#maybe that feeling is awaiting for me elsewhere

[dreamsofyexiao]

i forget that when I don't eat much for a few days, I get unbearably itchy across my whole body

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

your boyfriend has a little habit of being sort of..spacey. or at least he looks like he is.

despite his..ditzy and aloof appearance. shouto is very acutely aware of his surroundings.

especially when you’re in said surroundings.

he’s walking along the hallways with his friends, they’re chatting about everything and nothing, school and about the results of their last test. shouto doesn’t feel the need to interject, happy to simply listen and respond when he’s spoken to. except his mind is also kind of elsewhere at the moment because even in there he’s looking for you.

no matter what he’s doing, shouto todoroki has a piece of you in his mind. if his friends are worrying about their test results he’s perfectly fine, cus he studied with you. the letters he sends to his mom talk about his daily life, with little details about you sprinkled in. his father is trying to coerce him into coming to his agency again, shouto thinks it’d be a lot more enjoyable if you were with him.

you’re not with them right now, because mr. aizawa had asked you to send in some papers to the teacher’s lounge. you said you’d catch up with your friends as soon as possible and shouto’s listening, he really is. but he’s also scanning the crowd hoping to catch a little glimpse of you.

“what about you, todoroki ?”

shouto blinks, hearing his name come out of his freckled friend’s lips as he blinks at him expectantly with a smile. ochaco and iida also seem to be awaiting a response.

okay, so maybe he hadn’t been listening as well as he claimed..

“i’m sorry. i didn’t catch that last part, what were you saying ?” he asks bluntly, midoriya doesn’t mind and he repeats “i was asking you how you think your test went.” he chirps, shouto hums thinking about the question.

“i studied well for it, so i think it went well,” his friends hum, iida congratulates him for staying focused on his academics, waving his hand around in chopping motions.

and of course, shouto is always looking for you, so nobody’s surprised when he adds “yn also helped me study, so i think i’ll be..”

everyone is surprised though when he suddenly trails off. and without another word shouto walks ahead of his friends further down the crowded hallway. the lack of “oh, give me a second.” or “ i’ll be right back.”, the lack of anything stuns the three students so hard they freeze into place. they wonder what could’ve made him speed off in such a hurry, until ochaco gets a good look and points towards the dual haired boy.

ah, shouto’s found you.

you’re surprised to see him, your eyes widen “oh, hey sho !” he returns your greeting, his face hasn’t really changed from an outsiders point of view, but he leans in towards you the moment the words leave your lips and his whole face has gone soft, almost pudgy when you smile at him.

“i didn’t except to see you, you scared me !”

he blinks at that, shock settles onto his face as he bows his head in shame “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to..” simple, but earnest and it makes you melt.

“oh no, no ! you just popped up outta nowhere and it surprised me is all, got nothing to be sorry about.” you reassured, shouto’s expression changes and he returns, nodding happily.

“i missed you.”

you snort “i was gone for at most 10 minutes, shouto.”

“it was 11 minutes. and i missed you during that one extra minute, too.” if he had a tail, it’d be wagging at the speed of sound the way his face brightens when you laugh. you call him unbelievable and a small smile grows on his face

he’s just about to ask if you need help with your bag when you suddenly wave behind him. at your friends, who all share a sort of teasing, but also absolutely not surprised look.

oh, woops..

[julietsf1]

The Secret Admirer - Franco Colapinto x Driver!Reader

summary: Y/N thought the biggest challenge this season would be her dynamic with her cold teammate, but mysterious notes and gifts start to complicate things. Who’s behind it, and what happens when she finds out?

content: driver!reader; slight lestappen in-between the lines if you're down for it

AN - HELLO?? when did I reach 100 followers?? that's crazy fr thank you guys so much <3 getting myself a some lilies tomorrow to celebrate heehee :)

inspired after reading an amazing secret admirer SMAU by @hugleclerc!!

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The Williams garage was alive with the buzz of mechanics and engineers, adjusting last-minute setups on the cars before qualifying. I leaned against the wall, watching the team work their magic. The air was tense, but everyone seemed focused, ready for the battle that awaited on track.

Everyone except Franco Colapinto.

I glanced across the garage, where Franco stood laughing with one of the engineers. His gorgeous green eyes sparkled as he made some clever comment, drawing a laugh from the guy. Of course, everyone adored Franco—charming, effortlessly cool, always with a smile that could melt ice.

Just not when it came to me.

I took a deep breath, feeling the usual pang of frustration bubble up. It wasn’t that I needed to be best friends with my teammate, but we were supposed to be a team. Teammates were supposed to at least talk to each other, right? But no—Franco acted like I was a ghost. A ghost in a fireproof suit.

Whatever, I told myself. It wasn’t like I cared... much.

But maybe today would be different. Maybe today, I’d crack the Colapinto code.

“Hey, Franco,” I called out as I approached him, keeping my voice light, almost hopeful. “Ready for qualifying?”

He turned toward me, his eyes flickering me up and down for the briefest moment. “Hey,” he said, offering me the most forced smile I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at how bad this was going already. “I, uh... need to check the data,” he quickly added, already turning away before I could even blink.

Right. Data. The lamest excuse. I watched as he made a beeline for the monitors, leaving me standing there like an idiot talking to thin air. Again.

I sighed, folding my arms. “Sure, no problem.” It felt ridiculous—like I was chasing after something that clearly didn’t matter to him. 

I didn’t want to admit how much it actually bugged me. Not having a good bond with Franco wasn’t just a professional issue—it felt personal. I got on with everyone else in the paddock. Oscar? Hilarious. Charles? Always up for a nice talk. Lando? Honestly too crazy for his own good. But Franco? He was a mystery wrapped in a cold, distant puzzle.

I let out another sigh, shaking my head. Turning to head back to my car again.

The truth was, it bothered me more than I liked to admit. I wanted to have that easy camaraderie I had with the others, but Franco wasn’t interested. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe it was just the rivalry for the number 1 seat at Williams, and I was overthinking things.

But still, every time I saw him chat with the team, his eyes lighting up as he joked around, it stung. Why couldn’t he be like that with me?

The countdown to qualifying flashed on the screens around the garage, snapping me back to reality. Focus. I had a job to do. I wasn’t going to let Franco’s attitude get in the way of that. I could beat him on the track. That’s what mattered.

..

Back in my driver’s room, the hum of the paddock faded as I shut the door behind me. The familiar quiet enveloped me, offering a brief moment of peace. I tugged at the zipper of my race suit, peeling it halfway down to let out the heat. Qualifying had gone well enough, p10, but my mind was elsewhere, drifting away from lap times and tire choices.

I moved around the small space, packing my gloves and helmet, going through the motions of tidying up. There was something soothing about the routine—folding, zipping, stashing gear away in its proper place. It gave my hands something to do while my thoughts wandered.

As I reached for my bag, my fingers brushed against something unexpected—a small, folded piece of paper peeking out from the side pocket. I paused, pulling it free and unfolding it slowly. The handwriting was neat, familiar. My heart gave a small flutter, as it always did when I found one of these.

"You looked amazing again today. Seeing you shine is the highlight of my raceweekends."

A smile tugged at my lips, soft but undeniable. These notes had been showing up for weeks now, tucked into my things when I least expected it. Always sweet, always supportive, and just romantic enough to make me wonder who the mysterious admirer could be.

I leaned back against the bench, holding the note in my hand. Whoever was behind this... they were good. Thoughtful, even. They knew how to say just enough to lift my spirits without crossing that line into cringe territory.

But who could it be? I’d racked my brain plenty of times. Maybe one of the engineers? They were always around, and some of them had a quiet, observant vibe. Or could it be the chef who made those amazing post-race meals? He was always so friendly, always knew exactly how to make my day a little better.

I folded the note carefully and slid it into my pocket, shaking my head with a soft laugh. Whoever it was, they were doing a great job of keeping it a secret. It was frustrating, sure, but at the same time... there was something kind of magical about the mystery. And it felt good, knowing someone was watching, rooting for me in their own quiet way. 

With a small smile, I headed toward the door, stepping into the outside world again, basically hitting me in the face with its upbeat energy. Whatever challenges lay ahead, at least I had one thing to look forward to—someone out there cared. And that was more than enough to brighten my day.

..

At the hotel I went straight to the restaurant which was filled with the typical post-qualifying buzz—drivers catching up, teams unwinding with food and drinks, and engineers talking shop over their meals. I slipped into the booth beside Oscar, who was already halfway through his plate, while Charles raised his glass in greeting.

“Tough session?” Oscar asked, his mouth half full, which would sure as hell earn him a scolding from Nicole Piastri if she saw him like this.

I shrugged, picking up the menu. “Could’ve been worse. Franco had his usual charm on, though.” I tried to keep it light, but there was no hiding the disappointment creeping into my voice.

Charles raised an eyebrow, setting his glass down with a smirk. “And by charm, you mean...”

“He barely acknowledged me.” I sighed, flipping the menu open. “I tried to wish him luck, you know, like a teammate would? He gave me the most forced smile, muttered something about ‘checking the data,’ and bolted.”

Oscar leaned back in his seat, giving me a knowing look. “Classic Franco move. Avoidance with a dash of politeness.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” I muttered, more amused than frustrated at this point.

Charles chuckled. “Well, it’s not like he hates you. Maybe he’s just... I don’t know, bad at the whole teammate thing.”

“Maybe,” I said, not really convinced. “It’s just... disappointing. Everyone else on the grid is easy to get along with, but with Franco, it’s like I don’t exist. I get that we’re both competitive for that number one seat, but it doesn’t mean we have to be strangers.”

Oscar gave me a small, sympathetic smile, then his face lit up with a mischievous glint. “At least you’ve got someone making up for it with those cute little love notes.”

My cheeks flushed a bit as I fumbled with the menu. I wasn’t expecting that to come up so quickly. “I wouldn’t call them love notes.”

Charles leaned in, clearly intrigued. “Oh, do tell.”

I sighed, setting the menu down. “It’s nothing major. Just... someone’s been leaving notes for me. Encouraging ones. They’re always really sweet and thoughtful.”

Charles and Oscar exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing.

“Our girl’s got a secret admirer!” Oscar stated, grinning ear to ear.

Charles joined in. “And you didn’t think to tell me? Come on, Y/N, we’re supposed to be your investigative team here.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite their teasing. “It’s not like that. I mean, I don’t even know who it is. The notes just show up in my stuff—my locker, my bag, even my hotel room once.”

Charles was practically bouncing in his seat. “This is amazing. You’ve got a secret admirer in the paddock, and you’re keeping it from us? That’s just cruel.”

Oscar tilted his head, considering. “Maybe it’s one of the journalists? They’re always hanging around the paddock.”

I frowned, thinking it over. “A journalist? I don’t know... It seems kind of personal. Like, whoever’s leaving them knows what’s going on in my head.”

Charles grinned, clearly loving the mystery. “Maybe it’s that tire guy. You know, the one who’s always lurking around with that awkward smile.”

I laughed. “Sure, because nothing says romance like delivering tires.”

“Hey, you never know,” Charles teased. “The guy might have a thing for drivers who know how to handle a good set of Pirellis.”

Oscar snorted. “Well, whoever it is, they’re clearly invested in you. And the fact that they’re staying anonymous? Bold move.”

I shook my head, grinning despite myself. “It’s not like that. I mean, I don’t think it is. The notes are more... supportive than romantic.”

Charles smirked. “Supportive, romantic... it’s the same thing when you’re the one receiving them.”

I leaned back, letting out a breath. “Maybe. It’s just weird not knowing. Whoever it is must be around a lot to be able to slip the notes into my stuff without me noticing.”

Oscar shrugged. “Could be anyone. Engineer, journalist, tire guy... heck, it could be someone from another team for all we know.”

Charles gave me a nudge. “Come on, let’s not overthink this. Whoever it is, they’re obviously paying attention to you in ways we’re not. Just... enjoy it. You deserve it.”

..

Back in my hotel room, I tossed my bag onto the bed and collapsed into the armchair. Even after the dinner with Oscar and Charles, the post-quali hectivity still lingered in my head, and I was ready to unwind. As I sat up, something caught my eye on the desk—there, sitting perfectly in the middle, was a bouquet of lilies, their soft pink petals delicate and crisp against the dark wood. Nestled among the flowers was a small teddy bear, its plush almost glowing in the dim room light.

I blinked, taking a step closer. Another note.

With a grin creeping onto my face, I picked up the folded paper, carefully sliding it out from between the stems. My heart fluttered a little as I unfolded it, the familiar neat handwriting greeting me once again.

"Flowers for the prettiest girl in the pitlane, you are doing amazing this weekend."

The warmth that spread through me was undeniable. Whoever this was, they had a knack for making me feel special without going overboard. I set the note down on the desk, reaching for the teddy bear. It was soft, comforting in a way that made me smile.

Without thinking, I scooped up the flowers and the teddy and practically ran out of the room, determined to show Oscar and Charles the latest installment of this ongoing mystery. I knew they’d have a field day with it.

When I made it down to the lobby, I spotted them easily—Oscar and Charles were draped over the couches, their laughter carrying across the room.

“Oh no,” Oscar said as soon as he saw me, eyes locking onto the bouquet. “Not more flowers.”

Charles leaned forward, grinning. “What is it this time? Roses? A life-sized teddy bear?”

I sat down next to them, holding up the lilies and teddy with a mock dramatic flourish. “Lilies and a teddy bear,” I announced. “And another note. This person is definitely stepping up their game.”

Before I could say more, Max appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the chair next to Charles. He raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Wait, wait, wait—what did I miss?”

Oscar leaned over, grinning like crazy. “Oh, just Y/N’s latest delivery from her secret admirer.”

Max’s eyes widened in mock shock. “Secret admirer? How come I’m only finding out about this now? Charles, you should’ve told me!”

Charles waved him off. “You’ve been too busy. Someone’s been leaving notes and gifts for Y/N. This is the latest one—lilies and a teddy bear. The whole deal.”

Without missing a beat, Max straightened up dramatically and grabbed Charles’s hand, mimicking a lovestruck expression, placing a hand on his chest. “Oh, darling Charles, I’ve waited so long to tell you how much I adore you. Letme sweep you off your feet with lilies and teddy bears,” he said in a ridiculous voice, earning a round of laughter from the guys.

Charles, unable to keep a straight face, clutched at his chest. “Oh, Max, I had no idea! How could I have been so blind?” He pretended to swoon, leaning into Max as Oscar snorted with laughter.

The whole thing was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, holding onto the teddy bear as Charles dramatically fell into Max’s arms. Oscar nearly spilled his drink, laughing so hard he was shaking.

“You guys are so annoying,” I said, shaking my head.

Oscar wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “And yet, you still hang out with us.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, sitting down beside Oscar. “You can all make fun of me later. But seriously, I have no idea who’s behind this.”

Max leaned over, winking at me. “Whoever it is, I’d say they’re pretty serious about this. You should probably start writing your thank-you speech for when they finally reveal themselves.”

Oscar tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s someone who sees you all the time but doesn’t want to be too obvious about it. A paddock regular.”

Charles nodded. “Like that tire guy. Maybe he’s finally making his move.”

Lando, who joined the group mid max’s performance and had been quietly observing so far, crossed his arms, his grin widening. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea who it is.”

I raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh, really?”

Lando shrugged casually, a sly smile playing on his lips. “I mean, if you pay attention, it’s not that hard to figure out. It’s always someone who notices the little things, like when you have a really good session or when you’re extra happy about something.”

Oscar tilted his head. “Wait... are you saying you know who it is?”

Lando’s smirk widened just a fraction. “I guess I’m fairly certain, yeah. But where’s the fun in telling you now? I’ll let you all figure it out.”

Max leaned back, giving Lando a look. “Come on, mate. You can’t just drop that and leave us hanging.”

Lando held up his hands, still grinning. “I’m just saying—sometimes the answer’s right in front of you. You’ve just gotta look a little closer.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, the wheels in my head turning, but before I could press him any further, George strolled up, adjusting his jacket with his usual air of elegance. He took one look at the flowers and teddy bear, and his face lit up with intrigue.

“Good evening, Gentlemen, Gentlewoman,” George said, eyes carefully inspecting the gifts on the table, “what’s this whole ordeal about?”

Oscar leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself. “Y/N’s got a secret admirer. Notes, flowers, gifts... the whole thing.”

George straightened up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “A secret admirer, you say? Well, this sounds like a job for me.”

Max snickered. “You’re going to solve this mystery, Sherlock?”

George gave him a serious nod. “Absolutely. It’s a matter of pride now. Y/N, you leave this in my capable hands.”

I laughed. “What’s your plan, George?”

He adjusted his collar with a flourish. “I’ll start by investigating everyone in the paddock. No stone shall be left unturned, no individual overlooked.”

Charles chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see you interrogating the tire guy.”

George gave him a lofty wave. “The tire guy? Please, I’ll be far more thorough than that. I’ll speak to marshalls, cleaning staff, team principals—everyone. By the end of this, I’ll have your answer.”

Oscar grinned. “I’m sure they’ll all appreciate your thoroughness.”

“Fear not,” George continued, completely serious, “I will get to the bottom of this. You can count on me.”

We all burst out laughing as George made his dramatic exit, heading off toward the elevators with an air of determination.

Max shook his head, still chuckling. “He’s going to be a nightmare in the paddock tomorrow.”

Oscar leaned back, crossing his arms. “No kidding. He’ll have everyone hiding from him by lunchtime.”

Lando, still lounging comfortably, gave me a quick glance. “Well, while Sherlock’s off gathering clues, we can all sit back and enjoy the show.”

I smiled, hugging the teddy bear close. “Yeah, this whole thing is getting out of hand.”

But even as I said it, I glanced down at the note again, my fingers brushing over the neat handwriting. There was something about this whole thing—something I felt I was overlooking.

..

Race day had finally arrived, and the paddock was alive with excitement. The drivers’ parade was one of those moments where the race hadn’t quite hit yet, and the energy was more about the fans than the looming competition. I stood with the other drivers, the sun bright overhead, as we waited to climb into the two open-top trucks that would take us around the circuit.

The atmosphere was lively, the cheers of the crowd echoing through the streets. For a brief moment, it was just about the spectacle—no stress, no pressure. Just waves and smiles.

“Y/N!” George’s voice cut through the noise, and I turned to see him weaving through the group with a grin. “I’ve got updates.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Updates on what?”

George leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “The investigation. I’ve been doing some digging.”

I stifled a laugh, shaking my head. “George, I thought we agreed to keep this low-key.”

He nodded, but there was a glint in his eyes. “Oh, of course. Very discreet. But just so you know, I’ve already ruled out a few people. I had a chat with the tire guys—they’re off the list.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Good to know.”

Oscar, standing a few feet away, overheard and sauntered over, clearly amused. “George is still on about that, huh?”

George straightened up, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m telling you, we’re making progress. Just need to connect a few more dots.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Sherlock. But keep it subtle, okay?”

Oscar chuckled, clapping George on the shoulder as we climbed into one of the trucks for the parade. “Just don’t go questioning the marshals next, alright?”

We settled into the large truck, with half the drivers in ours and the rest in another up ahead. George stood beside me, his detective mindset clearly still working overtime. “I’ll crack this eventually,” he said, his tone only half-joking.

As the truck rolled forward, George leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve narrowed it down to three main suspects.”

I raised an eyebrow, already bracing for the ridiculousness. “Okay, hit me. Who’s on your list?”

George, completely serious, ticked off the names on his fingers. “First, Gunther Steiner.”

Oscar, standing across from us, choked on his water. “Gunther? Seriously?”

George nodded. “Could be him, right? The man’s full of surprises.”

I bit back a laugh, playing along. “Sure, let’s put Gunther in the mix. Who else?”

George held up a second finger. “Then, there’s one of the guys from Dutch TV. He’s always hanging around too, and I saw him chatting with the engineers yesterday. Could be a cover.”

Oscar shook his head, thoroughly amused. “A Dutch broadcaster? Aren’t most of those guys well over 50?”

“And lastly,” George said, leaning in even closer, “Lewis.”

I burst out laughing. “Lewis? Really?”

George shrugged. “He’s known to be romantic. He certainly stole my heart in the last few years of us working together.”

“He’s like a dad to me, George!” I said, rolling my eyes.

George grinned, completely unfazed by the disbelief. “You never know. He surely is a handsome guy.”

As the parade began to roll forward, I glanced over at Lewis, who was standing on the other side of the truck, waving atfans as we passed by. He caught my eye and made his way over, always up for a chat.

“Ready for race day, Y/N?” Lewis asked, his smile easy and familiar.

I smiled, waving to the crowd. “Absolutely! I’ve got a good feeling about the car this weekend.”

Lewis nodded, his gaze shifting briefly to Franco, who was further up in the other truck, chatting with Carlos and Checo. “How’s it going with your teammate?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of understanding.

I sighed. “It’s just weird, you know? I’ve tried to build some kind of rapport with him, but he barely acknowledges me. Feels like I’m talking to a wall sometimes.”

Lewis nodded knowingly. “I’ve been there. Back when Nico and I were teammates, it was the same. Sometimes, no matter what you do, the team dynamic just doesn’t click.”

I glanced over at Franco, who was sitting up ahead in the other truck, chatting easily with some of the engineers. “Yeah, that’s exactly how it feels. I don’t want to be at odds with him, but it’s hard when he’s so distant.”

Lewis offered a sympathetic smile. “Best advice I can give? Focus on your own performance. If it’s meant to change, it will, could still be a lot of love there in the future. Who knows.”

I nodded, grateful for his words. “Thanks, Lewis. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As the trucks rolled through the circuit, the noise of the crowd surrounded us, creating a whirlwind of energy. I waved and smiled, but my mind kept drifting back to George’s “investigation.”

Just then, George leaned over again, his voice still hushed. “I have a few more leads, you know. I think the key is in the smaller details.”

Before I could respond, Lando, standing a few meters behind us, called out with a cheeky grin. “Maybe Sherlock should focus on the people who see the little things, those who spend the most time near her during raceweekends.”

I shot him a look, but Lando just winked, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Just a thought,” he added.

Oscar laughed, nudging George. “Sounds like Lando’s onto something. Maybe you should listen to him.”

George, undeterred, gave a firm nod. “I am conducting an official investigation here, I will not be phased by the random gibberish coming out of Mr. Norris’s mouth.”

We all laughed, the banter flowing easily as the parade continued. The crowd’s cheers grew louder, and for a moment, I let myself get swept up in the excitement, pushing thoughts of the admirer and Franco to the back of my mind.

..

The parade had been fun, but as the race drew closer, the atmosphere shifted. There was a something in the air, an underlying tension that grew with every passing minute. The team was busy making final preparations, and the garage was a blur of activity—mechanics checking the cars, engineers pouring over data, and the hum of engines revving in the background.

I made my way to the starting position, taking a moment to clear my head. The race was the focus now, and I had to put everything else—George’s ridiculous suspects, Lando’s weird hints, and even the mystery admirer—aside. It was time to focus.

Franco, who qualified p9 and therefore was parked next to me, stood by the car, laughing with a couple of the engineers, his usual charming self. His eyes sparkled, and his energy seemed high. Can’t believe he can look this good after such an intense weekend. As always, he was completely at ease with the team—just not with me. I watched him for a moment, the distance between us feeling wider than ever. It wasn’t that I was angry with him, just... a bit sad. 

I took a deep breath and walked over, determined to at least wish him good luck before the race. Maybe today would be different.

“Hey, Franco,” I said, my voice light but hopeful. “Good luck out there.”

He glanced over at me, looking clearly caught of guard. “Yes, thanks,” he replied, his tone polite but clipped. “You too.”

Before I could say anything else, he turned back to the engineers, diving right into a discussion about strategy. It was like a door closing in my face—again.

I stood there for a moment, watching him interact so easily with everyone else. He had the charm, the confidence, those dreamy eyes, the effortless ability to make people like him. So why couldn’t we connect? I wasn’t asking for much, just a little more than this distant, cold professionalism. But every time I tried, he shut me down.

I sighed, turning away. There was no point in pushing it anymore. Franco wasn’t interested, and I couldn’t waste energy on something that clearly wasn’t going to change.

As I stepped into my car, I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline starting to build. I had a decent starting position, and the car felt good during practice. If I could nail the start and keep things clean, there was a good chance I’d score some solid points today.

My race engineer gave me a rundown of the strategy, and I nodded along, focusing on the task at hand. The tension was there, but it was the good kind—the kind that made you want to get out there and fight.

I cast one last glance over at Franco. He was in his element, all smiles and confidence as he chatted with the crew. For a second, I almost envied how easily things seemed to come to him.

I shook off the thoughts of Franco, my mind snapping into race mode. Whatever was going on between us—or rather, wasn’t going on—could wait. I had points to score.

..

The race had been a whirlwind. I was still buzzing with adrenaline as I pulled into the pit lane. It wasn’t a podium, but finishing P7 was a solid result, especially considering how tight the midfield battle had been. The car had felt good, and I’d managed to keep my head down and fight through the chaos of the race. As I unclipped my harness and climbed out of the car, a wave of relief washed over me. Another race down, and points on the board for Williams.

The garage was already alive with celebration—engineers high-fiving each other, the mechanics cheering for what had been a strong race for the team. Franco had finished P6, just ahead of me, which was a good result for both of us. I caught a glimpse of him surrounded by team members, all smiles as usual, and I felt a twinge of something I couldn’t quite place. Not jealousy, but... something else.

As the energy in the garage began to die down, I noticed people slowly filtering out, heading off to unwind or prep for the evening celebration. I lingered, not in any rush, soaking in the post-race energy. Eventually, it was just a few of us left, the hum of the paddock fading into a quiet calm.

With a deep breath, I gathered my things, deciding it was time to head back to my driver’s room to decompress. My body ached from the intensity of the race, and the adrenaline was finally starting to wear off. A hot shower and a moment of peace were exactly what I needed before joining the team later at the cocktail bar.

When I walked into my room, I spotted something that made me stop in my tracks.

On the bench next to my helmet sat another note—this time accompanied by a little box from Dior. Curious, I opened the lid, only to find the most stunning, sleek, golden bracelet inside. My heart skipped a beat as I moved closer, picking up the delicate piece of jewelry. The bracelet was simple but elegant, with a small star charm that caught the light as I held it in my hand. This wasn’t just another gesture. This felt different—more intimate.

With shaky hands, I unfolded the note, the familiar handwriting almost calming in its neatness.

"You were a star out there. Wish I could see you smile like this every day."

I sat down, holding the bracelet in one hand and the note in the other, a mixture of emotions washing over me. The thoughtfulness behind the gesture, the subtle encouragement—it all felt so personal. Whoever this person was, they saw me in ways that most people didn’t. The bracelet wasn’t just a gift; it was a reminder that someone out there was paying attention to more than just my results.

I smiled softly to myself, but after a moment, I carefully placed the bracelet back into its little Dior box. It felt too precious, too delicate to wear just yet. 

I glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to step out from the shadows with a confession. But of course, I was alone. The puzzle pieces were there, but the final picture still felt elusive. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was getting closer to figuring it out.

With the note tucked safely in my pocket and the box in hand, I left the room, ready to head to the team celebration.

As I left the room and stepped into the paddock, I nearly bumped into Kym Illman, who was walking by with his camera slung over his shoulder.

“Y/N! Just the person I was hoping to catch,” Kym said, grinning as he stopped in front of me. “Mind if I grab a quick post-race shot? Gotta capture that afterglow.”

I blinked, still feeling a bit dazed from everything that had happened, but I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Go for it.”

Kym raised his camera, the familiar sound of the shutter snapping away as I stood there, trying to focus on anything other than the Dior box in my hand. The camera clicks were rhythmic, but I could feel the weight of the small box growing heavier by the second. Just as he lowered the camera, Kym’s eyes flicked down to the box.

“You got a little gift,” he commented casually, gesturing toward it with a nod. His easygoing smile remained in place, like he didn’t realize he was about to drop a bomb. “From Franco, right?”

I froze, the words hitting me like a sudden gust of wind. My pulse quickened, and I stared at him, my mind struggling to process what he’d just said. “Franco...?”

Kym, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me, shrugged casually. “Yeah, I saw him going into your room after the race, carrying that little box. I assumed it was something from him for you. It’s good to see things are smoothing outbetween you two.”

He smiled again, a little too cheerfully, completely oblivious to the turmoil his words had caused. I forced a shaky smile in return, the reality of his comment sinking in slowly, like ice water trickling down my spine.

Franco had dropped off the bracelet. Franco had been in my room. Franco had been leaving me the notes and the gifts—this entire time?

My thoughts spiraled, trying to match the Franco I knew—the one who could barely hold a conversation with me, who always kept his distance—with the person behind these thoughtful, personal gestures. How could the same person be so cold and yet so considerate? None of it made sense. But then again, he was always around, like Lando hinted at.

“I, uh... will see you next week,” I finally managed to say, my voice coming out shakier than I’d intended.

Kym, still completely unaware of the bombshell he’d just dropped, gave an easygoing smile. “Great race today. You’re looking strong out there. I’ll see you around.”

With that, he waved and walked off, leaving me standing there, rooted to the spot. The guy who had barely acknowledged me for months, who had given me the cold shoulder in every single interaction, was the same person who had been leaving me these incredibly thoughtful, sweet notes?

I looked down at the Dior box in my hand, the logo glinting in the fading light of the evening. The weight of the bracelet inside felt heavier now, the realization settling in like a lead weight in my chest. It was Franco. What the hell?

But if it was him, why had he been so distant? Why couldn’t he just say something instead of hiding behind anonymous notes and secret gifts?

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. There was no point in overthinking it now. I needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to me.

Tonight, I was going to find Franco, and I was going to get to the bottom of this.

..

The cocktail bar slowly filled with the sounds of celebration. Laughter and the sound of clinking glasses travelled through the room as the Williams team reveled in the success of the race. The low lighting cast a warm glow over the bar, making it feel intimate, even amidst the lively chatter. I stepped inside, the gold bracelet glimmering softly on my wrist. The weight of it felt significant, not because of its size, but because of what it represented. Tonight, I needed answers, and I had a plan.

Franco stood near the bar, surrounded by a few engineers, his easy smile making him the center of attention, as always. He laughed at something one of the guys said, and for a moment, I watched him, still trying to reconcile the Franco I thought I knew with the one who had left me those thoughtful notes that made my stomach flutter. My fingers brushed the bracelet, and I felt a twinge of nervous energy rush through me.

I took a deep breath and made my way across the room toward him, my heart pounding as I rehearsed what I might say. The crowd seemed to blur as I neared, and suddenly it was just the two of us in this noisy, lively place.

“Franco,” I called out, keeping my voice light, though every nerve in my body was tingling.

He turned toward me, his green eyes immediately darting to my wrist. The moment they landed on the bracelet, a flicker of recognition passed through his expression—a quick joyful spark that was gone almost as soon as it appeared. But it was enough. That slight hesitation, the twinkle in his eye—it was all I needed to know.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little too calm, a little too composed. “Congrats on the race today. P7 is a solid finish.”

I forced a smile, stepping closer. “Thanks. P6 isn’t bad either. You were brilliant out there.”

He nodded, but I noticed his gaze flicker back to the bracelet again, like he couldn’t help himself. That spark was back in his eyes, and this time, it lingered.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, his voice a little quieter now.

His response was automatic, his words almost an afterthought. His attention wasn’t on the conversation—it was on my wrist, the bracelet. He couldn’t hide it.

I smiled knowingly. “Do you like my new bracelet?”

Franco blinked, his composure slipping for a second. “It’s, uh... nice. Gold, right?” His voice wavered ever so slightly, like he was trying too hard to sound indifferent.

I tilted my head, taking a step closer. “Yes, so pretty isn’t it? Someone gave it to me after the race.”

He nervously tried his best to look away and avoid my gaze, suppressing what seemed to be a proud smile. “Oh, that’s... thoughtful.”

I raised an eyebrow, watching him squirm. “It was, wasn’t it?”

The space between us felt charged, the air thick with tension. I waited, giving him a chance to come clean, but he stayed silent, his eyes glued to the bracelet.

He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever words he’d planned to use were lost. I couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing his arm, I gently pulled him away from the group, toward the quieter, dimly lit corner in the bar, just out of sight. Franco didn’t resist, though I could feel the stiffness in his movements.

Once we were tucked away from prying eyes, I let go of his arm and turned to face him, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall. “Franco, it was you, wasn’t it? The notes, the flowers, the bracelet—it’s all been you.”

Franco shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence completely gone. He avoided my gaze, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit I hadn’t noticed before. “What? No—I don’t—” He faltered, the words tumbling out awkwardly. “I mean, I—”

I stepped closer, cutting him off with a raised eyebrow. “Franco.”

I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. He glanced around, as if hoping for some sort of escape, but when none came, he finally met my eyes. “I didn’t know how else to... say anything,” he murmured. “It’s stupid, I know. We’re teammates, and I should’ve just—”

“What did you want to say?” I asked, my voice soft but firm.

 “You’re all I can think about,” he blurted out, the words unfiltered. “Every single day.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his confession. Franco’s face softened as he continued, his voice quiet but steady.

“I’ve been trying to act like I don’t care, like I’m just focused on the race and nothing else, but... it’s you. It’s always been you.”

My breath caught as his words sank in, but he didn’t stop there. He took a step closer, his voice lowering.

“You have no idea what you do to me, cariño,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “I love the way every time we’re eating something and you have the first bite and it is really good, actually good—like, not just passable, you crunch your nose up a little bit. It is so cute.”

He smiled slightly, the vulnerability in his voice clear as he kept going. “And after a good session, when you pull your helmet off, and your hair’s all over the place, but you don’t care because you’re too busy hopping from foot to foot, like you can’t hold in how excited you are. You think no one notices, but I do. It’s adorable, and it drives me crazy.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as he took another step closer, his voice barely more than a whisper now.

He stepped closer, his green eyes locking onto mine, more earnest than I’d ever seen them. “Even when you’re just standing there, doing nothing, you have this way of making me completely forget about everything else. Just watching you makes me lose my mind.”

I couldn’t help but beam at that, the sweetness of his words breaking through the tension. Franco glanced down, shaking his head slightly as if embarrassed.

“I thought if I stayed away, maybe it would stop, but it didn’t. So... I left the notes. The flowers. The bracelet. Because I didn’t know how else to say it.”

“You’ve cared all along,” I whispered, more a statement than a question. My heart was racing like there was a V12 engine hidden inside of it.

Franco nodded, his green eyes locking onto mine with such intensity it made my breath hitch. “I have. But we’re supposed to be competing for that number one seat, and I didn’t want to make it more difficult... with how I feel about you.”

His confession hung in the air between us, raw and real. The weirdness, the tension—it had all been leading to this moment.

I stepped even closer, until our bodies were almost touching, my voice soft. “Franco, you didn’t have to hide it. You could’ve just told me.”

For a moment, neither of us moved, the space between us charged with everything we hadn’t said. But now, with nothing left unsaid, I closed the gap, standing on my toes as I pressed my lips to his.

Franco froze for a second, caught off guard, but then he responded, his hands finding my waist as he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. It was slow at first, tentative, like we were both afraid to break the moment. But as the seconds passed, the kiss grew more urgent, more real, like all the months of tension were finally being released.

His hands tightened on my waist as he kissed me back, the heat between us growing with each passing second. My heart raced as I melted into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, hungry, like we were making up for lost time..

Franco’s hand slid up my side, as he moved to cradle my face. His thumb grazed my cheek, and I felt my breath hitch, a shiver running down my spine as the kiss intensified. His lips were warm, firm, moving against mine with an urgency that sent a thrill through my entire body. I kissed him back with just as much passion, feeling flutters in my stomach.

My back hit the wall, and the feel of him pressed against me made my pulse race even faster. There was nothing tentative about the way he kissed me now—his lips demanding, his touch sending sparks of heat through me. He broke the kiss for just a second, only to dive back in, like he couldn’t get enough.

But this time, instead of his lips finding mine again, they traveled down, brushing along my jaw and moving to my neck. The feel of his breath against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, my heart pounding in anticipation. His lips found the sensitive spot just below my ear, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that made me gasp quietly.

Franco’s hands found my waist again, softly fidgeting with the hem of my top and touching the bare skin below, as he trailed his soft lips against the curve of my neck. The combination of his touch and his breath was intoxicating, and I tilted my head back, giving him more access, my body responding instinctively to the way he explored my skin. His lips lingered there, slow and teasing, each kiss sending little jolts of electricity through me.

I could feel his breath hitch as he pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against my neck as he murmured, “You’re making it impossible to think straight.”

Before I could even respond, he found my lips again, the kiss deeper this time, more heated than before. His hands moved up, combing through my hair, pulling me closer as his lips moved with a hunger that made my knees weak. I kissed him back just as fiercely, losing myself in the feel of him. 

 It was overwhelming—in the best possible way. Every nerve in my body was on fire, responding to every little movement, every brush of his lips. Who knew Franco could feel so good?

When we finally pulled apart, breathless, I realized I hadn’t even noticed the noise of the bar fading around us, the rest of the world disappearing for that brief moment. Franco’s forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling as we tried to catch them.

He didn’t say anything at first, his eyes still closed, like he was savoring the moment. And I understood that, because I was too. There wasn’t any need for words.

After a few beats, Franco finally opened his eyes, his gaze soft but intense. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges.

“Was it worth the wait?” I teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.

His eyes darkened slightly, his lips curving into a grin. “More than you know.”

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against my forehead, lingering there for a moment as I closed my eyes and let the warmth of it settle between us.

I smiled up at him, still catching my breath. “I am so happy you’re not the tire guy.”

Franco blinked, a puzzled look crossing his face. “The... tire guy?”

I chuckled, shaking my head as I leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry about it,” I whispered against his mouth, enjoying his confusion. “You’ll catch on eventually.”

[r-is-typing]

changes | s.r

summary: in which spencer gets overwhelmed, taking it out on reader

requested?: yes! requested by @adrienneleclerc

pairing: post-prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

category: angst with a fluff ending

content warnings: spencer being mean, talks of reid in prison

Three months. Three months had gone by since Spencer Reid was released from Millburn Correctional Facility due to Cat Adams and Lindsey Vaughn framing him for the murder of Nadie Ramos.

Since his release, Spencer had went through a very obvious change. He wasn't as talkative to his teammates except for discussing work, he was more agressive and harsh compared to his normal softness and gentle nature. What had changed the most was his relationship with her. Since his release, Y/N had tried to be there as much as she could.

She would make his coffee every morning, placing it on the counter in a travel mug she had given him as a Christmas gift a few years prior. She would iron his button-ups and work pants, she would make him breakfast on the days where he didn't leave in the middle of the night.

Despite Y/N's efforts in making Spencer feel somewhat normal considering what the man had gone through, it wasn't enough. She could tell, but what she didn't know was how to fix it.

The build up was slow. It started with conveniently forgetting the travel mug on their kitchen counter to spending hours ‘working’ in his office, even though she knew he wasn’t. Then, spending the night elsewhere despite knowing, thanks to one Penelope Garcia, that they had been home from a case for who knows how long, to today.

She didn’t know how she didn’t see it coming. Spencer’s team had just gotten back from a case, where they had been in Georgia for a week. Penelope had sent her a message, telling the woman that the jet had landed and that Spencer would most likely be home soon, but that the case was rough.

Y/N decided in that moment to make him his favorite meal, coffee just the way he liked, and putting on one of the Stark Trek’s for them to watch.

She sat on their couch folding the warm laundry that she had just pulled out of the dryer when she heard the sound of keys jingling and the doorknob twisting.

Her eyes looked up to meet Spencer and she stood to her feet. “Hi, handsome.” She spoke lovingly but softly. She takes note of how his eyes don’t meet her, only a simple nod greets her as he enters the dimly light apartment.

“I put some clean pajamas and your towel on the bathroom counter in case you wanted to shower. I tidied up your office a bit, I made the bed, and I’m just folding laundry. I have dinner ready whenever you’re hun-“

Spencer let out a groan, interrupting her. “Can you just stop?” Y/N froze, her hands holding onto his gray Comme des Garçons sweater that had a red heart on the left side.

“Wha-“ “Just shut up for one second!”

She barely had time to breathe before Spencer started shouting again. “I mean, seriously. I just got back from work and you’re down my throat about- about nothing!” He throws his arms up in the air for effect.

“I-I don’t need this, you, smothering me all the time. I get home, I want to relax and read or maybe lie down, but no. You’re jumping down my throat, wanting attention, or, or whatever you’re wanting.”

Spencer’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. One of his hands went up, aggressively ripping his tie open and throwing it down on-top of the coffee table in the living room.

Y/N felt a burning sensation in her eyes. Tears, she thought. She sighs, wiping her tears, awaiting the next thing Spencer is going to say. What other harsh things are going to come her way.

“Do you realize that since I’ve been released from a place I shouldn’t have even been in, I haven’t had a moment of silence?”

Spencer stares down at her in a way he’s never looked at her before. Y/N could only assume, thanks to the tears clouding her eyes, that he hated her.

“I come back from literal prison and you haven’t given me a moment to just breathe!” He angrily runs his hands through his hair. “For once, I’m just asking you to be silent.”

“No, no. Actually, I’m telling you. Be quiet and leave me alone.” The words Y/N never thought she would hear slipped from his mouth.

Y/N stood to her feet, shuffling quickly to their shared bedroom. Spencer heard the slam of the door and the click of the lock, and he just sighed.

Hours went by and Y/N was in their bed, face buried in the comforter. Her tears had soaked everything from the pillowcase to her cheeks, and even through her shirt. Y/N eyed the bedside table.

2:05am

Y/N sighed, rolling over and staring at the wall, even though she couldn’t see a thing. She heard light shuffling which she could only assume was Spencer.

Down the hall, he stood from the couch, glancing into the kitchen and at the microwave to determine the time. Spencer rubbed the sleep from his eyes, even though he had probably slept give or take about fourty-five minutes.

Spencer cursed to himself, remembering why he was on the couch in the first place.

Remembering what he had said to her. His eidetic memory being a blessing and a curse in the moment because he remembered the look on her face when he yelled. He remembered how she cowered. The eyes that would crease with happiness because of her love for him staring at him in a mix of fear and sadness burned in his memory.

Spencer stood to his feet, shuffling quickly but quietly to the shut bedroom door. He reached up and grabbed the universal key for all the locks in the apartment from the door frame.

Twisting the key, he unlocked the door, opening it to a dark room. The only light was from the alarm clock in the bedside table. Spencer could see Y/N's silhouette laying in the dark under their comforter.

"Sweetheart?" He called out, no response.

He walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him. Spencer navigated to the bed in the dark, pulling down his side of the blanket and sliding in to bed.

"I know you're awake." He says, she hums sleepily.

Spencer sighs, looking to the side where she was, his eyes practically staring holes into her back. "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have said those things." Y/N hums in a sleepy agreement.

"Everything has changed since I came back," he started. "but that's not on you. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You were being perfect and trying to help me adjust to life back home, and I took you for granted."

Y/N rolls over, facing him with half-lidded eyes. "You really hurt my feelings, Spencer." She spoke softly, afraid that if she was any louder, they'd both be scared. Spencer goes to cradle her head, but waits until she signals an 'okay'. With his large hands on either side of her face, he looks at her.

"I know, baby, and I'm so so sorry." Spencer kisses the crown of her head. "I'll spend a lifetime making it up to you." Y/N hums, curling into his side. She opens her eyes barely to look at him.

"You shouldn't have to go through this alone, okay? You're right, things have changed, but that doesn't mean you have to be alone, Spence. You're not alone anymore. I'm your family and I'm always going to be here for you."

Spencer stares at her with a lovesick smile. "I'm so lucky." He mumbled, kissing her head again. The two get into their normal positions in bed before falling asleep. Spencer was lucky to have her, as she was lucky to have Spencer.

He knew that with her, things would be okay.

r is typing...

thank you so much for the request, and i hope it's what you wanted! i'm working on other requests as well, but feel free to send in more as my requests are open!

i'm also trying new formatting for my posts (new dividers, text coloring, etc) so let me know your thoughts!

as usual, here are the important links!

masterlist & prompt list

request & guidelines

r is signing off...

[astraystayyh]

Invisible Thread- two.

This is the second and final part of Invisible Thread. Here is the link to part one.

pairing: minho x reader. pre-established relationship. reader has she/her pronouns.

genre: fluff and domesticity. angst. healing. characters trying to become better. humans being humans.

cw: parent death. grief. talk about death. allusion to sex but no smut. suggestive at one tiny part but it's for the plot.

summary: In which Minho rewrites your entire relationship with love.

word count: 17k

a.n: this is, i hope, a gentle reminder to always be kind to yourself, and to the people surrounding you. this one is pretty personal because i see myself a lot in yn, but it was also challenging since i wrote about things i have never experienced either. so i hope you'll enjoy reading, and that the second part will live up to your expectations. it took me a long time to write this but it's okay!! English isn't my first language and this was also a reminder to be patient with myself. thank you. i love you all. truly. feedback is highly appreciated, as always <3

(here is a Spotify playlist i made for this second part, you can listen to it while reading if you'd like :))

Love. How lucky yet cursed we are to ever experience it.

The fear attached to this singular emotion seems ridiculous. Because we aren't afraid of experiencing anger, sadness, or nervousness. They might overwhelm us, but we accept them, we recognize them as they are and then we cope with them. Whichever way we know best.

But when love comes knocking on our door, we stray away from it, we try to shape it into something else- much gentler on the soul, less devastating if it were ever not reciprocated.

So, we name it a crush, attachment, infatuation; anything but the cursed four-lettered word- anything but love. As though merely acknowledging it would morph it into a sharp-edged sword, eternally wedged within us, making our blood dribble away slowly and with it, our souls awash.

You are no exception. Love has terrified you for the better part of your life. There was a time when the word did slip easily from your mouth, back when you were a child and your view of the world was still naive, undisturbed by what you now know. You loved ice cream, you loved candy, you loved your teacher who braided your hair.

But then the once light word grew heavy on your tongue. Because love is what made you crave your mother's warmth, only to find coldness awaiting you. It is love that made you seek shelter elsewhere, in the fleeting opinions of the people surrounding you, hanging your entire worth on the words they uttered about you- ones they forgot within hours but you carried for years.

But this view of yours got dismantled, slowly, day by day. You’ve come to learn that it isn't love that had hurt you, it was rather the lack of it.

It cannot be love that wound when it is the emotion swimming in your eyes, whenever they rest on Minho. You didn't dare say it to him, to name the feeling out loud. You were petrified that if it was ever out in the open, then the love would materialize into something tangible, and the universe would snatch it away, as it has done before with everything you've ever wanted.

But although you didn't say it, you felt it, deep within each one of your atoms. It spilled from you like infinite ink, rewriting your entire relationship with love, dismissing every wrong notion you've once established about it.

Love cannot hurt because you love Minho, and you'd hurt yourself before ever hurting him.

But maybe none of you would have to hurt. Maybe for once, you'd both be okay. That's what you'd like to believe as Minho's shoulders brush against yours. You are sitting at your usual table at Limbo, a gray cat sprawled on top of your laps. Finals ended three weeks ago. Summer break is here, the one time you've been dreading since you came to college. Because everyone is going back to their homes, but you don't have one to head back to.

"What will you do this summer?" Minho suddenly asks, putting down his iced americano. You scratch the cat's ears beside you gently- Lilia you've decided to name her. "I don't really have plans."

"Would you like to go camping?"

"With you?"

"I mean, unless you have another secret boyfriend, then yes, with me."

"Shut up," you giggle, swatting his arm playfully. "I'd really like that," you smile softly at him, to which he nods. "Oh, and we still need to celebrate your win this term."

"Mm. Let's just call it a date this time," he grins, taking a spoonful of the salted caramel cheesecake and bringing it to your mouth. "I need to go visit my family for a few days, and then we can go," he adds.

Sudden guilt floods your being. He had a family he could go to. It was selfish for you to want him to stay, to strip him from this privilege you weren't granted with.

"I don't want you to cut your time short with them for me," you mumble, eyes fixated on Lilia soundly dozing off on his lap. It still astonished you how all animals seemed at ease in Minho's presence. As if they could sense his gentle soul, carefully hidden behind his sarcastic retorts, and cheeky smiles- one you were lucky enough to have been touched with.

"I'm not. I just really wanna go camping," he says nonchalantly, but his hand raises to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

"You should go with them."

"I have a two-person tent in mind, it won't fit the three of us. And I want to come back to you."

His words painted a sweet picture- of him returning home after a long journey, and you were that haven he sought to rest. The idea that he'd discover such solace in you when you struggled to find it within yourself, seemed unfathomable to you.

So, you bite your lower lip slightly, before squeezing his knee in gratitude. "Okay. I'll be waiting."

✹✹✹

Blue and orange flames surge higher under the wind. You watch, mesmerized as their light dances upon Minho's skin, painting him with glistening, golden hues. Every feature of his face is chiseled to perfection, as if a sculptor spent hours perfecting his face, down to the tiniest detail. He looked in his element here, setting up your tent and grilling the meat and now looking up at the sky, a chilled lemonade in his hand. You should go camping more often.

Minho places his empty can of cola on the ground, before tapping his lap. "Come here," he smiles and you oblige, rising from your chair and settling on his thighs. You tuck your knees to your chest, curling yourself entirely in his hold. His arms encircle your body, making sure you don't slip down. You close your eyes, as Minho gazes up at the night sky before you. You are comfortable and safe. It is that safety that you've craved for so long. To be held and not fear the threat of a knife behind your back.

It still surprised you, how you came to crave Minho's presence. But it went beyond just being near him; you felt as if you needed to touch him, as if verifying his existence, ensuring he wasn't an ephemeral specter slipping through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. Yet, even more surprising was Minho's own yearning for you. His hands were always drawn to you, subtly grazing your face, resting on your palm, skimming your shoulders. Each tentative touch filled an echoing void within you, slowly diminishing it until all that remained were faint whispers of it.

Minho has cared for you, long before he understood you. He saw snippets and fragments of you, and he cared for the patched-up version he made up in his mind. And when you unlocked your heart for him, he only cherished it even more, silently molding his behavior so he wouldn't cross any of your boundaries.

He was hesitant at first, in holding your hands and kissing your lips. He still asks for permission, in that gentle voice of his, to touch you, in case you’re uncomfortable. Which you aren’t, because his hands on you are infused with care, fingertips dripping with unguarded attention and softness, for you.

You sigh contently, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as his arms tighten around you. Comfortable and safe.

"What's your favorite word?" he suddenly inquires and you giggle slightly. He often asks you these random questions, as though he wished to understand you in the most ordinary of ways and to care for you in each.

"I think it's the word soft. Whoever thought of the word really nailed it. Nothing else could have depicted softness like this one."

"The word does sound really pillowy, and gentle."

"See, I really love gentle too! Why is the word gentle so gentle? Does that make sense?" Laughter tings your question as he grins, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

"It does. They both remind me of you, actually."

"Really?"

"Mm. You're still so soft and gentle, despite it all... If they ever tell me there is one kind person left on this earth, I'd come looking for you."

Sudden tears flood your eyes as a shaky exhale leaves your lips. It felt rewarding, in a sense, to have someone acknowledge the strength it takes to be kind, in a world that had dealt you nothing but harshness.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

"Sometimes..." you pause, racking your brain for the best way to word this. "Sometimes it scares me how much I've come to care for you. How you make opening up not sound as daunting as before."

You grab his hand into yours, fidgeting with his fingers. The familiarity of their touch helps you calm down. "I'm not saying you'll hurt me. I just... I can't help this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me to be cautious. It's gotten quieter, but it's still there."

"That's just your past selves trying to protect you," he smiles softly at you, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. "When I told you I'll be here, for as long as you'll have me, I meant it. Doubts and all."

"But I don't want to be closed off anymore," you admit. "It's very lonely that way."

"I know it is, love. But it's what you knew best back then, hm? You shouldn't feel bad about it, you did what you had to do to protect yourself. I'm just here to protect you too now."

"You think I can no longer do it myself?" you tease, your hand threading through his silky hair.

"Of course, you still can. But two shields are better than one. Also, this is exactly why I work out."

"Will your muscles protect me from my mind?" you giggle and he nods proudly. "Have you seen these?" he flexes his arms, before snorting, a bit shyly, eyes squinting closed. He's saying nonsense to make you laugh, and it's warming your heart beyond belief.

"I think these should just stay wrapped around me," you grin, guiding his arms around your back once again.

"No complaints," he smiles, as you settle against his chest. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and you close your eyes. Safe and comfortable- Minho.

✹✹✹

Summer has been kind to you. Or maybe it was you who has been kind to summer, your laughter filling its air until it could do nothing but mirror your happiness.

Summer tasted like love with Minho by your side. In clementines he peeled for you, feeding you each slice with a soft smile on his face. In spontaneous bike rides at six am, to chase sunrises you've never witnessed before him. In numerous books he bought so you’d read them to him, his head on your lap, a tranquil expression coloring his face. And although the months have all been sweet, there are two days that you remember particularly.

You don't mark up the time with dates, but rather with the new feelings Minho bestowed upon you- the first time you wanted someone to stay, and they did.  

"Baby?" Minho’s hand brushes against your shoulder and you startle, turning around to look at him. "Are you okay? You zoned out."

"I’m fine," the rehearsed lie slips from your mouth, long before you could think about it. A ping of guilt swarms your heart, you’ve promised yourself that you’d tell Minho about your true feelings, even if he couldn’t help you with them.

"Are you sure? You haven’t said a word since I came over..." He quickly glances at his watch, "Three hours ago."

"I’m sorry," you mumble, your thoughts swarming your head once again. You felt horrible for wasting his time. He had better things to do than sit with you in silence.

"I’m not asking you to apologize," he says cautiously as if he’s aware he’s threading along a dangerous line. You stay silent and he shuts his eyes closed, hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I just want you to be honest."

"I am."

"Are you, really?"

"What do you want from me?" you ask a bit breathlessly. You don’t know what you are saying, but you can sense your walls building up, higher than you could ever reach them.

"You’re clearly not fine and I-"

"I am trying, okay? I’m trying, please." You plead; you’re unsure for what exactly. For him to stop prodding, because you don’t have answers for him, not yet. Not when you haven’t understood it yourself.

"I'm going for a walk," he says, abruptly standing. You stay frozen in your place, as he quickly slips his shoes on, before leaving your apartment. You’re trying and it isn’t enough for him.

You don’t move from your place as time slowly trickles by. The seconds morph into minutes and suddenly it’s been an hour and a half since Minho left. There is a tantalizing fear making you stay put as if you ever dare to move a limb, then the stillness would be shattered and Minho wouldn’t come back.

It’s hard to reroute your brain entirely- old habits creep up on you swiftly, and suddenly you’re pulled back into the old you, woven into the web of horrible thoughts stitching all around you. Change feels sweet, with Minho, it feels like hope and the taste of a new beginning, but it is scary and different. And the familiarity of what you were before him calls your name from time to time. It was horrible and lonely, but there were no surprises in it. You knew what to expect at all times.

You could’ve told him that you weren’t feeling good, that you didn’t feel like talking and Minho would’ve understood. Because this isn’t the first time this happened, and it happens to him too sometimes. So, he understands, more than anyone you know. But instead, you lied and denied and Minho left. And you can’t blame it on anyone but yourself.

You grab your phone, its sudden light burning your eyes. You blink repeatedly, as you dial Minho’s number. It rings and it rings, then it goes to voicemail. You try again, through blurry vision. It doesn’t even ring this time- straight to voicemail.

Minho’s left. He’s had enough. You can’t blame him.

Three swift knocks resound loudly on your door. You don’t remember reaching the doorknob, your body’s moving on autopilot, but you pull it open. Minho. Your hold on the handle tightens until your knuckles turn white. You can’t look at him, you don’t want to see his face as he leaves you.

"Why are you crying?" he whispers, dainty fingers gently wiping away your tears.

"Don’t go. Not you too," you manage to utter, and you hear Minho suck in a deep breath, before pulling you tightly to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he says, as he buries your head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne washes over you- you’ve memorized its earthy notes by heart now, easily recognizable between a thousand smells.

"You've been away for two hours and I called and you- you didn’t pick up. I thought you wouldn’t come back."

"My phone died while I was outside and I lost track of time, and- please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He leans away, cupping your cheek delicately. "Im here, you see? Let’s go on a walk, hm?"

"You were just out," you mumble and he smiles at you. "I wanna go with you."

Minho takes off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. He leads you outside, still clad in the bunny slippers he randomly bought you a week ago. His hand is warm in yours. His hand wouldn’t be warm if he was leaving you.

You walk in silence to the park near your home, and Minho sits you down on an empty bench. Your tears are dried up by now, cheeks cold from the night breeze; and his hand is still in yours.

"Chan didn’t leave our dorm for three days." He starts, clearing his throat. "He’s overworking himself, doesn’t even eat the food I make him. And I tried to tell him to take a break today. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him. He’s probably still working on his music right now," he chuckles, but there is no trace of humor in the sound. "And then I come to you and you’re not okay. And I want to help but suddenly I’m pressuring you. And you’re trying, so hard and you’re doing so well and I’m pressuring you instead of helping. And I failed at being there for you both. What good I am if I’m not there for the people I lo- care about?"

"Don’t say that, please. You are good enough. More than enough," you cup his cheek, pressing his forehead on yours. "You’re always here. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m sure Chan appreciates everything you do for him."

"And you?" he asks, tone coated in such raw vulnerability that it knocks the breath out of you. At that moment, Minho was a plain hill, devoid of hidden nooks and crannies- nowhere for him to guard his emotions from you.

"Do you remember that night, when I asked you how I can help you feel yellow?" you ask after a while, and he nods, repetitive blinks rythming his silence. "I used to think that happiness was yellow, that sudden joy that drowns out the world around you. And I wanted to always feel yellow, the highest of highs. But that could only lead to another low, another extreme. I’ve since learned that true happiness is feeling peace when you lay in bed at night…  And for your heart to beat soundly from contentment."

"I remember feeling this way only once, a long time ago. I woke up to see the sunrise, but I was a bit late to it, so I missed the orange and the pink," you chuckle slightly, as the distant memory floods you. "But I saw the blue, this really soft blue, and as I looked at it a strange sense of serenity washed over me. As if, as long as I looked at that pastel blue, I’d be alright. And now…" You smile softly, your thumb delicately grazing his cheek, Now, I can just look at you. You are my blue."

Minho’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks at you, mouth slightly hung agape. You giggle quietly, before patting his head gently. "Thank you for staying," you whisper, and a sudden smile breaks out on Minho’s face. It’s so radiant- as if every star in this galaxy was ground to fine dust and then sprinkled into it. You can’t admire it for long since Minho crashes his mouth on top of yours, drawing you in for a kiss that leaves you breathless afterward.

"You know I had a really nice dream yesterday," he finally whispers against your lips, a newfound lightness in his voice. "I think this is the first time where my reality is much sweeter."

✹✹✹

The first time you felt loved, truly.

It’s a couple of days into August when Chan tells you that he has signed up with a producing agency- it’s a huge step for him, one he’s been rambling about each time you met him for the past few months. So now you’re over at his and Minho’s dorm, attempting to bake a congratulatory cake for Chan. It was Minho’s idea, one he mumbled into your ear nonchalantly, as if he didn’t wake up really early to scout all the ingredients you might need.

"Why is baking so much harder than cooking?" Minho whines, burying his head dramatically in the crook of your neck. You giggle, patting his back in faux sympathy.

"So, you're admitting you're not good at everything?" you tease and he straightens up instantly, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

"I didn't say I'm not good at it. I said it's harder than cooking," he drawls out and you hum in reply, a teasing "sure, sure" escaping your mouth.

"Do you know how to crack an egg with one hand? That's the cue that you're a great baker."

"Why would I when I have two hands?" you chuckle and he smiles cheekily, raising his eyebrows at you. "Well, I can do it."

"Fine," you huff, grabbing an egg onto your hand. "Teach me?" you smile sweetly and he grins satisfied, "Of course."

"Here, you just need to crack the egg gently into the side of the bowl. And then lodge your finger inside, slowly pulling the shell apart. Like this," he demonstrates and you nod in understanding.

"Your turn," he smiles and you follow his instructions, tongue poking against your cheek in utmost concentration.  

"Min look! I did it" You grin widely, turning around to show him the egg now dropped into the bowl.

"You did! I’m proud of you," he smiles, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You pause, the egg’s shell still tightly clutched in your hand. You didn’t drop it into the bowl, and someone’s proud of you for it.

 It’s late into the night, and your stomach is aching from laughing for hours on end. Your plates of cake are on the ground, with only crumbs left on top of it. Minho invited two of Chan’s closest friends over- Felix and Han, so now you’re all playing rounds of Uno, and the poor freckled boy is losing each time.

"This isn’t fair," Felix whines, before stealing a bite of the leftover cake on the table. "This is really good by the way," he compliments and you giggle, turning around to point at Minho, only to find him already looking at you, a soft smile on his face.

"It’s all him," you say, and Chan gets his face impossibly close to your boyfriend’s, a teasing smile on his face. "You love me so much."

"I don’t. Get back," Minho pushes his face away, but you can tell he’s lying, from the fond smile threatening to spill over his mouth.

"Sure," Chan sing-songs, before turning to look at you. You wink at him and he ruffles your hair affectionately, as he always does when he wants to tease you. "Thank you for the cake, yn."

"You’re welcome," you grin as an unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest. Is this how it feels to have a family? People you care for and who care about you in return?

Minho notices the sudden bittersweet expression etched on your face, so he grabs your pinky in his hand, squeezing it slightly. You turn your palm around, before blindly intertwining your fingers with his- something you’ve gotten much better at lately.

"We’ll get going," Han announces when it’s nearly midnight, as he and Felix both get up from the floor. "Sure you don’t want to come to the party?" Chan asks, eyes trained on you and Minho.

"Yeah, we’ll stay the night."

You stand up as well, following Chan to the door and stopping him before he leaves. "You don’t mind me staying the night, right? It’s your dorm too, so I should ask."

"Of course not. You can come over whenever, even if Minho isn’t here. You don’t ever have to ask me, okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Chan," you beam at him, relief coursing through you at his words.

Soon enough, the dorm is silent, and it’s only you and Minho once again. You go to clean up but Minho pulls you by your hand, ushering you toward his bedroom. "Let's leave it to tomorrow," he says, and his voice sounds like warm candle wax dripping down on you. You can’t say no.

You find that he’s already prepared a pair of pajamas for you, spread out nicely on the bed- his grey shirt and a pair of shorts he has apparently overgrown.

"You'll find a box there, under the sink, it’s for you," he announces, as you walk into the bathroom to change. It’s filled with anything you might ever need, tissues and makeup removal and pads and medicine, and your cherry shampoo.

"When did you prepare this?" you ask as you open the door wide for him. He peeks his head inside, eyes softening when they take a glimpse at your figure - wearing his shirt, in his bathroom.

"A month ago, or so. Just in case you ever needed to stay the night." He's so thoughtful, you're starting to believe that the word was molded after him. "Is it enough? do you need something else?" he asks tentatively and you shake your head, squeezing his hand lightly. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"Of course. let's brush our teeth?" he smiles and you nod, grabbing the blue toothbrush he bought for you. He squeezes some toothpaste into it, and your eyes meet in the mirror. You can feel a blush creep up your face, to match the tip of his ears turning pink. It felt innocent to blush at the mere act of brushing your teeth together- at the domesticity of it, and the future hopes that lay within it.  

Minho washes his face with his cleanser and you do the same. He suddenly hoists you up the bathroom counter, before standing between your legs. his arms cage your body, as his doe brown eyes look up at you. "Do my skincare for me," he pouts and you giggle, diligently taking the moisturizer and applying it to his face.

You take your time, massaging it into his skin, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks and the tender skin under his eye. His eyes close at your touch, body leaning forward and pressing onto your legs. You grab his lip balm, applying it evenly to his puckered lips, and then you kiss him. Softly, tenderly, hands going up and down his arms. His own find your waist, encircling it, thumbs skimming your sides.

You lean away, a giddy smile on your face. "Thank you for the lip balm," you say, before kissing the tip of his nose.

Minho's room smells like clean laundry and vanilla, courtesy of the candle he lit up. You've been here before, but this is your first time sleeping on his bed. He goes in first, before beckoning you in. You lay down on his silky pillow, your hair fanning all around you. Some strands of it go into your mouth, and you giggle faintly as you pull them away.

"Here," he says, leaning over your body and opening the drawer next to you. He takes out a hair tie, and a faint memory dances around in your mind- you tying up his hair at the convenience store near Limbo.

"You kept it?" you question incredulously, voice coming out in a faint whisper.

"I did," he says simply as if it's ridiculous for you to expect otherwise. "Can I tie it up for you?" he asks and you nod.

His fingers gather your hair, making sure no strands of it are escaping. They're magical, relieving every tension you have in your body. You feel him twisting the tie around, securing your hair in a low ponytail.

"All done." his voice is quiet, and so is the kiss he presses onto your shoulder.

You both lay down, facing each other. It's silent but it no longer scares you. Not when your fingers are grazing Minho's palm, tentatively, the way one dips their toes into the water to test its temperature. Your hands are dancing around one another, not yet holding each other, as if engaged in a dance only your body understands. His eyes are locked on yours- a brown shade so mesmerizing you wish you could paint the entire universe with it.

His gaze is always soft when it comes to you, pupils slightly dilated, eyelashes fluttering with each blink. They're so quick you almost can't catch them, as if he unconsciously wants the time in which he looks at you to last longer.

Minho's hand reaches behind you, before pulling the slipping comforter over your body. He tucks it in your sides, and warmth surrounds you everywhere; from him mainly. He's been so attentive to you tonight- a silent care you only truly appreciate when you've experienced a lack of it. It's as if he's pouring years' worth of missed love back into your life, and in return all the love you've held within, never bestowed upon anyone else, has found its sole destination in the man by your side.

Your hand circles his once again, and you watch intently the way your fingers graze one another, delicately, as if skimming on the edge of holding one another. You give in first, intertwining your fingers with Minho’s and squeezing them gently. They fit his perfectly, this is where they're supposed to be.

"I don't know what you’re doing to me," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours once more. There is a newfound emotion gleaming in his gaze- incredulity, at the depth of his feelings.

"What do you mean?" you question, nuzzling closer to him. Your head finds its rest on his arm and he responds instantly by patting your hair.

"I want to keep buying toothbrushes for you." His voice is hushed and yet it resounds loudly within your being, as if shouted from a sky-high rooftop.

You exhale softly, curling your hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down gently to your face. You press your lips on top of his, and they move slowly, deliberately, like a painter's careful strokes. Each touch of his lips against yours is there to make you feel something- things that he can't bring himself to say, so he shows.

You finally break apart, dazed from the raw emotions barging into your heart. You then lift your head slightly, planting a tender kiss on his forehead. Minho closes his eyes, as your lips linger in there far longer than necessary. They remain closed even after you pull away, and it is the look on his face that pushes you over the edge. The serenity painted across his features, but particularly, the trust. As if you could mold him however you want and he'd be grateful you ever touched him to begin with.

"I love you," you confess so suddenly, and the words feel foreign yet familiar as they stumble out of your lips. You expect a shift in the universe, a disastrous change as you verbalize this sentiment that's long haunted you. And yet, all that happens is Minho's eyes shimmering as they look at you. And you realize that you aren’t scared he'd twist the words and stab you with them. You know he'd cherish them, even if he didn't feel the same.

"I love you," he says back, a radiant smile lighting up his face, coloring each of his features in unadulterated happiness. Hearing those three words from him made your heart leap in your chest. There is so much more of what you feel that you wish to express. You’ve told him, but you want to show, to press your body to his so the feeling would emit from your heart to his own.

Your hand trails across his chest, and you feel his muscles constrict under your touch. "Can I?" you ask, gazes flickering between his eyes and the hem of his shirt. It's always about permission to you both- permission to touch, to feel, to kiss and the answer is always yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Please," he whispers, and you tug his shirt quickly over his head. You are a goner after that when his hands caress your skin like you're delicate porcelain. He’s hovering over you, the candle's shadow dancing across his body. Your fingers are tracing every inch of his skin graced by the flickering light, which meant your hands were everywhere, and every touch of yours was mirrored by him. Every kiss he returned ten times fold, every gasp he drank in hungrily, only eliciting a louder one in return.

"Tell me if you’d like to stop," he smiled tenderly down at you, his nose nuzzling against yours. You never felt the need to. And as the night marched forward, you gradually grasped what the poets meant by ‘making love’. You felt as if you were truly making love, as if your every move conjured love in its purest essence between the two of you. The ebb and flow of your bodies served as a spell, heightening your emotions into a raw fervor. It was love that orchestrated your moves, binding you both in a cacophony of sweet sounds, meant for you only to hear.

Minho's gaze remained fixed on yours, as he uncovered parts of you you've never dared to show anyone. It only cemented every feeling you harbored towards him. And the safety. The safety of being in his arms. To be as bare as one could possibly be, and yet to still feel blanketed by his soft eyes on you. 

✹✹✹

Dainty snowflakes coat the outside world in a pristine white blanket. It’s a mesmerizing view, one you’ve grown to be grateful for these past few weeks since it signaled the return of winter, and with it, Minho’s birthday.

It's hard to resent snow when it welcomes the existence of the person you’ve fallen in love with.

The outside might be cold but you wouldn't know, not when you are nestled close to Minho, his legs thrown over your lap. You stare fondly at his figure, too engrossed in eating the birthday cake you’ve prepared for him- a vibrant green frosting and a picture of his three cats printed on top, just like he requested some time ago. You lean in a bit, wiping away a trace of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He smiles at you tenderly, angling his head to press a soft kiss on your thumb pad.

There is a growing lump in Minho's throat, but it doesn't suffocate him, since it's formed by your love for him- you remembered what he said about the birthday cake. He was joking, obviously. But the fact that you brought his ridiculous wish to reality warmed him beyond belief.

You rummage a bit in your place, hands tucked under the pillows, and then you take out a purple envelope. "Open it," you say as you place it on top of his lap. Minho puts his plate down, straightening out in his place before looking at you, a curious smile on his face.

"More surprises?" he asks, referring to the gift you’ve already given him- a pair of t-shirts, all with cats and silly scriptures imprinted on them.

"Mm," you hum, as Minho finally opens the envelope. He pauses, as his eyes rack furiously over the content of the letter. "What's this?" he asks dumbfounded, trying to fully grasp the meaning of what he's reading.

"Because of constellations, people often think that stars always live together in a cluster. But oftentimes, they are alone. Or... if they're lucky enough, they get to roam the universe with a partner. They call them a binary star. Like you and me." Emotion simmers beneath your words, and you continue, your voice a gentle undercurrent.

"It's comforting to know that other versions of us are going through this world side by side too. To know that long after we're gone, there would still be two stars discovering the universe together, orbiting around one another. A token of the love we lived." You lift your gaze to meet his, to find him staring in awe at you. You take a mental picture of this moment, adding it to the collection of the ones you already captured of him.

"Our love may not be revolutionary, we're only two humans out of billions that have adored before us. But our love is grand to me. I try..." you bite your lip, reaching out for his hand- it will guide you as you try to speak. "I always try to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, to tell you how much you do to me. I used to always hold my hand out, in the hopes that someone would grab it. But no one did, so I curled it into a tight fist. And I thought it'd stay this way, for the rest of my life. Until you came, and you unclenched my fingers gently, one at a time, and then you grabbed it into yours." Tears are trailing out of your eyes now, but you show no effort to wipe them. Happy tears shouldn't be swept away.

"Thank you for existing, my Minho," you smile softly at him, and he nods, tears brimming in his waterline, cheeks flushed pink at your words. "Thank you for kissing my finger pads and reminding me that there is still softness in this world, all embodied in you." You cradle his cheeks tenderly in your hands, trying your best to let your love seep through your fingertips into his soul.

"I think you've carved yourself into me, carved your name into my heart. Your roots intertwined with mine, and thanks to you, I managed to crack through the hard earth and bloom again. Thank you for making me feel the warm sun again. I was so so cold before you." You whisper the last part, like a sinner's confession, eager for it to be carried away, forgotten.

Minho brings your body to his, as he buries his face in your chest. You can feel slight tremors shaking his body, and you place soft kisses on his shoulder blade- soothing, calming. You are safe in my love for you, they spell out.

"I can't believe you’ve named stars after us," he mumbles against you, and your fingers thread through his hair gently, flattening out stubborn strands of it. "It's nothing," you smile and he shakes his head vehemently. "It's not- it's not nothing to be loved by you. It's everything to me."

He leans away, bringing your head down to press his lips into yours. It tastes sweet from the cake and salty from his tears. It tastes like healing. You both kiss for mere seconds and yet it feels like an eternity to you. As if your mind stretches out time with Minho, knowing how valuable it becomes with him. He presses his lips onto yours one last time, before exhaling softly, melting completely in your hold.

"As long as you're with me, I don't ever need to look at the sky," he whispers. "There are enough stars in your eyes for me."

✹✹✹

It’s late December and the fragrant aroma of hot chocolate fills your apartment. You’re preparing two cups of the cozy drink in your kitchen, while Minho watches you fondly, leaning casually on the doorway.

"Are you just gonna stare at me?" you giggle, turning around to toss him a sly smile.

"Do you need my help making hot chocolate?" he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I wouldn't say no to a bit of emotional support."

"Ah, my bad," he playfully bows, walking over to you. Minho gently wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his chin on your shoulder. His bangs tickle the side of your face, akin to the brush of a butterfly’s wing, and a soothing sense of contentment washes over you as he holds you close.

Minho places a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, and the touch sends shivers along your spine. "This is for warming up the milk," he mumbles, adding another kiss to your neck, "and this for mixing in the hot chocolate powder," and a final one to your temple, "and this is for pouring it in cups."

"Why thank you," you giggle, turning around to hand him his cup. "Do you remember what episode we stopped at?"

"37," he replies instantly.

"I think you love this anime more than me," you pout jokingly. "I plead the fifth," he answers solemnly and you chuckle as you both make your way to the couch.

Merely one episode in and you can already tell that Minho is no longer focusing on the show. He’s absently swirling the drink in his hand, his gaze lost within his cup.

"What did the poor hot chocolate do to you?" you smile, a beacon of curiosity piercing through his daze. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, turning around to look at you sheepishly. "Just zoned out."

"I noticed. What's on your mind?" you ask, lowering the volume of the TV to fully focus on him.

"There is an upcoming dance competition. It's at a regional scale and I'm just... wondering if I should participate."

"You should!" you fervently reply, "You're such a talented dancer. You deserve recognition for your hard work."

"I'll become very busy, though. It's already hard enough to manage this degree," he speaks softly as if he's not fully convinced of this excuse himself.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are when you're dancing. You'll handle it, and I'll be there for you too."

"I should do it, right?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You really should," you echo, your hand rubbing reassuringly across his arm.

"Okay. I will," he nods, and you beam at him, before pulling him in for a comforting hug.

"On second thought... Everyone will now see how talented my boyfriend is and they will fall in love with you," you playfully muse as you hold him close.

"But everyone's already in love with me," he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Mm, the heartthrob of campus."

"People throw themselves right and left at me, it's exhausting," he sighs, the giddy smile easily heard in his voice.

"Okay, now you're overdoing it," you giggle and he further buries his head in your neck, inhaling the scent of your perfume. "Don't worry," he mumbles quietly, "I'm only ever yours."

As weeks meld into months, your days become a whirlwind of preparation for the dance competition; where each participant is required to create a choreography from scratch, for a song of their choosing. You witness firsthand the immense effort Minho pours into this, just as he does with everything he undertakes. He spent hours upon hours in the university's dance studio, and you were often there with him. While he practiced, you sat in a corner, working on your laptop. He only paused to kiss the top of your head before diving back into his practice.

He chose a song you've never heard before, called Taste. It was mesmerizing to witness him become a vessel for the melody, like an instrument attuned perfectly to the emotions the song tried to convey. His body moved sensually, flowing like fluid water, perfectly controlled by him. Every beat in Taste was matched with a move of his, powerful enough to capture you, gentle enough not to overwhelm you, like the ebb and flow of the waves brushing against the shore.

The first two months slipped through the hourglass of time in a breeze. And although Minho grew busier, you still both managed to carve out time for quick dates. Strolls by the ocean and spontaneous trips to the cinema- outings that helped you recharge fully once again. But the third month coincided with your midterm exams, casting a heavier cloud over both of your lives.

Minho became overwhelmed, quickly, bearing the weight of his two worlds. He was smart, immensely so, he could handle his classes with ease, retaining knowledge faster than anyone you knew. But the day only had twenty-four hours in it, and he couldn't possibly do it all- finding time to practice, study and take care of himself. So, you tried to handle the last part, as best as you could anyways. Exam seasons always took a heavy toll on you- both physically and emotionally. It also didn't help that you went down with a strong flu for two weeks, making your energy levels plummet to zero.

It was only three days before the start of your exams when a soft knock resounded on your door. You opened it to find an exhausted Minho. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, beads of sweat glistening on his upper brow.

"I'm tired," he whispers, eyes looking absolutely devoid of emotion as they align with yours. You smile softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside, "I know."

You lead him to the bathroom and he follows silently. He's so compliant in your hands as if all the energy in his body was sucked out of him. "Bad day?" you ask, as you peel away his blue hoodie.

"Very." He says, voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. You're here now," you try to keep your voice just as quiet as you take off the rest of his clothes. You undress quickly as well, before pulling you both to the shower.

Minho rests his forehead on your back, as you check the water temperature. When it's warm enough to feel soothing on his skin, you pull him underneath the jet, and you both stand in there for a while. His head hung low, now buried in the crook of your neck; his breaths growing slower, more even.

"You did well, my Minho," you say, voice threatening to get lost in the sound of the water hitting the tiles, but Minho catches it. He tightens his hold on you in response.

Minho can feel you reaching over and grabbing something from the rack behind him. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo as you pour it in your hands, before lathering it gently on his hair. He almost starts crying right there and then, as your fingers skillfully massage his scalp. You are everywhere, pressed to his body and your hands in his hair, and your cherry scent that’s washing all over him. And the outside world suddenly seems so far away.

You rinse off the shampoo, before grabbing your conditioner and threading it through his hair, making sure that every strand is evenly covered. He shuts his eyes closed, as your hands move to his neck and start massaging it. He's so sore from all the dancing, tired from the studying he has to catch up on. But you’re making him feel okay now, as you unravel his nerves without uttering a word. How do you do it? He wants to ask; how do you always paint his world blue?

Your hands are trailing over his body now, not sensually, just easing the knots in his muscles. You're spreading body wash all over him, and his eyes are still closed, as he feels you place tender kisses on his soapy skin. ‘I love you', your voice reaches him like a faraway lullaby, 'you've been working so hard', 'I'm proud of you'; and your comforting words morph into hot tears lodged into his waterline, begging for an escape.

You finally turn the water off, before pulling him outside and wrapping a towel around his waist. He sits idly on the edge of the bed, as you quickly put on your clothes, before walking over to him. You help him wear his pajamas, the ones he's left in your apartment since he often stays the night. He can't move a limb, but you're doing it in his place- as if the life in you was blown into him, and he's only breathing thanks to you.

Once you’re both fully clothed, you sit behind Minho on the bed, legs on either side of his body. You grab a towel you warmed in advance and begin to gently dry his hair with it, patting each strand with care. As soon as you're done, Minho turns around, nestling his head against your stomach. You let him, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"I already told you, but I'm very proud of you," you say, head lowered so he'd be able to hear you. "I'm so amazed by your strength and hard work. You inspire me a lot, Min. Just keep on going, and if you need a break, you can rest by my side, okay?" You place a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I love you," you add softly, and Minho tightens his hold on you. And then he crumbles. Completely.

He falls apart in your arms, painful sobs racking through his body. You panic, as the unfamiliar sounds knock your breath away. You've seen Minho cry before, single tears that managed to escape from his eyes, trailing on his cheeks. But you've never seen him so shattered, so consumed by his pain that he could no longer contain it. You’re caught in his storm, as uncharted waves of his hurt crash against your shores. Has he been hurting all along? Were you this oblivious to the pain brewing inside him?

Your body’s shaking as you press your chest to his back, your arms cocooning his curled-up figure. You try your best to shield him; you don't know from what exactly, but you know it has to go through you first to get to him again.

"I'm so- sorry you have to see me this way," he hiccups, his words digging their claws deeper into your chest.

"Don't say that, baby, please. It's okay, you can cry as much as you want. I'm here."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, voice quivering, and you can feel your heart slowly cracking, hurting in depths you haven't thought existed before.

"Minho, I don't- I don't only love you when you're happy. I love you when you're angry and frustrated and when you're sad. You deserve kindness and you deserve to be kind to yourself because you are still Minho. My Minho. No matter what emotion you're feeling."

"Please stay with me," he pleads softly, and you bite your lower lip, as traitorous tears escape your eyes and land on his shirt. "Where would I go, love? You're my home. I'm here."  

✹✹✹

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. 

The thought that's been reverberating within your mind, echoing since the moment Minho crumbled in your embrace.

Selfish. 

Of course you are, since you remained oblivious to his own struggles as he slowly chipped away, until he shattered unexpectedly. Akin to a seemingly sturdy building, struck by a minor vibration and suddenly reduced to ruins.

Selfish. 

Each time you sought solace in him, you failed to realize that he was stripping away his layers to shelter you. You took and took from him, each time you called, each time he came over to brush away your tears. Your endless bad days didn't leave room for his struggles, unperceived amidst your turmoil.

Selfish and horrible. You weren't made to be loved. 

Minho is sleeping right next to you. He looks peaceful, endearing bunny-like teeth peeking through slightly parted lips. He's undisturbed, like a placid river, until someone selfishly decides to skip some stones in it- you. 

His chest rises and falls, erasing all remnants of his previous breakdown, like a scripture on sand washed away by the waves. You could almost forget it ever happened if it wasn't for the persistent echoes of his sobs. Raw pain had seeped through him, yet it could have been different. If you had asked more, he might have unraveled slowly. He would have talked and he would've never had to explode. 

Selfish and guilty. There's a bitter taste in your mouth. It doesn't go away when you hastily gulp down water.

You'll keep your problems to yourself. There is enough for him to bear already. By sharing your load, you aren't diminishing it, only adding more to his. 

You can't let your mother be right. Not about this. Not when it comes to Minho. You can't ruin his life too. 

✹✹✹

You are being distant. 

Minho notices it straight away when you stop coming over to his dorm. When you find excuses to not come to Limbo anymore, accounting it for the exams you're both taking. But he knows it's just excuses. You are straying away from him. Your light that shone on him every day suddenly turned into a distant lighthouse beam. 

And it's his fault. 

He's embarrassed by his outburst. How he broke down right in front of you. How he clung to your arms, counting on your words and touch to stitch him back together. How he wasn't enough for himself, but you were. 

Guilt floods his being, making you sadder when you're already dealing with so much. He recounts your tears dripping into his hair, as you hugged him tightly to your body. He made you cry; he shouldn't have broken down. That's why you're staying away. He can't blame you. 

He misses you. He saw you this morning and yet he misses you. Because you weren't there with him, you were somewhere else, in a faraway place in your mind. What if he can't reach you anymore? He wasn't sure what to do with himself without you. 

It's 11 pm, and he's knocking softly on your door. You open it and he smiles tightly. You smile back. 

He hovers around the entrance of your apartment, hands tightly clasped behind his back. You unclasp them, interlocking your fingers with his and leading him to your couch. You are warm, he missed you. You are here and he misses you. 

You both sit down, and you're looking at him curiously. His eyes fall to your lips, pillowy and rosy and he can't help pressing his mouth onto yours. It'll give him the courage to speak. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips and you lean away, confusion clearly written across your features. 

"For crying the other day," he clarifies. "I've made you uncomfortable and you feel like you have to be cautious around me, and I'm sorry, I won't do it again." 

"What are you saying? You didn't- you never..." you suck in a deep breath, inching closer to him.  "Minho, don't ever apologize for that. please. You should never apologize for being human."

"But you are being distant," he says in a small voice, avoiding your eyes. 

"Minho, I..." you bring your hand to his cheek, locking your gaze with his. "It's not what you think. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You bite your lip, sighing loudly before speaking again. "You sobbed. And I had no idea you were hurting that much inside. I am so reclined on myself that I didn't notice. And I tried to distance myself so I'd sort my thoughts out. So, I could be there for you, fully. You're always here for me, and I feel... As if I failed you." 

It's now his turn to cup your cheek, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin. 

"I felt so loved by you that day. That's why I cried. because I've never felt that way before," he's quick to explain. "Yes, I was stressed and overwhelmed but it's not your fault. You were there for me when I needed you most. You didn't fail me; how could you think that?" 

"Because it should've never gotten that bad. If I had noticed before, then I would've helped you and it wouldn't have gotten that bad for you. You don't deserve to feel sad, not when you’re... You. Someone like you shouldn't feel sad." 

"Didn't you say we're humans? Isn't that what humans do? They fall down and they get up, I can't always be fine. It's not your fault." 

"Minho you don't understand... How much more of yourself can you give to me, without hurting yourself in return?" You're so sure of these words you're uttering, as if you've drilled them into your mind by now. You couldn't be more wrong. 

Minho blinks repeatedly, trying to gather the words in his mind properly. You weren't distancing yourself from him, because he had hurt you. But rather, so you wouldn't hurt him anymore. So, you'd be there for him more. A sudden relief floods his being. He isn't losing you. 

Minho can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth. He shakes his head slightly as he brings you to his chest. You're so warm as you wrap your arms around his waist. He still misses you but you're here, you aren't going anywhere. 

"You memorized my coffee order. And my favorite pudding. You always bring me one when you come over. When you find a new flavor, I haven't tried, you always buy it for me. You look at me so excitedly when I try it. As if me finding a new favorite pudding brings your personal joy," he's talking softly, slowly, in the hopes that you'd understand what he means. 

"You love spicy food, but you always cook without it when I'm with you. Because I can't handle it as well as you. You put snacks and water in my bag when I have dance practice, and then you come to check on me, even when you're busy too. You bought me an umbrella, and you placed it near the entrance of my dorm, so I wouldn't forget it. You give me the opened chopsticks package first, and you blow on my food so it wouldn't burn my tongue. And you let me pick the movie, every time. You let me pick it," he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, tightening his hold on you. 

"You brush my hair away from my eyes when you think I'm asleep. And you make sure the blanket covers my body entirely, even if it means it doesn't cover you. I've never had that. Never had someone care for me this gently. Even when I'm not awake and I can't give them anything in return." 

He leans back, smiling softly at you. There is a new palpable emotion in the air- love, in its most unconditional form. It smells fragrant and sweet- like you and him. 

"I notice everything you do for me, every way in which you love me. You're here for me in more ways than you can ever imagine. And I love you. Please don't stray away from me. Promise me," he pouts slightly, nudging his pinky toward your face. You giggle in defeat, before wrapping your pinky with his. 

"Didn't you think pinky promises were silly?" 

"Nothing you like is silly."

"Not even that cheesy drama I watch?" 

"Okay. Maybe that one is. But it makes you laugh," he trails off. "If it makes you laugh then I like it too." 

"You'll talk to me more, right? About whatever's bothering you? When you're not feeling black yet?" 

"I will, I promise. You too, right?"

"Mm. I will too." 

"Good," he smiles, pecking your cheek softly. "I've missed you. And I don't mind feeling all the colors of the rainbow, as long as you're near me."

✹✹✹

The voices of your friends singing you happy birthday reaches you like the distant chirping of birds, fading away in the back of your mind with each passing second. You know that Mina is smiling at you, her head resting on Jeongin’s shoulders. And that Chan, Han and Felix are all clapping excitedly, their voices blending together in a somewhat harmonious melody. But you can’t seem to focus on any of it. Your eyes are set on Minho, who’s walking over to you, a vibrant pink cake in his hand. The surface of it is covered in candy- marshmallows and macaroons, and a dozen of lit candles. Their light flickers on Minho’s face, casting an ethereal glow on him.

And as your widened eyes meet his, he knows that it all just clicked in place for you.

Four months ago.

"What did you like to do, when you were younger?"

You stay quiet for a few moments, mulling over Minho’s question. The waves crash softly at your feet, the sound of them and Minho’s arms around you serving as a perfect cover to thread through your childhood once again.

"I had a bunny plushie. My aunt gave it to me one day when her daughter didn't want it anymore. She was going to throw it out, but I took care of it. We took care of each other, in a way. I used to stay alone at home a lot, and Caramelo would keep me company."

"Caramelo?" he giggles and you pinch his arm playfully. "I was six when I named it, sue me."

"Mm, and where is Caramelo now?"

"I left it in the house. I packed in such a hurry and it didn't fit in my suitcase. But I really wanted to bring it," you smile sadly and Minho can sense a shift in your tone, so he trails his hands across your arms gently, pulling you even closer to his chest.

"What else did you like?" he asks, placing a kiss under the shell of your ear.

"Playing in the playground, there was one really near home. I'd sneak out and go play in the swing, but there was no one to push me higher there," you chuckle slightly, burying yourself further in Minho's embrace. 

"Oh, but I met a girl there when I was eleven, Lydia, I think. She was our neighbor, and she invited me to my first ever birthday party. Her parents prepared this huge cake for her, it was all pink with so much candy on top. I kept dreaming about having a similar one for my birthday. We also painted each other's nails and put on facemasks, and then we watched a movie. It was really fun," you recall, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You were really shy and didn't talk to the other girls present, staying away in a corner. But Lydia grabbed your hand and pulled you next to her. She didn't let go during the entire movie.

You hoped she was okay, wherever she might be now.

"And... my mom took me one day to a hill near our home. We sat on a bench there, overlooking the city's lights. We didn't talk but she braided my hair since it kept getting in my mouth. That's my favorite memory with her."

Your voice is carried away with the wind, drowned in the waves. You hoped that one day your childhood memories will come back to you, like the sea foam dissolving at your feet. Gentle, incapable of hurting you anymore. 

"You know what I really want now? A big cake for my birthday too," Minho suddenly whines and you giggle, turning around to look at him.

"Want me to bake it for you?" you tease and he nods, cradling your face between his cold hands. They warm up once they rest on your cheeks.

"Yes. I want the cats’ pictures printed on it, and..." he trails off, looking up at the sky. "I want it to be green.”

"Green?" you chuckle. "Isn't that a bit weird for a cake?"

"Are you questioning my vision?" he wiggles his brows at you, his hands coming to your sides.

"I am," you laugh, as he starts to tickle you, unwaveringly. You fall to the sand, and he's on top of you, hands roaming your body as loud laughter erupts from you.

Minho’s eyes soften as he gazes at your laughing figure, but he doesn't stop, not until you tap his arm multiple times, happy tears trailing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Green is perfect, you are a genius!"

"Why thank you," he smiles, before leaning down and kissing your tears away. You shiver slightly, from the cold and the feel of his soft lips on your skin. He notices.

"Come on," he outstretches his hand and you grab it, standing up and dusting your pants. Minho squats slightly in front of you, and you giggle before climbing on top of his back.

"Don't you ever wonder who was the person who invented tickling? They were just sitting down and then they touched someone and they started laughing,” he suddenly muses.

"Right! And then they decided this was something they should keep on doing, and it stuck around for centuries."

"I think it's really cute. It says I love the sound of your laugh so much that I will sit there and tickle you just to hear it."

"And you just tickled me," you trail out. "I know," he mumbles, the tips of his ears suddenly turning pink.

"I like your laugh too, Minho."

"Just like?" He teases, in a futile attempt to diffuse his shyness. 

"I love it. I love it so much I could pay my entire life savings just to keep on hearing it again."

"Stop," he whines and you giggle, swinging your dangling feet in the air.

"Have you ever heard your laugh? No other melody can compare. At this point, musicians should just retire."

"You're insufferable," he finally laughs and you sigh, melting into his back.

"And you like me."

"And I love you."

Present time

The realization dawns on you like a floodgate- Minho is recreating your happiest childhood memories.

From the pink cake of your dreams. To the obnoxiously glittery nail polish he brought home three days ago, spontaneously, you foolishly assumed. He insisted on having a pampering night, where you both applied face masks to one another, bunny headbands tucking your hair out of your face. You giggled as he painted your nails with the utmost concentration, and then begged you to paint his in return. He didn't explain why he wanted pink nails suddenly, you should've known. 

You should've known when he suddenly knocked on your door at midnight, taking your sleepy figure to the playground near your apartment. "Why are you here so late?" you questioned, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

"We are sneaking out," he whispered in your ear, and you didn't question his flawed logic- who were you sneaking out from exactly? But all was forgotten as he pushed you in the swing, fueled by your growing high-pitched giggles. "Higher?" he shouted and you laughed loudly, the sound of it echoing around the park. "Yes, higher!" Until you felt as if you were close enough to touching the stars. 

You should've known. 

Minho places the cake on the table, his warm hand finding your lower back. He rubs it soothingly, as you mouth a heartfelt "thank you" to him, hot tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You couldn't speak, afraid of bursting into sobs in front of all your friends. He understands what you're referring to.

It's far later into the night when your friends finally leave Minho's dorm. You've all cleaned up the place, soft music emitting from the speakers. You didn't need songs to fill the silence, the conversations flowing easily between you all.

You gather all the gifts you've received and take them to Minho's room- a pair of shoes you've been raving about from Mina and Jeongin, and new headphones from Chan, Han, and Felix, since your old ones stopped working not too long ago.

"You're okay?" Minho asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"Better than ever," you beam at him, cupping Minho's neck and meeting his lips in a tender kiss. 

"I'm still not done," he smiles secretly, brushing his lips against yours once more, before pulling away. You watch, curious as he heads towards his closet and takes something out of it. Your eyes grow wide as they settle on the gift in his hands. You can feel your lip quivering as you walk hastily over to him. 

"Is this...?" you ask incredulously and he nods, a happy smile on his face. "Your Caramelo."

"How... When?" you stammer, as happy tears blur your vision, "How did you do it?"

"I have my ways," he smiles assuredly at you. "Do you like it? I'm sorry if I overstepped by bringing it to you," he adds softly, a hint of vulnerability in his words.

"No, Minho, this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe it- I... I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he smiles, his hand rubbing your arm affectionately. "I figured this plushie should be in a loving home, with you. It helped you back then and now you're strong enough to help it in return."

There are overwhelming emotions that we can't quite express with words- like sorrow, sadness, or in your case, happiness. That's why touch was invented, you believe. As you pull Minho for a bone-crushing hug, Caramelo snug between your chests, you hope that he can feel everything you failed to express through words. That your soul will speak to him in a way your mouth couldn’t. 

"When you told me there is a friend of yours, who lived in my town. There was no friend, right?" you mumble into his neck.

"No, I just wanted to know your address," he whispers, arms tightening around your waist.

"Did you meet my mom?"

"Yes. She's the one who gave it to me."

"Did she tell you anything... about me?" you ask cautiously.

Minho remembers snippets of his conversation with your mother- the indifference she showed towards you, as if it wasn't her daughter, her flesh and blood that she discarded away so easily. 

"Nothing of importance. I promise you."

"Thank you," you whisper, voice caught up in your throat, bound by the ropes of your overflowing emotions. "Thank you for healing me."

Sleep didn’t come easily to you that night, and as Minho snored quietly next to you, you untangled your limbs from his, before heading to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. 

You find that the lights are already on and that Chan is working on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his screen.

"Hey," you greet softly, careful not to startle him. 

"Our birthday girl," Chan grins and you chuckle quietly, before settling next to him on the couch. 

"What are you working on?" you question, taking in the different settings displayed on his screen.

"Just a new song," he shrugs sheepishly, "I'm almost done with it." 

"That's nice," you mumble, tucking your knees into your chest. 

"I suppose Minho already gave you your gift," Chan speaks softly and you startle, turning around to look at him. 

"He didn't tell me what it is, don't worry. But I assume he pretended as if it was no big deal, that he got it." 

You nod silently, fearing that speaking would stop Chan from talking. 

"I told him that he should just walk up to your house, present himself, and then ask your mom if he can take some of your stuff for you. But he said it’s too risky, and there is a chance she might say no. So, you know what he did?" Chan chuckles softly, and you feel the breath slowly escape your chest. "He spent weeks researching all the moving companies that work in your town. And then he bought us uniforms that looked like one of theirs. With the name tags and all. We rented a truck and we drove there, so we’d pretend as if we were moving the rest of your belongings. Your mom didn't question it thankfully, and I've never seen Minho as relieved as when he climbed back into the truck."

An overwhelming need to cry threatens to consume you, and you bite your lip harshly to stop it from taking over. Not in front of Chan.

"For him to go these lengths for you, means that he loves you a lot. But also, that he feels really loved by you. So, thank you, for loving Minho. I'm very happy you guys are together now." Chan smiles softly at you, before getting up and ruffling your hair slightly. 

You quickly go back to Minho's room, before bringing his body tightly to yours. And as soon as you touch him, he mumbles your name in his sleep before throwing an arm over your waist.

"Thank you for loving me. I love you so much too," you whisper into his back, as your tears dampen his shirt. You wished that the words would reach him in his dreams, making them sweeter for him.

You didn't make a wish that day, as you blew the candles, foolishly believing that everything you've ever wanted was already around you. But you should've.

Maybe that would've stopped the anguish to come.

✹✹✹

There is a bad feeling nudged into the space between your ribs. You rub a soothing palm across your chest, in the hopes that it will calm your spiking anxiety. But you only feel your heart growing more erratic in your chest, and the sound of it only makes you panic ten times fold.

You’ve just woken up. You can hear the water running in the shower. Minho has stayed over since you both studied late into the night. You listen intently, a small breath of relief escaping your mouth when the water turns off. He’s okay.

You drag a hand tiredly across your face, before shaking your head left and right. You’ll have a good day, you’ll open the blinds and the golden sun will stream through your windows, and you’ll feel okay.

You don’t.

The dread lingers in your being throughout the day, making the simple act of walking weigh heavily on your bones. You try to distract yourself, by focusing on your classes and listening to Mina’s rants about her latest date with Jeongin. But to no prevail. So, you surrender to that feeling, today’s a bad day, but tomorrow doesn’t have to be. You’ll make sure of it.

It’s five pm when you finally walk up the stairs of your apartment. Minho went to grab you both something to eat since you’ll be studying again tonight. You wish he’d come home quickly, so you wouldn’t attach your anxiety to him. As long as you see him, then he’s okay.

You open the door, pausing by the front entrance. Something in you tells you to flee, to turn back, and never set foot inside. You don’t listen to it. If you paid attention to everything your mind tells you then you’d never truly live.

You quickly change out of your clothes, before turning on the TV. You mindlessly scroll through the show suggestions, and settle on one you haven’t seen before. You turn up the volume, making sure that the voices of the characters would drown the ones in your mind.

But then, your phone rings. It vibrates from the coffee table, the name of your aunt illuminating your screen. She calls you from time to time, but why is she doing it today? You don’t want to answer, not when there is a bulge in your throat suffocating you.

You watch numbly as the phone call seizes. You breathe out a shaky exhale. You’ll call her tomorrow.

The phone rings again.

You bite your lip harshly, hands shaking as you bring the device to your ear. You’re overreacting, you tell yourself. Nothing’s wrong. Minho will be home soon.

"What’s going on?" you ask immediately, the question slipping out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt sighs softly, and then her voice floods your being. It sounds hoarse like she’s been crying. "Look, I…" another sigh, and you imagine her fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She always wore dresses. All seasons mingled. With pretty flowers sewed into them and sometimes even-

"Your mother died in a car accident."

Silence. You can't hear anything after those words are uttered. You know that your TV is still playing in the background and that your aunt is still talking on the phone. But it's completely silent. For five seconds. Where the world stills, as if to allow you a brief moment to process what you just heard.

Your mom. Gone.

But then, sounds crash upon you like a relentless wave. The shatter of the characters in the background, the ticking of your clock, the dull buzz of the refrigerator. And your aunt, she's still talking, telling you about the funeral and when it will be held and you can't believe what you are hearing.

It's all too overwhelming, everything surrounding you is too much to bear so you simply hang up.

You put your phone down on the table. And then you turn it off. That's one sound dealt with.

You turn the TV off and dismantle the clock from your wall so it wouldn't tick anymore. You then unplug your refrigerator. Has its buzzing always been this loud? You wonder. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now it’s silent. It's what you crave.

Minho will come home soon. You should make him something to eat. You think to yourself. A fruit salad. It's warm outside and the fruits are refreshing.

So, you grab a knife from your drawer, and then you start peeling an orange. Then an apple. It's rugged, and half the fruit is wasted with the peel. You've never really known how to peel the skin properly. So, you put the knife down. The blade is slightly red, you notice. There is blood oozing from your finger. You cut yourself. But it doesn't hurt, so you leave it be.

Light floods your apartment, a stark contrast to the shadows within you. But you want it to be dark, and silent. You already took care of that last part. So, you pull down all the blinds and turn off the lights one by one. Now it's pitch black. Now it's quiet.

You sit on the floor, running your hand across the tiles. You count them, one, two, three. When is Minho coming home?

The floor is cold underneath you, the sensation heightened since your every other sense is muffled. You can't see, you can't hear, but you can still touch. You wished you couldn't anymore. The smallest sensation overstimulates you.

The front door unlocks, but you don't hear someone coming in. You imagine Minho standing by the door, looking around in the dark. It's okay, he'll find you. He always does.

"Honey?" he calls out and you reply from the living room, "I’m here."

You don't have to yell, it's quiet enough for your voice to be carried around your home with ease.

Minho has his flashlight on, you notice. He's looking for you and he finally spots you on the ground. You move a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you feel something warm smear across your cheek. You forgot about your cut- a reminder of the pain lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to consume you.

"Baby?" His tone is soft and careful, and you can see the worry brewing in his brown eyes. Why was he worried? You're okay. Nothing happened.

"I made you a fruit salad. It's in the kitchen. Can you please turn off the light?"

"Okay." His voice is calm, and you don't mind him talking. You could bear it. He was different after all, to you.

He’s pulled into the abyss with you, as he sits down next to your rigid figure. His hand rests on top of your pinkie, but you recoil from it. Not because you hate it, but his hand is warm and the floor beneath you is cold. That's a contrasting sensation. You don't want that. You just want a stillness, to feel like a straight line. Straight lines are always sure of themselves, of where they're going. You were tired of feeling like a bent one at the hands of the universe.

"What happened, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. What did you do when I left, hm?"

"Nothing much. I was watching this new show, I think you’ll like it. And then my aunt called. She told me my mom died in a car accident. And then I went to the kitchen and I cut up some fruits. But I didn't know how to peel them. Can you believe it?" you giggle, your voice suddenly high-pitched. "I mean who- who doesn’t know how to peel the skin of an apple? Isn't that such a basic skill?" You're laughing now, you don't know what's funny, but you're laughing.

"And I cut my finger, but I didn't feel anything, Minho. I don't- I don't feel anything," you're still giggling, hot tears trailing down your cheeks rapidly. "My mother died and I don't feel anything. Why- why can't I feel anything? Minho, I can't- I can't-" You're hyperventilating, words straining to come out of your mouth. The breath is knocked out of you and white spots cloud your vision, like the stars that dance around Minho’s eyes. They seem kind enough so you don't fight them. You want to welcome them in the hopes that they'd take this unbearable weight off of you.

"Yn, yn, breathe for me, baby. Listen to my voice," Minho calls out and it's as if you're pulled in two opposing directions. He sounds scared, so you try to do as he says. You don’t want him to worry about you.

"You're doing so well, breathe with me, okay? Breathe in... Breathe out... Perfect, let's do it again," he instructs and you try your best to follow suit. You can feel yourself shaking, your hands moving as if they have a mind of their own. You are cold, too cold, and you can't help but wonder if it's how your mother is feeling right now too.

The thought seems to drive you over the edge and you let out a guttural sob. It racks from within you, reverberating from the depths of your splitting soul. It's a pain unlike any you've ever felt. You try to find something to compare it to, a sensation you imagine must hurt the same. But you can't find any. You can't find a metaphor to make the pain more bearable.  

So instead, you let out a heart-wrenching scream, slicing through the silence you tried desperately to maintain. Your throat aches from the strain on your vocal cords but you pay it no mind, not when there is a pain bursting open every seam of yours, undoing every thread you so carefully stitched back into your soul.   

Amidst your pitch-black apartment, you see yourself quivering in the corner, head buried in your hands. And then it’s thirteen years old you sitting there, the one who wished for something so horrible to happen on the birthday she spent alone, yet again. Your wish came true, you want to tell her. You tried to take it back, but it came true.

Minho gathers you in his arms, and you clung to him. You know he's trying to wrap you up the best he can, his arms around your back and his legs pressed on you. He's trying his best to stop you from falling apart. From breaking beyond the point of no return. And you think to yourself that you've passed it. You've passed it and he's clinging helplessly into your remains now.

✹✹✹

The funeral went by in a blur, its details elusive in your memory. At times it felt like a fever dream, a mirage conjured by your mind. And sometimes you tried to believe it, to lull yourself into a comfortable thought. Where you don't talk with your mom and she doesn't know how you are doing, but she's still alive. On the other side of the country. She's still breathing.

But this fleeting comfort is quickly shattered. The thought barely lingers, like a whisper in the wind, never staying long enough for you to finally draw in a full breath. Because the grief clings onto your skin, and you carry it with you everywhere, like a stench that won’t quite leave you. You wonder if other people can smell it on you too.

Minho hasn't left your side, once. He's always next to you. His hands are resting on your back or brushing your cheek tenderly. They are always near. And you hold them tightly. You practically memorized the lines etched on his palm. It's all you stared at during the funeral.

It felt wrong and unjust to be somewhere where everybody knew your mother, except for you. You felt as if you were left out, robbed of happy memories to mourn as well. So, you remained silent, gaze fixed intently on Minho's palm. And he didn't mind; he never does when it comes to you.

He's gentle with you, he's always been, but he's particularly gentle with you these weeks. The countless times he's cared for you blur together- his soapy hands skimming your body, massaging the shampoo into your hair when your limbs felt too heavy to move; the meals he cooked for you, making sure that each bite was cool enough before feeding it to you. How he always told you he was proud of you, at random times throughout your days. ‘What for?’ you wanted to scream, ‘I'm barely alive as it is’. "For breathing," he'd add as if he heard the thoughts swirling in your mind. "For being here. For waking up today." 

He did your laundry and he folded your clothes. Sometimes he even picked your outfits and dressed you in the morning. Leaving pecks all over your face after each worn clothing. You wanted to smile, to tell him how much you loved him. How his love felt like a sun ray peeking through the cell hole of a prisoner. But you couldn't speak. So, you hoped he knew.

He unburdened you of all these mundane tasks, so you'd focus on other ones. Like attending classes and taking notes and writing essays. Because as much as you wished for it, the world did not pause for your sorrow. In the grand tapestry of existence, where did you stand exactly? You were nothing but a mere speck of light. Your emotions, as profound as they were to you, did not hold the power to halt the world's march, to compel universal mourning.

But Minho made your world stop, just like he promised, almost a year and a half ago. When you finally found your voice, he'd listen to you talk, your head on his lap, his fingers weaving through your hair gently.

"I feel like I’m mourning two people. The person I knew and the person she could have been," you told him one night and he hummed, listening intently to you.

"The what-ifs are killing me Minho. It feels like I’m suffocating each time I think of what could have been. She left so suddenly. But she should've stayed. Maybe our relationship would've gotten better."

"Maybe… or maybe not, you can never truly know. And it’s not your job to find the answers to the questions she left behind. Maybe she didn’t even have them herself."

You appreciated how his hand never left yours, as you journeyed through seas of uncharted emotions. The anger- that came with her leaving so abruptly, leaving you behind with a heavy baggage to dissect. The sadness- from losing the woman who will always be part of you. Because we don't kill our hopeful past selves, we simply bury them and they remain just under the surface of our souls, a testament to everything we've been through.

The nostalgia- that creeps in from time to time, conjuring rose-tinted memories in your head. Maybe her voice was softer here. She did ask about your day one time. Wasn't that her sitting on the benches in your musical play? But it wasn't, it was just your brain trying to soften the harshness of losing her.

It is how our minds cope with grief, your therapist says. Minho convinced you to go see one. Because love doesn't mend everything. And he needed you to be okay again, for yourself.

He's always waiting for you after your sessions end. With coffee and a fresh pastry. You didn't eat them at first, because they tasted bland and you'd rather not waste them. But one time you bit into the strawberry muffin and it tasted sweet and citrusy. And you smiled at Minho.

He stared at you in awe that day, and then he kissed you softly, pressing his pillowy lips against yours. His eyes mirrored galaxies, tears tracing constellations down his cheeks. "You look so pretty when you smile," he whispered tenderly and you felt emotion bubbling within you, stuck in your throat. But you didn’t want to cry. So, you only smiled more brightly at his words, and you kept his compliment stored safely within you, right beside every sweet gesture of his since that day.

Minho didn’t have the answers to all your questions. He didn’t always know what to say to make it feel right. But he stayed there, he tried his best, to heal parts of you that you never knew could be bruised.

You tried one day, to go through the day normally. You woke up, opened the blinds, and then you made Minho breakfast. You ate lunch with Mina, making some jokes here and there. And when you saw Chan in the line of the coffee shop, you went up to him to talk.

And then you got home and showered, put on makeup, and waited for Minho to come to you. As soon as he opened the door, you were on him, hands busy unbuttoning his shirt, your lips pressed wildly on top of his. You missed him, missed the way he made you forget as he touched you, everywhere. As he showed you how much he loved you.

"I want you, please," you whispered, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, your hands roaming across his chest. Your tone was begging and Minho could feel the urgency in it, so he nodded, he could never say no to you. He watched as you guided him to the couch, as you straddled his lap. You kissed his neck and he tilted it back to give you more of an opening. His hands were on your thighs, cautious. Your lips on him felt heavenly but he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the pleasure, he had to keep an eye on you.

You were urgent, with the way you sucked the tender skin above his collarbones, how you grinded your hips into his. As if you were on borrowed time and you had to make him reach his high as fast as possible.

"Tell me you’re mine," you muttered, between the kisses you imprinted onto his chest. He could see the lipstick stains you left behind as if you needed to mark him up for everyone to see.

"I'm yours," he says, his hand smoothing the top of your hair. He could sense that something was wrong now, because your eyes were glazed over, and your kisses were getting sloppy, as if your mind was somewhere else. So, he grabs your hips to pause you. "I'm yours, angel. You hear me?"

"Tell me you won’t leave, tell me you’re staying," you take his hands away from your sides, clasping them in a tight hold. You capture his lips in a desperate kiss, and Minho can feel the tears streaming down your face. "Tell me you’ll stay, please, I can’t- can’t lose you too."

"Hey, hey, love. It’s okay, calm down," Minho easily frees his hand from your grasp, bringing you closer to his chest. It’s all it takes for you to start sobbing. "Who said anything about losing me? I’m still here, I won’t ever leave you," he shushes, his voice sounding like honey to your ears. It manages to muffle the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

"I'm so so tired Minho, so tired," you sob, burying your head in his chest. You felt as if there was pain igniting the end of each of your nerves. You couldn't run away from it because the pain became you. "I try to be strong, but I can't. It hurts to wake up and- and to try to go on as if nothing happened. The thoughts in my head don't ever stop and I can't- I can't do this anymore. Please make it stop. Make it stop hurting," you press your palm onto your chest, a useless attempt to soothe the burn within.

 Why did it feel as if in your attempts to put out the fire raging within you, you only ended up fueling it even more?

"I would- I would if I could but I can't do that, I wish I could-" his tone is desperate, raw pain dripping from it.

"What if I'm not strong enough to do it myself?" you cut him off, finally asking the question that's been haunting you. "What if I can't fill this hole within me and it keeps on growing until it swallows me whole?"

Minho tightens his hold on you, rocking you gently in place, trying to lull your heart to sleep, so it'd stop hurting, even for a moment, even for a second. You know it's selfish to expect him to have all the answers, but he's all you have. He's the only voice you can bear listening to.

"I can't promise you that you'll ever fill the void left by her absence. It will keep on bleeding and throbbing, begging for a temporary patch-up. But one day it'll stop, it can't bleed forever. And around that hole flowers will bloom, like a sanctuary, watered by your overflowing love. Because it is your love that's hurting you, not your anger. Do not kill your heart to stop feeling, please. It will do that on its own, it won't hurt more than it can bear."

"It will take time. And if you run out of your time, I'll give you mine too. You aren't alone in this, we are a binary star, right?" he smiles softly and you nod slightly against his chest. "I read that to the invisible eye, they look like a singular star. I hope that to the universe we'd look like one person too, so they'd pass some of your pain to me."

✹✹✹

It’s been a few months since your mother died. You didn’t like the term passing away, because it entails that it was gentle, in passing, as if you were expecting it. But her death was sudden and it made your entire world flip upside down.

"Would you like to talk to her?" Minho suggested one night, his knuckles brushing against your cheek softly.

"Will you come with me?" you ask quietly.

"Of course. If you want me to, that is."

"I can try."

Minho drove you to the graveyard the following weekend. It felt weird to see her name etched on the grave, a reminder that this was all real and not a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm not a daughter anymore." You speak after a while, tone coated in sadness, and acceptance. "But I think I’ve never truly been one, since you were never a mother to me."

"Is it weird, that I miss you? I don't even know what I miss exactly since you were never there. But I miss you. I miss having a mother. And I'm sorry, that you were so angry at the world you couldn't find it in you to love me." You pause, blindly reaching out to hold Minho's hand. He grabs it instantly. "But I won't carry your anger anymore. I don't want to be mad at you, for leaving so suddenly. I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And I hope that you are too, wherever you are now."

You turn around, a small smile gracing your lips, and Minho wastes no time in wrapping you in his arms, your cheek resting against his shoulder. He's proud of you, the emotion shines clear as day in his eyes. 

"I wanna take you somewhere," he tells you and you nod, wrapping your arm securely around his waist.

The drive is short and you recognize the place fairly easily. It's the hill you told him about a long time ago, the one that held your happiest memory with your mother.

You both sit on the bench, your head finding solace on his shoulder. The view unfolding in front of you is still as breathtaking, and with each passing moment, the tightness in your chest seems to ease. Memories of your mother and this serene spot intertwine like delicate vines, bringing you a bittersweet sense of comfort. Because mourning someone isn't straightforward, not when humans are this complex, never strictly good or bad.

"Cold?" Minho asks and you shake your head no. "You're a human heater."

"Only near you," he smirks and you giggle slightly.

"I remember your hands used to be so cold."

"So, I could find an excuse to hold yours."

"Are you flirting with me?" you chuckle and he nods, a proud smile on his face. "Is it working?"

"I haven't run away yet, so I suppose it is." There is a newfound lightness in your voice, one you’ve been achingly missing for the past months.

"Come here," he taps his lap with his hands and you promptly lay your head on it.

"Look at the sky," he instructs and you do as he says, squinting your eyes. "What am I supposed to see?" you giggle, but then you feel it, the faintest snowflake falling on your nose tip.

"Go away, I don't want to watch the first snow with you," you tilt your head towards Minho, who's watching you, a soft smile on his face.

You giggle at the distant memory, when you both left Limbo, two years ago. The first time Minho rewrote your memories.

"As if I could ever love you, that'd just be signing a death warrant," you repeat your words from that night, a knowing smile on your face.

"How's that death warrant going?"

"Horrible, so so horrible," you say as you intertwine his hand with yours, squeezing it lightly.

"Mm. I suppose we can't be the exception to the superstition."

"How unfortunate," you smile as he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, before looking back at the sky again.

He looks perfect from your view. You can clearly see the mole on his nose, the pucker of his rosy lips, and his long eyelashes framing his eyes. You are overcome by a feeling of love for the man beside you, and you stand up from your place to pull him in for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he smiles once you lean away, his fingers gently grazing your lips.

"Thank you, for today and for every day since I've met you."

"Of course, my love. You took a big step today, what color are you feeling right now?"

"Whatever color loving you is."

✹✹✹

Hills covered in verdant hues, rows of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, stretching before your eyes. The birds are chirping somewhere near, intermingling with the faint melody of the wind brushing against your skin.

"Here," Minho comes from behind, placing his knit jacket on top of your shoulders. Its warmth seeps through you, and you lean your back against his chest, melting into his embrace. His arms encircle your chest, resting comfortably on top of your heart as if guarding it from harm.

You feel your breathing slow down as you both look out the window. You are somewhere far from the city and its buzzing lights, a small white cottage surrounded by nature, where only you and Minho exist.

Minho nuzzles his chin on your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss under your ear. A light giggle escapes your mouth, as goosebumps rise upon your skin. Your body still reacts as sweetly to Minho, proofs of his love imprinted all over you. His touch is familiar to you but still as soothing, never losing its effect on you. You believe it never will, even when you're both withering down; his touch will still be the only thing making you bloom.

"This is nice," he whispers, sighing softly and you nod against him, raising your hand to settle on top of his. His fingers instinctively find your wedding ring, playing with it as they've done for the past two years.

"It's always nice with you," you say and he smiles softly, squeezing your hand lightly. You remember how it felt when he held it for the first time. How he hasn't let go since. It was only ever his to hold.

"We did well, don't you think? For our first time being alive."

His words make a gentle warmth stir within you. It is your first life, and you're lucky enough to spend it with him.

"We did," you turn around, to find him already looking down at your figure, a fond smile on his face. "To think we probably wouldn't be together if it wasn't for our law classes."

"No," he shakes his head, hands gently cupping your cheeks. "I would've found you. On a random evening when you'd stumble onto Limbo. In the supermarket where you'd buy your cherry shampoo. In the park you used to play in as a kid. I would've found you."

You've once read that when humans are about to pass away, a film of their happiest memories plays in front of their eyes. You know that many years down the road when you're on the brink of going away, you'll remember this moment clearly in your head. You'll remember the cicadas chirping far away, and the zesty smell of the lemon muffins you made earlier today. You'll remember the cold breeze ruffling your hair, and Minho’s warm hands on you. And you'll sigh contently, from having lived a life filled with love.

"My soul is dipped in yours. It will always find you too."

[bbyseok]

thinking about showering dazai with a ton of compliments, and he becomes soo flustered he doesn’t know how to react. <3

it’s a normal day in the office of the armed detective agency, and as per usual, the infamous dazai osamu is at his desk—doing anything but his actual paperwork.

his time consists of doodling scribbles on the neatly stacked papers or taking said papers to fold them into intricate little airplanes… to throw at you, of course.

but after growing bored of his past antics after a while, he resorts to rolling his pen on the desk with his slender fingers, his posture slumped over in a way that definitely doesn’t match proper office etiquette.

unlike your boyfriend, you’ve been dutifully attending to your work for the day, but your break is nearly about to start... and dazai has been quiet for some time, so you resort to staring at him.

maybe it’s the way the sunlight streams into the office space in dainty rays to highlight his chocolate irises. or perhaps it’s the adorable subtle pout curling on his lips in his current state of inactivity.

dazai looks pretty.

so what better way to spend your break time than to tell him that?

“‘samu.”

he perks up, bangs falling over his eyes messily, “hm?”

a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “you’re very pretty.”

his pen stops rolling. for a moment, he’s quiet, but then that familiar characteristic smirk comes forth as he dramatically announces, “oh? what’s this? sudden affection from my partner?”

you lean back in your chair, eyes never straying away from him as you reply, “only saying the truth.”

oh—oh, there it is. the dazai osamu… blushing. pink dusts over his face as he tries to brush off your words, a chuckle falling from his throat. “ahaha, you flatter me, darling.”

“someone needs to, i guess,” you go on, trying to hide the growing smirk on your lips, “y’know.. you cause a lotta distractions at work but honestly, you can consider your handsomeness a distraction by itself.”

however cheesy your words are, they’re enough for dazai to avert his eyes elsewhere, turning to hide his gradual blush with the collar of his trenchcoat. you might be feeding his ego, but it seems that he’s too flustered to retaliate.

“someone is a feeling a little bold today,” he huffs out, abandoning his pen to cross his arms in faux petulance, “praise this early in the day? my my, what are you up to..?”

you rise from your desk to saunter over, coming to stand in front of his with a cheeky grin. “i can’t compliment by lovely boyfriend?”

he meets your gaze, his embarrassed state still obvious. dazai stares up at you inquisitively, “hmm.. do you want something from me?” as if he’s trying to deduce a reasoning for your sudden flattery.

you laugh at that. “maybeeee.” you move to lean down and forward, becoming eye-level with the detective, and he blinks at you with his familiar, almost puppy-like gaze.

dazai’s wide eyes don’t even blink as he leans forward, awaiting for the savory feeling of your lips brushing against his in the kiss he thinks you’re asking for...

only for you to pull away with a snicker.

“i want you to finish a good chunk of your paperwork while i’m out on break,” you declare, leaning back and straightening your posture to turn on heel as you stroll away from his desk.

flustered splutters and whines come from osamu then, out of confusion and protest, frantic and scrambled movements as he tries to follow you.

“darling, w-wait! come back here!! where’s my kiss?!”

[write4cench]

distractions.

summary: central cee and you decided to collaborate together on a track together, but when things get a little too heated your minds drive… elsewhere

pairings: single!central cee x reader

genre: smut.. just smut

word count: 2.6k+ (unedited)

a/n: this is my first smut lmao can't believe i've done this, i mean i couldn’t help it central cee too fine. i’m not the best at it though.. 😁😁🙏🏾

central cee and you both spend your time in his private studio, located in his apartment. it's decently sized but not too spacious, regardless it gets the job done and the both of you manage to produce and record your lines for the track.

you've both wanted to work with one another on a song together and so have your fans, they've been awaiting this for so long that your management team decided it was the best decision.

you stand on inside of the booth looking down at the lyrics sheet that lies in front of you, humming the rhythm before the track plays within your headphones and you begin to sing along over your back vocals.

cench sits in front of you layed back in one of the wheely chairs that sit behind the booth, he watches you sing nodding his head to the rhythm of the song but also impressed by your vocal abilities.

it's the two of you alone in the studio which is quiet unusual considering the fact that during the last studio sessions the studio was filled with friends of central cee who decided to show up.

but instead this time, it's only the two of you. but it feels far from awkward it feels comforting and you both focus on getting the work done.

the song's chorus comes to and end and he stops the instrumental from playing again, upon finishing you glance at him and put a thumbs up asking him if you did good enough of a job, he nods and you do a small celebration that makes him laugh.

he begins to speak but it's too muffled due to the soundproof booth so you take your headphones off and open the door slightly to hear him better, "you did great, we don't even have to run it over again." he admits and you smile.

"you sure, i feel like some of it was a little off." you tell him but he shakes his head in refusal so you decided to leave it since it is his song after all.

"can i hear it over?" you ask him and he nods playing it over again, you put the headphones back onto your head and listen to it carefully.

the song starts off with central cee's wonderful rap that as usual never miss, the song then slips into the chorus that you sing and the beat drop before it sounds perfect.

the booth of you glance at one another in satisfaction at the song so far, sharing a smile as it continues before stopping at the progress so far.

"i think it's great so far." you say with a sigh as you sit behind the booth on one of the wheely chair turning yourself side to side.

"it's more than great." he mumbles.

the room is quiet and you decide to take out your phone, you glance at the time to see it read 10:43pm, it's getting later and you consider leaving within the next 20 minutes.

he finds an interest in the piano in front of the two of you, playing random notes that don't even sound too great together, you watch him finding the sight hilarious he notices so and shrugs embarrassed.

"i'm not too much a piano player," he sighs shaking his head trying to save himself, "i took lessons for a week and gave up on it." he clarifies and you nod your head numerously in a joking manner.

"can you even play any instrument?" you ask him genuinely and he shakes his head, your mouth drops in disbelief.

"maybe it's something i should get into, i don't play anything." he admits before smiling sheepishly.

"i'll show you something."

your hands find a placement onto the keyboard, testing out the position by pressing down on the notes to get the right keys. you begin to play something small and watch how his face turns into full surprise.

you smile as you continue before you get to distracted by him watching you and pause, "i can't focus with you watching me like that." you tell him annoyed and he laughs.

"forget i'm even here." he sighs closing his eyes and leaning back into your seat; you watch him do so frowning.

"how am i supposed to forget your there." you tell him but he doesn't respond so you exhale deeply before continuing to play the piano.

you'd admit, it's been a while since you've last played the piano but you've impressed yourself by still remembering the notes to the piece you play every single time.

you continue to play the piano forgetting he's even there until you come to an end, when you turn to look at him he's still laid back into his seat with his eyes closed, his hood lying over his head.

is he sleeping?

you hit him on the side of his arm and he winces before sitting upright, his hand rushing to soothe where he was attacked, "that fucking hurt." he groans and you smile to yourself.

"were you sleeping whilst i was playing?" you question him and he sighs still whining over the punch you just gave him.

"you didn't need to punch me like that," he starts watching how you only smile, "i wasn't sleeping, i was just resting my eyes innit."

you hum in response and watch how he sits upright in his seat rolling the chair over to stand beside you, he glances over the keys on the piano before speaking. "teach me something." he says.

"what am i supposed to teach you." you question him, he shrugs his shoulders with a yawn not helping you one bit.

"i dunno, maybe a chord or some shit." he utters and you bite your lip in thought of watch chord to do. he watches as your hand runs along the keyboard thinking of a position before it plays a chord.

he watches you carefully and when the pleasing sound rings he glances at you only to find you looking at him already, "did you see that?" you ask him and he shakes his head.

you roll your eyes in response, "what, am i supposed to get it on the first try?" he questions you confused only to see you nod.

you watch as his tattooed hand reaches over attempting to do the same hand movement that you did, but it doesn't succeed to make the correct sound.

"no, your supposed to do it like this." you mumble, your hand reaching over to correct his. you move his hand one down along and place it on top of his getting him to push it down as it sounds the correct chord.

"what chord was that?" he asks you curiously, you glance to look at him and it's only then you both notice how close you are to one another.

"c." you say. upon hearing your response he laughs to himself and you watch him confused, after seeing your confused face he stops laughing.

"it wasn't a c, for central cee." you mumble.

"yeah, definitely."

"you're not that special." you joke to him as you move your hand away from his and he nods gazing at you, it's only when you look up that your eyes meet his.

"mhm."

silence. you don't know what to say to him and you won't lie the way that his voice sounded when he hummed did something to you. you feel your cheeks begin to redden and you mentally curse at yourself.

luckily, the room is tinted dark blue so it's impossible for him to notice a thing; or it could just really be due to your melanated skin.

it's obvious that he notices how he's caught you out of words as a smirk grows upon his face, you watch his lips do so until he brings you out of your thoughts. "i got you quiet, i won." he mumbles.

you remain quiet not saying anything until the space between the two of you becomes smaller, before you could think of anything your lips press against his.

you can feel his smirk widen against your lips wider before he kisses you back, deeper but not too desperate. you don't even notice the fact you've just kissed central cee, your mind is just completely filled with.. desire.

the kiss runs long and you feel his arms wrap around your lower waist bringing you close to him, but the inconvenience of the chairs makes you get up from your chair and sit up on his lap instead.

it's then that everything hits you and you pull apart from his lips, your chest heaves numerously in sync with his and you eyes glance all over his face as you realise what's happening.

his gaze reads something completely different, his once playful eyes have turned dark and hazy showcasing lust instead it makes you ache for more and the position of you siting up on him creates even more need within your lower region.

"fuck." he says and before you know it, he's kissing you again. the kiss is more desperate and you fall into it, he takes the dominance but you try to keep a hold of everything by wrapping your arms around his neck.

you feel him grow harder and harder beneath you just how you grow desperate and desperate, you need him badly just as bad as you need him. you'd never ever think that tonight would turn out the way it did.

your hips subconsciously begin to move slowly against his but he grabs a hold of you stopping you, his lips part away from you and you frown at him, he sees this and smiles.

he kisses your neck and you lean your head back giving him even more space, you don't care that you'll probably end up with hickies all over your neck when you feel him slightly bite you, all you need is him.

"i need you so bad." he mumbles against your neck before pecking your neck all the way up to the side of your face, you look at one another before it hits and you share a smile.

before you know it your up from his lap and your hands occupy themselves into pulling his sweats down, when you see the sight of his harden self through his pants you glance back up at him only to see him covering his face with his hand.

you pull down his boxers and he springs free his member hitting you against your nose catching you aback, you stare at him for a moment but a moment too long and he peers down at you.

"don't just stare at it." he groans and you smile, you lick the tip of his cock and the pleasing sensation sends a moan to leave his lips. you tease him, your tounge running around the tip where he's most sensitive and he moans.

he grows to desperate and before you know it his hand comes up to your head, he finds a comfort in your hair before he pushes your head down his shaft slowly.

you breathe through your nose as you take in his size before growing used to it and beginning to pump your head slowly down his shaft continuously causing him to groan quietly.

he uses your head to help him reach his high, pumping you slowly down him but also muttering how good you are occasionally. you feel your eyes begin to water slightly but luckily you don't have to much of a gag reflex.

"fuck, you're so good." he groans as he watches you take him, his hand helping to move your hair away from your face, he closes his eyes tightly as he approaches his orgasm.

his moans become shorter and more intense and it's then you can tell that he's about to release any minute. perfect. you pull away from him and he looks down at you confused.

you watch as he glares at you annoyed, "what the fuck was that for?" he asks you but you don't say anything rubbing your mouth clean with the back of your hand.

his eyes don't leave you once, reading nothing but pissed at the interruption of his orgasm, he watches you as you take off your trousers and pants; his cock twitching ever so slightly as it pleads for your attention.

"you think i'd let you cum first?" you ask him and he furrows his brows in complete denial.

you approach him as you kick away your lower clothes that pool around your feet, glaring at him "fuck me then." you tell him, he watches you with his mouth agape never expecting to see you turn into a completely different person.

you lean against the producing equipment waiting for him expectantly, but when you feel his presence behind you and his hands hold your ass you let out a moan.

he slaps your ass, making you gasp at the sudden pain before he rubs your cheek to soothe it. he pulls out a condom from the inside of his pocket and you turn around to glance at him at the sound of it opening.

"you had that on you all along?" you ask him and he grins taking it out before pulling it over his cock.

"knew i'd need it." and with that he pushes himself into you slowly without warning making your mouth agape.

he waits for a moment until he's all the way in you before he starts to move, thrust in and out of you each time causing you to moan.

your bodies are in sync as he fucks you getting turned on by the sight of you bent before him as he fucks you senseless. he gradually becomes more faster and his thrusts become stronger.

"shit." you moan although your words sound all messed up due to the rocking back and forth you experience from his thrusts.

your hands hold onto the bumpy toggles in front of you trying to find something to hold onto as you take each thrust that runs through you. you're floating in ecstasy and it all feels too good.

he moans many things under his breath that you can't pick up on too busy by being engulfed in the intense pleasure you experience as you gradually approach your high.

you feel his hand reach over underneath you, rubbing your sensitive clit whilst he takes you; the feeling of him inside you, but his hand rubbing on your sensitive bud makes it all eventually unbareable.

your moans become louder and more desperate as you feel your high approaching; once again his hand slaps your ass earning another loud gasp from you.

your hair is held up my his hand and it's obvious your makeup is probably fucked up by now, but at this point that doesn't even matter to you anymore. everything just feels too good.

you reach your orgasm and pant vigorously, he notices this and pulls out of you rubbing himself with his hand as he releases himself inside of his condom.

you rest your head on the equipment in front of you as you both catch your breath, it's only then that you feel your legs become to grow all achy and weak.

"shit, my legs." you laugh to yourself as you wobble; he notices this and laughs tying the condom and obviously throwing it into the bin.

"good luck." he jokes and you roll your eyes.

"i need to shower." you complain feeling all sticky as usual after sex, he hums in agreement.

"i'll shower with you." he smiles.

you attempt to push him away but due to your growing weak legs you fail, instead complaining about how sore they are. seems like central cee has won in keeping you quiet.

"so are we gonna work on the track again?"

"probably not for now."

[brainddeadd]

Request for Jack. He’s asked about you during an after game interview…maybe dating rumors?

The arena was buzzing with excitement after the New Jersey Devils' recent win, the sounds of cheering fans echoing through the halls. Jack Hughes walked off the ice, adrenaline still pumping through his veins from the game. His teammates were patting him on the back, but his thoughts were elsewhere—mainly on you.

As he entered the interview room, cameras flashed, and reporters clamored for his attention. Jack took a seat, a confident grin on his face as he adjusted his jersey. The first few questions were typical: game highlights, strategies, and what it felt like to score that crucial goal. But then, one reporter leaned in, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

“Jack, there have been some rumors swirling about you and a certain someone,” they said, glancing at their notes. “Can you tell us about your relationship with [Y/N]?”

The room quieted, all eyes on him, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat. You had been spending a lot of time together lately, but he hadn’t expected this question to come up so soon.

“Uh, well,” he started, a playful smirk creeping onto his lips. “You know how it is. People like to talk, especially when you’re winning.”

A chuckle rippled through the gathered reporters, and he leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “But yeah, [Y/N] is amazing. We hang out a lot. She’s really supportive of me, and I appreciate that.”

The reporter pressed further, clearly enjoying the moment. “So are we to take that as confirmation that you two are dating?”

Jack glanced around, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, but he didn’t mind. He loved the thought of you being recognized, even if it was just in rumors. “Let’s just say she’s someone special to me,” he replied, a smile breaking through. “But I’ll leave the details to her.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Jack leaned into it, his confidence soaring. “I’m just trying to focus on the game, you know? But if you want to know more, maybe you should ask her!”

With that, the questions shifted back to hockey, but Jack could still feel the buzz of speculation in the air. As the interview wrapped up, he walked out with a satisfied grin, his thoughts drifting to you and how you would react to all the chatter.

Later that night, after the excitement of the game faded, he sent you a quick text:

“Just so you know, I might have confirmed our relationship status in a post-game interview. What do you think?”

He grinned at the thought of your reaction, eagerly awaiting your response as he imagined the playful banter that was sure to follow.

[bunnii-143]

kinktober day two

Stalker!Vampire!Hyunjin x Oblivious!Fem!Reader!

Warnings? Blood play, stalking/obsession, prep with abnormal object, cream pie, unprotected sex, kinda forced..? Mild body worship? Spit. Both reader and hyunjin are kinda twisted.

Every day…Every hour… Every minute…he was watching. A predator stalking their prey. Every step…Every breath..he was there. From across the cafe, to right outside the bedroom window..You were his. You didn’t know it. But you were his. 

Look at you…blissfully sleeping, unaware of the impending danger literal feet away from you. Brave, hed say. leaving the window open. You’re basically inviting him in! You are. 

He creeps in through the window, and you watch from your peripheral vision. Your stalker. A tall, pale (dare you say pastey) man. You watch him rummage through your drawers, then through boxes, and finally your dirty clothes hamper. That’s when you finally shoot up. he could hear it, but he could feel you staring. He heard your heart racing. His pearly white teeth curl into a twisted smile as he turns to you, and finally a sight to see. His model perfect face. He’s stunning. A smooth pale face, thin pink lips, jet black hair.. but his eyes..deep red. His teeth..long and pointed. 

He’s no human. 

“Ah..caught red handed.” To say his voice is perfect would be an understatement. It’s deep, rich and smooth. Like fine wine. ‘Dear god. Stop simping over a stalker vampire!’ You quickly scurry around in your bed. 

Reaching to dig in your nightstand and pull out a wooden cross. You’re not religious or anything. Your mom deemed it a ‘necessity’. Thank god. You hold it up to him, like you’re casting the devil away. Well..

“Seriously? That’s pathetic.” He chuckles, taking a few steps closer. 

And you do the only sensible thing. Throw it at him, you’re not sure what you were expecting, maybe for it to melt him? Burn him? Certainly not for him to catch it.. his sly smirk disappearing

“Really, princess?” He says Flatly and sits on the edge of your bed “what were you expecting? This isn’t a fairytale-“ reaching over and wrapping his long, boney hands around your ankles and yanks you over to him and his smirk returns. 

“It’s your worst nightmare..”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a sickly amount of wetness pool in your underwear. A twisted part of you feels oh so turned on it should be considered concerning. And he can smell it too. He lifts a leg to rest on his shoulder pressing tender kisses upon your leg, from your knee to your inner thigh..softly nipping at the plush flesh there…his fangs causing a delicious sting that you can’t help but to whine

He groans.”shit princess…you have now clue how long I’ve been awaiting this moment. All soaked and pretty for me..making those beautiful sounds” he murmurs against your panties.. licking a fat stipe up then and he can’t fight back a guttural groan at the taste. 

  It’s almost like the final strands of his sanity snaps and he sits back up, hooking a finger inside the piece of fabric and yanking it down as fast and as hard as he could. Throwing it elsewhere…and when he turns to do such..he’s sees it. The wooden cross. And a beautiful twisted idea crosses his mind. He (being the gentlemen he is) spitting on the smooth polished wood of the cross and thrusts it into you. You clench around the foreign object and whine at the coldness. 

He tuts softly “oh baby, does that bug you?” You nod as he pulls it out only to ram it back in “too bad. I didn’t want you to throw it at me either. Take it like a good girl, and maybe I’ll let you cum on my cock, yeah?” He says, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust of the cross.  The stretch burns, but after a while it feels mind blowing. You moans get louder as your approach your orgasm…he can almost predict it..your whines sound heavenly to him, but as you feel the heat in your stomach again, as you feel you on the brink of your orgasm. 

He stops. He pulls the cross out with the biggest shit-eating grin. Ever. “Oh baby..did you want to cum..?” He asks condescendingly..you nod and pout..he laughs again.. throwing the cross elsewhere before undoing his belt and pull his pants and boxers down to free his angry cock from its restraints, it’d lewd ‘thwack’ is heard from it hitting his stomach.    

Holy fuck- He’s massive. Is it  a vampire thing or genetics..? He smiles slowly pushing his angry red tip In,  the pre cum acting as lube..inch by inch, he watches your face contort in pain..the pleasure..then pain again.. but you both moan as he bottoms out..

“My fuck beautiful, can ya feel me in your stomach.” He asks in a low,  hoarse voice and he pushes on your lower stomach and he slowly drags out only to slam back in. Going at an ungodly pace. His hand slides off your stomach and it goes to hold the sheet right above your head the other pins your wrist down, kissing your neck as he pounds into you. Your moans and cry could make him cum alone. 

“Fuck your so tight and warm..made me for me I just know it.” He growls out before biting down on your neck his fangs piercing your skin, your delicious blood filling his senses. You gasp and cry out…both from pleasure and pain.. your Hands reach to grip his biceps as he indulges in your blood. He slows his thrust down to a pace so you can think.

“My darling you’re divine.” .he moans in a breathy tone, his hand that was once on your wrist moves to press on the bleeding wound and you whine again..he drags his fingers down and across your chest, leaving a trail of blood behind it, only removing his fingers to retrieve the last of the blood from the wound only to push those two fingers into your mouth. Demanding you to suck..which you oblige. As his thrusts pick up again and he removed his fingers from your mouth and pins down your wrist again.. pounding into you fast and hard.

Going back to your chest and drags his tongue across the trail of blood he made previously, as he abuses your sore and achy cunt…he give another breathy whine “fu-fuck princess…I’m gonna cum—“ and as if clockwork you clench around him and tense up, your eyes rolling back and your back arches as you squirt around his cock. He follows shortly after, painting your walls with his seed only to fuck it in further…before he collapses onto top of you..you’re both panting and sweaty.

He only lays for a few moments..before kissing your forehead and getting up, getting his clothes, telling you one more thing 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll be back soon” he smiles, before leaving out the window he entered…

A/N: I’m so sorry if this is shitty. I’m trying to explore new genres, and my moot helped with a list with more out of my range styles! So here’s one! Anywho! Lemme know who you wanna see next!

[holylulusworld]

Every breath you take (18)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: a man out of time, secret admirer trope, “crazy” reader, fluff, mentions of masturbation with a plushie, jealous Bucky

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every breath you take (17)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

Bucky is fuming. Not only did you break his rules to not touch yourself; no, you did it in front of one of the hidden cameras, smiling into the camera while riding one of your plushies. A big bear you named Bucky Bear.

“Bucky bear makes me feel so good,” you whimper on the footage as you rub yourself against the plushie. “Always so good. If only the real Bucky was here to watch us doing naughty things.”

“DOLL!” Bucky calls for you, but you remain in the bedroom. You giggle because he calls you a naughty doll. “I told you not to touch yourself!”

“You told me many things! As long as you treat me like a dangerous criminal you must lock away, I’ll ride fluffy Bucky Bear, not you.”

Bucky laughs. He believed you’re a shy and sweet girl, when in reality you’re a naughty devil in disguise. Bucky shakes his head when your moans on the footage get louder.

“She’s a naughty girl, Alpine,” he says to himself. His cat is occupied elsewhere. The white furball is currently curled in your side to get some cuddles. Bucky looks around the room, huffing, as his cat is nowhere to be seen. “Alpine, punk. Don’t get all cozy with her. She deserves punishment.”

“So do you,” you reply, and snuggle into the pillow. “Alpine is such a good companion. At least they didn’t leave me all alone, with only cat food and water.”

Bucky sighs deeply. He should be in charge and correct your behavior, but he doesn’t have it in him to punish you for breaking his rules. You’re not wrong.

Bucky doesn’t trust you yet, afraid you’ll leave him. Sooner than later, everyone left him. Even his best friend. Steve Rogers. He promised Bucky till the end of the line but left to live his life with some girl he met during the war.

Sometimes Bucky believes Steve left because he realized his old friend was long gone. Maybe Steve knew that his friend was broken beyond repair and ran for the hills.

He shakes his head. No. Steve deserved his happy ending. Even if that means leaving his best friend behind, this world has a new Captain America now.

It’s time for Bucky to find his own life and happy ending. He stops the footage and decides to fix what he messed up.

“Doll, I’m sorry,” he kicks off his shoes and takes off his pants to join you on the bed. He snuggles close to you and runs his hand over your head. “I know you came with me willingly. I’m just so scared that you’ll leave me too.”

“No,” you hastily reply, and you move closer to hide your face in Bucky’s chest. He wraps his arms around you to hold you tightly. “I gave up my whole life to be with you, Bucky. I left my job, home, and freedom behind to come here. I didn’t know what awaited me when I got with you, but I knew, I’ll be safe.”

“I’ll always keep you safe, Y/N,” Bucky murmurs. He nuzzles your hair and sighs as you relax in his embrace. “I thought about what you said too. You’re right. I can’t keep you here like a caged bird.”

“We must be careful,” you murmur and kiss his chest. “My colleague reported me missing. If anyone sees me... they could call the cops. I don’t want them to take me away.”

“You’re right again.” Bucky nods. “What should we do now? I didn’t think so far. I only wanted to grab you and bring you here.”

You giggle. “Bucky, you’re an awful kidnapper.”

“I did a great job,” he grumbles. “You’re here, with me. That’s all that matters to me, Y/N. Consequences be damned.”

“What if I email my former boss, telling them I quit? Maybe I can pretend that I’m in Paris or having a sunbath on an exotic island. What do you think?”

“Photoshop,” Bucky hums. “A great invention if you need to fake being elsewhere. We can create some photos and send them to your colleague or boss. You just upped and left to have an extended vacation.”

“That sounds good to me,” you whisper his name while running your hand over his chest. “I’ll send an email, telling my boss I quit. At the same time, I’ll post fake pictures of my extended vacation on social media.”

“Do you think this will work out? I mean, maybe you should stay hidden.” Bucky wonders if it’s a good idea to post fake pictures on social media. He spent so many years hidden in the shadows that stepping into the light seems to be dangerous to the former assassin.

You snuggle into his chest, ignoring his questions. “I don’t know. Let’s get some sleep for now. We can think about a plan tomorrow. Only if you don’t lock the kitchen cabinets again.”

“I unlocked them, doll,” Bucky assures you once again. “This will never happen. This is your home now, not a prison. I want you to feel welcome and happy.”

“With you around, I’m happy,” you whisper his name and close your eyes. “All I wanted since I first saw you was to be with you.”

Part 19

Tags in reblog.

[tkaulitzlvr]

Can you maybe write 2010 toms reaction and hc's for the reader being pregnant?

UNEXPECTED - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you have to tell tom some unexpected news, and his reaction isn’t what you had hoped for.

content: angst

a/n: thank you so much for the request, i am so bad at head canons so i just did a fic, i hope that’s okay!!

my hands shakily clutched at the test, tears rolling down my flushed cheeks as i hoped that somehow, my eyes were deceiving me. positive, the test reads, the eight letters staring back at me, reminding me over and over that they are very real, and i can’t back out of this.

tom and i were always careful, using protection every time we had sex to stop things like this from happening. we were young and foolish, as every 21 year old is, not ready to welcome a child of our own into the world, the thought of it scaring me so much, never thinking that it would become a reality so soon. it wasn’t that we didn’t ever want kids, but tom was constantly on tour, away from home for weeks and though i always went with him, it just wouldn’t be right to take a child with us. we had always discussed starting a family, both of us coming to the mutual conclusion that now just wasn’t the right time.

which is what terrified me even more, tom’s reaction worrying me as i just couldn’t guess what it would be. he was currently at the studio with the band, and he would be home any minute now, evening dawning over us as he had no idea of the news i was about to bring to him.

i sat on the couch, the test stuffed into the back pocket of my jeans, my eyes fixed on whatever was on the tv, but my mind was elsewhere, waiting for the door to open and tom to walk through it, praying that he wouldn’t freak out. there was no time left to just hope, the door handle turning as tom steps through, baggy jacket clad to his figure, reminding me just how cold it is outside. he takes his shoes off, announcing a quick “i’m home my love”, before entering the living room, a smile appearing on his face once he sees me.

he walks towards the sofa, sitting down beside me and embracing me in a hug. my body begins to shake as i can no longer hold back the tears, tom noticing and quickly pulling away, studying my face and the sorrow etched upon it.

“baby, what’s wrong?” he replies, concerned, holding my face and kissing my forehead, attempting to wipe the tears as he awaits my response.

“you promise you won’t get mad?” i manage to let out between sobs, my words almost inaudible, yet he clearly understands what i say, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“what? why would i be mad? you can tell me anything, you know that.” he says, much more composed than i am, his heart aching to see me in this state. “now what’s wrong? please, talk to me schatz.”

my eyes meet his for the first time, bloodshot and glassy, whilst his hurriedly scan my face, the worry only increasing in his own as every second passes that i don’t confess. i can’t bring myself to say the two words “i’m pregnant”, because the second i do, it will truly become real, my mind in some twisted sort of denial, telling myself that if i don’t admit it, it will somehow go away. so, instead of saying what is wrong, i decide to show him, reaching hesitantly into my back pocket and placing the pregnancy test in his hands.

he looks downwards, finally seeing the reason why i am so upset. his body tenses up, his mouth hanging open in shock the only thing he is able to do. i cant tell if he is happy, excited, or completely angry, all i know is that he cannot believe his eyes. the tears continue to spill down my cheeks, praying that he will reassure me that everything will be okay, but the twisting feeling in my stomach provides me with the terrifying realisation that i’m not going to receive that comfort.

“please say something.” i whisper, my voice shaky as he still hasn’t moved or even looked at me, his eyes fixed on the pregnancy test in his palm of his hands.

“is this real?” he mutters, refusing to look at me, his hands trembling a little.

“it’d be a pretty fucked up joke tom.” i reply, angry at his ridiculous question but not in any position to consider causing an argument, knowing that is the last thing i need right now.

“i just- i don’t know what to say. i’m not ready for this.” he confesses, finally looking upwards as his gaze meets mine, his eyes now glazed with tears, yet he isn’t sad - i see a glare within them that cannot be mistaken for anything else but anger.

“i’m not either tom, you know this. i don’t know what to do.” i put my head in my hands, sobbing even more now, my breathing fast and irregular. my mind longs for any sort of comfort from him, even a little reassurance, a half-hearted ‘it’s gonna be okay’, even though it would be a lie, it would be the most perfect one he ever told, because it would give me a million times more consolation than i am receiving right now. but he stays silent, biting his lip, almost as if he is stopping himself from truly speaking his mind.

“i can’t do this.” he finally says, standing up and walking out of the living room, exiting the house as he closes the front door behind him with a slam.

my breathing begins to quicken, my heart rate increasing as the worst possible scenario is suddenly becoming true in front of my eyes. if me finding out that i was pregnant wasn’t enough, tom leaving only placed the cherry on my cake, a sickening sense of guilt now punching me in the gut, stabbing a knife in the wound as i begin to feel nothing but completely stupid for letting this happen, blaming it all on myself. my sobs are muffled within my hands as my head rests there, my entire body trembling as i long to be in his arms, him telling me that it would be okay, that we would get through this. instead, the cold air is my only company, leaving me in it’s icy embrace, giving me the constant reminder that i am alone.

it is this reminder that sticks with me until my eyes begin to feel heavy, my body falling into a deep sleep, providing me with a temporary distraction from reality.

warm hands. two large, warm hands are what wake me from my sleep as they caress my face gently, contrasting with the coldness of the entire house.

“love?” i hear a familiar voice whisper, finally opening my eyes to see tom kneeled beside me, his own bloodshot from crying.

“why are you here?” i ask, anger quickly filling my veins, the reminder of how quickly he left, betrayed me like it was nothing, flooding my memory.

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have left like that. i was just so shocked, and i backed out, and i shouldn’t have. we can talk about this, if you’re ready to.” he softly says as i sit up, moving his hands off my face.

“you left me.” i mutter, the tears already threatening to fall. “i wanted your support, and you left me. you fucking left me when i needed you most! do you know how shitty that feels? all day, i’ve felt guilty, and i find the courage to tell you and then you fucking bail on me?”

“i know and i’m so sorry my love. i didn’t expect it, i reacted in the wrong way-”

“what you think i did expect it? you think i’ve been throwing up for the past two weeks and i wanted it to happen? do you know how hard it’s been to hide my suspicions, because i didn’t want to scare you until i knew for sure, and then you run away because you didn’t expect it? the one time, the one time i fucking need you here and you leave me.” i sob, my voice breaking as i shake my head, standing up and walking away, tom quickly following me to the kitchen where i stand, my front against the counter, head in my hands.

he says nothing, but wraps his arms around my waist from behind, his thumbs running along my stomach comfortingly, lips pressing small kisses on my shoulder as i slowly begin to calm down. we both stand in silence, tom never loosening his hold on me, finally speaking up once my breathing has slowed a little.

“i’m sorry. i’m so so sorry. you didn’t deserve that at all. i promise you, i’ll never leave you like that again, not for a second.” he whispers, turning me around so that my chest is flush against his, his arms securely around my waist.

“why did you do that tom? you have no idea how scared i am.” i say, my words slightly muffled as my head is buried into his t-shirt, my arms clinging onto his neck.

“ i’m so sorry. i’m sorry.” he keeps repeating, kissing my forehead over and over between his words, never once letting go of me.

“what are we going to do?” i sigh, appreciating the fact that we have made up, but knowing that it doesn’t change the situation or make the reality any easier to swallow.

“i don’t know baby, i don’t know. but whatever you decide, i’ll be right here, always. i promise, i’ll always be here.” he affirms, and the sincerity of his voice tells me that i can believe every single one of his words.

“i love you tom.” i say, the words slipping from my mouth naturally as they are the only ones that come to mind.

“i love you too.”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

[blondedmuse]

DRUNK IN LOVE

phil wenneck x famous!reader

synopsis. ꩜ taking phil to celebrate you best friend’s birthday in monte carlo. and the morning after.

author's note. ∿ broke my hiatus just to write about this man. fluff

word count. ⨾ 1.6k

“You’re staring,” You tell Phil while he watches—stares at you as you get ready, putting on your earrings and the final touches of your look for the night.

“I can’t help it, baby,” He grins, walking up to you, his hands landing on your dress-adorned waist while his head perches on your shoulder as he looks into the reflection of the en suite bathroom mirror.

“You of all people should know what you do to me,” He whispered and you could feel his grin by the way his teeth grazed your ear. And you knew it wasn’t going away any time soon.

“How crazy I am about you.” It was the truth. The whole truth and nothing but. He was a lucky guy and he was reminded everyday. Especially now he thought, unable to keep his eyes off the way the dress hugged your curves in all the right places. However, that’s not to say you weren’t a lucky girl.

It was hard to find someone genuinely interested in you; not interested in your status or solely for the fact of being seen with you. Phil didn’t care in the slightest. You thought maybe he’d change, that maybe he’d end up using you, that maybe his interests would turn elsewhere, that maybe he was just like the others. But they stayed the same, he stayed the same. The same english teacher you spilled your coffee on in a cafe in California, and the same english teacher who had no clue who you were then.

Truth be told, he didn’t like the limelight. It wasn’t made for him the way it was made for you, he would say. And so you kept him out of that part of your life as much as you could and he thanked you for it.

Albeit, It was harder than it proved to be because the paparazzi always seemed to get their way and there wasn’t really any way around it. You could stop some photos from circulating, but not them altogether. So, when you asked Phil to come to Monte Carlo with you to celebrate your best friends birthday and watch the Monaco Grand Prix, it was safe to say you were a bit hesitant.

“F’course, I’ll go.” But he wasn’t. He would do anything if you wanted, and he made it clear that all you had to do was ask. And who was he to turn down the opportunity to watch F1? You and he were content with the private life you had—as private as it could be. But there were some times where you wanted to show off. Especially when he looked the way he did.

“I could say the same about you,” You whisper back, turning to face him in his hold. “You’ve always looked good in all black. But to be honest you look good in anything—preferably nothing.”

He exhaled, trying to grasp onto to the self control he felt slipping through his fingers.

“What time does the party start?” He asks looking down at you and you swore you saw his pupils dilate with need.

“Eight.” You answer and he smiles. “But the driver’s here already,” you continue and his head drops.

“We have fifteen minutes-”

“For the drive,” you tell him, leaving him in the bathroom to grab your clutch. “We always have the way back.”

He scoffs light-heartedly, following after you. “Yeah, if you’re not gonna be fucking hammered, baby.”

“No promises,” you laugh, taking his hand, dragging him downstairs to the car that was awaiting your arrival.

The drive was quick and smooth and when you arrived the venue was bustling with people, but to your luck, void of any flashing cameras. Taking notes of this, Phil took his time as he got out from his side of the car, circling around to yours and opening the door for you. He offered his hand out for you to grab, which you gladly accepted, exiting the vehicle.

Your arms wrapped around his right as you walked into the club and past the line of people out front, where you were immediately spotted by your best friend, Mia.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” She exclaimed, hugging you.

“As if I’d miss it.”

You both laughed and she turned to Phil, greeting him. “Nice to see you again, Phil,” she smiled, giving him a brief hug as well.

He sighed playfully. “I wish I could say the same thing about you.”

She laughed. “Dream big, they say.” You talked for a few minutes before she took you farther back into the club.

You wish you could say you’d remember the night by the time you woke up in the morning, but with how you’d spent it you weren’t so sure. With the way you drinking it was like you had your sights set on blacking out. You were having the time of your life, evidently so, and alcohol was just conveniently within arms reach at all times. Eventually (and surprisingly), Phil was the one to cut you off to save you tomorrow’s embarrassment, but that didn’t stop you from dragging him to the dance floor. He had his fair share of drinks, so the option of denying you was already out the window.

You danced until your feet hurt and you danced some more. You knew you had to go back to the hotel when the pain was too much and you had no champagne to keep it down. But by then it was early morning and the party was on its last legs, people leaving as they pleased.

As you were saying your incoherent goodbyes to Mia, Phil sobered up the best he could, eyeing the paparazzi that appeared the entrance.

“You ready?” He asked, walking up to you, marveling at how you were still standing. You replied only with a nod, leaning into his frame as he accepted yours with open arms.

“There’s paparazzi out front, do you wanna go out the back?” You weighed your options—the best your melted mind could—before shaking your head.

“No, I told the driver to be out front, so either way we’d have to go out there anyway,” you answered, trying your best not to slur your words, but your attempt remained unsuccessful.

“Great. Okay, let’s go.” He waved goodbye to Mia, while planting his hand firmly around your waist, walking you out the club. The moment the doors opened, the two of you were met by blinding lights. Phil’s arm immediately went to block your eyes the best they could while guiding you through the sea of people.

“Fuck, it’s so bright,” you slurred, but only loud enough so that Phil could hear.

“I know, baby. Stay with me, we gotta get to the car, okay,” He told you before he checking his pockets for the sunglasses he kept for times like this. Once he found them they were yours, blocking out the lights obstructing your view ahead of you. The camera’s couldn’t catch it but your expression shifted to one of confusion.

“Wait who are you again?”

“Your boyfriend, honey.”

You laughed. “That’s funny, I already have one.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mumbled to himself as he opened the car door for you, grateful it wasn’t to far. He got in after you, the car taking off right as soon as he was settled.

“So…do you have a girlfriend?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah but she doesn’t know how to drink.”

“That’s a shame,” you giggled, followed by a hiccup.

“Here, have some water,” Phil told you, handing you a bottle he grabbed from the side of the car door. You obliged blissfully as he reached for your feet, undoing your heels in his lap and you squealed as you felt his touch. It was so soft but so distinctly his.

“Where is she tonight, your girlfriend?” You lifted his sunglasses from your face, letting them sit in you hair as you talked.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

You took one more sip of your water before capping it and putting it on the floor.

“I could if I knew. I could also tell you that I could show you a good time,” You moved your feet in his lap, dangerously close to the place you wanted then the most.

He shook his head with that same grin he wore all night. “You are so wasted right now, baby.”

The rest of the night was hazy and the morning arrived with a pounding in your skull. You woke up before Phil for the sole reason of sticking your head in the toilet to empty the contents of your stomach. Phil woke up quickly after, your empty spot on the bed subconsciously telling him you weren't there. He looked for where you could've been which didn't take too long once he heard you from the bathroom.

"I see last night caught up to you," He spoke softly as he sat down next to you on the floor, his voice low and raspy. He held your hair back as you retched, wincing a little.

"Good girl. Let it out, baby," he lulled as his free hand rubbed your back. He stayed like that, comforting you when heaved just a little too hard and he would continue to do so whether you wanted it or not. When he didn't hear you anymore he got up from the floor to go to the sink, filling up one of the many complimentary cups the hotel offered with water. He sat back down again and handed it to you.

"You okay?" He asks and you nod, drinking the water. Once you're done the two of you sit like that for a few moments, soaking in each other. Your head rests in the nape of his neck, your body in his lap, and his head on yours. The early morning is calm in Monte Carlo and so are you.

"We should get breakfast, yeah?"

"Yeah." You agree.

"Get you some coffee for that hangover," He suggested, mumbling into your hair. While sobriety had kicked in and the effects of alcohol were long gone, there was a part of you that always felt the way you were when you were drunk. He felt it too. Or maybe you were just in love.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 16 - Golden

Oh, How Rebecca Loved the Sun...

In a siding, tucked behind a long line of trucks awaiting transport to the works for repairs, sat a West Country class. Her name was Rebecca, and she was patiently awaiting her crew. Golden rays of sun shone down on her, warming her boiler through and leaving her comfortable and just a little sleepy.

“Morning, Rebecca,” called her driver, striding over from the sheds. “I see they left you out in the sun again, eh? You always were fond of the sun.” “It just feels so nice, driver,” chuckled Rebecca. “Surely you understand?” Her driver just nodded in agreement, already starting his checks. As soon as he was out of sight though, he grimaced.

Rebecca was a delightful engine to work with – but she was naïve and oblivious to the extreme. All around her, steam engines had been withdrawn and replaced by diesels and electrics – she herself had been moved from Exmouth Junction just before all her classmates there were unceremoniously pulled from service and dragged away to be cut up. And yet somehow Rebecca didn’t realise. She barely noticed as the number of steam engines around her grew smaller and smaller with each passing year, long time friends vanishing while she was out on an express run.

“They’re just being useful elsewhere!” Rebecca would say when her driver tentatively asked what had happened to them, hoping one day Rebecca would wise up to the truth of the situation and admit they’d been scrapped. And every time Rebecca replied that her old friends – many of whom she’d known since she was built – had simply been transferred, her driver caved and agreed that he’d heard that too.

What was he supposed to say to his engine? This living sunflower of a locomotive who only seemed to see the best in everything, even as she became run down due to a lack of maintenance.

“Come on Rebecca, we’ve got a train to pull,” her driver said kindly, and swung up into her cab. He could only hope to keep protecting her for as long as possible. At least until she either figured it out on her own or he was unable to hide it any longer. And much to his displeasure, he didn’t think either of those options had a very long lifespan left in them.

***

Rebecca’s driver clung to the letter, scrunching it up in his hands. His engine had been sold off.

“I thought I’d get longer,” he sighed, letting the letter fall to the floor as every fibre of his body seemed to sag in sadness. His golden girl was being preserved, sure – but not on the railway. She would likely not run again, not where she was going.

“Morning Rebecca!” he chirped, trying to put on a brave face. The West Country Class opened a sleepy eye, gazing down at her driver even as she hummed at the warmth of the beams of sunlight gently warming her boiler. “I have exciting news for you!” “Oh? What is it driver?” asked Rebecca curiously, gazing down at him with bright eyes. Looking closer, the deep, also black of the pupils was flecked with hints of golden, her eyes an almost warm brown in the sun.

“You’ve been sold,” her driver said as gently as he could. “You’re going to get a full overhaul and a special coat of paint next week, and then you’ll be going to your new home!” He tried to smile, but it felt weak in front of his engine. Rebecca just stared at her driver in confusion.

“Who bought me?” she asked. “S. J. Edwards’,” replied her driver. Rebecca frowned; had she been a puppy, she’d have tilted her head to the side in confusion. Her driver felt a bit like he was telling a golden retriever he was ‘selling it to a farm in Scotland’.

“Isn’t that the toy company?” quizzed Rebecca. “I didn’t know they needed an engine.” “Neither did I, Rebecca,” replied her driver. “But that’s who bought you.” Rebecca seemed… apprehensive about the revelation that she was being sold on, but still went about her regular duties with her usual cheerful mood.

“Maybe I’m going to pull special trains of toys for children,” she thought to herself out loud. Her driver winced in her cab, but said nothing. He would just have to let her dream for a little while longer.

The days passed rapidly, far too rapidly. The sun kept up its shining for once, giving Rebecca plenty of time out in its golden rays. To her driver, it was almost as if the heavens above were giving Rebecca her swansong. She was certainly getting the most out of the good weather, spending all her time out soaking up the sunshine in between trains. In the sheds, the other engines spoke in hushed tones about the odd West Country Class who just seemed oblivious to everything, though her driver did everything he could to keep Rebecca from hearing the whispers.

It was not enough. It was never enough.

Rebecca was sent to Eastleigh Works for the repairs. She was to get a full overhaul to prepare her for her new life – one of the last major overhauls of a steam engine the works would ever undertake, and also Rebecca’s first true taste of the truth. Without her driver or her friends around to protect her, Rebecca was faced with the ugly reality of British Rail. As she waited for her turn in the works, she was placed in the Eastleigh engine sheds, right near where rows of steam engines stood silent, men weaving between them with cutting torches. These men held none of the same love for steam engines that her driver did. Instead, they silently did their work, slicing deep cuts into slowly rusting engines to pull them apart and sell off their metal for reuse. A line of stonily silent trucks stood between the engines living at Eastleigh sheds and those dying there, a stark dividing line which was being steadily loaded up with the cut-up remains of the engines.

The weather changed too, the sun hiding away behind thick grey clouds that unleashed great heaps of rain all over the countryside. Rebecca was left cold and alone, not even able to talk to the other engines due to how shocked she was.

“Poor thing,” sighed a Lord Nelson Class from the other side of the yard. “She really had no clue apparently. Must’ve been nice, living without the knowledge.” Rebecca didn’t agree. She wished she had known, she wished she’d been able to grab all of her friends and cling tightly to them. They were gone now, weren’t they? Brought to places like this and left on cold, damp sidings until they were ripped into by the scrappers. They’d all put on such positive attitudes around Rebecca that she’d never suspected, never heard the undercurrent of fear that permeated every illness and rust patch that made itself known.

Her friends were dead.

Rebecca was a very different engine, going into the works. Even as she was buffed and shined and gifted brand new parts machined to perfection to ensure she was the absolute peak of health, all she could think about was how there were hundreds of engines right outside being treated to agony and death while she was pampered. Rebecca didn’t even notice the golden yellow livery being deftly applied until it was finished, bright orange and red lining and embellishments being carefully added to compliment the new colourful livery. Her number was changed, as was the lettering on her tender.

Gone was the old British Railways logo; in its place stood a large stuffed bear holding a banner with ‘S. J. Edwards’ written on it in a fancy logo. The teddy bear looked very fancy, not that Rebecca could see it. All she could see was the men scurrying about in front of her, preparing her to be moved.

She had taken up enough space in their workshop for too long already, and now they wanted her gone so they could begin work on the next EMU overhaul. Rebecca was dragged out by a Class 07 and gently pushed backwards up a rickety ramp and onto the back of a Scammel Contractor lorry. Rebecca felt very odd as she watched her tender get added to a second trailer moments later, seeing just how different it looked for the first time.

“Where am I going now?” she asked the foreman. “S. J. Edwards’ main plant,” replied the foreman briskly. “You’ll be their shining mascot… or something like that.” He turned away to signal that Rebecca was chained down and ready to move, even as Rebecca began to realise just what the foreman had said.

She was to be a mascot. Mascots didn’t move, they didn’t haul around presents. They sat still and smiled even as the years wore down on them. She’d seen it from an old tank that had been the mascot of a town until he was so rusted and tired that he had to be taken away and placed in a specialist museum to be restored.

Or maybe that had been a lie, and he’d also been scrapped.

Rebecca travelled far on the roads, through towns she’d once served that now had only diesels, if any railway at all. How had she been so blind to everything changing? How had she managed to miss each event as it happened?

The truck turned again; Rebecca felt something shift under her. The roads were so uncomfortable, and yet it was the only way to the factory now. There was no railway out to the S. J. Edwards main facility anymore, because British Railways didn’t think it important.

There were no more steam engines safe from scrap because British Railways didn’t think they were important.

The truck slowed to a stop, and a crane rumbled up. Rebecca looked over – the building was certainly fancy, and right inside the front entrance there stood a plinth. It was empty but for a pair of rails set into the concrete.

That… that was her new home, wasn’t it?

Rebecca was carefully pushed inside, moved on temporary rails up to the plinth before her brakes were locked on, chocks were forced under her wheels and the temporary rails were ripped up. Her glorious golden paintwork was starkly contrasted by the tears falling from her eyes.

“Stop crying and smile, idiot!” snarled a man in a pinstriped suit. “You’re meant to be a mascot, not a sob story. What child wants to see a blubbering mess when they come visit?” The man rapped his cane against Rebecca’s buffers. It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to silence the stunned engine.

Rebecca looked up – above her stood a large dome from which great white lights hung to illuminate everything far too brightly. It was nothing like the golden rays of sun Rebecca so loved to feel on her boiler. These lights weren’t warm, they were cold and unforgiving.

And at night, they were abruptly shut off, plunging Rebecca into the dark with only her own thoughts and her tears.

And even today, one has to wonder if Rebecca will ever feel the sun again? 

Back to the Master Post

[iamjucie]

Pet (18+) pt. 4 of 4

Ascended Astarion x f!reader

Chapter Four: Pink

I suggest reading the first three of the series before this, there is a bit of a plot in the porn. Just a little.

Summary: Master Astarion takes away your hurt and allows you to enjoy the sweet nothing of enthrallment.

WARNINGS: Smut, Extremely dubious consent, Mind control/manipulation, Orgasm control, Abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Physical Abuse

I do not say this lightly- Astarion is evil in this. This is an extremely toxic relationship. You have been warned!

(AO3 Link)

When he goes to lift your hips from him, you flinch and groan. So overwhelmed with sensitivity from both of your earth shattering orgasms.

He notices this and tuts, “Darling, I do expect you know I am not finished with you yet. Are you feeling…” he moves his hand down, pushing two fingers inside and allowing his wrist to graze your clit, drawing a scream from your lips. “...Sensitive?”

“Y-yes master I- Ah” he begins to massage inside you while you talk to him. He loves to see you struggle. “I-I don't think I can manage any more master… I-It- it hurts.”

“My poor child,” he coos while still massaging winces and hisses from your lips. “What are we meant to do about that, hm?”

You are struggling to think through the assault on your senses, rendering your brain struggling to focus on anything the pain he is bringing onto you “I-I don’t know…” you stutter pathetically, “C-can you make it stop hurting? Maybe I- You- M-Make it feel good.”

Astarion stops in his conquest to destroy your senses and places a hand on his cheek, feigning surprise. “Darling, are you asking me to compel you to enjoy it?”

“Y-yes. No, I-I don’t know. I only want to make you feel good, that is my purpose. Would that be bad? ” you inquired, genuinely confused.

“Absolutely not my dearest!” he chuckles as he reaches to caress your cheeks, as if you were a child embarrassed that she said something wrong. “I would be happy to oblige.”

You settle yourself into position ready for your master to take the wheel. Gods, you loved when he did this. You love having him in your mind, controlling your every move, your every reaction. When thinking is all you ever do, it’s blissful to not have a thought in your head.

The feeling of him entering your mind is akin to laying in a fresh set of silk sheets. Fog drapes over your thoughts and everything seems far away. Wrapping your brain in a warm, silky coating. You are no longer in your body, you are elsewhere. Here, everything is quiet.

Everything except him, and he is all that matters.

“Okay, Pet.” you hear his voice ring in your mind amidst the fog. You tilt your head inquisitively, awaiting your command. You can’t wait, you are so very eager to serve. “All I want you to do is feel good for me. Can you do that? Nod if you can do that.”

You nod. 

The fog suddenly lifts slightly and you are back in your body with Astarion. Everything has a slight tint of pink to it, but that’s ok. Pink is a very good color. It makes you feel very good.

“Sigh, Look at what has become of you dear.” he reaches his hand to caress your cheek. “So utterly pathetic.”

You smile at him, the fog makes words jumble in your mind but you can hear your master’s voice. Master’s voice is so beautiful. You reach your hand to grip his on your face, nuzzling your face into it. It makes you feel very good.

He flips you onto your back, your giddiness is palpable. You giggle as he caresses you. Everything tickles a little, it feels good.

“Gods, you’re giggling like a gods-damned child.” he scoffs, “You’re a shell of the powerful woman you once were. Do you know why, love?”

You don’t quite understand what he’s saying to you but you get the impression he is expecting a response. You tilt your head with an inquisitive expression, replaying what he said to try to understand. All you can do is think about how good his voice makes you feel.

A more prominent voice comes into your mind. He has a command for you.

“Say, ‘Why, Master?’ for me, love” it echoes in your brain until it is fulfilled.

“Why, master?” you say with no thought or intention behind it. You look at him with the deepest form of affection known to man; enthrallment.

He grabs you and pulls your ear to his lips. “Because I took it from you.” he hisses, hand moving down to your clit to massage it. “I stole your strength, your talent, your mind from you.” he smiles at you.

He’s so pretty when he smiles.

“You put up quite the fight for a bit but in the end, I won. I always do.”

His fingering in your cunt gets more aggressive, he loves making you feel good. He feels so good inside you, and his voice is like music in your clouded mind.

“I beat you, fucked you, isolated you until you were exactly the way I want you.” He scoffs, “Proof that my power is strong enough to turn the strongest heroes into whores that only exist to be my cumslut. The hero of Baldur’s Gate, locked in a bedroom in my palace for me to fuck when I please.”

He starts to laugh, he must have told a joke. Master is so funny. You laugh along with him.

He lifts your hips onto his cock once more. You feel a rush of pleasure drawing a languid moan from your lips. This is what hurt before? No no- it must have been something else that was hurting. This- this is too profound to hurt.

You start to bounce on his cock, pulling him in and out fully the way your body knows he likes. It feels so good. 

“You’re a fucking idiot do you know that?” he through pants as he ferociously fucks you. “Thinking you would ever be my ‘Dark Consort’, thinking I would let you in on the glory? Please.”

His voice sounds like a symphony.

“I knew from the moment I met you, you were just a desperate, stupid slut. Just needed some coaxing out by my hand.” he continues, “Say you’re nothing but a desperate slut and nothing without me inside you.”

Again, you have the feeling he is expecting a response from you but you don’t quite know what to say. You feel so good wrapped around his cock. Everything is so perfect. 

He slaps you across the face and puts his hand around your neck. 

The heat of the hit goes straight to your cunt. Waves of pleasure rush over your mind. It feels. So. Damn. Good. You’re on the cusp of the biggest orgasm of your undead life. 

He enters your mind with a command, “I said, say you’re nothing but a desperate slut and nothing without me inside you.”

“Ah- I-I’m a desperate slut!” you try to use your voice between moans, “a-and I’m n-nothing without you i-inside me-e!”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, you’re so fucking close. 

“Gods…“ Astarion is on the edge of coming inside you. “Fucking-“

He enters your mind. “Come when I say. I need to feel you clench around my cock as I have you spilling with me.”

“Three…”

Your body starts to prepare for the hit of chemicals your brain is about to receive.

“Two…”

You’re so fucking close, you’re under his thumb. He just needs to lift it ever so slightly and you’re riding this wave together. 

“One. Come for me”

Your body obeys. Your scream could easily be mistaken for him killing you if this routine wasn’t so practiced. You convulse and clench around his member inside of you, milking his spend for all you can. You lay in a pleasurable bliss. A numbness like no other, with your master’s spend leaking from your cunt. Fucked beyond measure. 

***

The pink fog of your vision lifts for the most part. The fog is still clouding your thoughts, it usually does until master is gone for a long while.  

After a brief respite, Astarion begins to put his clothes back on. Gazing at his reflection to ensure there’s no imperfections in his appearance. 

He turns on his heels to face you and clasps his hands together. “Well my love, I’m afraid I need to head out.” he explained with an exaggerated frown. “I have a very very important meeting out of town I need to attend.”

“Again? But you just came back from a trip…” you pout. 

“Darling,” his eyes glow slightly in your gaze, “that was 2 weeks ago!”

You scrunch your face. Has it been that long? You concentrate on remembering the past two weeks. 

He places a hand on your forehead to check for a fever. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Think… Oh! How could you have forgotten? You helped to decide the warpath of where to expand the empire you two have built. Yes, yes. How could you forget? Time does fly when you have fun.

You lay naked on the bed, watching as your master makes his way to leave your shared chambers to go on yet another important trip. You love that your master is such an important man, that is what he always wanted and what he deserves. But, selfishly, you hate that he always needs to go away. Oh well. You should be grateful you had such an eventful two weeks with him. 

He knocks 3 times on the chamber door with no handles. Did that always have no door knob? You can’t bring yourself to recall, your mind and body spent beyond their limit. 

Master’s assistant- whose name is lost on you- opens the door for him. As he is beginning to make his way out the door, you call out to him.

“Wait master!”

He turns to you. “Hm? Yes, pet?”

“Where is your business trip located? I forgot to ask, I like to know so I can imagine us going there together one day.”

He tilts his head in endearment and smiles at you.

“Neverwinter, my lovely. I must be going, the carriage is waiting. Now, you know the routine by now? Think of me while I’m gone.”

The images he wants you to imagine flow into your mind like a tidal wave. You hear him in your mind telling you not to touch yourself and that you can’t climax without permission. 

“Of course, master. I will behave myself”

“Good girl. I will see you before you know it, my pet”

“I love you, master”

“Yes, I know. And I you.” he says as the door is shut

***

“Sire, just to ensure I’m not mistaken,”  Astarion’s assistant asks shortly after the door to the vault is locked shut as she walks beside him down the hall, “your soonest business meeting is six months from now? In Waterdeep?” 

“You would be correct. If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

“Of course, sire.”

***

You are sitting in the lavish master chamber of the ornate palace you call home. Gazing into your reflection in the vanity mirror combing your unnaturally long black hair, getting lost in thought. It’s really all there is to do when Master Astarion is away on extended business trips like this.

It does help, too, that before he left he told you to think of him while he was gone. It was a command. So you obey. And you think.

The End

I hope you enjoyed my very first time writing fanfiction!! If you like my style and have any ideas or suggestions, let me know! This was so much fun to write and I can't wait to write more!

[thesamoanqueen]

Let me down

Raiting: 16+

Warnings: Soft SMUT; Fluff; Angst(maybe?!).

A/N: I had to give him another win on the WM night... because like he said "Sometimes bad guys win"

They really hated him now. He'd felt their eyes on his back like eighty thousand snipers as he walked up the ramp for the third time at the biggest event in the business with titles still on his shoulders. He had come out there knowing he was tearing their hope away, aware that he was the real sniper. When he had thought of that story, his story and had talked first with Paul and then with Michael, they had all agreed that it would be as close to reality as possible. Life isn't fair, that was reality and that was his story. Good guys don't always do well, no matter how much effort you put in or how hard you work, sometimes things don't go as you hoped. It had been like this for him for many years. For them and their hero that night, it was like this. You make sacrifices, you use shortcuts, and do everything you can to keep what you have when someone or something threatens it. He had watched them from the top of his mountain, all of them, a few seconds, before taking the exit to come to terms with something else.

- Good job. Well done. - Michael Hayes was the first to pull him into an hug, like always.

Within seconds, chaos erupted around him. Everyone had something to say, Hunter had already taken off his headphones to reach the room where the press conference would take place, they only had a few minutes. He had to settle down as best he could, tape a short promo and join them. He heard Paul behind him give a quick indication to Solo, but Roman already had his eyes elsewhere.

He wanted to see her, he needed to see her, if only for a second before going out there again, because for him it wasn't over yet and what awaited him was what really worried him. But Y/N anticipated him as soon as he set foot out the gorilla, placing a towel on his shoulders and Roman instinctively pulled her against him, feeling her give in to the tension to cling to him.

- God… - she breathed into the hollow of his neck and Roman tightened his grip, almost until it hurt, without even wondering why that muttering.

If only he could, he would have cut off the rest of the world in that instant, but Paul's voice calling back softly, with a little guilt, reminded him that he still couldn't. They had so much to talk about, him, so much to apologize for, but first he had to close the night.

- Wait me, kay? – he muttered against her hair and Y/N immediately broke away from him to adjust the shirt she had under her jacket, one of his merchandise.

At least he hadn't soiled her with all that sweat.

- A doctor!

- We shoot the video and then, to the conference.

- Three minutes, cmon everyone!

She looked at him once more as she backed away down the hallway amidst the chaos that still reigned behind scenes and he saw her nod slowly, before turning away, disappearing who knows where without saying anything.

He had joined her after changing into something more cozy, body struggling for the last effort and mind suddenly blank. He'd thought for weeks about what to say, how to do it, but right now, sitting next to her in his suite, all he could think about was how she'd left after the match. It would have been easy to make excuses, justify everything with his busy schedule, distract himself with lockeroom rumors, try to pick up where they left off last time, but it wouldn't be honest, it wouldn't be fair and Roman didn't want anymore to go down that road. They had to talk and they had to do it once and for all, because there was too much now between them, for too long and the situation had taken a wrong turn without him wanting it. Y/N had proved it to him without putting on a scene.

He wasn't sure how she felt about their relationship. There had been moments in almost a year, when he had sworn he had seen everything from her and others, when he had heard her throw the emptiness of a fuck in his face. They had always been comfortable together, with an almost surreal simplicity, the attraction and physical bond, extras that both of them have accepted without holding back. But you don't build something stable just out of that, and Roman had always been careful not to be fooled or to take things lightly. Y/N had never been a game for him and he hadn't spared himself once in treating her as she deserved, yet here they were.

- How's your back? - Y/N asked softly and for first, dragging him out of his thoughts and Roman only realized at that moment that he had a hand gripping the band around his back and that it had probably been there for too long.

- One week and I won't think about it anymore – he tried to reassure her, but her caramel colored leg dangled a bit in air, before she wrinkled her nose and he knew she wasn't sure at all.

- It was a bad blow. He could have done better, even on the ramp. Too fast, it wasn't necessary.

She had a good eye and both blows hadn't been the best for his back actually, he couldn't hide it, but it wasn't bad enough to put on that face of hers and he knew her well enough to anticipated that moment. And it was for that moment that he had blown everything maybe.

- You've been watching me all the match – he noted, with a small smile and Y/N rolled her shoulders.

- There wasn't much else I could do.

It was definitely that, the reason. And she was throwing it in his face after waiting more patiently than necessary, without scenes or accusations, after being there for him anyway. He deserved it, honestly he deserved more than this for treating her like that.

- I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything.

It wasn't a lie, he was really sorry. The habit of telling her everything and involving her, had been the fastest vice that Roman had acquired in his whole life, even going against his own reserved nature. By now she was the first and often the only person he thought of when something happened to him, at work or not, but on that occasion he had had to make a choice. One that he would have wanted to avoid with all his heart and that he had in any case imposed himself out of a sense of responsibility, towards the company and above all, towards her.

He looked at her as she leaned back on the sofa saying nothing, her eyes fixed on his hands, but not on him and he nodded slowly, while beyond the windows the lights of Los Angeles continued to put on a show.

- There's a lot to work on and after tonight a lot will probably change. We have agreements, my family and I and I will make sure they stick to them, I'm in a position to do that. The story takes priority, we've been working on it for a long time now and tonight was important. To show everyone that we are giving something out there. It was a delicate situation… – he remembered seriously, frowning at the thought of what he had found in his hands together with the most important main event of the year.

He was still the face of the company, his job was not just to play the role of the champion or pose for advertising campaigns. The management relied on him, so that the external impression was solid and successful since often, in the last period, they had sabotaged themselves. In that circumstance it had been something that no one had ever faced, the beginning of a new era and Roman had tried to do everything possible in his role to make things go better.

Beside him, Y/N nodded before he could even finish speaking, her expression as serious as his.

- I get it. – she knew the background and even if she didn't have to deal with that story firsthand, he was sure that she understood its importance, but it was not the only reason behind his behavior and it was what he had to make her understand.

- I know… but I also know that you have my back and I didn't want you to end up in the middle. – he admitted with a heavy breath and Y/N's gaze was immediately on him, on her face an expression that Roman never wanted to see - I don't mean it that way. - he tried to calm her down.

- Then explain to me in which sense you mean it, because it seems exactly the wrong one. - she retorted, her tone even too calm and detached and Roman took another breath, looking at her without hesitation.

Not only had he kept the outcome of the match a secret, he had been careful to keep her away from everything in recent months, recommending Paul and the twins the same. He had cut her off. It hadn't been a way to get rid of her or to push away the distractions that might have ruined his focus, but the opposite. Keeping her close was all he wanted now, Roman needed her like the air he breathed and the run to WM wasn't an exception just because there were more meetings to keep him busy. He never wanted to deprive himself of having her beside him, but he had made that choice for her more than for anyone else.

- I didn't want to cause you thoughts for months. It's the heaviest time of the year, you've had your meetings too, I wanted to see you continue on your path, reach your goals without feeling obligations for me and the boys, I wanted to keep you away from problems. You would have tried to be supportive, you would have gone out of your way, we both know that and I couldn't allow it. - he explained, his brow furrowed - and I'm not saying that because I don't think you're capable of doing it. I know you can, that you would not have seen it as an obligation. I know you can handle the tension, I never thought otherwise.

Y/N was the strongest woman he had ever known, in some ways even stronger than his mama. Life had not been kind to her and yet she was able to become the beautiful woman near him. Roman knew what she was capable of, but he had had to do it. He had felt the visceral need to shield her from what would only weigh her down, the responsibility to protect her from the worst that would spring out during those moments and give her priority over his needs. In his mind Y/N was on top of everything, she was his priority and he had acted upon it.

Her dark eyes surveyed him without hesitation, for a moment giving the impression of softening, but it was an instant and Y/N sent it away, hands folded together, shoulder lifting a lit.

- But you thought that not telling me anything would help? I had no idea what was going through your mind, Roman, it didn't make me feel better or keep me focused – she pointed out to him and Roman took her disappointment hands down.

Silently, he watched as she stared a hole in the darkened tv screen on the opposite wall, trying to calm her mood and swallowing whatever reached her lips, to take another moment.

- I was sure that something was happening to you… everyone was talking, they were freaking out out there and behind it was even worse during the shows… I know how heavy it is usually, I see you and that atmosphere was building up a bit too much, I didn't like it and yeah, maybe I wouldnt have the right approach and you did right, but i wanted to be there for you. I know it's not my place, it's not up to me, you don't have to talk to me about everything or drag me around, but I wanted to be there for you, it was important because I was sure it was important to you – she finally said, abruptly and without warning, looking straight back at him.

He knew that shadow in her eyes and the slant in her tone. For almost a year he had done nothing but fight to obtain them, for a few seconds or for whole nights, they had become his personal challenge, his obsession. It was one of those moments when Y/N seemed to want everything from him, good and bad, but it was the first time she'd admitted it and the fact that she almost seemed to regret it, that she wasn't even angry, because of his wrong choice, makes Roman snap.

- You were there, whenever I needed you and you're here now. - he said, voice hoarse and his face serious, trying to control himself to go through with it, to show her otherwise.

Roman had gone from listening to her stories about bad dates into some arenas to waiting for her to return to the hotel. From not bearing not knowing where she was to blocking her by any means with him somewhere. He had had the wrong attitudes, he had become possessive and had been on more than one occasion on the verge of exploding when he had had to deal with reality between them. And he had certainly made bad choices, remaining silent, taking advantage of moments and letting others go, but he wasn't going to do it tonight. Her place had always been beside him, for Roman it had been since before she had that meltdown at the gym and he wouldn't leave her in any doubt about it. Not even seeing that expression disappear from her face again and change into a nod that would put off that story.

- C'mere - he pulled at, searching and finding her hand to bring her closer to him.

He wouldn't let go without putting that point inside her head, not even if it was the last thing he did before seeing life give him a bad lesson too. He would or he wouldn't have gone down, there was no other plans. There was no plan B with Y/N, she was the only plan.

Y/N didn't resist, she never did it with him, but one heavy breath lifted her chest as Roman forced her to sit on his lap. A few months ago that would have been enough to put pieces back together and now Roman suspected she was not sure about what to do. She was holding back, he felt it even though she didn't move her hand away from his and he moved instinctively, running his other along her tight to comfort her and draw circles on her soft caramel skin.

-No – he stopped her and Y/N's eyes moved from his fingers running over her, to him.

- What?

- I know what's going on, stop it. – he said, even more serious than before and Y/N quickly went from being confused to sighing, a slightly bitter smile on her full lips.

- Im just- she tried, but Roman pulled her closer to him, hand this time digging a lit into her skin, head bobbing for a second.

- I fucked up, but your place is here. We told each other stories, we pretended nothing happened and we stayed on our own enough… - he complained hoarsely - but there’s no red flag and there won't be any, stop thinking about it. If you don't want to continue, because you really don't want to, say so. I’ll let you go. But if that's not the reason… we'll find a way. Us, this time, ya hear me?

He had never thought of getting to that point with her like this. He'd hoped to do it differently, to do it the way Y/N deserved to happen, regardless of how it might have ended up, but the damage was already done and they hadn't raised him to hide from the odds. Life had taught him otherwise.

-Roman – she called him back, almost in a warning and he wrinkled his nose, nodding.

- You said you wanted to be with me. You are with me and I want you to stay there, but you have to be sure because we not going to continue down that road – he repeated, looking at her from below his position, not wanting to give up on that condition.

Hiding and flirting was fun, exciting, but they weren't kids. They couldn't do it indefinitely and it had lasted long enough to push them in a bad mood anyway.

- Ya serious? – Y/N asked confused, seeing that he didn't give up, voice less firm for a moment, almost as if she hadn't expected it.

- Im positive.

Y/N didn't move, didn't even try to take her eyes off him, her body still tense and Roman hugged her a little tighter. She was trying to put the pieces together, he knows that…

- I can take your no. Say it if thats your choice now.- he said her, suspecting it was the problem behind her sudden silence and though that wasn't true at all, Roman again felt he had to cover her back, this time even giving her permission to give him the shot of the century.

- No.

And the shot came. Quick and unexpected even having called it, prompting Roman to nod his head, but his fingers refused to let go and unexpectedly found Y/N's.

That one was some bad, bad, heavy shit-

- No, it's not my choice.

He heard her clear up and brought his eyes back to her in time to see her duck. The contact with her lips caused him as always a discharge throughout his body and his arms snapped quickly, dragging her against his chest with no desire to hold back. Felt her breasts pressing against him, her endless legs keeping her on top of him and her nails slowly scratching his face, creeping into his beard. A growl, almost dangerous came out of his throat, vibrating through Y/N which had finally softened and Roman squeezed again, unable to control himself after being apart for so long and now having her all to himself. But Y/N taked back control, escaping his kisses that threatened to devour her, to place a hand on his chest, an expression suddenly threatening.

- If you try to put me against a wall again, I'll do worse than say no to you. - she warned him, still letting him swing her by her hips and even if those words would have required more, Roman still let out a grin.

Mood was now mounting out of control and his hands couldn't stay still, reclaiming everything that was now finally his.

- I thought you liked when I do it - he joked, making her raise an eyebrow.

- Ya know what? … no. - she pushed him, regaining the mood that she seemed to have lost before.

- Stop saying it. - It was strange to hear her say that, he wasn't used to it.

- No.

- Babygirl.

- Nope – she snapped with her lips and Roman grabbed her, determined to make up for lost time and maybe even wipe that smirk off her face, to replace it with another kind of expression.

But, even if he was used to much heavier weights than her, the fatigue of that night and the blows he had taken on the back unbalanced him and Y/N quickly put her feet on the floor, grabbing him by the shoulder despite him having managed to keep the position and hadn't thought to let her go.

- It's better if we give your back a break...

Y/N was right as always, he couldn't risk making the situation worse, especially when the following day had to show up for the first post WM show and give the impression of having a match. But he wouldn't be a good guy for anything in the world that night, the idea didn't even cross his mind.

- We will find a way – he proposed, pulling her against himself anyway to wrap his arms around her hips and Y/N turned spitefully, looking at him from her shoulder, while he planted a kiss on her neck and another one, sucking her soft spot.

- Only one? – she moaned, pulling him towards the bedroom with her and Roman cackled dangerously.

- You don't know what you accepted woman.

He had certainly done a lot wrong in a short time with Y/N and the lesson had come for him too that night. But sometimes the bad guys were given another chance to be right.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyanarossi @wickedsunfire @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @thiccc-rider-mcintyre @keybladeofsteel @iovereigns @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @ichdrachenfrau @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @wrestlezaynia @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @wanna-be-dominated @kitanasposts @namjoonspinkytoenail @tribalchiefdaily @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @raeluvshammett @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @thewarlordsworld @jeonmahi1864 @jxtina-86 @harmshake

[elsewhereuniversity]

Dearest Archivist,

Recently, I have happened upon the realisation that neither my given name nor my chosen one is my true name. I realise that perhaps not having a true name could keep me safer from the Gentry than I could ever dare hope, yet I feel... Empty. Can names be stolen if you've never had one, Archivist? For that is what this feels like. As if a part of me has been taken, except that part never even existed.

Maybe it's because I'm a theatre major, I can take on and shed names like they never even mattered, and perhaps they wouldn't if this was Anywhere else in the world, however Elsewhere is not quite like Anywhere is it? Names here, I have learned, are more precious than even gold.

Archivist, I feel as if a new name is in order. Perhaps one that is gifted will stick better than one that was taken or forced. One that is like the silence found in the tucked-away corners of the library, the pleasure of a show well done, the feeling of being drunk on starshine and knowing that Magic is Alive.

In exchange, I offer you this glass beaker of fresh dew collected during the first flush of pink on the first dawn of the New Year. A single drop can heal any injury, body or soul, as far as I know. I recommend exercising caution while drinking it. I have known many a people who have fallen prey to their desire to heal things that cannot (and sometimes should not) be healed and they have never come back the Same.

I patiently await your reply, Archivist, and hope the coming year treats you well.

~ Nameless, for now, but always a friend.

Thenery