sees you as way more than just a colleague and more like a girl he’d like to sweep off her feet. He wants to be the one you entrust all your secrets too, and he wants to be the one you smile at when you’re happy or excited. When you feel upset, Kun wants to be one to hold you close and protect you from the rest of the world. Most of all, he’d like to be the first person in your head to share good news with.

Crushing on an idol is really complicated. Especially when you’re an idol, yourself. Now, Kun has to struggle with work stress and non-existent relationship stress, because he wants it to be real.

And he wants to know whether you would want that, too.

❀ ❀ ❀

Kun is the last person to be careless or scatterbrained when it comes to work, or his fans, or an award show. But when Ten spends the entire evening making fun of him for not approaching you, he can’t help himself from pulling you aside the second you step off the stage after accepting an award.

He pulls you into an (thankfully) empty room, quickly locking the door behind you. You want to question his actions since this seems so unlike the man you’ve been getting to know in the past few weeks, but you’re not given the chance as Kun pulls you into his arms and holds you tightly against his chest. The scent of expensive perfume mingling with his own fragrance makes you dizzy, yet your arms move on instinct to wrap themselves around his neck and pull him as close as humanly possible.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kun whispers against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps adorn your skin seconds after, both pleasant and infuriating. You wish you could kiss him. “I knew you could do it. You’re such a talented singer, the people would have to be deaf not to vote your group. You all did well. But I’m especially proud of my (y/n).”

The praise rings in your ears and makes your stomach flip. Coming from him, it sounds beyond sensual, and you’re glad he’s holding you up right now. “Your (y/n)?” you question.

His hands settle on your lower back. “Do you not want to be?”

“I do.” No hesitation, no need to think about it. It’s funny he thinks you aren’t already his, when he’s got you in the palms of his hands, free to do with you whatever he desires. You’d let him. No matter what Qian Kun would ask of you, you’d let him.

You don’t know when your heart had decided to be his and his only. Maybe it was when he carried you home after dressing up nicely for a restaurant Kun liked and your high heels were starting to hurt your feet. Maybe it was when he kept believing in you as you practiced hard for your comeback, or when he had sent you all the supportive voicemails when you couldn’t meet. Perhaps it was meant to be all along.

You’re just glad it happened.

“That‘s good.” Kun holds your waist against his, grip tight, but his eyes soft when he leans back to lock gazes with you. Your favorite paradox. “I’m excited for writing on our song tomorrow. Don’t be late, my (y/n)ie.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Kun’s hand on your thigh is very distracting. Distraction isn’t very good when you’ve never written a song in your life before and are expected to finish this piece before the deadline that’s been stressing both Kun and you out.

You space out way too many times during this session than affordable, but it’s hard to concentrate when Kun keeps carding his fingers through your hair or complimenting you for several minutes straight.

Working on a song has never taken so long.

Thankfully, Kun decides to cut to the chase when you pout in the most adorable way because the text keeps annoying you. “Okay, that’s it,” he mumbles, and then he just reaches over to hoist you up into his lap.

Your hands fly to steady yourself on his shoulder. “Kun!”

“(y/n),” he deadpans. “We both haven’t been concentrating on the task at hand for the past hour now and I’m not the guy to slack off at work. So I have to get rid off what’s holding me back.”

You swallow audibly. „And... what‘s that?“

Kun grips your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. His gaze makes your insides melt, and you‘re suprised you‘re not turning to a puddle on top of him. „I can‘t stop thinking about all the words I want to say to you instead of putting them into the song,“ the vocalist confesses. „I keep thinking about verses I want to tell you because I adore you and you‘re running around in my head all the time. It‘s not song text. It‘s just the words my heart‘s been carrying for you, and I want you to hear them. I like you, (y/n). A lot.“

All the stress you‘ve been experiencing lately seem to be disappear with just one confession. Like a heavy weight that‘s been lifted off you, you‘re finally able to breathe freely and the giddy smile caused by that is uncontainable. „I like you too,“ you admit to him, heart soaring when he breathes out in relief. Your hands wander from his shoulders to his cheeks to cradle his perfect face in your hands. „I like-like you.“

„Oh yeah? How much?“

It‘s childish, but it still makes you happy that Kun craves reassurance from you. He lets you trace his cheekbones and mess up his hair while you mumble: „Very, very, very much.“

Kun curls both arms around your waist, tight grip keeping you in your place. „Stop being so cute, (y/n),“ he orders you, voice serious, but there‘s a hint of amusement in his eyes before he closes the gap to kiss you. It‘s lovely and heartwarming and leaves you wanting for more when he parts from you, teeth tugging at your lower lip before he lets go. „I know it‘ll be hard because we‘re both idols... But I promise to love you always. That I will always take the time to be there for you, and I‘ll do anything to make this work.“

„That‘s all I ask for.“

The text writes itself so much better when its‘ authors are lovers and partners. It‘s filled with love declarations and unspoken admiration, the result of pining after the other for such a long time. Honestly, you wouldn‘t want it any other way. In the end, Kun and you found each other, and that is the best possible ending there is to this song.

When your song storms the charts and earns you an award at the next show, Kun doesn‘t shy away from shamelessly kissing you infront of Ten as he lifts you in the air. Though, Ten is quickly comforted by the celebration of your shared win over a bottle of champagne and Kun‘s amazing food.

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mrpenguinpants · 4 years ago

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omg jjk and hq are so good i cANNOT- please share ur opinions after 🥺

:0000 ANON YOU GET A FREE COOKIE!!!

I was lowkey hoping someone would ask me about this so I can just gush. There was no one to hold me ;-;

So spoiler warning in case you haven’t caught up to jjk and hq. “Slight” spoilers for next jjk/hq episodes. Semi-major spoilers if you haven’t read the manga.

You’re about to see me devolve into brain rot. Don’t look at me like that.

So jjk.

I’ve read the manga before it was announced as an anime and my hype was through the roof. I read stuff in bursts [I’ve done this with solo leveling and kny (PLS PLS READ SOLO LEVELING I know it’s getting really popular now but pls I beg of you)] so I read all the volumes available at the time in one sitting and I watch that update bar like a hawk. Very nice art style I really like it. I call it dirty art [this is not an insult] with how the lines are drawn and the amount whenever characters are fighting.

[SPOILER] A great example is when student Gojo snaps and has his “I’m the only honored one” and purple snaps Toji [ch 72 - 75] 👉👈 I may have a thing for it.

It does spoil the anime for me especially with episode 5 and the fact they pulled a Kamina and killed the main character [even though he isn’t dead lol] but I’ve never cared that much about spoilers. [ch.11]

But speaking of next episode, I CANNOT WAIT FOR NEXT EPISODE. MORE SUKUNA CONTENT??? The first time I was reading the manga I’m looking at this man and thinking I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me. But what he did do to Mimiko and Nanako was kinda brutal [ch.112]

I’ve seen anime gojo with his blindfold off and SIR YOUR HAND. LOOKS HEAVY. LEMME HOLD IT FOR YOU.

I think they might make Gojo vs Jogo its own episode or it might be next (PLEASE BE NEXT EPISODE I WANT TO GET IMMEASURABLE VOIDED) I can’t wait for next Saturday. [ch. 13 - 15]

Plus Jogo is actually a really good character [except morally] despite looking stupid af. Volcano head I can’t. I know it’s his thing and domain but it bother’s me so much. [ch. 116]

Another thing that bother’s me is their uniform. On the yuji, kugisaki, and megumi they look fine but for some reason it looks really weird on Gojo? I don’t know how to explain it but it’s like. Overly fitting? Something like that lol. I also can’t stand the creases in his blindfold. I know they are shadows to show the placement of his eyes but it freaks me out. I say this but I would very much simp for him.

Speaking of, I was listening to his and Geto’s voices and thinking WHERE HAVE I HEARD THIS BEFORE. Gojo is Kuroo and Hawks while Geto is Merlin [FGO]. So I’ve officially ruined Geto because I can only think of pervy mage. Imo, I feel that Geto should have had a deeper voice? It sounds so light but I have Merlin brain worms in my head.

[SPOILERS] I know he’s possessed and everything and maybe real Geto would have that voice but if Sukuna can have his own voice so can Geto. [ch 90 - 91]

Also with episode 5, when Megumi is about to do this eight treasure curse. In case any of you were interested in what that was. Here’s a mini screenshot. God he look’s so good. Go Megumi Go! [ch. 117]

Honestly, everyone is so pretty. I love girls with short hair so my heart is weeping at how pretty Kugisaki is. Her straw doll technique scene where she kneels down, about to put the nail in, and how they animated her hair and side profile. Sorry, doctor but I’m dying rn. This very second. Manga Maki I prefer a tiny bit more but she looks vvvvvv good.

Plus the opening and ending SLAPS. I love the art style for both it’s so nice. I’m very excited for this anime and my brain is rotting. Plus have you guys seen the trailer for the next patch for genshin??? Pls...I have school and rq to write I can’tt.

Also [ch 52 if you want more purple Gojo]

---

So HQ

I know everyone was hyped about the Miya twins but CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT NEKOMA?? KENMA YOU ABOSULTE BEAST. He’s so cute when he was angry. It was nice seeing Tora get some more love and fukunaga!! His “oh” caught me off guard so much that I can’t help but laugh every time I re-watch it. Yaku and Kuroo at the end “Don’t narrate my inner thoughts thanks” was such a mom and dad moment. I love it.

Honestly, when I heard Atsumu all I hear is Dazai and it’s breaking me. You know that moment when the twins copy Hinata’s and Kageyama’s quick? Where he goes “Yes!” that was so fucking cute. Plus Kita?? I can’t wait for this moment [ch.291] I will treasure it with my heart and soul. God I can’t even look at it and the sun’s too bright. It’s burning my eyes off.

Then it’s Nekoma vs Karasuno and I can’t wait for that!!! [ch 293] I don’t want to say toooo much but this feels like this will make up for the next half of haikyuu.

I love how Tsukki looks [ch. 303] he’s such a mood

[SPOILER] I was lowkey kinda pissed that Nekoma lost because of sweat but I can forgive it for those A+ Kenma shots. [ch. 324 - 325]

Then Bokuto get’s hyped and we get this great Akaashi moment [ch. 333]. Honestly, the sportsmanship in Haikyuu is some grade A stuff. [ch 337] I don’t know if this will be animated or if this be it’s own OVA but PLEASE I JUST WANT THIS MOMENT ANIMATED I BEG OF YOU.

But I don’t want to make this post too long so my brain rot ends here. If you have any other anime/manga/games that you’d like to gush with me I am always here in my corner.

#sorry I had a lot to get out of my system #i went back and checked all the manga chapters JUST FOR YOU #I hate it when I see screenshots or people mentioning things and scrolling through a manga JUST TO FIND THAT ONE SCENE #long post #manga spoilers #jujustu kaisen #haikyuu!!#big mwah #lovely anon #anon ask #brain dump #jjk #hq

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haikyuuscreaming · 5 years ago

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FUCK THSI POST AND HAPPY BRITHDAY HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO

im so soft for all of the seijou third years and makki is not an exception. we may have been heavily deprived of makki content but i still love him and yes even though i have 3 wips i am dropping all my shit to write for hanamaki

enjoy this really fast-written but lovingly-written fic :) I LOVE U MAKKI

As soon as Hanamaki wakes up, there’s something obviously off.

He isn’t stupid. He’s always wondered why those people in dollar-cheap romance novels never seem to know what’s up when it’s their birthday. Like, gee, what’s going on? Why is my S/O so sketchy today, on my birthday? Why are all of my friends busy? He’s always wondering maybe they just have garbage self-esteem.

Fortunately for him, you’re a terrible actor.

“Morning, Makki~” Your voice is oddly awake despite Hanamaki having just woken up.

“Morning.” Hanamaki stretches lazily and his arm rests around your head. You’re wearing one of his old jerseys and he thinks it’s fitting for the occasion. “Guess whose special day it is.”

“U-Um, I don’t know.” You sound a little bit nervous although your smile’s still radiant on your face.

(He thinks it’s adorable how excited you are for his birthday.)

“B-But, you should get ready for today!! I do too, actually, so, um, I’m gonna get changed and head out..” Your excitement breaks through your ‘calm’ voice and you practically jump out of bed, kissing his forehead before dashing out. “Sorry, babe!”

“Sorry for what?”

“Um, nothing!”

“Just my luck,” Hanamaki mutters to himself. “It’s raining?”

He walks out of his favorite bakery with a box of cream puffs-- the last box of the bakery, in fact-- and suddenly it’s drizzling rain, an earthy scent flooding the world around him.

He’s a little bit frustrated-- god damn, could they at least warn him? At least so he could bring an umbrella.-- but he pays no mind. Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Matsukawa have all been “busy” with plans (although Matsukawa spammed him with a shit-ton of memes and a ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU ASS <3 FULL HOMO), and you’re obviously doing something either for him or something illegal, so he knows to expect something.

Although he can’t help but shake the paranoid worm in his gut that… maybe everyone is busy? Maybe they really couldn’t spare time for his birthday…

He brushes it off, and walks back home in the rain as he shields his cream puff box.

The rain really does make walking-traffic bad.

Hanamaki was expecting to stroll home in a solid 10 minutes, but he’s stuck in an angry mob of people who are half-drenched like him. He thanks whoever’s up there for giving him a strong immune system, otherwise he’s sure that he’d be sniveling and sneezing on his special day.

He’s trying to guess how much time it’ll take to get home now- five more minutes? Seven? Ten more?- before his phone vibrates so hard in his back-pocket he would’ve thought someone shoved a vibrator back there. There’s most likely no mafia or yakuza here, so Hanamaki takes advantage of the slow-moving crowd and takes out his phone.

There it is: the barrage of texts from you. He knew you would break down eventually, asking if he’d come home soon, but he wasn’t expecting pages and pages of texts.

the fiona to my shrek:

hiro hiro are u ignoring me bc that isnt nice HIROOOO HIROOOOOO helloooooo where tf are u likeeee not tryna be sus or anything but i need u home preferably in like ten minutes no im not horny unless u want me to be 😏🤪🤪 pleaseee u asshat whyd u turn off ur location please answer? are you mad at me :( is it abt this morning? i didnt mean to brush u off i swear i didnt forget abt ur birthday and im like not planning anything or something ok please come home? ily <3 hiro Makki. hanamaki hanamaki takahiro loser baby the shadow to my sonic please respond and come home? :( youre my shrek 5 trailer OKAY BITCH FINE im sorry ur not a bitch love u mwah i mean maybe you are a bitch? but i still love u mwah mwah mwah are u even reading this i stg ill be so embarrassed if ur just busy or sum COME HOMEEEE ok bye :)

He really does think it’s adorable how much you care about this.

Rolling his eyes, he taps out a quick response:

“yea omw home” “oh, a surprise you say? ill be home soon”

He slips it into his pocket even though he feels the vibrations of the twenty or so texts that you rapid-fire send to him, most likely defending the fact that you’re definitely, absolutely not planning any shit for his ass, but he smiles to himself anyway.

He doesn’t even mind the fact he’s getting soaked in the rain. He’s excited to see what you’ve been planning.

“Home,” Hanamaki yells out. “Where are you, you big stinker?”

There isn’t an answer, which Hanamaki supposes is a little bit cliché but he doesn’t mind that much. His shared apartment with you is dark and he has to flicker on some lights through the house before he hears the faint illusion of hurried whispers. He barely makes out a voice to be yours.

“Oh! He’s here!”

“No shit he’s here. Who else comes in and yells he’s home?”

“I dunno Mattsun~ Maybe [Name]-chan has someone on the side?”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you.”

“Thank you, Hajime!”

“Shut up oh my god I think he’s listening to us.”

“Shhh!”

Hanamaki hears a dull clatter from the other room and he hides behind the wall, content with listening for a little bit longer.

“Oikawa you fucking dolt! You knocked over the forks!”

“Sorry, [Name]-chan!”

“Just pick it up already.”

“I don’t mean to burst your bubbles but I’m pretty sure he’s literally just vibing in the other room, listening to us.”

Hanamaki decides to make you all happy and takes a step. He’s kind of delighted in the way you all immediately shut up, save for your hissed quiet!, and he takes another step. Eventually he can’t take it and casually walks into the room.

It’s dark and he can’t really adjust to everything, and he’s about to say something slightly funny before the entire room illuminates and he sees his former third-year team and girlfriend yell, “Happy birthday Makki!!!!”

Makki knows that he was expecting some sort of surprise. Ever since that morning he woke up and saw you and your oddly adorable, alert face, he knew that something like this was going to happen. But still, it took just a few more seconds to register.

There was a cutely handmade banner that read Happy Birthday Makki in big, teal letters, and there were balloons strewn around the room that he knew would eventually be victims of balloon volleyball. On the table that you were all surrounding was a good, small pile of gifts and a tower of cream puffs. Not a cake, but a giant fucking tower of cream puffs.

Oh, so that’s where all the bakery’s cream puffs went.

“Oh god. You stupid idiots.” Hanamaki realizes his voice has gotten a little hoarse with sentiment, and he clears his voice and naturally, his lazy smile comes back. “I’m honored that you buffoons really planned this out for me. Clown party!”

“Be grateful, you big dummy!” You practically throw yourself onto him, and he finds himself latching onto you too. “I love you so much, Makki, happy birthday!!”

Hanamaki smiles and as if on cue, you lift up your head and smile back. He feels his heart beat a little bit faster and he remembers why he’s been loving his birthdays ever since he met you.

“Guess I love you too.”

#hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki takahiro x reader #hanamaki takahiro scenarios #takahiro hanamaki #takahiro hanamaki x reader #takahiro hanamaki scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader scenarios #hq x reader #hq x reader scenarios #IM SO SOFT FOR HIM #i love hanamaki takahiro #stan all seijou third years!#i love him :)

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justablobfish · 4 years ago

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Giving subtle hints of what one would like to get for Christmas

Day 7 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

______

"What ya got there?" Jaskier asked on that fateful day a week ago as he carelessly dropped himself into Geralt's lap. And that's how it all started. With a letter and Jaskier’s unquenchable curiosity.

"Summons from the Prince of Attre," Geralt answered, a fact he much regrets by now. "He's got a contract for me."

"Ooh, it's made out 'To the White Wolf'", Jaskier beamed as he shamelessly skimmed over the letter. "You're famous enough now that people request you personally! I'm a genius and you're very welcome!"

"For some reason the prince wants me to catch the Ur alive, though. I'll be needing Yennefer's help to put it down without killing it," Geralt pointed out. "So you'll have to stay here and watch Ciri. We'll prepare and set off in a few days."

"Ugh, fine," Jaskier whined. "But don't complain when the house burns down again. What noble did Yennefer mind control that we can stay here again? I'm sure they won't mind having to redecorate a little!"

"I know what you're doing, Jaskier, and it won't work. With Yennefer's portals we won't be gone for longer than two days. I'm sure you'll manage to control yourself and the little menace till then."

"See, darling, that's what I love about you. Despite much evidence to the contrary, you never stop believing in my abilities."

Geralt snorted at that.

"Wait a second, though, the Prince of Attre. That means you'll be close to Cintra, right?"

"Hmm," Geralt confirmed, and then added the one little word he still regrets uttering to this day: "Why?"

And Jaskier had told him at length about this flower that supposedly only grows in the region near Cintra. When Ciri appeared to drag him off to sword training, he had been more than relieved to escape the lecture.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last of it. From then on out, Jaskier used every opportunity he could find to gush about this stupid flower. It's unparalleled beauty, it's lovely aroma, the intricate symbolism connected to it. Geralt started dreaming about the damn thing, his mind producing a perfect picture of the stupid weed from Jaskier’s descriptions alone.

He wasn't the only victim, either. One night, when he headed back to his room after he had taken advantage of their luxurious temporary home and enjoyed a lengthy bath, he nearly ran into Yennefer, bursting out of the library and clearly agitated.

"If I hear one more word about that stupid flower I'm going to murder him!" she snapped as she disappeared around the corner. "And now I'm running late for my lesson with Ciri!"

And yet, now that he and Yennefer are actually on the trail of the beast they were hired to catch, he can't help but look out for those little white flower buds Jaskier described.

"What even does he want with that stupid thing?" Geralt mumbles under his breath.

Yennefer seems to have heard him, though. She clicks her tongue in annoyance and replies: "I hear it works as an aphrodisiac. Some people use it in perfumes."

"Great, " Geralt deadpans. "As if we didn't have enough problems on our hands. I haven't seen Ciri smile in weeks for some reason and all Jaskier can talk about is some weird sex plant."

"It's the winter solstice that has Ciri in a bad mood," Yennefer explains, her voice going soft. "For most people it's just a day of amplified magic, but in Cintra it's traditionally a celebration to honor one's family. She misses them a lot and it only gets worse around this time of the year."

"Fuck," is all Geralt can think to reply. He wishes he had some sort of solution, some way of cheering Ciri up. Usually he and Yennefer turn to Jaskier for help with the emotional stuff, since they both don't deal with such topics all too well. But when Jaskier has his mind set on a project, it's hard to get him to focus on anything else.

Geralt brushes aside yet another curtain of leaves, still dripping wet from last night's rain shower, and suddenly finds himself at the end of the monster's trail.

Glowing red eyes stare back at him. Despite standing on four hooved legs, the Ur is at eye level with Geralt. It's huge, even for its kind. Thick skin covered in short black fur stretches over a massive bulk of muscle. The forward protruding horns are easily as long as Geralt's forearm and Geralt has no doubt that his armour will be of little use if the creature decides to gore him.

For a moment, they stare at each other in equal surprise. Then the monster lets out a puff of hot breath and charges at him. Geralt quickly dodges out of its way, pulling Yennefer to safety with him.

"Keep it distracted while I cast the spell!" Yennefer orders as he spins around to face the beast again.

Easier said than done. The monster has turned back around as well and is pawing at the rain-slick ground with its hoofs, ready to pounce.

That's when he sees it. Smack in the middle between the angry Ur and himself there's a tiny fleck of white sitting between the lush greens of the forest. One of Jaskier’s dumb plants. And the creature is just about to race over it.

Geralt curses and throws an Aard sign in the direction of the monster, just as it comes running at him again.

The bulky mass of muscles is unimpressed by his weak spell though, and doesn't slow down in the slightest. Geralt barely manages to throw himself to the side and avoid being trampled to death.

There's nothing he can do for the flower though. And as if that weren't enough, his evasion manoeuvre landed him smack in the middle of a mud puddle. Just great.

Merely a heart beat later, there's a loud crash and a tremor that shakes the earth.

Alarmed, Geralt jumps to his feet, brushes the mud-greased hair out of his eyes and tries to make out the source of the disruption.

It seems his Aard sign had some effect, after all. It has thrown the Ur off course enough that it collided with a nearby tree with so much force that it split the thick wood in half.

His task is taken care of. The monster lies at the foot of the tree, dazed and unmoving.

"Good thing you brought me along!" Yennefer sighs, exhausted.

Geralt turns around, ready to snap at her that being caked in mood isn't how he had planned to finish this contract, when he notices that Yennefer's attention is neither on him nor the beast.

He follows her gaze until his eyes fall on the little white-petaled flower that still stands in the middle of the forest, surrounded by deep, heavy hoof prints in the mud, but the flower itself is untouched.

A bubble of crackling energy glimmers around it for another moment, before Yennefer drops the spell.

It seems that no matter how ridiculous Jaskier’s requests are, neither he nor Yennefer can deny the bard his wishes.

"I don't suppose he told you what part of the damn thing he actually needs?" Geralt grunts.

At Yennefer's "no idea" he sighs and uses his dagger to remove the entire plant from the ground, roots and all.

They deliver the knocked-out monster to the prince, who takes one look at Geralt's muddied appearance and the thick carpet he's dripping on, and practically throws them out of his estate.

He does pay full price though, and even a little on top, so Geralt certainly won't complain about not having to exchange pleasantries and about getting back to their temporary home a little sooner.

When they return, the house is still standing, despite Jaskier’s threats.

The bard comes to meet them in the hallway and squeaks delightedly at the sight of the flower Geralt is carefully holding cupped in his hands.

A moment later, Jaskier is gone again, vanished through one of the many doors in a colorful swirl of silk even Geralt's eyes barely manage to follow. He gapes at his now empty hands, where only a layer of grime and earth remains.

"What the fuck was that?" Yennefer curses. "We go through all this trouble and he can't even muster a thanks?"

"Hmm," Geralt replies as he slowly lowers his arms. "He never actually asked if we could get it either."

"Oh, that little bastard! When I get my hands on him I'm gonna…"

Yennefer doesn't specify what exactly she intends to do to Jaskier, though the way she trails her finger over her throat speaks for itself.

"If you can wait till I've washed this all off myself, I'll be happy to assist you," Geralt grumbles.

"Fine," Yennefer sighs dramatically. "I guess I should check on Ciri anyway.”

An hour later, when Geralt is finally clean, dry and warm again, they meet up to go on search for the bratty troubadour.

He's not in his room though, and not in Geralt's either. Furthermore, Geralt's alchemy tools seem to be untouched. If Jaskier wants to use the plant for some weird sex perfume, wouldn't he need the alchemy tools to prepare the plant? The mortar and pestle are clean, though and haven't been used recently.

"Think he's hiding?" Yennefer asks after glancing over his shoulder. "He's gotta be somewhere. Let's keep looking."

But Jaskier is not in the library or the study or Yennefer's room and in the dining room they only find Ciri, perched over a thick tome and looking as miserable as the days before.

"Why are you studying here?" Geralt asks, confused. "Isn't it more comfortable in the library?"

"Jaskier told me to wait here," Ciri replies without looking up. "Said he has a surprise for me."

In that moment, Jaskier enters, through the door to the kitchen, of all places.

He doesn't look at all like he just created an enticing perfume. The checkered apron with frills on the rim Jaskier wears is the last thing Geralt would describe as sexy and his hair is lined with strands of white. It takes Geralt a moment to realise that Jaskier hasn't aged ten years in the past hour, but that there's flour stuck in his hair.

"Ciri! There you are!" Jaskier calls out and holds out a small, round box made of sheet metal.

Curios Ciri inspects the contents of the box.

"Are those Cintran winter solstice stars?" she gasps. "Oh, Jaskier, you shouldn't have!"

"You mentioned eating them at the solstice with your grandmother the other day, so I just had to make you a batch," Jaskier returns with a self-satisfied grin. "Go on, have one!"

Ciri picks out one of the cookies, which are indeed star-shaped, and carefully nibbles on it. Then her eyes go wide with surprise.

"They taste just right! How did you do that?" she exclaims. "I bought imitations in nearly every bakery on the Continent during our travels, but they never tasted quite like they did at home!"

"Well, you see, there is a secret ingredient," Jaskier offers.

"I know!" Ciri blurts out. "It's love, isn't it?"

She presses a quick kiss to Jaskier’s cheek as she wrestles the box from his hands.

"I'm not sharing, they're all mine!" she yells and darts past Geralt and Yennefer and out the door.

Geralt doesn't miss the bright, happy grin on her face, though. The first of its kind in weeks.

"So, what are you two doing here?" Jaskier asks as he runs a hand through his hair, further spreading the flour. "And why do you have that look on your faces like I'm in trouble?"

"Oh, you're in trouble, all right," Yennefer purrs as she launches herself at the bard.

"Ugh, what did I do to deserve such terrible treatment?" Jaskier huffs, his voice muffled by Yennefer's embrace.

Geralt scoops up a stray bit of cookie dough that found its way to the tip of Jaskier’s nose and tastes it, before he joins in on the hug and wraps his arms around Jaskier and Yennefer. The dough tastes very sweet, though not at all like sugar or honey.

"Thanks for getting me the vanilla plant, by the way," Jaskier chuckles. "Ciri really needed that reminder of home."

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #Yennefer of Vengerberg #ciri #theblobfishwrites

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megatraven · 4 years ago

Note

Betrayal in Olympus by one they trusted most AU? :o

ok ur gonna hate me but theres so many instances in astoria where it ALMOST happens th way i described exactly

there is. quite a bit of terrible betrayal from a trusted person in this series LMAO. i think the closest instance to what i said has to be hades’ season 3 where he breaks their engagement off to protect mc and she literally says she’ll never forgive him, except hades doesn’t die or almost die, she does,,

but YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YES!

i like the way u think my friend

ok ok ok ok ok

au where the gods realize that mc’s mother had hera’s potential after she dies. so they take mc to olympus to raise, knowing she’s the vessel of hera now. there’s no fight from her father, and only josh seems to care, but he can’t do anything in the face of 11 ancient gods.

they let her visit with him, from time to time, on olympus, but aside from that, her only real friend is alex.

alex has always been a constant in her life. from her earliest memories, they were there. she trusts them above anyone else, and that feeling only grows the more time she spends around them.

she’s had a crush on them for so long, but she falls for them when she’s around 20. she keeps a tight lid on that, and has a hard time looking aphrodite in the eyes once she realizes it.

come 25, alex is still her best friend, and they’re pretty much the only person she cares to hang around. over the past ten years they’ve made countless promises to each other, helped each other grow and learn and grieve and find happiness again

she’s undeniably in love with alex.

and she’s surprised when she finds out that they love her, too. in that same special sort of way, where their lips meet and their souls touch and dance and become something more than either of them

now the thing is this

mc know why she’s there on olympus- zeus told her as much when she first moved up there.

but there’s a part of her that never really believed the gods could be so cruel as to kill her, to replace her with someone else. not after they already took her mother.

and, more than that..... alex has promised her, time and time again, that they would keep her safe. that they would protect her, from anyone, anything.

maybe, at first, she didn’t really believe that, either. but they promised it so often, with such conviction, backing it up with their actions time and time again, that she couldn’t help believing in them fully

so she’s 25

and she’s in love with alex

and she trusts them more than anyone and anything

and the gods tell her that it’s time for them to awaken hera

and, she thinks, it’ll be okay- alex will protect her

but they don’t

they step back, ashamed, head bowed as they pull their hand from hers

they watch her with eyes that are filled with sorrow and guilt and heartbreak, but she can hardly care when they’ve just broken her own

they say they’re sorry, and she can only shout that she’ll never forgive them for breaking their promises

she refuses to see them, won’t speak to even aphrodite, and requests to change residences. hades lets her stay with him until the ritual day comes, and though it draws near, she can’t even bring herself to be afraid- all she can think about is alex and how they hurt her

the gods, she’s never had any close connection to, really. so for them to come through on what hey said, to awaken hera and leave her for dead... it doesn’t surprise her, really.

but alex. alex betrayed her. abandoned her.

it hurts the most of everything.

when time runs out for her, she’s escorted to the throne room, where all eleven top-tier gods have gathered for the ritual to awaken hera

mc meets the gaze of each god in there, willing them to be faced with the fact that they’re about to kill her, to remember how she looked at them when all is said and done.

her gaze lingers on aphrodite a little longer, and her heart aches, but she moves on, passing over alex, and onto the next god

zeus gives some long-winded speech, which she drowns out in favor of watching the agents and minor gods milling about in the background.

when the ritual is just about to begin, she notices from the corner of her eyes that alex has disappeared. her heart sinks further, for all of a moment before a silver stag and doe burst into the throne room, and the room falls into chaos

several gods jump up and summon their auras, too- but not to stop alex’s. they stand with them- with her.

she’s so surprised, and looking around wildly for alex, that she doesnt see zeus approach until he’s already grabbed her arm

she shouts and tries to pull away, but she was never going to be a match for the god’s strength. she never even trained with her aura, the gods only let her keep the ring because she would become Hera, and they wanted the proof that there was connection enough between the two of them that Hera could be awakened at all

stag and doe ram into him though, emboldened by the hearts of aphrodite’s aura, pushing him back and making him stagger, enough so that his grip on mc loosened and she can get herself free

alex swoops in in front of her, a shield to the sword that’s been hanging over her head for the past decade

the fight is terrible. gods rip into one another, feuds thought long forgotten rising back to the surface as some fight for their goddess, and others fight for the right for humans to live their own lives, or even just to honor the one they’d considered a friend.

it’s brutal

and through it all, alex stays right by her side

there’s no time to exchange words, not while they fend off the king of gods himself

something has to bend

something has to break

unfortunately, it’s alex who does, when zeus’ lightning spears right through their stag and doe both, shattering the auras, and hitting them right in the chest

they fly back into mc, and she’s barely able to stop them both from crashing to the ground

she holds onto them as they sink down, all their energy, their strength drained

she’s openly crying, and doesn’t much register how the sounds of fighting have quieted around her, or how zeus hasn’t immediately taken her away, or the golden light that shines on them both. (her aura, she’ll realize later.)

there’s only her, and alex, and that sweet smile she missed so much that’s always soothed her, heart and soul

they reach a hand up and brush a thumb over her cheek, wiping away a trail of her tears

“im sorry” theyll say. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“then why?” she asks, although at this point, she doesn’t care about the answer. they came back to her, after all. nothing matters more than that. it’s in their actions that she sees their truth.

“it had to be this way. so i could be in the throne room when the time came, without being suspect.” they wheeze out a breath, coughing. “so i could stop them from hurting you.”

“you shouldn’t have done that.” her breath hitches, and she’s almost sobbing. “you stupid, stubborn demigod. i didn’t need to be saved, i just needed you to be with me.”

“i know that. but there wasn’t any point for me, if you weren’t alive, too.”

“and what about me?” she whispers, holding them closer to her, as much as she can without hurting them more. “what point is there for me if you die now? you’re... everything”

“you’ve still got josh,” they say. their hand comes to rest over one of hers. “my mother has his address.”

her heart beats louder at that, but its not enough to distract her from the now.

“alex, please. don’t leave me.”

“i’m sorry.”

she knows they would stay if they could. they promised her that they would never leave. but this time she doesn’t see it as a broken promise.

“i am, too. i’m so, so sorry... i love you”

its the first time she’s said the words to them. it’s the last time, too,

they smile with whats left of their strength.

“i love you, too.”

and then their eyes flutter close

(for a happier ending than this----- ignore the ‘its the last time, too’ part, and think of mc’s aura- hera’s power- finally awakening in her, but not the goddess herself. her aura is capable of healing others, and she pours it into alex, to the point that they’re no logner in danger of dying, and mc becomes the first and only demigod of hera)

#death tw #alex cyprin #alex x mc #alex #afk mc #astoria #lovestruck #afk mom #hera #josh #zeus #my fic

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mythiica · 5 years ago

Text

Reader x Shingen Takeda - Tiger of the Bedroom {NSFW}

Title: Tiger of the Bedroom

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Shingen Takeda

Genre: lets get this smUT, AU

Warnings: cringe and smut

Kinks: HORRIBLE dirty talk that i will try to make sexy, blowjob, fingering, squirting, biting, sucking, kissing, being filmed, internal cumshot, external cumshot, creampie, idk a lot of stuff

Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 3797 words

POV: second person

Other comments: thank you @breadcheese444 for helping me beta this!!! also @rainylune and @reluctantclementine challenged me to write this <3 hope yall enjoy. there are more comments explaining the smut at the very end (read the smut first otherwise youll spoil the smut) . hold on to ur panties,,, I did kind of take the easy way out of this and this is a pornstar!shingen x pornstar!mc AU (what an au) . also, dont @ me im not a porn star so just take this all as fiction idk the details im just a writer anyways hf with ur porn

If you said you weren’t excited, you would be lying. Filming a scene with Shingen Takeda is an honor. After all, he has earned the title Tiger of the Bedroom for a reason. Not the Tiger of Squirt, or the Tiger of Bondage, no, he is the tiger of the room itself because he is good at everything and anything that conspires in the bedroom. The man is also known for being flirtatious and charming even off the set, making him especially dangerous. Rumors say that he held up for nearly half a day during a particular shoot and kept a girl going for hours for another film.

You flip through the script for the hundredth time, gripping the worn paper between your manicured nails. A new writer is trying to make their break with their story, but you don’t really know how you will be able to make any of it sound appealing. Who the fuck asks to be given ‘seeds’? Rolling your eyes, you toss the packet onto your vanity and check your makeup.

Although you’ve already met Shingen, you are the slightest bit apprehensive about shooting this. Would you be able to put on a show? Would he be able to tell if you fake it? There is always a level of uncertainty in this business, but you swallow your worries and pull your robe over your shoulders.

Glancing up at the clock, you realize that you are due on set in just a matter of minutes. No use in procrastinating now. It would be easier to have fun, no?

When you greet him, he gives you a bright smile and kisses your hand. “Just to confirm, you know the designated safe word?”

You blink, not sure of the last time someone asked you that. “Yeah, no worries.”

Again he smiles, but this time he does so with his entire face. It is a kind gesture, and you appreciate it. Now that the formalities are over, he takes a seat on the bed and offers you a hand. “Are you ready?”

You did not realize how big he was when you watched some of his other films for… research. Shingen stripped himself and now stands in front of you, holding himself. How is he already erect?

Pushing the questions out of your mind, you arch your back, making your ass protrude towards the camera. As you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, Shingen exhales sharply. His hand falls down to take a handful of hair. He pulls it back, but then tangles his fingers in your locks, giving him something to grip onto as you take him into your mouth.

You gag slightly as his tip brushes the back of your throat. There is still more of him to take, but he does not force himself. A strangled moan escapes his lips, giving you the cue to start bobbing your head. Your lips are like velvet, sliding down his length with ease – for someone with his reputation, Shingen tenses quickly, but you guess that he is just used to this type of treatment.

Precum weeps from his tip and dribbles down the side of your mouth. One of the cameras pans around to film you from the front, so you pull your head back and let the white mixture spill from your lips. It falls onto his member, so you use it as lubricant to pump him slowly. With just one hand on him, you barely cover half of his length – the other hand is busy strumming the soft skin where his thigh connects to his body. Pressing a lazy kiss to the inside of his thigh, you look Shingen directly in the eye and smirk deviously. “Are you going to cum so fast, daddy?”

Shingen tugs on your hair sharply, something you are not expecting, and he smirks coyly. “I want to hear you say it, my angel.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek, encouraging you. Really, you expected him to call you something degrading – slut, whore – but he did not. Instead, he gives you big eyes filled with wonder and a smile that makes your heart melt.

This is not what you thought would happen when you signed a contract to do a scene with him. Still though, who are you to complain?

“Give me your seed,” you mewl as you wrap all ten fingers around his cock. It’s an awkward phrase to say, but you flick your tongue out to brush over his slit to distract him from the words. Shingen throws his head back and moans. The sound is loud and round, echoing throughout the entire set. If you had been wearing panties, they would have dropped to the ground upon hearing it.

“Babygirl, keep going, don’t stop…”

Someone makes a motion towards you to speed things up. Shifting your weight around, you spread your legs and tuck a hand between your folds. You finger yourself in harmony with the languid strokes you deliver his hard cock. It is not long before your digits are soaked with your essence. Although you want to keep going, you know that the scene has yet to properly start, so you wipe your hand clean on Shingen’s waist.

He chuckles at this, and it makes his chest rumble. “Saving yourself for later?”

You nod and deep throat him suddenly. It catches Shingen by surprise, and he arches over you for a moment before he remembers his place – he isn’t allowed to get in the way of the cameras, so he leans back and tenses his muscles.

“Daddy, your cock is so big that I have to. You’re going to stretch me so much–” You aren’t sure about this, but you know that it’s a line that a lot of people get off to. But you don’t linger on it, and continue to suck on him. Your tongue whirls around his length, and you pull your best moves to make him cum as quickly as possible.

Shingen continues to watch you with wide eyes. You mesmerize him, really – the way he can see his member protruding in your mouth makes him giddy. He won’t admit it, but he is very turned on by the act you are putting on. He has to hold back the urge to buck upwards into your mouth, as he can feel his tip rubbing the back of your throat anyways. Anymore, and surely you would choke on him. Shingen would love to see cum dribbling down your lips, but he does not want to do it at your expense.

He does, however, grip your hair tighter. Shingen follows your motions, guiding you down slightly. Every time your teeth graze over the protruding nerves, Shingen moans. You try to smile slightly, but it results in a painfully loud squelching sound.

Someone groans offset, so you glance beyond the set from the corner of your eye for a split second before returning your gaze to Shingen. You want to pull off and make that irresistible pop sound, but Shingen clamps his large hand down on the back of your neck. He’s rough now, and you cannot move. You know this sensation all too well – it is the tell tale sign that Shingen is about to cum.

You prepare yourself for him to burst, but he does not right away. He holds on, groaning and biting his lip. His free hand disappears from your neck, and he rakes his fingers through his hair. It must be a glorious sight – you’ve seen him do it in recordings. However, having the honor to see Shingen’s hair slicked back with sweat is truly a sight to behold.

Humming against him, you manage to make that beautiful sound when you pull off. You give Shingen a few lazy kisses to the side of his length before pumping him once more. “Oh my darling,” you say with an exaggerated accent, “my darling, how I love to fuck you.” Arching your back once more, you smile and tip your head to the side. “And how I would love to be fucked by you. So cum, please.”

When you stick your tongue out, you apply the right amount of pressure to the base of his cock, which finally coaxes him to cum – onto your face. You close your eyes at the right time, as some lands on your brow bone. He moans and releases your hair before cupping your face with one hand.

“That’s wonderful, my angel. Such a good girl!”

You aren’t used to this soft type of dirty talk, but you quite enjoy it. He strokes your cheek with a loving touch, and, for a split second, you forget that you’re recording a scene. For that moment, all you can see is Shingen, the way he glows in the post-climax bliss and how his eyes fill with joy.

Your minute of fantasizing is short lived as Shingen grasps your shoulders to pull you upright. He is strong, and it takes him little effort to hoist you from the ground and onto the bed. Shingen leans back and lets you crawl over him. When you lean down to grind against him, Shingen’s lips graze your ear. “Don’t force it. Let it come naturally. Yeah?”

His voice was gentle before, but now it’s… genuine. He wants you to feel comfortable with what you are doing. You appreciate it, but you do not anticipate what happens next: Shingen flips you over with incredible speed. He takes on the dominant role, just as you are used to.

“You ready, babygirl?”

“Fuck me, daddy,” you growl back, flicking your tongue out to lap at the white that hangs from the corner of your lips. It’s strangely sweet, after the powerful salty taste. You can’t complain as sometimes it tastes closer to battery acid, but Shingen lusts over you as you lick your lips. It is pretty obvious that he is getting hard again.

Shingen reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand and lathers it onto his palm. You know that this intermedial moment will be cut from the scene, so you roll over onto the mattress and spread your legs. He exhales slowly, and his eyes narrow as he cups his hand over your cunt. The gel is cold and fragranced, and Shingen pulls your folds apart to spread it across you.

There is little time for formalities – Shingen lounges next to you and pulls your leg over his thighs as to expose you further. One of the cameras pans around directly in front of you. Only now do you realize it has a squirt guard – a piece of transparent plastic that protects the lense from any release.

Oh, you realize, he’s going to make me squirt.

As the thought comes to mind, Shingen slaps your pussy and nips your shoulder. A moan tickles the back of your throat, and you roll your hips against him. He is quick to place a firm hand on your hip and push you back against the bed. “Behave, my love. You will cum in due time.”

With that, he inserts two fingers into you. The lube helps him ease one knuckle in at a time until his palm is flush against your clit. Your muscles tighten around him, and you try to squirm. It is not an act for once. In fact, you feel amazingly full with just his fingers scissoring inside of you. They work you apart slowly, making wet sounds fill the room. Shingen takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks hard on it, using his teeth occasionally to make you moan.

You manage to arch your back to his touch, and he leans back to chuckle. Shingen buries his nose into the crook of your neck to suck on your jaw. He is intent on leaving a hickey there, and you are not complaining. But when you let your tongue fall out of your mouth and whine, Shingen pulls back and tips his head to the side.

“Do you want to say something, babygirl?” He had been fingering you intently, but the pace reduces. The knot that had built up in your stomach slowly fades, and you kick your legs like a brat.

“No!”

“No?”

“Don’t stop,” you plead. It’s the truth; you don’t want him to stop because he was just about to rub your g-spot. He might be referred to as Tiger of the Bedroom, but Shingen is known for making women squirt within minutes of finding their weak spots. “Please~” you mewl as lewdly as possible. “Don’t ever stop fucking me!”

Shingen exhales, his chest rattling as he does, and he grips your neck with his free hand. His digits slip back inside of you, but this time, he rubs his thumb against your clit. Your folds glisten with slick, but your essence keeps dribbling from your hole as he finger fucks you mercilessly. Some of it runs down your thighs and stains the bedding, but that is someone else’s problem. From this position, you know that, to your dismay, he won’t eat you out. However, the fact that he edges you masterfully almost makes up for it.

He brings you to the brink of cumming quickly, but keeps you suspended there for what feels like ages. Each time you bring your hips up to meet his thrusts, you feel yourself about to cum. However, at the same instance, he slows down like the handsome devil he is. Again, Shingen takes your pert bud between his teeth and rolls his tongue over it. The sensation is enough for you to chase your climax. As your muscles clench down on his fingers, Shingen finally strokes your g-spot, caressing the buildup in your abdomen.

As you orgasm, your legs tremble. Shingen takes this as a sign to remove his fingers from you momentarily. After being edged, the climax has built up and practically explodes out of you. You release hard, making Shingen smile. It comes out in waves, so he slaps your sopping folds to coax more squirt. You lift your head for a split second, and your gaze lands on the camera.

Thank goodness for the splash guard.

Shingen gives you little time to recover and pulls you onto his lap. Your back is flush against his muscular chest, and his cock rubs against your folds. He’s so warm, and it envelops you. You want him inside of you, scene or not. No one had been able to make you squirt like that, and you are still in a daze from the pleasure he gifted you.

He hears your soft babbles and inserts himself into you slowly. And you thought that he stretched you out when he fingered you.

Shingen is kind and gives you a moment to adjust to him. Then the bouncing and the hip rolling and the dirty talk that echoes in your ears begins. He’s telling you how amazing you feel around him and how beautiful you look when you tip your head back at him. At one point, he repositions himself slightly so that he hits deep inside of you. The two of you have not been going long before you find yourself moaning and begging for more.

“Fill me with your seed!” you whine. “Flood me with your seed… Explode in me!” You are struggling for words because he is hitting all the spots that make you go weak. And you know that Shingen is enjoying seeing you like this – that pompous smirk has been plastered across his beautiful features for the past ten minutes. He very well knows that your mind is fried and that you cannot think of anything proper to say, but still, Shingen dips his head low and growls, “Tell me more, babygirl.”

He’s enjoying this too much.

“Your cock drives me wild, Daddy! I’m out of control but don’t stop.”

You aren’t in any position to hold back anymore, so when Shingen kisses your neck, his way of asking you to say more, you let all the dirty talk tumble from your bruised lips. “It feels so good to have you inside of me.”

“Does it?” His fingers dig into the supple skin of your hips, and he pushes you down on his cock until you feel his scrotum slapping against you. His lips graze over your jaw, and even though he’s done this so many times, you still shiver at his touch. Shingen smells like sweat and cum – it isn’t the most attractive scent in the world, but it makes you wet just thinking about how much of a mess the two of you are making.

“Do you like it when I do this?” He reaches around your torso and clasps your swollen clit between two digits. There is no mercy when it comes to Shingen Takeda. His cock slides in and out of you easily, making incredible squelching sounds with ever slick motion. You swallow hard and look down only to realize that you can very well see his member protruding in your abdomen.

“Yes!! I love it!”

“Good girl…” Shingen follows your gaze down and licks his lips. “I think I can see why–” His hand trails up your abdomen slowly and he applies pressure against your body. More so that before, you can feel him rubbing against your insides.

I’ve never known such pleasure, such ecstasy, you think to yourself. You would be far too embarrassed to say it aloud. Shingen lives to be praised and worshiped, so you know you would be feeding into his game if you did. He is especially partial to exaggerated language, so you know he would love it if you said that.

Shingen watches your eyes roll back into your head, but he brings you back by kissing you deeply. You taste the passion and the love in the kiss. When you pull back, you drop one hand to your clit and resume the job he had been doing earlier. Even though you bounce on his cock, you look deep into his eyes and realize: ah, yes, it is love. He’s not fucking me, he’s making love to me.

And it just slips out. Your lips brush against his sharp jaw, and you mumble “I’m lost in your love.”

His grip fails momentarily before he composes himself and smiles. “Yeah?”

But you don’t give him the romantic dirty talk that he is looking for; instead, you roll your hips back and moan loudly, “Every thrust of your cock… you take me higher and hig-” Shingen knows your act, so he covers your mouth with a hand.

The knot in your stomach is nearly ready to explode. You wonder how much longer before–

Oh.

You stand up the best you can and let your release flow freely. It soaks the mattress again and his cock, but he pushes your hips back down. He’s fucking you senseless now, and every time he goes flush against you, you let out a powerful moan.

“I’m going to cum–” he growls roughly, biting on your ear.

Clenching your muscles as tightly as you can, you pray it is enough to make him follow through on his promise. You throw your hand behind his head and rake your fingers through his hair to pull his head down. He groans at this and bites your shoulder in response.

“I went for you–” But you cover your mouth quickly and realize that is not proper English anymore. It is hard to think straight with him thrusting into you with so much vigor.

You try again. “Daddy~”

“You’re so wonderful, fuck–” he praises with a half-groan. “You’re the best, babygirl. No one else can compare.”

You feel his warmth inside of you for a split second before he pulls out and paints your abdomen with white. It slips down your sweaty skin, so you catch some of it between your fingers and rub it against your folds. Tipping your hips forward, you expose yourself for the creampie shot. It dribbles down your thigh, making you shiver slightly.

Shingen pants heavily and helps you stand up, but you aren’t done now. You sit back down on him and grind hard against him. “Give me more, more, more.” You grip your breasts and put on the best show you ever have. Shingen gets the message and grips your ass with one hand and tucks the other around your waist with the other. “Don’t stop until I have every drop of your seed.” Turning your head back to him, you smirk and say the next phrase for him and him alone: “Every drop of your love.”

Really, you want this thrill, this ecstasy, go on and on and on forever, but you remember that everyone has an expiration moment. Shingen’s is close–

He cums inside of you again, but this time, you don’t let him pull out until you feel his muscles relax. When he does remove himself, you fall back on the mattress and bathe in the post-sex euphoria. You catch your breath and sit up only to receive a quick kiss from Shingen.

The scene is over and someone calls time before the crew starts clapping. Flustered by this attention, you blush and stand up to get your robe. Pulling it over your body, you pad over to the director to make sure that everything looked good.

You can feel Shingen’s eyes on you from across the room, but you pay little attention to it. Even when the director comments about the amazing chemistry you have with him, you brush it off saying that the both of you were just playing the part.

Shingen collects his things to leave when you are still talking with the director, so you excuse yourself and run after him.

“I have to ask,” you start, reaching for Shingen’s shoulder, “You… taste sweet. Just the slightest bit. Why?”

When Shingen smirks, you feel your face flushing. “I make sure to eat a lot of fruits. You know, it makes it easier to swallow. The least I can do to make the whole thing more enjoyable.” His smirk softens into a bright and friendly grin. “I’ll be seeing you around then.” Shingen turns around all the way and waves over his shoulder. “Maybe we’ll do something again soon!”

You feel your knees going weak, but you force yourself to keep your composure – and for good reason too, because Shingen peeks over his shoulder. His charcoal eyes narrow and look you over once before he looks straight and walks towards the door.

Once he is out of sight, you exhale slowly.

Damn you, Tiger of the Bedroom.

if you recognized the quotes its because they are from a jesus sex cult!!!!! rachel and lyric challenged me to write a smut with the quotes. I didnt know they were from the jesus sex cult at first but i thought, hell, ill make this a hella good smut and then pull a fast one on ya. Ofc, i removed the “jesus” and i forced a couple of lines to make them fit the smut/made some of them not quotes/changed a bit of the grammar bc they were wrong and it bothered me. I couldnt use 2 lines because they were a bit too much xD and then there was 1 line that was nearly the exact same as another so i didnt use it. but i think i did pretty damn well thank u v much <3

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen smut #ikesen shingen takeda #shingen takeda #reader x shingen #ikesen shingen x reader #smoot #this is so sinful omg #;)#cybird #otome #idk how to even tag this anymore

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fierypen37 · 6 years ago

Text

The Oasis: Chapter 2

In honor of the Boatsex-versary today, I give you another chapter of Masseur!Jon and CEO!Dany

Sweat streamed down his face. His hair had fallen loose from its tie and one curl bounced annoyingly against his cheek as he ran. His leg muscles screamed with each stride, each breath sawing, his heart thundering in his ears. More speed. A block left . . . Ghost loped on the leash, matching him step for step. Half a block left . . . The old Targaryen Palace shone under floodlights ahead. The sky was a leaden grey, thick humid air promising rain. A stitch burned in his side. Gods, almost there . . .

Jon summited the last stair with a last burst of energy. Jon pulled up, folding his hands behind his head, sucking in deep gasps. Ghost circled around his legs, his tail wagging madly.

“Aye, you’re faster than me, as always,” Jon wheezed, grinning. Whew. He loved that burn in his leg muscles, that deep ache in his chest ebbing away to a subtle euphoria. A fierce sense of accomplishment. He’d conquered the bastard.

This early in the morning, there were only a smattering of people gathered on the plaza. Tourists, by the look of them, marveling at the spectacle of the Targaryen Palace behind ornate wrought iron gates. By any reckoning, it was impressive. The Targaryen sigil roared on a massive plate, brilliant in red gold on a background of polished slate. Though their numbers dwindled and government had shifted to a more egalitarian parliament, any man or woman of power invoked an echo of Targaryen strength.

A flash of pale hair out of the corner of his eye. Jon’s heart leapt to his throat. Oh fuck. She did say she ran the stairs on Aegon’s Hill . . .

“Ghost heel, you big lout,” Jon said with a tug on the lead. He yanked his hair into a semblance of order, peering through the clusters of gawking tourists—the woman was at least six inches taller than Dany, neat-featured and cute, her hair a spill of honey blond, walking arm in arm with a girlfriend. Not her.

Jon shook his head, marveling at how the mysterious Dany Steele snared him. The bewildering hunger hadn’t waned in the week since he’d seen her. Not by a longshot. Not only was it inconveniently lustful dreams that left him irritated and hard, but heart-stopping near-glimpses while he was getting morning tea before work, walking home from the laundromat, or running stairs with Ghost. Creamy white skin, pale hair, that little mole high on her shoulder, that fucking moan . . . Shit. His heart thudded as some blood thundered south. Jon exhaled an irritated breath.

He’d surreptitiously poured over her file at The Oasis, mooning idiot he was. A massage once or twice weekly for the past month. Missy’s neat cursive detailed the problem areas in her neck and back. Nothing else. No contact information, no health history, not a measly scrap of information. Consummate professional she was, Missy didn’t gossip about her clients. Not that Jon could summon the guts to ask when they crossed paths.

Jon pulled out his smartphone, finding two texts from Sam, one from Arya, and one from Tormund, his boss at the contractor’s office. A tap opened the text from Tormund.

The fucker Greyjoy called in again Can u pick up a shift 2day? Succinct and to the point, as always. A smarter person than Jon wouldn’t answer their phone on their day off, but Jon had never been accused of being smart.

What time? he tapped back.

9 to 9 The Westerling project needs 2 b finished ASAP I’ll owe you

Jon muttered a curse under his breath. Another twelve? On his day off? The bells within the Sept of Baelor chimed the hour along with fanciful embellishments to wow the tourists. Eight o’ clock now. Time to go home, shower, grab breakfast. Maybe working himself to exhaustion would quench the erotic dreams. After wanking himself blind for the past week, a night of untroubled sleep was appealing.

“A girlfriend would work too,” he said wryly to himself. Working two jobs, he barely had time to sleep, much less find a girlfriend. One night stands after going to the pub with his buddies was the summation of his romantic life lately.

Ghost, a huge white mutt—the lady at the shelter swore he was part direwolf—nudged his hip with a big wet nose.

“Don’t worry, buddy. Sam’ll check in on you,” Jon said.

I’ll be there U owe me

Tormund answered immediately: Thx Snow U r a lifesaver I’ll buy u a beer after work

That doesn’t mean anything U and ur wife own a pub

Then I know the beer’s good! My lady misses you

Jon snorted.

“Come, Ghost. Let’s go home,” he said, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

Heat radiated from the concrete beneath his trainers. A listless breeze tugged at the flag flying over the Targaryen palace: nine gold shields on an azure field halved with a black axe and sickle. King’s Landing stretched out beneath him, the streetlights scattered jewels of orange and green light, the horizon lost in gauzy swathes of mist. The view was part of the reason he subjected himself to this torture six days a week. No time to relish it now. Jon took a steadying breath and picked up the pace down the stair. Only five minutes until the next El train south toward his building.

Daenerys passed a hand over her burning eyes, leaning back in her office chair. A sizable dent made in her emails to colleagues, assistants detailing upcoming court dates, arraignments and board meetings. The war with the Harpy Triumvirate raged on. Rakharo of her security detail sent a weekly dossier detailing the latest threats on her life. The promise of torture, rape, and murder, as long as she spearheaded the effort to block the Triumvirate’s interests both in Westeros and abroad. Standard fare. The words were empty, and bounced off her mental armor without a scratch. Vis vociferously fought her devotion to such work. In his mind any energy not focused on Rising Dragon Inc. was energy wasted. The threats underscored his point.

Another folder held the wedding plans, adequately labeled The Hot Mess. Her cursor swerved determinedly away from that. The caterer backed out to serve some party in the River district. The florist threatened to level a ridiculous surcharge to ferry the blooms she wanted from the Reach district. Daenerys stifled a yawn. She could stare down pitiless lawyers and hardened criminals, endure deaths threats all day, but she hadn’t the mental fortitude to argue with an uppity dress designer. No, not tonight. Daenerys pushed back from the sleek computer, incongruous compared to the ornate ironwood desk, polished to a rich patina.

Alone in the office at this hour, she stretched her arms over her head. The sharp-shouldered suit jacket stretched taut across her shoulders. Rigid muscles ached. She sidled close to the window. Floor-to-ceiling one-way windows filled the eastern wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city and Blackwater Bay beyond. By city ordinance, no building was built higher than the old Targaryen Palace on Aegon’s Hill. The thorny red-stoned towers rose above her building, lit by the cool glow of floodlights. A constant reminder of Targaryen heritage, as Vis was fond of saying. Daenerys glimpsed her distorted reflection in the window. Circles under her eyes. The white silk blouse hung listless. She’d lost weight.

Daenerys kneaded the back of her neck, an angry knot of tension clenched like fist in her muscle. A glance at the clock said it was half past nine. She’d been in the office since five forty-five this morning. Long past time for her to leave the damned emails for the night. A traitorous thought wondered if The Oasis was still open, and if Jon was working. The memory of his hands on her sent a warm shiver through her body. The first flicker of arousal she’d felt in months.

Daenerys heaved a sigh, eyeing the ruby ring on her left hand. Daario Naharis, a wealthy businessman from Tyrosh, was a partner of Viserys’s. His roguish charm and easy humor was disarming and welcome after those long, ugly years building their company back up from nothing. But now . . . now so many things were different.

Her smartphone chirped.

U r STILL @ the office???

“Three question marks, really?” she said under her breath. The pain in the back of her neck intensified.

Would tonight be like so many others of late, with Daario draped over the sofa, his dyed blue hair in disarray, sniping about this guest on their guest list, or the how haggard she looked, and she had a headache again tonight? The thought made her stomach churn with a familiar acid burn of anxiety. Sex was too godsdamned difficult. She could never unwind enough to enjoy herself. It stung Daario’s masculine pride that he couldn’t get her off with any regularity.

Finishing up. Another hour. C u at home, she tapped back. Let him chew on that for now. A quick computer search found The Oasis’s dinky website. OPEN UNTIL 11 PM. Missy would probably be home with Grey at this hour. But maybe Jon . . . The phone chirped over and over again scrolling increasingly irate messages from Daario. Daenerys tapped the lock screen and tucked her phone in her purse. Tonight she’d do something for herself for a change!

The upper floor of Rising Dragon was deserted, florescent lighting a muted, yellow-hued glow. The cool, humming silence held a strange quality, a yawning, almost malevolent emptiness. Daenerys hurried to the lift. The foyer rose to soaring ceilings, a cathedral of glass and polished ironwood and wrought iron. Mr. Strong manned the security desk. Her tension eased by increments. His broad bulk and warm voice always reassured her.

“Headed home for the night, Miss Targaryen?” he said with a white smile.

“Finally, yes. Thank you Belwas.”

“Shall I call your car?” he asked. Daenerys considered a moment, then shook her head.

“No thank you. I’ll take the El.”

A frown puckered Mr. Strong’s smooth brown skin.

“Be careful, Miss. Goodnight,” he said.

“I will. Say hello to your partner for me,” Daenerys threw him a reassuring smile over her shoulder as she clicked across the polished marble floor. The Oasis wasn’t far.

Jon scrubbed his wet hair with a towel. A deep ache pervaded his body, eased by the long hot shower. His building was older, trending toward shabby, but the hot water almost never ran out. Westerling, some West district bureaucrat, requested a complete reno of his King’s Landing brownstone. Today he’d helped Tormund with the fiddly detail work: custom crown molding, installing the cabinetry, paint, and a dozen other little things. His boss had been generous: he had the next two days off, which made for a surprise long weekend. Maybe he could book a train home to see Bran and Arya.

The white glow of his smartphone caught the corner of his eye. Without his glasses, the print was a soft myopic blur at this distance. Jon wiped steam from the fogged lenses and pulled them on. A text from Shae.

D. St. requesting a late appointment. Missy left for the night and Ros is with another client. Can you help?? So sorry Jon No other choice

Jon’s heart thudded hard against his ribs. Dany. He looked at the time stamp. Shae’d sent the message ten minutes ago. The Oasis was a five-minute walk from his apartment. Adrenaline zinged through his nerves and all the weariness of the day melted away. Dany. Close enough to touch, breathing in the scent of her . . . damn. Just the thought had him half-hard.

“Get your shit together, Jon,” he told himself sternly.

I’ll b there in ten, he texted. The phone pinged a half second later: THANK YOU!!!

Five minutes later he was dressed in a black polo and jeans, wet hair pulled back in a floppy half bun on top of his head. He rapped on 302, hearing the sweet, mournful strains of the cello through the door. Sam’s broad good-natured face appeared in the sliver of door beyond the chain.

“Jon! Give us a moment, I’ll get the chain.”

The door slammed shut, with a tinkle of metallic fiddling. Sam reopened the door and Jon was swamped by warm golden light and the rich spicy scent of Pentoshi takeout. Jon’s stomach gave a liquid grumble. The sandwich and crisps that made up his lunch was too long ago.

“Who is it?” a female voice said behind Sam—his wife Gilly. Jon stomped down on a shoot of envy. Sam’s easy domestic bliss made his own life look wan and colorless by comparison. Gods, he dropped everything to go to the client he was mooning over. He chose not to dissect that train of thought further.

“It’s only Jon!” Sam shouted back.

“Jon? Oh give him my love! Little Sam, supper!”

“’Evening Gilly,” Jon said.

“’Evening, Jon. Do you want to come in for a cuppa--”

A higher voice interrupted with something indistinguishable, but apparently contrary, for Gilly’s voice rose in counterpoint: “You said ‘five more minutes’ twenty minutes ago, little lad! Come wash up for supper!” Sam’s smile was equal parts proud and apologetic.

“So sorry. Little Sam’s become quite the cellist. We’re hoping to get him into Dragonstone Academy next fall. You were saying?” Sam said. Jon grinned, feeling a reflection of Sam’s pride. Big Sam had been his best friend ever since he moved in, and Little Sam was smart kid. Sweet. Reminded him of Bran.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your supper, Sam. I got called in to work. I’ll just be gone about an hour. Check in on Ghost for me before you put Little Sam to bed?” Jon asked.

“Of course! Happy to!” Sam said with an easy grin, “truth be told, minding Ghost has gotten Little Sam off the train of demanding his own dog.”

“Thanks, Sam. Ghost’s happy to have the company,” Jon said, turning toward the stair, “He’s already been fed, so don’t mind his begging. I’ll be back soon.”

“’Evening, Jon!” Sam called after him.

The evening breeze was fresh with the briny scent of the sea, the sky overhead darkly overcast. A few people made their way down winding sidewalks, bicycles darted between lumbering buses. Heat radiated from the sidewalk, the buildings, clinging like a wet blanket. Jon loped across the street as the garish blue-hued streetlights clicked on. The grade steepened as he neared Visenya’s Hill. Jon tried to stifle the jolt of jittery energy. For the thousandth time, he wished for a cigarette. The sweet smoke curled in his lungs would give him a measure of calm. The bell chimed as he shoved open the door. Shae unfurled herself from the office chair.

“That was quick,” she said with smirk.

“I live seven blocks away,” Jon said with a defensive shrug. Shae’s dark eyes held his, and Jon squared to meet the challenge in them.

As the proprietor, Shae was a stickler for professionalism. When Ros crushed on Mr. Baelish, Shae had threatened her with firing if there was so much as a whiff of impropriety. At the end of the day, Ros had two kids to take care of, and that was that. If Jon remembered right, Baelish turned out to be a creep, perving on a redhead girl half his age. Locked up in Iron Island Penitentiary serving fifteen years.

Shae must have been satisfied in what she saw. Dismissed with a graceful jerk of her chin, her silken cap of black hair rippling around her face.

“She’s in Room Two.”

Jon made his way down the hall, sucking in slow, deep breaths. Calm. Professional. He paused at the laundry closet, scrubbing his hands clean. Normally, he’d review his notes of the previous couple sessions. But Dany had etched herself into his mind in startling, vivid detail. Jon rapped gently on the door.

The room was dim and warm. Faint mournful strains of a cello filtered through the speaker. There she was, lying on the table, sheet tucked up to her chin. The crisp sheet fell over Dany’s body like a lover. Sweet secrets lurked in those rich shadows. Gods, still as beautiful as he remembered. Her blond hair was loose this time, a long silken spill. Mm, he never thought he had a thing for hair, but he wanted to thread his fingers through it, pet her head, bury his face in it and breathe in the smell of her. The room was so dark, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact shade, or even see the details of her face clearly, something he now passionately lamented.

Jon gulped, reaching for his usual detached calm. Jon tapped the table near her shoulder. Thin eyelids lined with long mascara-darkened lashes fluttered open. Her eyes must be a pale color, blue or green. They didn’t swallow the light like a darker shade would.

“Hey, Miss Dany. I’m Jon. I’ll be your masseur again today. Any changes since the last visit?” Good, his voice was steady, calm. Detached, Zen. Something clicked inside him with massage, a serene place of focus. It was a faint relief he could still reach that place. He had a good memory. With routine clients, he had their problems areas and preferences nailed.

“No,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. Smooth voice, faint upper crust Crown district accent. Lovely mouth. Full pink lips . . . oh fuck. The zen-like bubble wobbled. Blood was surging south.

“W—Would you like something similar to our last session?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said.

With scalp massage, he could indulge his wish with her hair, kneading all those tense spots and ogle the details of her face up close. If he started with her on her back, he could hopefully get his body back in line before she could sneak glances at him. Jon debated the pros and cons for an uncomfortably long time.

“Erm, ok. I’ll get started,” he said, settling on the stool. The angle was better for hard-on concealment. He urged her to move toward the edge of the table. Oh sweet Mother, from the corner of his eye, he saw the subtle jiggle of her breasts as she scooted. Already half-hard, his cock surged to full salute.

“Here ok?” she asked.

Jon sputtered out something hopefully coherent. Sweat dewed under his polo. Beet-faced and tongue-tied. Luckily massage didn’t call for chitchat, and the dim lighting was a godssend. Jon relaxed in the rhythm of his work, fingers gliding smoothly along her scalp. Seeking out tension and trigger points behind the ears, at the occiput.

He gobbled up little details of her face. The slope of her nose, lovely thick eyebrows, the cute curves of her ears. The lobes were pierced. Even through the murky dark, he wouldn’t forget her face now. Oh, that sweet little shudder when he pressed at her crown. Gods. Jon clenched his jaw, reaching for the lotion tube clipped to his belt. A blob in his palm, smoothed over his hands to warm it. A smooth glide up the back of her neck. Mm, he wanted to soak up that warm energy shimmering on her skin. Like moonlight on the water.

“Are you all right?” her voice startled him. Her bright gaze sucked him in, like a tractor beam on a sci-fi movie.

“Hmm?” Jon grunted.

“You’re scowling. Is everything ok?” she asked.

“Yes, just a headache. Don’t worry. It’s your job to relax,” Jon said, teasing. The lie slipped off his tongue easily. I’m trying not to think about how hard you make me. Yikes. He didn’t want to be a creep that used massage to feel up women. Despite his trepidation, his dick throbbed, insistent. Her answering smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. This time it was his heart that gave a sharp flip.

“Ok. Relax. Got it,” she said. A tremor of laughter shivered through him. He was in serious trouble.

Jon took a steadying breath. Zen. Calm. Unhurried, no wasted motion. The bubble closed around him as he worked his way down both sides of her neck, the weight of her skull relaxed and trusting in his hands. Sweeps along her jawline, a press of his thumb along her collarbone. The whisper of the sheet brushed his knuckles. Boundaries. Good.

He loosened the drape of the sheet and instructed her to roll over. A soft gust of her scent and warmth washed over him, sweat and floral soap and . . . yum. Musky woman smell. No mistaking it this time. Not good. Now he was thinking about her pussy. Sucking in breaths of that sexy smell, tasting her juice, licking and loving all her juicy pink girl parts. Jon’s mouth flooded with saliva. Gods, he was actually drooling. His cock throbbed. Fuck, had he ever been this hard? Nope. Enough of that. Fucking enough of this juvenile horndog bullshit. She was a fucking client and he was a fucking professional, damn it. Shut. That. Shit. Down.

Wiping lotion from his hands on the hem of the sheet, Jon cradled the silky weight of her hair, draping it over the table edge. The ends brushed his wrists in a ticklish caress. A delicate sensation that went straight to his dick. Just her hair. Who knew? Jon poured more lotion, paying attention to the tension in her neck and shoulders, careful not to press too hard. Deeper tissue massage would be better therapeutically speaking, but she was sensitive. High-strung, nervy. Like a thoroughbred.

He steeled himself for the effleurage along either side of her spine. Last time it had been . . . memorable. Shifting to conceal his erection, Jon smoothed his hands down her back with light pressure. Slick with lotion, his hands glided down. So smooth. No moan this time, just a puff of exhaled breath. Jon bit back an absurd feeling of disappointment. Did he want to be erotically tortured by an unobtainable woman? How fucked up was that? His hands moved of their own will, performing the same motion again. A soft little whimper. He could picture her biting the plush softness of her lower lip with those white teeth to stifle the sound. Jon exhaled a frustrated breath.

Moving to one side, he sought his trance with fierce determination. After this session was over, he’d ask Shae to assign her to another masseur if Missy was unavailable. This shit wasn’t good for either of them. He’d probably end sucking on her toes or proposing if he had to sweat through this again. Freaking her out with his own kinky bullshit. He finished on her back and legs. He returned to sweep down each arm with even pressure of his forearm. A lot of tension lodged in her wrists. Working on a computer, or with pen and paper. Maybe she was an artist. Jon kneaded at the tendons in her wrists, relishing her quiet hum. He moved to the other side, and a gem’s glitter caught the light. On a very important finger.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

#jonerys #snowstorm #fp37fic #the oasis #mutual pining #UST

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verritytorres · 6 years ago

Text

calron fake dating au - unfinished outline

THROUGHOUT ONE MONTH (OCTOBER 2017)

· still not fully clear on why they fake date but we getting there

o call announces it for shits n giggles at a party on Thursday night (drunk? to celia the gossip queen?) then morning after everyone’s like “oh congrats on finally dating aaron btw!” “what”

o aaron’s pissed at first cause that’s actually a shitty thing to do also he’s been pining for going on two years now do u have any idea what this does to his Heart

o that is, until something happens that convinces him

§ some bully fuckers in the locker room after soccer practice like “who we gonna get today, chad?” “well everyone in here is off limits so--” aaron chimes in “what do you mean… off limits” “look youre a respectable guy so we treat you right, always have. teammates honor and all that. so we get at other people instead” (cue Dark Aaron) “and who are these other people” “that scrawny guy hunt for example” “oh, you mean call hunt my boyfriend?” “your…what?” “you heard me. if you fuck with him, you and I might have a problem. and nobody wants that.”

§ later, aaron texts call “I’m in.”

§ “sweet. what changed ur mind?” “That’s not important.”

· the only person that knows is tamara bc helou its tamara they don’t keep secrets from each other

o STUDY SESSION AT THE GABLES FRIDAY AFTERNOON (they all in the same regular algebra class cause theyre gay and therefore not great at math):

§ t: yo btw have you guys dealt with the whole “youre dating” rumor? if anyones been giving you a hard time tell me so I can eliminate them off the face of the earth

§ c: actually, aaron and I are just gonna roll with it

§ t: wait. youre actually gonna date?

§ c: NO no no no we’re gonna fake date. scam the fuck outta the school also it’s a bit too awkward to go back on it now for me so

§ t: (turns and gives aaron a Look cause she knows this fuckers been pining forever) are YOU on board with this?

§ a: (busies himself with his hw to hide his blush) yeahsurewhynot

§ t: (looks up and shakes her head) this is gonna end badly, calling it now

o t: math is acephobic. im asexual and its inconveniencing me

· Saturday! aaron goes over to the hunt household to hang out like he usually does

o alastair loves him

o alastair: so when did this happen?

o call, who is sitting knee-to-knee w aaron on the couch like he always does: when did what happen

o alastair: (gives him a Look) the watsons came in this morning. Brenda told me the news, im just surprised you didn’t tell me

o call:…..what news…….

o alastair: you two are dating, right? which im totally fine with btw, i had a boyfriend back then too, and im really happy for you, youre both mature enough that I don’t have to give the whole speech—

o call and aaron are looking at each other in Horror

o call: OKAY THANKS DAD WE’RE GONNA WALK HAVOC NOW BYE (nyooms outta the house with aaron and havoc in tow)

o out in the park

§ c: so I guess we gotta find out how to sell this whole (gestures between himself and aaron) thing

§ a: (snorts) thing?

§ c: yeah thing. if my hermit dad knows, then we can assume just about everyone in town knows too. which is not the idealest

§ a: why’s that?

§ c: cause then we gotta act all coupley to everyone or else they’ll be like “wait a minute…are they really dating??”

§ a: well, not with everyone. tamara knows

§ c: yeah, that’s one person in a whole townful of people

§ a: we spend the majority of our time with tamara though

§ c:….point. we still gotta sell it to everyone else

§ a: it cant be that hard, just hold hands a little here, drop some compliments there

§ in reality aaron doesn’t wanna do Big Couple Things or else he might literally spontaneously combust. its possible, hes read abt it

§ c: oh come on, no one gonna buy that. we gotta pull out all the stops

§ a: (cursing silently) like?

§ c: hugs. general lack of personal space. kiss on the cheek, maybe. pet names.

§ a: (calming his crazy heart) oh. I see.

§ c: as long as youre alright with it, of course! I don’t wanna do some creeper shit and like accidentally assault you

§ a: nonono I get it im alright with it. (pause) we should uh..have some signal, though

§ c: signal?

§ a: in case one of us goes too far or something. nothing too obvious, but just obvious for us to notice

§ c: hm. ok, how bout asshole?

§ a: (bursts out laughing) asshole????

§ c: (grinning) yeah, asshole. I never call you an asshole, you never call me an asshole. so if you say “youre a bit clingy there, asshole” I know I should back off

§ a: that- that hardly sounds affectionate

§ c: well duh you gotta say it in an affectionate way. like this (sticky sweet voice, batting eyelashes) “asshole”

§ a: (still laughing) okay. asshole it is.

§ theyre both quiet ntil aaron speaks up. “I do have one request”

§ “which is?”

§ “this is gonna sound weird, please don’t ask but…don’t kiss me. not unless I tell you to.”

§ call looks at him like ??? then says “sure, man. nix on smooches. you wish you had a taste of these bad boys, though.”

§ aaron turns away bc hes a blushy boi. “youre making it weird.”

· Monday rolls in

o call is in Zombie Mode making himself coffee on his antique expensive coffee machine (the best Christmas gift ever thanks alastair)

o alastair, making pancakes: shouldn’t you bring an extra to school today?

o sleepy call, pouring himself a solid triple shot of espresso: whaddya mean

o alastair: if youre gonna be dating aaron, you gotta treat him right. bring out the big guns, you know

o call, suddenly wide awake: what????

o alastair: I will not have that boy deprived of real boyfriend privileges

o so call leaves his house with two coffee cups

o he walks over to where he knows aaron is at the time (music room, playing piano)

o before he heads in he looks inside and just. stares at aaron playing the piano. gay descriptions galore

o aaron hits a wrong key and swears

o c: well that’s a big word

o a: (practically jumps out of his seat, swearing again)

o c: and that’s an even bigger one

o a: oh, its you. good morning, call

o c: morning, snookums

o a: (smiling tentatively) snookums? is that really the best you can do

o c: that’s just scratching the surface, and also its Monday morning so im not at my peak. anyway i brought you coffee

o a: thanks. already “pulling out all the stops” I see

o c: I plan to be an especially doting boyfriend (glances at the door, sees a few people staring at them) I..gotta get to my locker (kisses his cheek, aaron goes rigid, call whispers at his ear) we got an audience. see you at lunch

o aaron sits there for a while after call leaves staring at the ceiling and asking himself why

· lunch in the magisterium high caf

o jasper: I JUST—I STILL DON’T GET IT

o aaron, biting calmly at his sandwich: what don’t you get

o jasper: there are at LEAST a dozen guys in this school ready and willing to go out with you and you go with CALL

o call, resting his head on Aarons shoulder, much to Aarons chagrin: its ok dude you can just say youre jealous

o jasper: YEAH A LITTLE. Aarons like…the best catch out here. the golden boyfriend. the guy that would tell your parents “yes sir ill have him back by nine thirty sharp :)”

o aaron: I wouldn’t say that to alastair

o call: yeah you would (turning back to jasper) who are these dozen guys? I gotta know whos planning to fight me so I can know their weaknesses beforehand

o jasper: kai hale, for one

o aaron: hmm. he is kinda cute

o call: HEY

o jasper: definitely cuter than hunt

o aaron: is there something particularly wrong with call?

o jasper: OPEN YOUR EYES HES A TRASH MAN

o call: takes one to know one

o aaron, shrugging and finishing his sandwich: maybe I like trash men

o call laughing his ass off, jasper groaning: youre killing me, stewart. youre literally causing my cells to stop functioning

· study hall w aaron and tamara

o t: (has been frowning at him for the past 10 mins)

o a: okay you clearly want to talk about something so out with it

o t: are you sure about this thing with call?

o a: what, the dating thing?

o t: the fake dating thing

o a: right. its fake. yeah im fine

o t: we both know that’s a lie, aaron. we don’t lie to each other

o a: (sardonically) yeah well. ive been lying to him since we were freshmen

o t: having a crush isn’t lying, per se, but that’s besides the point. im worried about you, man. I don’t want call to hurt you accidentally, and then consequently be hurt himself by not knowing how he hurt you, cause then ILL be hurt by best friend collateral drama

o a: I get it, tamara

o t: then I reiterate: are you sure about this?

o big internal monologue

o a: yeah. im sure.

· INSERT SLOW BURN

· CARNIVAL

o it’s the fall festival since its October theres pumpkins everywhere and haunted houses and candied apples and hay bales and rides and its lit

o the iron trio+jasper go always

o theyre walking around, aaron looking at the decorations, tamara call and jasper arguing abt which haunted house to visit first

o c: the mansion is the obvious choice just sayin

o j: but theres a haunted hospital ffs

o c: ive been in enough hospitals to know for a fact that they are all haunted so that doesn’t excite me as much as a MANSION

o t: how bout…we happy medium at…the graveyard one

o a: how bout we don’t go to any of those and just go to the roller coasters instead

o t: aaron, I love you, but youre a weenie sometimes. you can wait outside if you don’t wanna go

o a: im not leaving you guys alone! (catches calls eye, glances at jasper, call nods a lil, aaron drapes his arm round calls shoulders) who am I to let my boyfriend into that scary place alone?

o c: (smiling and rolling his eyes) its not that scary, but I appreciate the offer, sugar

o aaron? oh yes he is dead

o j: (GAG) youre going to give me diabetes with all these sweets

o t: (mischievous smile) I dunno, jasper. ever since they started dating they’ve been acting kinda the same as always

o aaron Tenses, call raises an eyebrow at him then turns to tamara

o c: what were you expecting, rajavi? showers of pda everywhere?

o t: oh come on, if any one of us is going to be That Couple its you two.

o a: LOOK THERES CARAMEL APPLES OVER THERE (nyoom)

o turns out the haunted whatevers are not open yet, they open at nightfall, so they head to the roller coasters

o surprise surprise call hates roller coasters

o “if I die I want you all to know that you are not written into my will therefore I owe you nothing”

o hes clinging to aaron the whole ride and aaron is like if theres a god up above…….

o then they reach the hay bales and jaspers like “im gonna head over to the bumper boats w tamara you guys can wait here or do whatever I guess”

o “we’re just fine going with you guys??”

o jasper looks at call weirdly and says “um, no youre not. you lovebirds need some alone time. get your 10 things I hate about you on in these haystacks.”

o they get redder than the ripest tomatoes

o t: UHHH HES RIGHT BYE GUYS (N Y O O M)

o they just stand there awkwardly for a while when call says “wanna head over to the carnival games” “please”

o they walk over to the game area in a kinda uncomf silence until aaron breaks it

o “what did jasper mean by 10 things I hate about you?”

o call stares at him “are you serious right now”

o aaron looks at him meaningfully

o “oh my god. oh my god. have you never watched 10 things???”

o “no?”

o “oh my god. dude. its just like star wars all over again. we’re watching it, no excuses.”

o aaron smiles at him “okay. whats it about?”

o “well if I tell you that ruins the whole goddamn surprise, doesn’t it, pumpkin?”

o he laughs. “it does, doesn’t it.”

o they get to the carnival game: the hammer game. the biggest prize is a huge stuffed monkey

o aaron turns to call grinning and calls like “you do know this game’s rigged right. theres no way you can win.”

o but of course. aaron wins.

o call is just gaping at him and whispers “you fucking beefcake you.”

o aaron says “here’s your prize, boyfriend” and fucking winks

o is call dying? we don’t know this aint his pov

o c: it looks like you

o a: thanks

o call suddenly looks behind aaron with wide eyes and grabs Aarons hand so Aarons brain goes like WHAT…..

o “heads up,” call whispers, “group of classmates at eight o clock”

o AY ILL KEEP WRITING LATER GOTTA ACTUALLY START OR ELSE I NEVER WILL

· call and tamara have always attended every one of aaron’s soccer games, but for some reason this one felt different

o theyre cheering frm the side with their banners as always (banners say STEWART FOR SOCCER GOD and LUCKY NUMBER 8 and most recently THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!!! maybe that last one makes this different)

o its also rainy as heck the banners had to be laminated this time (do not underestimate being friends w a rich kid)

o they both in they raincoats while Aarons in full soccer gear in the RAIN rifp

o but the team is falling behind so theyre like FUK OUR CHEERING ISNT WORKING WHAT WE DO

o at halftime

§ t: lets get the fuck down there we gotta give him a pep talk

§ c: what r we gonna say

§ t: HELL IF I KNOW LETS JUST DO IT

§ so they head down to where aaron is sitting, drinking from his water bottle

§ c: cant you just tilt your head back and stick your tongue out in this weather

§ t: shut up. aaron we are here to peptalk you. (INSERT PEPTALK IDK HOW TO PEP)

§ exit tamara

§ a: (wince) we’re that bad today, are we

§ c: yeah youre kinda sucking

§ a: well that’s not the supportive boyfriend comment I expected

§ c: doting. I said I was going to be doting, not supportive. and definitely not a liar

§ a: whatever. tamara’s pep talk helped, so I guess ill get my head in the game

§ coach rockmaple blows his whistle for the team huddle. aaron salutes call with two fingers before standing up to go and then call blurts “ice cream. on me. if you win the game, that is.”

§ aaron stares at him and then smiles. “you’re on.”

§ TEAM MAKES A HUGE COMEBACK AND WINS THE GAME!!!

§ everyones celebrating and grinning and cheering and call catches aarons eye and theyre smiling, smiling, smiling, and suddenly call finds himself right in front of aaron and aaron is cupping his face and its raining and it sounds like something out of a movie and his face is so close and aaron’s freckles are covered in droplets and so are his lashes and call never really thought about it but if he leaned in, tilted his head just a bit, they would be kissing, and call could pass it off as having an audience—

§ aaron pulls call’s face towards him and kisses his forehead, leaning his head to call’s ear to say “you owe me an ice cream.”

§ and call’s heart all but leaps from his body, he feels lightheaded, and aaron looks fucking beautiful like this, his eyes alight with triumph and joy and something else

§ he doesn’t think till he gets home that wanting to kiss aaron for real wasn’t part of the plan.

· they first kiss at a party cause everyones like KISS KISS KISS so call (lightly drunk) cups Aarons cheek and leans in. aaron.exe has crashed is not working holy fuck this is the best thing ever and all those gay ass descriptors. everyone cheers in the bg

o call is dronk, aaron is driving him home, call is being supper chattery and super flirty (think: drunk Laurent)

o alastair is sleeping so aaron has to make sure call is quiet when going to his room

o a: (a lil breathless cause hes basically carrying call) be quiet, your dad is sleeping right there

o c: (winking with both eyes) what do I get in returnnnnn

o a: oh my god

o aaron finally gets him to his bed, drapes him on it and tucks him in, hes about to lean away when call grabs his shirt collar to keep him there

o “aren’t you gonna give your fake boyfriend a proper goodnight?”

o AARON.EXE HAS CRASHED HE IS DEAD HE IS GONE GOODBYE

o “youre drunk. i—we can’t—youre not yourself right now. goodnight.”

o “mm. alright. you owe me a kiss, though.”

o aaron huffs. he cant breathe right. and just because its 3 am and hes feeling reckless after kissing him tonight and call’s just about asleep and he probably wont remember this in the morning, he whispers, “sure.”

· THE BREAK

o Aarons leaning on his kitchen counter, trying to look casual but ultimately failing. call has a sneaking suspicion as to why hes acting this weird but by god he will not say it. its too embarrassing on its own.

o “so.” aaron says. “you kissed me last night.”

o fuck. dammit. “did i?”

o “yeah, in the middle of the party. everyone was watching.”

o call spots himself a loophole and hell if he doesn’t take it. “sweet. looks like drunk me was up for a show.”

o “what do you mean?”

o “well, it was a full party. this whole thing is build on other people believing we’re together

o “’sides. it’s all just fake anyway.”

o aaron stops, his hands fists. “right,” he croaks. “its all fake.”

o “dude…you okay?”

o “yeah. yeah im fine.”

o “don’t lie to me aaron, i can see youre upset. spit it out.”

o aaron takes a deep breath and quickly says “is it really all fake?”

o call freezes. his mind replays last week’s game, and the subsequent breakdown he had because he likes aaron. and fuck. fuck. he swore he was being quiet about it.

o “yeah,” he says after a while, forcing the words out. “it was always fake, that’s the idea.”

o “lately, it hasn’t felt fake.”

o call’s stomach drops. “if you ever needed to stop you could’ve just said—“

o Aarons eyes are closed. “last night didn’t feel fake.”

o because it wasn’t, because im a shitty human who fell for you and since I did this has all been horrible self indulgence, because I like you and you don’t like me.

o “well it was, so I don’t know why youre making such a big deal out of it.”

o call hates the things that come out of his mouth.

o something in aaron seems to catch fire, his eyes fly open and he’s angry, call has barely ever seen him angry at him. “it’s a big deal for me, you kissed me”

o “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to!”

o “then if you didn’t mean to, why did you!”

o calls head is spinning, he doesn’t know what hes doing at this point. “I was drunk, aaron, people fuck up when theyre drunk”

o “I told you not to kiss me, but you went and did it anyway, do you have any idea how that felt—“

o “I don’t, aaron, because I don’t feel the things you feel!”

o aaron freezes completely, his eyes wide

o “right. I forgot. sorry. right.”

o theyre quiet, and call knows he fucked up. he doesn’t know exactly how, but he knows.

o “I…I gotta go. bye.”

o aaron slams the door behind him, call hears the car door slam and aaron driving away before he manages to whisper “wait”

o but its too late. hes alone.

o well, not alone. havoc noses his waist and looks up at him with huge, worried eyes.

o “come on, boy. lets go for a walk.”

o he ends up at the park—the same park he first discussed the thing with aaron. he sits down under a tree and rests his head on his knees, havoc cuddling up to him.

o he kind of drifts off, loses track of time. his mind is kinda blank right now. he knows that’s probably a shitty coping mechanism but what the fuck can you do.

o he doesn’t want to do anything right now. he doesn’t want to deal with anything or anyone right now.

o he doesn’t want to feel anything, because feeling is what got him into this mess in the first place.

o he’s so wrapped up in his personal void that he doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him until he hears jasper say “you look miserable.”

o call doesn’t look up. “fuck off, jasper.”

o he does not fuck off. instead call hears leaves crunching as jasper sits down next to him.

o “he’s at tamara’s. been there for the past hour.”

o “didn’t ask.”

o “but you wanted to know.” calls quiet at this.

#OCTOBER 2017.....WOW #verr's great fic purge #calron #callum hunt #Aaron Stewart #magisterium

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