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subskz · 1 year ago

Text

…i lost the tag limit war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

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

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

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

word count : 20k

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

part two

You have always been first in your class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"I have an idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

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

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

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

"And right now, how do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

"I do too."

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

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

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

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

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

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

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

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

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

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

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

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

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

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

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

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

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

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

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

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

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

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

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

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

"What's there to miss?"

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

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

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

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

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

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

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

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

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

"What did you use?" you ask quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll ask her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only tell my friends."

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

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

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

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"You'll catch a cold."

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

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

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

"Yn, I don’t-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something friends think about, right?

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

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

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

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

"I’ll still cut it."

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

He didn't cut his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

2 months later

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

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

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

"What are you doing?"

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

"Don't mind me. Do your thing."

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that you look scary."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?"

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

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

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

"You didn't," you reply instantly.

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

"I will."

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

That's four seconds more than the first time.

Progress.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deleted your number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yn-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, let me make it better."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It will take time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

#FINALLY!!! turning the lights down low scattering rose petals lighting candles…my date w invisible thread is upon me at last 🥰#also i’m doing a sahar-style live reaction so apologies if i comment on literally every little thing that happens hehe im excited #hitting me w the clay metaphor right off the bat...i'm in awe of how perfectly you described childhood development w just a single analogy #molding the reader when she’s young n impressionable and leaving those imprints to harden beyond repair even after she's grown #what a beautifully melancholy way to describe her relationship w her mother and how it affects her view of herself i love it so much ㅠ #lesm inho. leemingo. LEMINHO!!! THE LAZY SMILE NOO U ALREADY GOT ME 😭😭😭 it’s so fucking over and i only just started oh my god #his eyes being the first thing she notices when they meet…the reader is just like me fr but describing them as black holes that draw her in #is making me crazy IT’S SO TRUE!!!! the most mesmerizing eyes known to man that warp space n time this comparison is absolutely stunning #the chill in his hand reminding her of a horrible memory like that 😞 so heartbreaking but also such a clever way to give insight into #the reader's character as well as insight into the the type of relationship she n lino will have and how it will likely resurface old wound #“u weren't sure what u would find on the other side nor did u have any desire to find out” u conveyed the odd magnetism of his eyes SO WELL #im very glad she got a higher grade than him i was not prepared for the smugness that would ensue if he beat her -_-; but a detail i really #adore is how casually lino takes the loss i feel like it goes to show that he truly doesnt have any ill intent despite being so provocative #the cat cafe is called limbo PLEASE THATS SO CUTE 😭 lino mimicking her words…n dodging the pillow i cant stand him actually #to be minho is to be insufferable and get away w it…she should throw a brick at his head next (<- madly in love)#oh my god the part where he laughs at her for hitting her head but from that point on covers that edges of the tables to protect her 😭😭😭#i’m going to be sick to my stomach thsi is the most minho expression of care on earth. all the careful linoisms u included are killing me ㅠ #comparing his eyelashes to the wings of a butterfly ARE U KIDDING!! that has me clutching my heart it's such delicate n gentle beauty #i love that he’s just as competitive as the reader but in a much more lighthearted way…he sees it almost like a game whereas she sees it as #a very serious demonstration of her worth. minho eventually becoming the one she wants to prove herself to rather than her mother #is so intensely sweet and heartwrenching at the same time ): in just a few months he's shown her a healthier love than her mother ever did #THEIR FIRST SNOW TOGETHER NONONO 😭 this entire scene has me inconsolable oh my god LINO W HIS SNOWBALL HE IS SO ANNOYINGLY CUTE #“u cant decide if ur shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him” critical hit on my heart…u painted such a #lovely picture of his laughter i can clearly envision his wild giggles and the way his entire body laughs w him when he’s really excited ㅠ #I WAS GONNA COMMENT ON THE SNOW NOT SPARKING THAT SAME AWFUL MEMORY THIS TIME 😭 his laughter brought her so much warmth she didnt even have #the chance to think abt it i'm so devastated by this parallel…little by little she’s healing w him and melting the frost her mother left #the way the reader grabs her fork to threaten him like he did w the spoon HELP theyre rubbing off on each other without even realizing it #every character detail u included is so well thought out u did a brilliant job ㅠㅠ it makes them human and the story all the more immersive #lino letting her eat first while he cooks the meat and him blushing everywhere when she feeds him MY BABY 😞💔 he thinks he’s so slick…#asking how she’d dispose of a body over dinner…lee minho master of romance everyone 🙏 but literally OF COURSE HE WOULD

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killsaki · 3 months ago

Text

backdoor cover. — tomura isn’t into betting too much, but he doesn’t mind winning.

no quirks!college!tomura shigaraki x f!reader

4.6k words | read on ao3 | minors dni.

CW / TW : DARK CONTENT! dubcon, drugging, mean!tomura, slight misogyny, victim blaming, really shitty college guys, you get slightly stepped on, fingering, creampie, planned noncon.

moving from your hometown is nerve racking no matter how old you are.

though, it is a bit easier in college than it would've been in middle school where you would have to stress about making new friends or impressing the cool kids. now, it’s mostly just the annoyance of having to figure things out like where all your classes are, and how the hell you’re going to find entertainment to keep you sane during the semester when you’re hundreds of miles from anything that you know.

but, lucky for you, the campus you’ve transferred to is the same campus as the oh so friendly, keigo takami.

the man was the definition of a social butterfly. he’d approached you the first day you were able to find your way to buy lunch on campus, learning your name and memorizing it to greet you every time the two of you crossed paths. then it advanced to him starting to make small talk when the two of you were standing in the same vicinity for longer than a minute. one day those short conversations turned into him walking you back to your car after classes and inviting you to parties his friends—or possibly other random people he’d interacted with on campus—would throw.

and at one of those parties, somehow, you became friends with touya. though, the entirety of the first conversation the two of you had was just you both tossing light insults at each other. at some point the two of you, like you had with the blonde, become friendlier. there’s still as many jabs at each other, but hanging out is never too bad.

keigo and touya both have introduced you to so many people, all of which have turned out to be just as fun and just as entertaining to talk to as they have been. you’ve felt nothing less than welcomed by all of their peers.

that is until you went back to their shared apartment one day and met their roommate. it wasn’t terribly awkward at first, he was slumped over on the couch whenever you came in for the first time. his eyes fixated on the television screen, fingers moving away on the game system controller held in his hands. you had greeted him, and he grunted back, not caring to offer a glance your way let alone a word.

you had sat at the bar by the kitchen while touya did whatever it was that he needed to do, your feet swung off the tall seat as you scrolled through your phone, having a pointless conversation with the dark haired man. only after you heard the noises from the tv halt did you hear the couch squeak as shigaraki pushed himself off of it and made his way into the same room. you watched as he slid past touya, trying his hardest not to actually touch him while doing so, and reached into the fridge for whatever offbrand green soda he decided to pull out. and you took note of how much smaller he seems than the other man—and also about how cold he looks, both metaphorically and physically.

“what?” he’d spoke for the first time, then standing in front of you as he looked at you with complete irritance written on his face.

“nothing.” you quickly responded, blinking as his eyes burned into yours.

“you know—” touya starts, waving his hand towards you with his back turned.

“from the bet with birdbrain?” tomura’s eyes still bore into yours as he spoke.

“you suck,” the man behind you was interrupted by the other as he obnoxiously slurped his drink and nodded almost sarcastically and turned back to find his seat once again. “but, yeah.”

you had a conversation as soon as you two left the apartment what was being betted on and what it had to do with you. though, touya probably wasn’t the right one to have that conversation with, he did nothing to ease the odd feeling that sat in your stomach from the way that shigaraki stared at you like you had offended him just by being there.

keigo, on the other hand, assured you that the guy just had issues with social cues and what not. he didn’t leave the apartment much and that it had nothing to do with you. though.. now that you think about it, he didn’t bother to explain what the bet was.

“keigo,” you look up from your laptop’s screen to where he’s sitting on his couch, eyes falling to his spread legs for a moment before catching the shine off the gold chain adored around his neck. “why do you never have clothes on when i come over?”

he tears his eyes from his own screen and blinks at you for a second before looking down at his outfit. one that he seems to be constantly wearing whenever you tell him you’re swinging by to hang out.

“these are pajamas, dove.” he raises his eyebrows at you.

“but i got here at noon?” you squint your eyes at him, only to roll them when he laughs.

“it’s also saturday.” he goes back to typing away on his laptop, and you almost do the same until you remember the reason you actually called his name in the first place.

“why does,” you pause, looking towards the hallway that leads to all of the men’s rooms and lower your voice before finishing your sentence. “what did you and touya bet on?”

you can see how his whole body stops for a moment, his fingers resting on the keys, smiling with his eyebrows drawn together.

“lots of things, which are you talking about?” he asks dumbly, as if this is the first time you’ve brought this up.

“when i first came over here, and i met your roommate, he said something about a bet between you two.”

“when was that again?” his head falls back against the cushions, fingers patting a beat on the poor metal of his laptop.

“last month.” you indulge him with pointless detail.

“i’m not sure why he would say that.” he shrugs.

“no clue?” you feel annoyance start to grow in your chest, it’s not like keigo to be clueless about anything. ever.

“none.” he still doesn’t bother to look at you.

“you’re lying.”

“i’d never lie.” the pat on his keyboard stops as a door opens behind him.

“you’re doing it right now.” you mutter, nudging his knee with your foot in an attempt to keep him talking.

“where the hell are your clothes?” he snaps his head once he catches a glance of his roommate who is only dressed in a pair of tight boxers.

“i pay rent here, i don’t have to wear clothes.” touya yawns back, ringed fingers dragging down his face.

“sure, if you’re fine with the guest seeing you nearly naked.” you can see keigo smiling even with his head turned as touya looks back to see who he was talking about, which, of course, is you. and you’re trying your hardest not to look at him as well, forcing your eyes to stay on keigo or even on your laptop screen but the ink that seems to wrap all the way around his torso catches your curiosity.

“you can look,” he speaks with his eyes locked on you, waiting for you to make eye contact before continuing. “let me know if you want a different angle.”

you scoff, lobbing the pencil you had nearby at him and successfully hitting his back. which results in insults being thrown at you, ones which you playfully retort to. and suddenly the tension from your thoughts before is gone. your mind back at ease when you just relax into the friendship that you have with these two for hours while the three of you eat and watch movies—only after touya successfully pulls the two of you along into his procrastinating crusade.

and you don’t even think about tomura again.

until he comes out of his room.

it’s much later into the evening, the sun has already fallen and you’re about to get ready to leave when he makes his appearance. white hair falls around his face to where you’re almost unable to see his eyes, but you do, and you catch the way he side-eyes down at you the second you come into his view.

he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way into the kitchen and grabs himself a bowl of something, or when he sits at the bar to eat his food. only when he’s on his way back does he slurp obnoxiously on his drink and hover behind where both touya and keigo are sat and asks,

“who won?” you don’t bother to look up from the tv, knowing he wasn’t speaking to you. but neither of them say anything. “so, you’re both still losers.” again, silence. besides another slurp. “whatever.”

he heads back to his room, door shutting behind him to confirm he wasn’t coming back.

“he heard the game?” you ask, not looking away from the screen. you made sure to have them turn the tv down whenever you all got on shigaraki’s console, the last thing you wanted was to give him any more reason to dislike you. but you know in your gut that it wasn’t what he was referring to.

“probably.” touya shrugs.

“no tellin’.” keigo adds on.

“right.” you nod, tension in the air thickening just as before. “i’m gonna go.”

they both snap their eyes your way, watching as you pack your things from the homework session you were supposed to be having with keigo.

“you leaving already?” keigo sits forward, a bewildered look on his face. “you didn’t even finish your drink.”

“you’re gonna owe me for wasting my soda,” touya pipes back in. “might as well just stay and finish it.”

you just force a laugh, pulling the doors handle without another word. you drive home the same way, in silence. and once you get back to your apartment, you ignore all their notifications, including neglecting to send your nightly goodnight snapchats to them both. but even as the night drags on and the hours go by, you can’t force yourself to sleep. there’s a weird, uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, one that keeps you from being able to get comfortable.

you know that they’re not bad people, that they’ve been great friends to you over the past few months and you can trust them. yet, even reminding yourself of that, you can’t get the weight off of your chest. so, you grab your keys and head back to their apartment hoping keigo will put you at ease like he always—usually does.

“they’re not here.” tomura blinks down at you, hair messy as ever as it frames his face that holds his permanently bored expression that does nothing to help the ever growing pit in the bottom of your stomach.

“where’d they go?” you ask quietly, half expecting him to shut the door in your face.

he only shrugs, turning and leaving the door open as he starts to walk away. you feel your body fall cold, thoughts eating at you without anything to slow them down. you can’t even remember what it is you’re so worried about, why you even feel this way.

“you’re letting the heat out.” you hear him mumble, as he starts to gather his things from the living room into his arms loudly. “i don't care what you do, just shut the door.” his shoulders roll back when he stands fully again and heads to his room. he’s so much taller when he actually stands up right.

you decided to wait inside, maybe you could catch keigo when he comes back. or even touya and—it’s two am. you step inside and shut the door behind you, falling to the couch once you reach it. maybe watching tv will help pass the time, oh and your soda is still on the table, perfect. now you don’t have to ask tomura for anything.

“why are you here?” he sighs, passing behind you, as if he was forced to ask.

“i just wanted to talk to them.” you light up your phone screen, debating on just calling them to see where they are.

“they had a bet.” you can see him trying to crack his neck from where he stands at the side of the couch. “if that’s what you came to talk about.”

“what?”

“you always ask them questions that they don’t answer, and you see how they get quiet whenever i ask them who won. before whats-his-name started talking to you they had a bet.” he talks down at you like it’s the most obvious thing, like you should’ve known this already.

you can feel your hands bunch up the material of your pants as they curl into fists on their own.

“it was who could fuck you first.”

and you think you can hear your heart as it falls out of your chest, toppling down your body and the couch as it clunks to the ground.

“that’s the only reason they started talking to you.”

he sighs, plopping himself down on the other side of the sofa, just far enough away from you that the two of you wouldn’t be touching.

“they probably actually like you now.”

like that was supposed to bring you any comfort.

“why don’t you like me?” you say it before you can even process the painful information he’s already given you, before you even really think about it. though, you don’t have any anxiety about his answer. he’s already told you the worst thing possible about the two people you’d become closest with and you know he doesn’t like you. nothing he can say will make the way you feel any worse.

“huh?” he looks over at you with an eyebrow raised, but lips tilted in annoyance.

then you remember tomura is brutal with his words and truly doesn’t care about other people's feelings. maybe he’ll tear into you just to get you to leave.

“you always glare at me, you ignored me when i’ve tried to speak to you, you-”

“god, shut up.” he lays his head back against the cushion of the couch, spreading his legs so that his knee leans against yours. “i don’t like you because you’re stupid.” he’s as blunt as you expected him to be, but it doesn’t feel like theres any malice behind his words.

“i don’t think i’m stupid.” you say out loud, but mostly to yourself, you know tomura doesn’t care what you think. you stare at the watered down drink in your hand, mouth gone dry from the horrible feeling in your gut, you bring it up to your lips and drink as much as you can before you need to breathe.

“that’s why you are stupid.” he rolls his neck to look at you, head still laying on the couch. white hair caked to his face, red eyes staring at you without that usual grimace for what feels like the first time. “you think you’re too smart to be fooled, that’s why they were able to get to you so easily.”

“but i didn’t fall for anything because i never did anything with them.” you reason, taking another gulp from your drink and he just blinks back at you.

“you’re still in their hands.” he yawns, shifting his hips. “even if they do like you, what’s stopping them from using you as a quick fuck one night?”

you can’t think of an answer. it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have sex with one of them, but really you always thought one of them would ask you to be their girlfriend if anything was to happen between you and whichever. the couch squeaks when he moves his hips again, readjusting once more.

“why would you tell me about all this if you’re their friend?”

“to get you out of my apartment.”

the feeling clouding your entire body couldn’t possibly get any worse, but the thought that he might’ve been telling you cause he cared, even if it was the tiniest bit- that might’ve helped. maybe you shouldn’t have even asked.

“right.” you nod, pursing your lips. “i’ll leave then, thanks.”

the second you stand up, the light from the hallway shines onto tomura’s lap. how the fuck did you miss that he had a hard on this entire time.

“oh.” you say before you have a chance to stop yourself. “sorry- i’m sorry.” you cover your mouth heading for the door, but after a few steps you start to feel dizzy, ultimately collapsing to the floor when your knees go weak. you hear something that sounds like ‘what the fuck’ come from behind you but it sounds muffled. you heart racing makes the sound of your blood pumping far too loud to hear anything else. but then, he’s crouched in front of you looking even more displeased than when he’d first opened the door. he doesn’t even say anything, just sneers at you.

“what was in that drink?” you grasp his shirt, hold shaking as your hand trembles. you feel the warm pit in your stomach from earlier increase by tenfold. it brings heat to your cheeks when you realize there's a puddle starting to form in your underwear, that your cheeks are burning and the feeling overtaking you is want.

“oh, you really are fucking stupid.” he sighs, looking over to your nearly empty glass and chuckling in disbelief. always so cruel. “maybe they don’t actually like you.”

“tomura..” you can feel the tears prick at your eyes as the heat boiling under your skin starts to spread. “what do i do?”

he sighs again, because you being here is such an inconvenience, the thought of him having to help you is a complete detriment to his night.

“leave, call the police on them for drugging you, go to the hospital, fuck if i care.” he stands back up, groaning as he stretches and you moan from the sound alone. it makes the heat in your cheeks flare with embarrassment and you feel like you may pass out from it all. his feet shift in front of you, and all you can do is curl in on yourself, clutching to your clothes and press your thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache building between them. the pain that in an instant reaches from the top of your head down to the soles of your feet, making even them blister and throb.

“you’re so pathetic.” he mumbles, nudging your shoulder up with his socked foot. “you’re just gonna sit there and hump my floor?”

you let the tears fall, stop holding in the sobs you’ve been trying to keep silent. you want to think about how wrong you were, how you truly thought you could trust keigo, touya even. but tomura was right, all along he was warning you without even talking to you. you want to cry and to curse them but you can’t, your mind is clouded over with lust and it’s taking everything in you not to stick your hand in your pants right there like some kind of deviant.

“say it and i’ll help you.” he pushes up harder with his foot, forcing you to sit upright, to look at him. the light from the kitchen illuminates behind him, and from here he looks the same as every single murderer in every scary movie you’ve ever seen. as much as you want to feel even the smallest bit of creeped out, embarrassed, or even to reject his shitty offer. you can’t, your body won’t let you be rational. it fights against everything you know is right.

“s-say what?” you try to steady your breathing, hiccuping as tears still stream down your face.

“that you’re pathetic, stupid, i’m not picky.” he shrugs, rubbing one of his eyes as he looks down at you expectantly.

“i’m.. pathetic.” you say it, admit it easily, because even now with a half empty mind you know it's true.

without word, the same foot that pushed you up, presses against the side of the same shoulder forcing your body to the floor. you allow it, not complaining even when the flat of his foot lands between your shoulder blades to press your chest down. he props your hips up and works your bottoms down without speaking, which is probably for the best. there’s no way anything he could say would make you feel better about this situation or the fact that he’s the one ‘helping’ you through it.

it seems to worsen the second that your sex is exposed to the air, your whole body rushing with what feels like molten lava in your viens.

you push against his touch the second it slides along your slit, moaning loudly into the plush of the carpet. it earns you a slap with the back of his hand against your skin but it only plays further into your pleasure, which makes him huff behind you. the need for something more—anything more overwhelms you and you start to beg mindlessly, truly, because you don’t know what the fuck is falling from your tongue, only that your mouth is infact moving.

“shut up.” shigaraki grunts from behind you. “so fucking annoying.” he’d probably been trying to prep you, to give you some kind of mercy, but then again he could’ve just been attempting to tease you. either way, he cuts it short, shifting behind you and pushing the tip of him against your already fluttering entrance. his free hand comes down to where his foot had been, pressing flat between your shoulder blades to keep you in place.

he gives you no grace as to ease it in. your hands claw at the carpet as he shoves all that he can in with one thrust, nails digging into your skin come with the sharp breath the both of you let out. you’re nothing more than a body, than the euphoria you feel with each push of his hips to force his cock fully in, than the sound that slips from your mouth beneath him. you can tell with each movement tomura is doing this for himself and couldn’t care less about how you feel, doesn’t even think about how thick he is. doesn’t care if the stretch from him burns, if it makes you cry or hurt—and if he does, it’s because that’s what he wants.

but that thought alone makes you clamp around him, forcing a small sound from his chest. you can feel your slick along the insides of your thighs when he finally presses his hips fully against your ass, you know it has to be dripping down the base of him to his balls. you’ll blame it on the foggy state of your consciousness but it makes your mouth water, the thought of him using you for his own pleasure. the smallest hint of him being attracted to you well enough to get off to you despite him being so indifferent about you before. it makes you hungry in a way that probably can’t be blamed on whatever drug your so-called-friends slipped into your drink.

you pull your hips away from his before pushing back once again, drawing another sound out of you both. the hand digging into your spine drags its nails to your hips, the other finding its way there to grip you at both sides as you fuck yourself back onto him. with each push you feel his hips cant forwards the tiniest bit to meet yours, and it sends pride throughout you. not to mention the feeling of him easing the all consuming ache with each stretch of him that he allows you.

his hands move from their position to grip at your ass, crescent claws digging into the soft there as he spreads your cheeks and takes control of your pace. it’s as rough as you’d expect from him, you’re sure you’re going to be bleeding with the way he forces your movements with his hold on you. you scramble to hold onto the carpet when he moves slightly, no doubt accidentally, and the tip of him prods against that spot inside you that has you losing your mind.

“oh god, fuck-fuck-” slips out, you’re actually able to catch that one.

“shut the fuck up.” he replies, voice strained. and suddenly you can hear the panting, it’s loud and fills the room right alongside the sound of his balls smacking against your skin. he feels good, it’s so obvious when he speaks.

“feels s’good,” you slur out again when he adds even more speed to his thrusts. “s’good, thank you, thank you.”

“shut up, shut up.” his voice comes out as a moan this time. one of his hands comes down just above your ass, pushing your hips flat to the floor and he moves his knees on either side of your thighs.

“s’close, please-” is all you’re able to get out before his palm is over your lips.

“just fuckin’ take it and shut up.” he hisses in your ear as his body lays over your own. you can feel him panting now, against the juncture of your neck. “they’re so fuckin’ dumb.” he mumbles, groaning when his movements become sporadic, clearly nearing the edge as you start to clamp down on him.

a few more pushes against your soft, warm, sticky walls, and you can’t keep the blurry coffee table in your sight. your eyes roll back as hot static forces its way through your veins and up your spine. the twitch of his cock inside of you only adding to it, the spill of his seed on the other hand seems to pull you out of it and only the small sounds of his whimper keep you in place. it was something beyond the bliss of an orgasm to hear such a stiff man moaning for you.

it’s soft then, his cock as he pulls it out, and his movements. he tucks himself back in his pants without bothering to clean himself, but for you, he strips away your bottoms before helping you up and to the door to his room. you want to finally be rational now that you have the means. you want to go home and wash tonight off of you. to leave and never come near tomura’s roommates ever again. but when he tosses you down on his bed and comes back from the bathroom that you had no clue that he had in his room, to give you the rag to clean yourself, you decided against it. maybe, you should just sleep.

you pass out the second he gestures you to actually lay down, the look of annoyance back on his face when he does so. and you’re fast asleep by the time there’s a jingle of keys at the door, neither of them speak as they come in to find their roommate on the couch, fingers fiddling away at the console controller. though if you were there to look at them, you would see how keigo’s eyes instantly darted over to your empty drink. and how touya’s mouth immediately twists up in annoyance.

“she wasn’t at her place.” touya says, falling down beside his friend. “thought you said the pills that guy had would’ve had her like putty.”

“bad info.” he shrugs, shooting the last kill on his game before looking over at the blonde still standing. “got somethin’ to say?”

“what happened to the drink?” keigo asks, but the crack in tomura’s door is more than enough to see the figure laying in the bed.

“oh, right,” shigaraki takes his focus back to the tv and uses one hand to switch screens, holding the other out, palm up. “i won.”

repost from my old blog <3

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part-time-zombie · 5 months ago

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Headcanon that remus likes to take some idioms very literally, as in he'll physically manifest symptoms of them as a joke.

He's daydreaming and all of a sudden his head is surrounded by clouds. Patton freaks out thinking his head is on fire, until remus tunes back in and they disappear. (Head in the clouds)

Someone gives him a compliment or shows him genuine kindness and he immediately throws up a bunch of butterflies. Logan shrugs it off as him just eating things he's not supposed to again, and remus doesn't try to correct him. (Butterflies in your stomach)

This idea just came to me and ngl I kinda love it

(if you have any other metaphors/idioms please add them to this, I'd love to see how much other stuff he could do)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #remus sanders #ts remus #headcanon #i might write this

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florencemtrash · 5 months ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Minor character deaths. Major character injuries. Canon typical violence/graphic descriptions. Whoopdeedoo 9.2k words for you!

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

The lake lay flat and motionless as a mirror, like a pool of paint someone had spilled over grey stone. It extended past its dark borders, seeping into the ground beneath your feet and drenching the soil until it was thick as winter slush. You shivered just to stand in it.

Ione stumbled on the soft, marshy ground of the southeast blindspot. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to winnowing.

“Gods have mercy,” she swore beneath her breath, tugging at her cane from where it sank inches deep into the earth. There was a sucking sound as Ione gave another irritated pull.

Techaria allowed the woman to lean against her side, butterfly wings fluttering before turning invisible with a shiver of light. They attracted too much attention.

You blinked up at her in surprise, forgetting the dread that had your stomach churning. Magic like that usually hailed from the Day Court, which meant your father had chosen her to accompany you.

She shrugged noncommittally. “Helion had some say in deciding who would accompany you and Ione to the Continent. Everyone agreed I would be the best fit as someone familiar with both the Day and the Night Courts.”

You had dozens of questions you wanted to ask — how had she come to the Night Court? When did she join the ranks of the Valkyries, small in number as they were? What had possessed her to do such a thing?

But those were questions for another day when you weren’t trying to keep your stomach contents from revolting and your racing heart in check.

“Yes, that makes sense,” you agreed.

You gripped onto the straps of your pack, feeling the weight of two dozen siphons sitting within them. The plan was simple in nature, but would be difficult to execute — use Nesta as a distraction to lead Koschei away from the lake and give Ione enough time to unlock the power for herself. If your theory held true, the siphons would allow Ione to concentrate that power and destroy Koschei once and for all… at least that was the hope.

Bone-pale trees stood in loose clusters all around and up to the water’s true edge, bracing themselves against one another like wounded soldiers trudging through mud. You tried to imagine they were protecting you as they’d protected Andrian. A fragile barrier against Koschei’s influence both physically and metaphorically. Thin as they were, they did what they could to cover your movements and you saw no evidence of the activities you knew were taking place across these lands.

Some of the trees leaned out over the water with their pale, thin faces. Desperate to catch their own reflection in the inky stillness. Gray stones, round and smooth, filled the bottom of the lake, staring up like polished skulls through the brackish water. Or were they skulls after all? You couldn’t tell, although shadows appeared to look out through hollows that may have once been eyes.

The ground rose on your left, curling out towards you like a brown wave. The trees that grew over the wave’s crest looked healthier, their skeletal branches managing to hold onto the last of their frost-bitten leaves on sturdier ground unspoiled by the water.

You breathed through your nose and gagged. The heady scent of rot and death choked the air, the stench inescapable no matter how you breathed.

There was another sick smell creeping into the air. Something acrid, like chemicals set to flame in a flask. You tilted your head to the sky and gave a tentative sniff before frowning immediately. Whatever was causing the smell was close by.

Techaria looked down first and swallowed a scream. Her boots, which had sunk into the soil up to her calves, were sizzling.

Ione lifted her cane with a shaking hand and found the silver cap at its end similarly melting away. The metal smarted and popped off the wooden end, sinking into the ground and catching flame.

The lake was alive and it was hungry.

Techaria lunged forward, snatching the old woman around the waist and throwing her over her shoulder with a grunt. She took off towards higher ground, trusting that you would follow close behind. Not that you had much of a choice. You could either run or stand still and let your pearly white bones succumb to the lake’s magic. You rejected the latter option immediately.

You scrambled after them and with every step you felt the power of the lake seep closer and closer to your skin, begging to feast on the flesh of your bones.

The harder you pushed, the deeper your feet sank into the ground until every step felt like a battle with the gaping maw of a fish.

All at once you understood what Bethsevah had meant when she had locked the power beneath the lake. There was something in those waters not altogether evil, but hateful nevertheless — some essence of Bethsevah’s magic that would destroy whatever it identified as its enemy.

You were vaguely prideful and equally frustrated that your theories on magic as a biological system were proving true at every turn. You didn’t even know how you could quantify this for inclusion in your manuscript.

Good thoughts, wrong time. You thought as you kept running.

Techaria ran up the slope of the hill, digging her toes in before launching her body up by the strength of her back and catching onto a snarled claw of roots. For a split second, the roots threatened to snap and send both Techaria and Ione tumbling back down to the acidic mud. But Techaria made the final ascent, dropping Ione to the ground with little fanfare before she reached down for your hand.

“Come on!” She hissed, too terrified to make more sound.

There were ears and eyes in these woods. She could feel them blowing their foul breath against her neck.

Something whistled in the sky as you clawed your way up the sloped ground. An unearthly glow shot across Techaria’s terrified features as she latched onto your arm and yanked you up to safety. You cried out in pain, your ankles nearly popping out of their joints as your feet came free of your shoes.

Techaria rolled on top of you and slapped her hand over your lips hard enough to make your teeth rattle.

“Be quiet and stay still.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Techaria wove her magic around the three of you like a blanket, hiding you in plain sight just like she’d done with her wings.

Your breath caught in your chest when the source of the whistling came into view.

It was Vassa.

She seemed to have doubled in size and strength — no more dreary feathers or patches of picked skin. She sailed close to the treetops, brushing her wings against the sparse foliage and setting them aflame with what could have been a screech or a laugh.

Snapped branches, charred and crackling, rained over your head.

“Is she gone?” Techaria asked moments later, her face still locked on your eyes as you took shuddering breaths.

You nodded stiffly and the female finally released her hold on you.

“Your shoes—”

You shook your head. You still had one sock on your left foot, but your right settled into the dirt and you felt every poke of detritus against the sensitive skin. Down below you caught glimpses of your leather boots bubbling in the soil. There was no salvaging them.

“You can take mine.” Techaria offered, already bending down to undo the laces.

“Don’t. They won’t fit me anyway.” They were burnt beyond recognition and hanging on by weak threads. “And from the looks of them they won’t stay intact for much longer no matter who’s wearing them.”

But Ione was suspiciously unharmed. Her shoes were intact, as was the hemline of her cloak. The only item that seemed to have earned the lake’s ire was her cane. She waved it in the air, dispelling the smoke from its fuming end as if she were warding away evil.

Curious. You thought.

When you’d all caught your breath, you set out in search of safe ground closer to the water’s edge. You’d need easy access to its powers when the time came. Eventually you found your safe haven in the form of a willow hovering by a pool that bubbled out from the main lake. Its silvery sprays hung low, sparse and thin and sickly. But its roots held onto the soil well, keeping the ground firm and dry.

You pressed the palms of your hands into the ground, focusing on the subtle hum of magic that seemed to emanate from it. You dug through layers of topsoil, unspun the threads of magic like a ream of paper until you could read its contents. Every stroke of magic, its very signature, felt familiar.

It felt like Bethsevah.

“I want to test something,” you said, gesturing to Techaria’s long, coiled hair. Without hesitation, she let you cut off a golden lock. You lowered it towards the lake’s mirrored surface and quickly snatched your hand away when the strands disintegrated with a spark. All it had taken was a touch and poof. Gone.

You repeated your test with Ione’s and… nothing. Nothing but a knotted length of gray, damp hair. Ione stared at the lake’s frozen surface, feeling something pull her closer and closer.

She plunged her hands into the darkness.

You bit down a shout. Techaria leapt forward, grabbing a fistful of Ione’s cloak and pulling her back. You expected to see pure, white bone sticking out from the nubs of the wrist. At the very least, you expected some cracking of the universe as the ripples fluttered out and died. But once again… there was nothing.

Ione shrugged Techaria off her back before drying her hands on her cloak. “Well I think that settles any concern we had about my blood relationship to Bethsevah.”

Techaria couldn’t believe that such boldness could come from a woman so frail and aged.

You nodded. “Magic recognizes magic the same way blood does. It must be why you’re unaffected by the lake’s powers. It knows who you are.”

You quickly took off your satchel, ripping off the buckles and upending its contents. Two dozen siphons spilled out, blinking like sapphires. You tried to tamp down on the wave of longing that rolled over you as you saw their familiar color but not the familiar body that came with them.

Azriel.

Your mind whispered his name into the void as you clutched one of the blue stones.

I’ll find you again when this is all over. I promise.

The elaborate leatherwork Ione had strapped on her hands, elbows, chest, and knees were familiar to you. Illyrian-made and designed to hold siphons capable of collecting and focusing power.

You locked two of them into place on the backs of Ione’s hands, one at the center of her back, one at her chest, two at her elbows, and two at her knees. It was more than Azriel and Cassian wore, but Ione carried them with cold grace, as if she’d been born to carry out this task.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, girl,” Ione said as you finished tightening the straps.

“If you mean the armor, then yes, I do know what I’m doing.” It wasn’t the first time you’d handled Illyrian leather. You helped Azriel strip them off at the end of every day. It had become a ritual of sorts. You would unlace the armor at his elbows and knees and undo the buckles that kept his back brace secured beneath his wings. In return, Azriel would ghost his hands over your shoulders as you shrugged off your robes and undo whatever pins and knots had found their way into your hair that day.

You shivered at the thought of him and his careful touch. At all the things you hadn’t told him. All the things you’d never gotten to do with him. You’d both been so cautious and determined to take your time as if you’d had an endless abundance of it, but you were beginning to regret it now.

You swallowed those emotions.

You couldn’t let them distract you. Not now.

“If you mean everything else… I don’t.” You replied honestly. All of this was a gamble. You didn’t know if Ione would be able to handle the magic she was about to take on. And if she did survive, you didn’t know if the siphons you’d prepared would do anything to focus that power into something that could be used to kill a death god.

You slid a knife out from your thigh and Ione’s eyes flashed like two marbles caught in the sun. She too was thinking of all the ways the day could go wrong. But it was too late. She’d already committed to this next turn in her life and would see where the path took her.

But for now… they could only wait.

Azriel.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice.

Every so often, when your guard was down or your emotions were heightened, thoughts and feelings would trickle across the connection that bound you too together and knock at the doors of Azriel’s soul. As if the bond knew your thoughts lay with him and wanted to give him a taste of all that could be his one day.

Azriel. Focus. His brother’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. Shadows swarmed around him in a cloud so thick, he couldn’t see his brothers standing right next to him. They were all hidden in the same dark.

Is she safe, Rhys?

As safe as she can be with Ione and Techaria. They found the blindspot in Koschei’s magic. Y/n says some of the power in the lake belongs to Bethsevah, or at least used to, and will seek to destroy anything it doesn’t recognize. Take one step into those waters and it will burn you to a crisp.

So don’t touch the lake. Got it. I never was a fan of swimming. Cassian interjected. And I don’t believe my opinion will change after this day.

Azriel could feel the tension in his brother’s muscles the longer they were forced to stay hidden. Every twitch of his fingers as he drummed the hilt of his sword. Every rapid blink as he switched between conversations with Rhys, Nesta, and Feyre.

Will Koschei burn too then? Azriel thought aloud. If he touches the lake before unlocking his power?

That would make our lives infinitely easier, wouldn’t it? I would bet good coin I could wrestle him into the lake.

Something tells me Koschei isn’t the kind of man you can throw around, Cassian.

He’s not—

The words died in Cassian’s mind, shriveling up and wasting away like flowers at the end of their season.

He meant to tell Rhys, “He’s not a man at all.” But when Koschei emerged from the woods, languidly striding towards the lake, Cassian felt foolish for thinking anyone would need the reminder.

Koschei was not dressed for war.

Not a stitch of metal armor graced his skin. He wore only the unblemished flesh he’d been born in — grey as a stillborn child — and a length of pitch black fabric draped around his waist. Trails of white cord criss-crossed over his chest and wrapped around his throat like a necklace before looping down his arms.

Azriel narrowed his eyes, looking past his shadows, and shivered. It wasn’t white cord at all, but an endless chain of teeth strung together like stained pearls.

Koschei fingered them thoughtfully, counting each tooth and twisting the necklace around his neck so he could feel them drag across his skin. Molars, canines, and incisors alike were worn as decoration, testifying to the millions that had met their end beneath his feet.

Death followed at his heels, sucking the air dry until it felt hard to breathe. Where he walked through the grass, the ground turned black. Plants lost their color and collapsed in pathetic heaps. Worms sprung from the ground, wriggling and writhing like the unfurling of a carpet in search of new rot to consume.

He carried a scythe in his hands, rust streaming down the black metal like it was weeping tears of blood.

A scythe. How poetic, Feyre thought with a shiver. Where farmers used the humble tool to cut down their fields, Koschei used his to cut down men.

She gritted her teeth at the sight of something else in his hands. A metal chain tied around his wrist. One sharp tug and Ione — or rather, Nesta — stumbled out from the treeline by her neck.

Nesta!

I’m fine. She soothed her mate’s mind even as she followed Koschei’s beck and call, wrapping tendrils of cold flame around his boiling fury until it was at a simmer. The glare she shot into the death god’s back would have sent lesser men to their graves, but whenever he looked back at her with his alarmingly sympathetic smile, she masked that disdain, replacing it with a familiar mix of contempt and fear disguised as anger. He hasn’t hurt me.

She knew it was killing Cassian to watch as she was led to the lake like a lamb to slaughter. Every instinct of his screamed out to crush Koschei’s smooth skull beneath the heel of his boot for laying a hand on his mate. But whatever your magic had done was working. Vassa had dropped her at Koschei’s feet like a cat delivering a corpse and he had smiled so brightly, skin stretched to breaking over wide cheeks, that Nesta knew he’d been fooled.

He’d locked that chain around her neck, caressed her cheek with care, and walked with her all the way from his cabin in the woods to this thin stretch of beach. He hadn’t spoken a single word, but he’d sung.

Funeral songs.

Each and every one of them.

Some she recognized, others she didn’t. Sometimes he sang in languages that had been buried in graves a long, long time ago, their tombstones scattered as dust in the wind.

Pitch black eyes raked over the empty shores. His nostrils flared as he drank in the stench of decay and petrichor. Rain clouds huddled overhead, trembling in his presence as he smiled with a joy that didn’t reach his eyes.

He couldn’t remember the last time his hands had been drenched with fresh blood, but he was looking forward to it. When he was finally free of this place, he would go to Prythian and revel in the violence he’d been deprived of for so long.

He licked his lips and sighed. He could almost taste the iron on the tip of his tongue, brackish and pure. He began coiling the chain in his hands until Nesta was forced to kneel in front of him, not even a foot away from the still water. She could smell sickness on his skin, like that horrid summer in the human lands when plague bodies were left to bloat and spoil in the streets.

He gripped her face in one hand, pressing her cheeks until her lips parted. She fought the urge to bite off his fingers.

“I know you’re disgusted by me.” He spoke in a deep, grating voice. “But you must understand, I was not meant to be like this. When I was worshiped, when I had full grasp of my being, I was a more handsome sight to look upon.” He grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her face over the lake until she could see Ione’s face staring back at her.

“Thank you for giving that back to me, child.”

Later on, when Nesta reflected on yet another brush with death, she would marvel at how sincere she found his words.

He moved faster than light, a knife appearing in his hands that he aimed at Nesta’s throat.

But Cassian was faster.

He hurled himself out of the shadows, slamming into Koschei’s side in an explosion of red light that left a crater in the earth. The death god looked almost elegant as he was thrown onto his back, drapery smooth over his chest and legs as he regarded Cassian with a frigid frown, like he was an ant who had dared to splatter and mark the bottom of his shoe.

Cassian threw Nesta over his shoulder, sprinting off into the cover of the woods with his wings tucked tight between his shoulder blades.

Remember, You’d told him, We need to keep Koschei away from the lake for as long as possible. The moment Ione breaks the spell, he’ll know and he’ll come racing back to destroy us all.

He could hear Vassa screeching in the distance, the noise growing as the beat of her wings carried her back to the heart of the lake. Back to her master.

He also heard the rustling of the leaves as the wind picked up. The steady footsteps of warriors getting ready to make their assault.

Koschei did not run after them. It was beneath him to run. He may have lost his prize, but such things were temporary. He’d waited this long. He could afford to wait a little longer.

He took his scythe, raised the blade to his lips, and cut a vertical line down the center. Dark red blood, thick and clotted, spilled out from the wound and painted the blade. With an artful swing, he carved a circle into the sand and those things that were dead in the woods began to walk once more.

Ione clawed at her chest the moment Koschei drew blood, some wild feeling in her spirit begging her to turn and sprint into the deep woods or to hide in the tall grasses like a bunny escaping a hound.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?”

You remembered she wasn’t blessed with the sight and sound of the fae. She couldn’t see what was happening on the other edges of the lake as Koschei finally began to walk after Cassian and Nesta. But she could feel it as keenly as you and Techaria that something was amiss. A malicious power was bleeding into the world and ripping souls from their rest.

It’s finally begun.

The ground shook with silent thunder.

Techaria’s amber skin turned white, wings flickering back into the seeing world before disappearing again as she regained her focus.

The wind whistled past you, skeletal branches beginning to rise and fall as they bowed over and over and over again in frantic prayer. The trees by the water leaned further down, kissing the lake with their lips and watching as they were burned away, leaving black craters on their faces.

The earth trembled and bones rose from their graves, creeping up inch by inch like shiny, white pustules. Some still clung to their rotted flesh, stringy and dark and rank. Others were as smooth as pearls, picked clean by the scavengers of the earth. But all of them began clustering together, held up by magic as new tendons sprang into existence and knit the bones close.

You couldn’t believe how quickly those crooked creatures ran. Their movements were erratic yet purposeful as they weaved in between the gaps in the trees and through the rustling tall grasses, followed by distant screams and shouts and the ringing of steel and—

“Do it,” Ione commanded, holding out her wrists with a grimace.

You clutched the knife tighter, but didn’t move. “Ione, I—”

The woman’s eyes hardened. She had not traveled all this way for fear to take over. She had not lived to this age or survived a fucking war to be afraid of death now.

“I’m an old woman, Y/n. It’s a miracle I’ve kept my sanity this long. I can afford to lose it today. Now, if you don’t use that knife for its intended purpose, hand it over and I’ll do it myself!” She growled.

You sucked in a deep breath and without further hesitation, cut a line across the woman’s wrists. She hissed in pain before she turned and held out her hands so her blood could drip, drip, drip down, and disturb the smooth mirrored surface of the lake.

He’s not following us, Cassian. Cassian!

Nesta held onto him for dear life, burying her face in the folds of his wings as he sprinted through the woods like a wild horse.

Koschei was meant to be following them.

It wouldn’t matter that Ione could break the magic of the lake if Koschei was there to snatch it up instead.

Nesta felt a wave of power roll over the woods. Cassian held his breath, his stomach dropping towards the cradle of his hip bones.

I think you’ve spoken too soon, Nes.

Twisted creatures dropped down from the trees, pale with pitch black eyes and gaping mouths. Nesta gave a shout as one grabbed hold of her shoulder and threw her off Cassian’s back.

Two more leapt atop of Cassian, narrowly missing the curve of his throat with their teeth as he jerked back and then shot out bursts of power.

NESTA!

She screamed, beating at the creature with her fists. Long, black strands of flesh fell from its skull, drooping over Nesta’s cheeks with a slimy touch. Just when she thought she’d need to pull from her own power, Cassian’s hands burst through its chest, tearing apart its chest in a shower of red light and bone fragments.

“Come on!”

The wind stopped howling so loudly. The temperature of the air dropped. And suddenly there was Koschei, looming just above Cassian’s shoulder with his stretched-skin smile and empty eyes.

Cassian caught sight of the death god in Nesta’s eyes, rolling out of the way of his scythe before it could take off his head.

Nesta played the role of the old woman, scrambling away on all fours as bone-beasts gathered around like crows to a corpse. They clicked their teeth together, heads popping in and out of sockets as they closed off all avenues of escape.

But Nesta’s attention was squarely on Cassian as he and Koschei danced through the trees. Her mate had never looked more alive than while fighting a god of death, with his sweat-slicked hair and cheeks painted red from exertion. There was a light in his eyes as he dove and twisted away from the swinging scythe and Nesta swore she could hear his wildly beating heart over the chaos.

Are you glad he followed us now, Nesta? He could still find it within himself to tease her.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

She gritted her teeth, picking up a rotten log and beating away a creature that dared to cock its head in her direction with hunger.

Despite the rush of blood in Cassian’s ears and the growing ache in his body, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Nesta’s curses in his mind. He stamped down on the scythe with his left foot and kicked it away with his right. It flew through the air, embedding itself in the trunk of a dead elm at the same time that Cassian sank his sword into Koschei’s ribs.

Koschei looked down at the blade in his side, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes.

His shoulders twitched… then began to shake.

Koschei was laughing.

Cords of unnaturally defined muscle pulsed around Cassian’s sword, sucking and swallowing like a starving dog. Cassian’s stomach turned. His brain muddled and grew hot, for there was no blood to be found when he finished twisting the blade and wrenched it loose.

Worms, wriggling, pink-grey worms, poked their heads out from the wound, writhing and coagulating before becoming flesh once more.

Koschei stopped laughing, but the smile never left him as he locked eyes with the Lord of Bloodshed.

“It’s been a long while since anyone laid a hand on me, let alone twice.” His words were heavy with condescension. “Well done.”

Cassian reeled back, dropping his weapon as the muscles of his right arm seized with a vengeance. He ripped off his gauntlet, watching as the veins of his hand turned purple… then black. The skin followed suit, decaying before his very eyes.

He dropped to his knees, cradling the ruined limb against his chest and howling in pain.

Nesta saw red and lost her mind as Cassian’s pain erupted down the bond.

She shrieked so loud and so powerfully that the bone-beasts vibrated before shattering into dust.

She tore away the magic you’d spent days weaving over her skin and through her blood like they were cobwebs until it wasn’t Ione standing in front of Koschei, but a Lady of Death in her own right.

Recognition flickered through Koschei as the scythe flew back into his hands.

“Sister?”

Then.

Drip.

And a piece of Koschei’s soul cracked open. His eyes flew open in surprise. His mouth dropped and a dozen flies swarmed out, buzzing with anticipation and hunger.

Someone had unlocked the power in the lake. His power.

Nesta lunged at him and landed in the dirt, damp leaves slipping and sliding beneath her hands and knees. Koschei was already gone.

Cassian moaned. His skinned burned from the inside out. Is this what his death would be? He felt like a pig slowly roasting on a split.

“Cassian, Cassian, my love.” Nesta crawled over to him, tearing buckles and leather armor off his chest and arms. “Cassian. Look at me.”

His eyes opened, bleary and unfocused.

“Nes,” he whispered, feeling cool kisses of wind pepper his burning flesh. “How bad is it?”

Nesta went quiet. His right arm was black up to the elbow and the infection of Koschei’s touch was only spreading. Darkening veins bloomed towards his shoulder, like ink running down coarse paper. Soon it would spread to his chest and kill him.

“Nes?” He felt her caress his mind. Felt her soothing his soul before quietly shutting him out.

She eyed the sword abandoned on the ground, walked over, and picked it up. Cassian didn’t need to ask her what she meant to do as she stood above him and raised the blade above her head. His wife, his mate, had never been one to shy away from hard decisions.

“Damn, Nes,” he said through gritted teeth and adjusted his position so she had a clear path to his arm. “Just do it.”

“I love you, Cassian,” she said through tears.

“I know.”

Then she brought down the sword, and severed Cassian’s arm from his shoulder.

Drip.

The water turned red, swirls of color spreading out through the dark until every inch of the lake had turned as crimson as a rose.

Azriel slipped in and out of shadows, cutting down Koschei’s creatures just as quickly as they reformed. Beads of sweat gathered at his brow, painting his cheeks and neck with salty strokes.

EVERYONE TO THE WATER! NOW!

Feyre’s command rang in his mind and in a flash of shadow, he materialized on the beach.

The High Lady’s silver armor shone like starlight — a beacon for warriors to flock to as they came staggering out of the trees and grasses covered in the blood of their friends.

Behind me! Rhys shouted from Feyre’s side.

He crouched low as the bone beast sailed over his head, its crooked jaw open wide. Feyre plunged her fingers into its eye sockets, curling them around the nose bridge and holding tight as Rhys drove his sword up and into the dark flesh of its underside. His sword channeled his power, exploding the creature from the inside as it thrashed. Its jaws still snapped and twisted, screeching at a high-pitch until Feyre crushed it to dust.

Light, wind, fire, and ice exploded on the beach as High Lords and High Ladies poured out their power. Viviane threw her hands up, sending hundreds of shards of clear-cut ice towards Vassa as the firebird swooped down and bit off the head of an Autumn Court soldier. There came a scream as fire met ice and steam blanketed the ground, thick as early morning mist.

Koschei’s creatures never stopped spilling out of the woods, piecing themselves back together in increasingly bulky, horrid formations. Even the fragments on the ground were restless, crawling over bodies like maggots, filling the eyes, and ears, and mouths of corpses until they were compelled to stand and fight with twitching limbs.

To Azriel’s right, Helion fought a wolf-man hybrid, shoving light down the creature’s throat until it lay convulsing on the ground. Somewhere to his left, the High Lord of Autumn was kneeling in the wet sand, shaking the bloodless body of one of his brothers and screaming at him to wake up. Azriel tried blinking the grit out of his eyes, shadows streaming over his arms and around his body like a shield.

One blink and there was nothing but the misty haze before him.

Another blink and there was Koschei with his scythe in hand and a line of blood from his lips all the way down to his sternum.

Eris stopped cradling his brother’s body. The tears evaporated from his cheeks as he stood on shaking legs and pulled out his knife. He wanted to be close when he made the kill. This was personal.

Koschei tipped his head to the side as he regarded the High Lord. Then he smiled. He enjoyed it immensely when they fought back.

The passion and hope and rage was just so delicious, like salt sprinkled over a fine meal.

So when Eris roared, his metal armor turning pure white as he burst into flame, what else could Koschei do but slide his tongue over his lips and taste death?

Eris clapped his hands together above his head, bringing them down in a stroke of white flame that Azriel felt blaze past his shoulder. Koschei swung his scythe and severed the flames in two, cutting a neat circle in the sand. Then he swung again and in an arc of light, the power of a High Lord of Prythian met the power of a death god.

Lighting cracked through the air, structures of sand erupting and trapping the arc of the bolt like a snake’s tongue.

The scythe won.

Blood splatter decorated the ground as Eris’s armor was torn off him. His helm of oak branches and gold cracked in two, clattering to the ground before his body followed suit. Lucien ran forward, dragging Eris away as he gurgled and gasped for breath.

Koschei sighed, dragging a finger down the handle of his scythe. “Oh how I’ve missed this.”

Ione felt the power call out the moment her blood hit the water. It was a thousand symphonies playing at the same time, calls from a hundred desperate lovers asking for her hand as she stared at her reflection and felt the world around her drown itself to music.

Drip… drip… drip.

“Ione… Ione… IONE!”

Her eyes went dark and hungry, her hands curling into claws that wanted to reach out and take, and take, and take.

She shrugged off the hand you laid on her back, plunged her head into the iron-laced water, and began to drink.

Every gulp was a breath of fresh air. An electric zing through her blood she hadn’t felt in decades as the pain of time-worn bones melted away.

She felt untouchable.

She felt alive.

Like the first time she’d taken a man to her bed, his dramatic gasps rolling out from beneath her as she dug her nails into the headboard and drove her hips down. Like the day she’d run away from home with nothing but a bag of copper, the clothes on her back, and bruises blossoming on her knuckles. Like the morning she’d awoken in a strange town miles away from home and seen her endless future unfurling before her.

Yes. That’s what she was. Endless.

“IONE!” You screamed through water-logged ears.

Ione’s skin, wrinkled and dusted with sunspots, began to clear. Light, hot and saturated as a sunset, pressed against her skin from the inside. Like a parasite ready to burst, it roiled and bubbled within her, consuming her every thought except that she needed to keep drinking until the lake was completely empty and she’d reached the depths of Koschei’s magic.

“You need to stop! You’re taking too much! IONE!” The siphons she wore were bright as stars, cracks appearing in their surface as they tried to contain the power coursing through her system and failed. You kept replacing the ones you could reach, throwing the overcharged stones to Techaria until you ran out.

You grabbed the leather straps criss-crossing over Ione’s back and yanked. Hard.

Ione threw out her hand and the siphons on her body exploded. Your head burst with pain as you were thrown back with enough force to snap the trunk of a chestnut tree. The world swam before you. Colors melted like the paint water Feyre cleaned her brushes in.

Ione drank and drank and drank, craning her neck ever forward as the water level dropped at an alarming rate.

Techaria looped her arms around the old woman’s chest, digging her heels into the ground and heaving with all her might. But the woman didn’t budge, too drunk off power and possibility to let anyone stand in her way. Ione used her newly acquired strength to grab Techaria’s wrists and together they dove into the water and disappeared.

Blood dripped down your temples, dampening your hair as you crawled your way to the lake’s edge.

Techaria’s wings floated to the surface, orange crystalline membrane sizzling like steel wool.

The water dropped another three feet before Ione reemerged. If you hadn’t seen her go in, you wouldn’t have recognized her when she came out. Her grey hair was now so blonde it may as well have been moonbeam cascading down her back and over her breasts. Her skin shone, pale and perfect. Her pupils were but pinpricks in the fabric of her steel grey eyes.

You whimpered when she looked at you, her stare flat and empty as the air around her rippled and turned white.

For a moment she looked like she might smile.

But then she took in a shuddering breath, lower lip trembling as her mouth filled with blood. She dragged her hands down her face, peeling away the skin as fissures broke out full of light and crackling with electricity.

“Get it out. Get it out! GET IT OUT! NOOOOOOOOO!”

Ione blew apart.

Her blood rained over your head, drenching you so thoroughly you may as well have gotten caught in a thunderstorm.

Bethsevah hadn’t been able to control the power nestled within the lake. To possess it for even a short period of time had nearly driven her mad. You should have known Ione never stood a chance.

If things go wrong, find me so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.

“I promise, Azriel. I promise.”

You walked in a daze, muttering those words to yourself over and over again. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t even register the change in the air as you stepped out of the blindspot’s safety and began walking.

And walking.

Towards where you could only hope Azriel was still fighting.

You tripped over a body, salt-crusted braids peeking out from beneath a helm of coral and seashell. Paisley blue eyes, deep and dark and bloodshot, stared lifelessly at the sky. You staggered back to your feet, picking up the pace as you stumbled through a maze of corpses.

You slipped when the ground turned to pure ice. It splintered outwards from two bodies like a starburst.

Viviane, armed to the teeth in blue steel and a crown of ice protruding from her white curls, rocked back and forth on her heels while cradling Kallias’s head in her hands.

She wailed as his body turned cold. Frost clung to his long, pale lashes and where his blood pooled around his pale blue robes the ice melted and cotton grass grew in quiet, white tufts.

Onwards you walked, until you felt a familiar tap at the edges of your mind.

Y/n! What’s going on? Where are you? Your High Lady’s voice rang loud and clear.

It’s over, Feyre. Ione’s dead. Techaria’s dead.

What do you mean? What happened? TELL ME!

Ione wasn’t strong enough to hold Koschei’s power. She… she killed Techaria. She blew apart into a million pieces. I’m covered in her.

You spit on the ground, wiping away the taste of blood on your lips. It clung to you like a second skin, seeping into your pores and burying itself there.

Y/N!

It was a different voice calling out to you this time. You heard it on the wind, soft and faint as an echo. Or maybe you were finally losing your mind. But it didn’t matter. You would have followed Azriel’s voice anywhere.

You started to run, or rather stumble forward, hearing the clanging of steel and shattering of bones grow louder and louder. Through the gaps in the trees you saw Koschei standing as immovable as a mountain. He had one hand splayed out — silver lines splintering out in the air like and holding back the assault of Rhysand and Helion’s power. With the other he swung outward with his scythe, the rusted blade sprayed with fresh blood.

The High Lord of Summer beat aside the weapon, the moisture he’d plucked from the air fluctuating around him like a brilliant, blue sea creature. Feyre trapped the scythe in the sand, crossing her twin swords in an X and giving Tarquin the chance he needed to bring down his spear and shatter the weapon with a boom that exploded through the woods and sent you sprawling back on hands and knees.

Koschei hissed and he lurched back with what remained of his weapon — a metal rod tapering to a jagged, thin end. That fleeting moment of triumph on Tarquin’s face fell away when Koschei stepped close and drove that jagged end through Tarquin’s stomach. His iridescent, pearl-encrusted armor may as well have been crafted from paper the way it crumbled and tore.

Rhysand roared, finally breaking through Koschei’s shield as Feyre threw herself over Tarquin and raised a barrier to protect them both. He snapped his wings out to the side, leaping through the air in an arc that had you holding your breath.

Black feathers exploded from his skin. His hands elongated, curling into claws capable of shredding through steel and iron.

This was the High Lord of the Night Court.

Rhysand was darkness given monstrous form.

Night triumphant.

The strongest elements of his Illyrian and high fae heritage combined.

Koschei plucked Rhysand out of the air like he was a fly.

Grabbed hold of his wings.

And tore them off his back.

“RHYS!” Feyre’s shriek tore through the air, forcing everyone to turn their heads and watch as the High Lord of the Night Court’s wings drifted to the ground like silk.

Rhysand didn’t cry out, too in shock at the loss of such a familiar weight from his shoulder blades. He felt Feyre’s horror and pain where he couldn’t feel anything. His body all but shut down. He landed in the dirt, sand rolling around his tongue and stealing the moisture from his mouth. Then Feyre was there, smoothing back his hair and telling him not to move. He fumbled around for her hand, feeling it clamp down and never let go.

Koschei loomed over the High Lord and High Lady, looking down at the fire in Feyre’s grey-blue eyes with a sneer. It was a sight he was too familiar with — a foolish girl making foolish decisions in the name of love. It filled him with an indescribable hatred.

His wall of magic built itself up again and would not bend or break, no matter how Helion threw his blows down in cascades of golden light to help his friends.

Feyre spit on the ground as tendrils of decay scattered out from Koschei’s feet, dampening her magic until she could only drag Rhysand over her lap and press her lips to the top of his head.

Helion gritted his teeth. His magic was fading fast, even as he kept finding new places within himself to pull strength from. Koschei’s shield was weakening, he could feel it stretching thin as he began to divide his attention towards the High Lady and High Lord of Night stretched out before him.

Just… a little… longer. He promised himself, even as his legs shook and buckled until he was down on his knees.

There was a flash of red at his side and Helion’s brows shot into his hairline when Lucien Vanserra slipped into his peripheral vision, palms out and pouring every ounce of energy in his body towards the weakening hole in Koschei’s shield. There was something about him that Helion recognized. Some close connection that revealed itself as the golden flame of Lucien’s power joined his own.

Helion’s stomach bottomed out. He was in freefall. “Lucien?” He asked breathlessly.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lucien replied through gritted teeth.

Koschei snapped out his wrist and an obsidian blade, thin as a needle, appeared in his palm. It seemed to shriek as he swung it down, screaming with a thousand voices like a choir from hell.

Azriel slipped out from the darkness, shadows pouring out to block the attack.

No. You breathed. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—

Azriel was cunning. You’d seen him in action and knew he was talented beyond measure and armed with a skillset that could rival the High Lords of Prythian. But even he was no match for Koschei.

The death god stuck his hand through the assault of shadows and lifted Azriel into the air with a mere flick of his palm.

He tore Azriel’s shadows away from him, peeling them back like a second skin until they fell limp to the ground. Had he killed them? You’d never stopped to think that such a thing was possible.

Azriel stifled the screams that rose in his throat. He had promised himself he would never cry out in pain — never beg for anything — since the day his brothers had ruined his hands.

But then he locked eyes with you and heard you scream his name as you ran towards him barefoot and bleeding over the battlefield. And he found reason to beg.

“NO!” He roared over the shrieking of shadows in his ears. “GET OUT OF HERE, Y/N!”

There was only one way he’d die a good male and that was if you managed to escape. That was the only hope on his mind. The only prayer on his lips as he begged you to leave him. To leave them all.

“Y/N! PLEASE!” He cried out in pain, thrashing in the air.

Promise aside, you couldn’t leave him. You’d never stopped to entertain the thought that Azriel might be the one to die today. He was too good. Too strong. But if this was the end of his road, you would follow close behind. That was a promise no magic or death god would ever get in the way of.

You gasped, feeling something beneath your ribs tighten and lock.

The bond snapped into place so powerfully you almost fell apart in the sand.

It was a sliver of moonbeam laced with shadow that tied you to the one person in the entire world you’d felt safe with. The first person you could ever truly call home.

Azriel’s face crumbled, tears streaming down his cheeks as the world fell away from him until you were the only bright and shining thing. A single star dropped onto a black sky.

And Azriel… Azriel was everything to you.

I’m only a Librarian. You thought even as you ran forward, eyes locked on your mate. You weren’t meant for war or strategy or cunning. You belonged in the stacks, huddled over ancient pages. Not on blood-soaked grounds hundreds of miles from home.

But more than that, you belonged with Azriel. You were meant for each other. As intrinsically as gravity bound the seas to the earth, Azriel grounded you and you centered him. To lose him now would mean being untethered from the world. To float away into a nothingness that wasn’t serene or patient, but dark and lonely.

You wouldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.

You had done what no one else had been capable of doing. You’d read through Bethsevah’s history. For a moment, when you’d been close to death on the cobblestone streets of Velaris, you had felt her power fill you like a cup of wine, her memories overflowing from the pages of her book until you had become her.

If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood.

You’d had a taste of that power. You knew the shapes it took beneath your hands. You knew how it felt when it was running through your veins like blood. And it was this knowledge that you clung to with reckless abandonment as you began to pull Bethsevah’s memories from the reaches of your mind, donning them like a costume.

Without thinking twice, you switched courses, desperation fuelling your legs as you sprinted towards the glossy, blood-red lake before you. Azriel was still screaming your name, begging you to stop, and you heard your father and brother’s voices join in his pleading. The bond, still so fresh and vulnerable, echoed his horror as you ran right up to the lake’s edge and leapt into the waters.

I don’t know how to swim. You remembered as the darkness enveloped you. Lucien never taught me and I don’t know if he’ll ever get a chance to.

You thought that by looking up you’d see a warped image of the sky, bordered by murky outlines of the trees as they swayed and bowed. Instead, you saw a reflection of yourself. You floated inches above yourself, lips closed tight as you felt the growing need for oxygen begin to bloom in your lungs.

It was warm here, but it did not burn like it did before. You held onto the knowledge of Bethsevah’s power, feeling the texture of it beneath your fingertips and carefully undoing the threads of your own magical signature before remaking it to match. Months ago, you had shared a theory with Azriel that Clairvoyants possessed a particular ability to alter their magical signatures to match others. A form of magical mimicry and another example of your studies bleeding into the real world and shaping the fabric of the universe.

You’d tested that theory with Nesta when you’d hid her from Koschei, but now it was time for a second experiment.

You did not burn. Not even when you opened your lips and let the water pour in.

It slipped down your throat like whiskey, setting your blood ablaze and sending shivers across your skin. With each gulp you felt stronger. The wounds on your body sealed shut. The bruises beneath your eyes faded.

You reached deep into that wealth of power to find what belonged to Koschei, Thanatos, Stryga, and Bethsevah. You absorbed the knowledge embedded in their magic, and time crumbled beneath your touch as you began undoing and reweaving their magical signatures into something utterly changed.

It was careful, pensive work. The kind of work that could only belong to a Librarian and a Clairvoyant.

With the power of three death gods and a warrior flooding through your veins, you pulled yourself to the edge of that mirror and stared at your own reflection. Your clothes were gone and your body healed. Once, you would have cringed at the sight of your own skin. But no more.

You drank.

And drank.

Until the lake was only an empty pit in the ground.

All creatures, dead and alive and in-between, felt it when the powers within the lake broke a second time.

Koschei dropped Azriel and he fell flat onto his back, raw and broken. His shadows were gone, and now matter how he called out for them, they did not return.

He grasped on to the bond, desperately tugging on it to make sure you were still breathing on the other side.

“Y/n,” he whispered. His voice was stripped back to nothing.

You were still there, but you felt faint, as if more distance stretched between you than a hundred meters.

He rolled onto his stomach, digging his fingernails into the sand and dragging himself forward inch by bloody inch. But the lake drew away from him, water levels plummeting like someone had reached down and pulled the stopper from a bathtub.

The bond roared, heat blooming in his chest with new power as you revealed yourself. First it was the smooth expanse of your back, then your head as it dipped further and further down to drink what remained of the lake’s magic until there wasn’t a single drop left.

Koschei stood in shock, his bloodless skin growing even paler as you stood up and pinned him to the ground with your stare. You shone brighter than the sun, moon, and all the stars in the universe combined and Azriel couldn’t pull his gaze away.

You had never looked more otherworldly — more ethereal — than in that very moment.

You moved forward so quickly, Azriel didn’t register it until you were standing in front of Koschei, naked and perfect.

You grabbed Koschei’s face in your hands, his jaw slack and open. He tried to move but found that his feet had been driven into the ground like tent poles. For the first time in his immortal life, Koschei felt fear.

You shoved power into his body — down his throat, his eyes, his ears — until he was vibrating with untempered energy. His skin started to split apart, light spilling out from the fissures like lava rock and dripping down his body like blood. He felt his own power attack him, killing him from the inside out as you kept pouring more and more magic into Koschei before it could destroy you as well. He was being unwritten from this world. Every muscle fiber snapped in two. Every cell in his body swelled and burst like a grape.

You held onto the bond, letting it act as an anchor for your sanity so you wouldn’t die like Ione did, and Azriel held on too. Gods did he hold on. He held on so tight you could feel the pressure in your ribs like he was holding your body together and not just your soul.

You leaned close, allowing your breath to fan over Koschei’s rotten face. “No one touches my mate,” you seethed.

And Koschei blew apart into a trillion microscopic pieces.

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Author's Note:

Thank you for your patience as I worked to get this chapter out! And um.... sorry if it wasn't what you were hoping for.

Now let me just—

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x reader angst #minor character death #major character injury #sorry y'all the batboys weren't leaving this fight intact... quite literally

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coreellia · 11 days ago

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POLAR OPPOSITES

warnings: a lot of smut, virginity taking, boob play, a little bit of spit play, piv, oral sex (m receiving), a little bit of aftercare!!

summery: sam’s been wishing to take your virginity ever since you guys started dating 6 months ago… so he convinces you to let him!

"You know, I've never really been into pink," he mused, his voice cutting through the soft music she had playing in the background. She looked up from her book, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she met his gaze. The room was a stark contrast of their tastes: his dark posters and her pastel curtains, her cuddly teddy bears and his studded belts.

"But you love me anyway?" she asked, a playful edge to her voice. He smirked, the piercing in his lip glinting as he nodded. "Yeah, I love you even when you're blasting that… that… stuff," he said, gesturing towards her baby pink headphones. The gentle teasing was a dance they were well-versed in.

The conversation took a more serious turn as the music grew quieter. He leaned in closer, his dark eyes searching hers. "I want to take your virginity tonight," he said, his voice low and steady. She felt a flutter in her stomach, a mix of excitement and nerves. He noticed her hesitation, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek gently. "I know you're scared," he whispered, "but I promise it'll be okay. We'll go slow."

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she nodded. She trusted him implicitly. He was the one who had shown her the beauty of submitting, of letting go. He was her rock, her anchor in a world that often felt too overwhelming. They had talked about this moment before, but now that it was here, she couldn't help the butterflies that danced in her stomach.

He positioned her on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side as he placed a pillow under her back. It was his way of ensuring she felt both comforted and exposed, a gentle reminder that he was in control. The softness of the pillow was a stark contrast to the hardness of the bed beneath her, a metaphor for the delicate balance of power and tenderness that existed between them.

He paused, his eyes locked onto hers as he asked the question that hung in the air, "Are you okay?" Her heart raced, the anticipation a crescendo in her chest, but she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared, but I'm okay." His hand squeezed hers reassuringly, a silent promise that he would be gentle, that he would guide her through this moment of vulnerability.

With a nod, he positioned himself between her legs, his gaze never leaving hers. She felt his warmth, the comforting weight of his body as he leaned in. His fingertips traced the soft skin of her inner thighs, a tender prelude to the intimate act they were about to share. He took his time, his movements deliberate and measured, as if he were composing a piece of music just for her.

"Ready?" he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room. She took a deep breath, the scent of him – musky and masculine – filling her senses. She felt the tip of him press against her, and she nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The pressure grew, a gentle but firm reminder that he was there, seeking entry into her most private space.

With a soft moan, she felt him breach her barrier, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure that had her body tensing for a moment before she melted into the pillow. His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of distress. "You're doing so well, baby," he whispered, his voice soothing as he pushed in further. The music swelled around them, the sweetness of the strings mingling with the harshness of their shared breaths.

Her chest began to heave as he found a rhythm, one that grew steadier and more urgent with each passing moment. He was relentless, yet tender, his eyes never straying from hers as he claimed her in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She felt her walls stretch to accommodate him, her body adapting to this new, foreign sensation.

Without breaking their intense gaze, he reached up and began to tug at the hem of her shirt, inching it down with a gentle persistence. The cool air hit her bare skin, sending goosebumps across her chest. She gasped, but it was not from fear; rather, it was the sudden realization that she had been holding her breath. She nodded her consent, and he continued, revealing her pink lacy bra that matched the rest of the room.

Her breasts, usually hidden beneath layers of clothing, were now exposed to his hungry gaze. He took a moment to appreciate them, his eyes tracing the curve of her neck down to the swell of her chest. He leaned in, his hot breath against her skin as he kissed the soft mound of her breast, avoiding her nipples for now. The anticipation was palpable, a silent symphony of desire that grew louder with each beat of her racing heart.

Without warning, he took her nipple into his mouth, suckling gently at first before increasing the pressure. She gasped, the sensation a new note in the crescendo of emotions playing within her. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, teasing and tormenting as his rhythm grew more insistent between her legs. The softness of his lips and the roughness of his tongue created a delicious friction that had her arching her back, offering herself up to him more fully.

Her hands found their way to his hair, her nails digging into his scalp as he continued to pleasure her. His teeth grazed her skin, sending shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but moan louder. He chuckled against her skin, the vibrations sending a new wave of sensation through her. "You like that?" he murmured, his voice muffled against her breast. She could only nod, her eyes squeezed shut as she focused on the feeling of him.

He shifted his position, his muscular arms sliding under her thighs and pushing them apart wider. The change in angle made her gasp, and she could feel him fill her even more completely. He took her mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips. The room was a symphony of their panting breaths and the rustle of their clothing.

As their kiss broke, he leaned down, his eyes never leaving hers as his mouth descended to her breasts. He sucked harder, his teeth grazing her sensitive nipples as his pace increased. She squirmed beneath him, the sensation almost too much, but she didn't want him to stop. The intensity grew, and she could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building within her.

With a primal growl, he pulled away from her chest, his eyes blazing with passion. He positioned himself at her entrance again, his hand sliding up to cup her face. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, and then he was plunging into her, his hips moving with a power that she hadn't felt before. She gripped the bed sheets, her knuckles turning white as she tried to anchor herself to reality.

The whimpers grew louder, escaping her throat as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent. Her body responded to his dominance, her inner muscles tightening around him in a silent plea for more. His grip on her face tightened, his thumb brushing away the tears that had begun to fall from the corner of her eyes. "Look at me," he demanded, and she did, her gaze locked onto his.

"Open your mouth," he instructed, his voice firm but gentle. She complied, her eyes never leaving his, and felt a warm trickle of his saliva land on her tongue. The sensation was strange, but she knew better than to protest, to trust in the experience he was crafting for her. He praised her, his voice a gruff whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "Good girl," he said, the words a benediction that filled her with a newfound sense of confidence.

With renewed vigor, he began to thrust into her, his words a steady beat that matched the rhythm of their bodies. "Cum for me," he ordered, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want to feel you cum all over my cock." Her body responded to his command, the tightness coiling within her, a storm gathering on the horizon.

Her eyes widened as the pleasure grew, a silent plea for release. He knew she was close, his own need building with every moan that escaped her lips. "Do it," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and encouragement. "Let go for me, baby." And with that, she did. Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, crashing into her senses and leaving her trembling in its wake. She screamed his name, her nails digging into his skin as her muscles clenched around him.

The sound of her climax sent him over the edge. He couldn't hold back any longer, and he didn't want to. With a guttural moan, he released himself into her, filling her tight, virgin pussy with his hot cum. His eyes squeezed shut as he lost himself in the intensity of the moment, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm.

His grip on the bedsheets tightened until his knuckles were white, the fabric straining under his powerful hands. He could feel her walls contract around him, milking him of every last drop, and it was the most beautiful sensation he had ever experienced. He threw his head back, his teeth clenched as he moaned out her name, the sound echoing through the room.

Slowly, he pulled out of her, his cock glistening with their combined juices. He collapsed onto her, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he fought to catch his breath. His heart hammered against her chest, a wild drumbeat that mirrored the rhythm of their love-making. They lay there for a moment, their hearts racing together, their bodies entwined in the aftermath of their passion.

Her voice was shy, almost a whisper, when she spoke. "Can I… can I try to give you a blowjob?" she asked, her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink that matched her room. He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes still glazed with desire. He nodded, a smile playing on his lips as he leaned back to give her space.

He watched as she sat up, her baby pink panties still around her ankles. She looked like an innocent angel, her eyes wide and eager to please. She leaned over him, her hair cascading around them like a curtain, and took his still-hard cock into her small, soft hands. He groaned as she tentatively touched her tongue to the tip, tasting him for the first time.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction and love for her willingness to explore. She glanced up, determination in her eyes. "I want to," she said firmly. "I want to make you feel good too."

With a gentle nod, he allowed her to take control of the moment. She leaned over him, her soft hair tickling his skin as she took him into her mouth. He watched her, his eyes filled with awe and adoration as she fumbled at first, her tongue tentatively exploring the sensitive tip of his cock. His hand found the back of her head, guiding her movements with a gentle pressure, showing her the rhythm he liked.

But she was new to this, and her inexperience showed. She gagged, her eyes watering as she took him in too deep. He pulled back, his concern for her clear even in the haze of his own desire. "Easy," he said, his voice a gentle rumble, "Take it out." She obeyed, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as she coughed, her eyes wide with apology.

"It's okay," he assured her, his hand moving to her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "Here," he said, taking his cock into his own hand, "Let me show you." He began to stroke himself, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. "You want to start slow, with just the tip," he instructed, demonstrating with his own hand. "Use your tongue to get it wet, and then gradually take more."

With renewed confidence, she nodded and leaned back in. She took him into her mouth again, this time more tentatively, her tongue swirling around the head before taking a little more. His eyes closed, his breath hissing through his teeth as she found her own rhythm. She could feel him growing harder with each stroke of her tongue, his hips moving slightly to meet her mouth.

Her cheeks hollowed out as she took him deeper, her eyes watering a little as she fought back the gag reflex. She focused on his breathing, the way his chest rose and fell with each intake of air, the way his hand tightened and loosened in her hair. It was like learning a new dance, one that was both intimate and powerful.

With each stroke of her tongue, she grew more confident, her movements more assured. She could feel his excitement building, his breath coming in ragged gasps as she explored his length. She took him deeper, her teeth grazing his skin lightly, and he groaned, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hand guiding her, his voice a gentle rumble that spurred her on. She felt a surge of pride at his words, the power of her submission making her wetter than she already was. She took more of him, her eyes watering slightly but her resolve unwavering. This was her gift to him, a demonstration of her love and trust.

Her movements grew more confident, her tongue swirling and teasing, taking him deeper and deeper with each stroke. He groaned, his hand tightening in her hair, guiding her as she found the right rhythm. His hips began to buck, his breathing grew erratic, and she knew she was doing well. She felt his cock thicken in her mouth, a sign of his approaching climax.

The room was filled with the sound of his heavy breathing and her soft slurps. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face contorted with pleasure. "You're doing so good," he mumbled, his voice strained. "So fucking good." His praise spurred her on, and she took him even deeper, feeling him hit the back of her throat. She gagged slightly, but she didn't stop.

His whimpers grew louder, his hips moving in sync with her mouth. "So close," he whispered, his hand tightening in her hair. She could feel his cock swelling, the pulse of his arousal beating against her tongue. She redoubled her efforts, her mouth moving faster, her eyes never leaving his.

Suddenly, with a loud, pornographic moan, he came, his warm cum shooting into the back of her throat. She could feel his hot, steamy seed fill her mouth, the salty taste of him coating her tongue. She didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, she swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, taking every drop he had to give.

His eyes widened with surprise and pleasure, his grip on her head tightening as he pulsed into her mouth. She felt the warmth of his release travel down her throat, the sensation foreign but somehow exhilarating. It was as if she had conquered a new part of him, claimed a piece of him that was now forever hers.

Once his climax had subsided, he gently removed her mouth from his cock, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He pulled her up beside him, his arms wrapping around her as he cradled her close. "You did so well," he whispered into her ear, his breath warm and comforting. "Giving me your virginity, and that blowjob… You're perfect."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink at his words, and she nestled into his embrace. He knew she needed this, the aftercare that followed their intense moments of passion. It was his way of grounding her, of reminding her that she was safe and loved. He kissed her forehead, his hand stroking her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder.

a/n: guys this is my first time writing feedback is appreciated!😓

#sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe smut #sam monroe x you #coreellias fics :3 #sam monroe imagine #18+ mdni #smut #sam monroe fic #hayden christensen smut

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ro-is-struggling · 2 years ago

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Touch || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky was not a fan of physical contact, that was something you knew about him even before you started dating him. What you didn't know was how incredibly touch starved he was. That is until one lazy Sunday afternoon, when you take your relationship to the next level.

Word count: 4300

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn with feelings, dry humping, overstimulation, kinda sub!bucky x gentle dom!reader, touch starved bucky, a little angst (it’s bucky duh), fluff

English is not my first language

Notes: This is a continuation of THIS little thing that I posted the other day, but you don't have to read it to understand the story.

Bucky was not someone who enjoyed a lot of physical contact, that was a fact about him that you found out pretty quickly. You just had to see the way he interacted with his friends and the people around him to notice that he didn't really like to be touched, especially by strangers. You'd seen him jump and flinch at the slightest brush of someone's body making their way through the busiest nights at the bar, so you kept that in mind when you had your first date. It didn't really matter to you that he didn't even hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the date, you had such a good time with him that you didn't even think about it.

Besides, that only made things more interesting. Not knowing when he was going to kiss you —or if he was even going to kiss you at all— kept you on your toes, butterflies fluttering in your stomach every time you looked into each other's eyes. The tension only increased with each date and all that build up made your first kiss magical. There were no words to describe how you felt the moment his lips finally met yours. It was a shy, experimental kiss, your lips brushing delicately as you explored this new feeling. Bucky rested his hand on your cheek to draw you closer to him, the touch of his fingers awakening a tingle on your skin. It was almost hard to believe that someone as big and strong as him was capable of such gentleness, but that was what made the moment so special.

There was definitely a spark between you, a connection you had never felt with anyone before. So you didn't care that it had taken Bucky longer than usual to kiss you, you were willing to wait as long as it took to feel that electricity that only he seemed to be able to awaken coursing through your body. Bucky made it all worth it.

You usually let him initiate the physical contact. You didn't want to end up accidentally stepping over his boundaries, so beyond a few kisses and hugs you used to let him decide when he wanted to hold your hand or cuddle up on the couch to watch a movie. You didn't mind the lack of physical contact, it didn't affect your relationship in the slightest. It wasn't like that was the only way to show affection. You didn't have to doubt if Bucky really loved you or if your relationship had a future because he always found other ways to show you how he felt about you.

He may not be very good at expressing his feelings in a physical way, but he had a special talent for expressing in words and beautiful metaphors the love he felt for you, confessions that were immortalized in the love letters he often sent you. The nature of his work required him to spend weeks and sometimes even months away from you, and he would take advantage of those moments alone to reflect on his feelings and pour them out on paper, expressing in neat handwriting the thoughts that were running through his head. You still talked on the phone and texted each other all the time, but there was something so intimate and personal about handwritten love letters that he refused to let them die, forgotten in the past.

Bucky also expressed his love through acts of service, dropping everything he was doing to come to your aid whenever you were in the slightest inconvenience. And he also loved sharing quality time with you, whether it was planning a romantic evening or just staying by your side while the two of you did nothing on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Those were all acts that undoubtedly proved to you that Bucky loved you, so you really didn't mind the lack of physical displays of affection. The love you shared was much purer and more intense than any of your past relationships, so who cared if you weren't holding hands all the time when your chest exploded with love every time you saw him.

You learned very quickly that Bucky Barnes had a different love language than most of the other people you had dated, and you were more than okay with it. You never asked him about it because you honestly didn't think there was a reason behind it. People love in different ways, some are more vocal and physical about it and some are more quiet and reserved, but that doesn't mean they are any more or less valid. All different ways of showing love are valid and you always assumed that Bucky was naturally a person who didn't enjoy excessive physical contact because of the way he sometimes flinched and squirmed when your hands caressed his skin for too long. But your perspective on Bucky's loving ways changed one Sunday afternoon.

You were lying on the couch watching a movie in your apartment. You were comfortably settled on the right end, your arm resting on the armrest and your legs stretched out on the coffee table. You had a pillow in your lap and on it rested Bucky's head, who was lying on his side so he could get a good view of the TV. The sunset light coming through the window illuminated his face in a special way, highlighting every detail you loved about him. The movie faded into the background as you lost yourself in the adorable image of your boyfriend resting on your lap. He looked so peaceful that if it weren't for the soft giggles he let out from time to time you would think he was asleep. It was rare to see him like that, with his features so relaxed, and you loved him.

Bucky's long chestnut hair rested messily on the cushion. A stray strand fell over his face, hiding part of his beautiful features from your eyes. Without realizing what you were doing you reached your hand out to brush it away, tucking the rebellious strand of hair behind his ear so you could admire him better. Bucky closed his eyes for a moment when your fingertips brushed the skin on his temple, but said nothing. So you let your hand wander through his hair a little longer while you lost yourself in his beauty and the love you felt for him. Your fingers stroked his hair gently, your nails lightly scraping his scalp.

Bucky closed his eyes again, only this time he didn't realize he had done so. His body stopped responding to his brain's commands, momentarily losing himself in your gentle touches. He was instantly overwhelmed by the delicate movement of your fingers. It had been so long since he had last been in such an intimate situation that his body did not know how to react. His brain stopped working every time you touched him and this was no exception. When you pulled a strand of his hair with a little more force than usual —accidentally or not, he didn't know—, Bucky let out a pathetic whimper, electricity coursing through his body and awakening a flame inside him that he thought had been extinguished.

But then he came back to his senses. His brain regained control over his body and forced him to jump up and away from you before something went wrong.

"Bucky, I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." you rushed to apologize, fearing you had crossed his boundaries regarding physical contact without realizing it. You should have been more careful, you should have asked him if it didn't bother him before touching him.

It broke Bucky's heart to see the guilt and fear in your eyes, especially knowing that it was all his fault and not yours. You were nothing but loving and patient with him, never pressuring him for anything and creating a safe space where he could relax and let loose without fear. "No, no, it's okay," he tried to reassure you. "It's not you, it's me. I'm the problem, doll."

"No, Bucky, don't say that," you said, moving closer to him. You reached out to touch him, there was nothing you wanted to do more than hold his hand and kiss him until his sad expression changed. But at the last second you realized that wouldn't be a good idea so you dropped it in your lap once more.

"But it's true," he insisted. "You did nothing wrong, it's just that... it's hard for me. I haven't been this close, this intimate, with anyone in a long time and it's kinda overwhelming," he revealed, surprising you. In all this time it never occurred to you that this could be the reason for his problem with physical contact.

"It's okay, Buck. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I'm more than fine with the way things are right now between us."

"But that's the thing," he sighed, adjusting his posture so he could look you in the eyes. "I like it when you touch me, when you kiss me and you hold me while we watch a movie. It makes me feel good... it makes me feel loved. But then I get overwhelmed and I- I don't know, I just can't do it," he muttered in frustration, not quite sure how to explain to you that he had spent the last few months of his life trying to train his brain to stop associating physical contact with the horrors he had experienced with Hydra.

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," you spoke in a soft tone. "I'm happy with our relationship the way it is right now. I love you, Bucky, and I would never pressure you into anything."

"I know, doll. You've been nothing but kind and understanding. I just wish I could give you more."

"We can take things slow. There's no need to rush into anything, baby." you said, moving a little closer to him until your leg brushed his. "I can still hold you and kiss you and touch you... you don't have to run from me, Bucky. We can take our time to test your boundaries and get you used to intimacy again, if you want that, of course."

Bucky would be lying if he said your words didn't sound tempting. There was nothing he loved more than feeling your hands on his body, the taste of your lips on his mouth and the warmth of your skin against his. He avoided physical contact not because he didn't like it but because he enjoyed it too much and his brain was not yet ready to process what your touch made him feel. He was easily overwhelmed by your touch, every little brush of your fingers awakened a tingle inside him and a flame deep in his stomach. He would lose the ability to think coherently when you held him and sometimes he could feel tears forming in his eyes when you held his hand as you walked down the street. The idea of someone loving him without fear or regret was something that filled his chest with joy and frightened him in equal proportions. A part of him still had trouble understanding that someone was capable of loving him like that.

"Do you trust me?" you asked as you read the doubt in his eyes. Bucky nodded, shaking his head slightly without a second thought. "I need you to use your words, baby."

"Yes, doll, I trust you" he assured you firmly, putting a warm smile on your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

"Please," Bucky begged and that was all the confirmation you needed to take his face in your hands and press your lips together.

It was a slow kiss, your lips gently caressing his in an attempt to calm his nerves. You felt him relax under your touch, surrendering to the warm tingle that ran through his body each time you kissed him. He let you guide him, his body responding to your movements without protest. When he felt your tongue caress his lips he parted them, granting you permission to attack his mouth.

Everything became a blur after that. He could feel your lips on his, your hands caressing his skin, the warmth of your body enveloping him completely, but it was too much for his poor brain to process. He was limited to feel, to move and act following his most primitive instincts while the flame inside him only grew.

"Is this okay?" you asked him, pulling away from his lips to speak. Only then did Bucky realize that you were now sitting on his lap, trapping his body between your legs.

"Yes," he managed to say between ragged breaths. But you didn't give him much of a break, attacking his lips once more before trailing your kisses down his jaw to his neck.

Bucky closed his eyes instinctively, losing himself in the tingling that the brush of your lips on his skin awakened inside him. His hands traveled to your hips, his fingers clinging to you as a way to keep himself grounded. It was pathetic, utterly ridiculous, that a man his age would melt at the slightest touch of your lips on his body, but he couldn't help it. It had been so long since he had last experienced such intimacy with someone that it was like it was his first time all over again. And in a way it was. The old innocent and confident Bucky had died that cold day falling off that train and for over 70 years he had been forced to live as something else, an entity with no voice or conscience damned to obey orders. He had been changed by that experience and when he was freed from his chains a completely different man from the one he used to be emerged. A man who had to adapt to a different world than the one he was used to and who had to train his brain to stop responding to old patterns. So in a way it was like being born again, at least that's how he had felt the day the trigger words stopped working on him. And that's how he felt with you sitting on his lap, your lips sucking on his neck while your hands explored his body.

Bucky felt like he was in heaven, flying through the clouds as a euphoric feeling filled his insides. He hadn't really realized how much he missed that kind of intimacy until that moment. He was desperate to feel more of you, reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess every time your lips brushed his soft spots or when your hands disappeared into his hair, delicately tugging at the chestnut strands. He let out the most pathetic whimper as your core made contact with his growing erection, your hips rolling sensually as you gently nibbled the skin of his neck. He tightened his grip on your waist, to stop you or to pull you closer to him, he wasn't sure.

The sounds that escaped his lips were like music to your ears, a sweet melody that coursed through your body and made your core throb. It had not been your intention to rub against him in that way, it was a subconscious act of your body, desperate to find some relief from the pressure that was forming in the pit of your stomach. But now that you had done it and Bucky seemed to respond positively to it, you continued to do it, finding a slow, sensual rhythm that would bring you both to the edge of pleasure.

You two were fully clothed, yet there was something so erotic about what you were doing. To have a man like Bucky, so tall, serious and imposing, turned into a moaning, panting mess beneath you ignited a flame in you, a sensation you had never experienced before. You could feel your wetness staining your underwear as you admired the pleasure in Bucky's expression-his eyes closed, eyebrows slightly furrowed and parted lips letting out an endless stream of whimpers. But there was also something in the way he seemed to be giving himself completely to you that filled your heart with joy. He trusted you for this. He trusted you to take care of him. He trusted the safe environment you had created for him. He knew he could let his guard down when he was with you, allow himself to experience that kind of closeness, that kind of intimacy, without fear of rejection or embarrassment. He loved you and that was the most important thing of all.

"Wait!" Bucky suddenly exclaimed between shaky breaths. He tightened his grip on your hips, but this time it was to stop you before it was too late. "I- I don't think I can..." he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. He didn't want to disappoint you, but he also didn't want to admit out loud that he's had trouble bringing himself to orgasm. It's not like he didn't want to, he was desperate to feel that sweet relief, but he just couldn't. He tried to pleasure himself several times in the past and generally everything went well until his climax started to approach, then the pleasure became too much. His mind is unable to relax, to let go of the sensations, and it all ended abruptly, leaving him tense and frustrated —even more so than usual.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here for you," you said in a soft, sensual voice, your fingers delicately stroking his hair. "Let me help you." You didn't move until you had confirmation that this was what he wanted, leaving it up to him to decide how to proceed. When he nodded his head slightly you gave him a quick kiss on the lips before continuing your movements.

"That's it, baby. Let go for me," you purred against his ear as Bucky began to move beneath you, thrusting his hips upward to match you.

You quickly found a rhythm that worked for both of you, each little brush of your bodies pushing you ever closer to the edge. Bucky's moans were almost uncontrollable as he held you close to his body, his hands never leaving your hips, pressing you against his bulge. It was too much, the heat coursing through his body, the pressure building in his stomach, the racing of his heart... he felt like he was going to explode. And yet, he didn't want the moment to end. He was desperate for relief, but at the same time he would live forever in that moment if he could. Nothing compared to the feeling of having you so close to him, moaning his name as you held him.

“You like that, baby?” you asked after Bucky let out a particularly loud whine. “You like it when I bite your neck?”

“Yes! Yes, f-fuck… please,” he muttered incoherently. He didn't even know why he was begging, the plea escaping his lips before he could stop himself.

“Does it feel good? Yeah?”

“So good, doll… so fucking good.” Bucky was struggling to respond in coherent sentences, his pleasure-clouded brain too distracted to function properly. “You’re so good to me, doll…so, so g-good. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, baby. I won’t." You reassured him between ragged breaths. You increased the pace, seeking your relief as much as his. With one hand you held onto Bucky's shoulder for support while your other hand traveled to his cheek. Your fingers tenderly stroked the soft skin of his face, a delicate action that contrasted with the desperation of the movements of your hips. Bucky accepted the touch gladly, leaning into your hand as he felt the world around him collapse.

"God, you're so pretty like this, all needy and desperate for my touch… my pretty boy." The words left your lips before you realized it. You didn't even know where they had come from, it was the first time you had uttered something like that in such an intimate moment. But it felt natural and Bucky seemed to like it judging by the way his member twitched in his pants. He let out a whimper that sounded almost like a cry and you knew then that he wouldn't last much longer. "Are you close, baby? You gonna cum for me?"

"Yes! Oh god, yes! Please, I'm so close… don't stop… feels so good… please." Bucky was on the verge of tears, the pleasure overwhelming him completely. He felt like he was on fire, his whole body tensing with anticipation. It was too much and yet too little. He wanted to stop, but at the same time he would cry if you took the heat from your center away from him. His brain was fried, pleasure clouding his thoughts completely.

"That's it, baby, cum for me. I wanna feel you coming undone underneath me. I wanna see your pretty face screw up in pleasure when you cum. C'mon baby, let go for me." You encouraged him, lowering your lips to his neck to kiss and nibble on his soft spots. You were close to your orgasm too, your clitoris throbbing desperately and your core clenching around nothing with every thrust of your hips. Your underwear was completely ruined, soaked with the wetness of your arousal. You were pretty sure Bucky could feel it through his thin sweatpants that sported a dark stain where your bodies met, your arousal and Bucky's mingling in the light gray fabric. But even though you were desperate for some relief you were holding back. This was supposed to be about Bucky and you wanted him to cum first.

"Oh f-fuck, I-" he tried to warn you, but his sentence was cut off by the overwhelming force of his orgasm. The knot in his stomach snapped, triggering an electric rush that coursed through his body from head to toe. He pressed your hot center against his erection, holding you in place as rope after rope of cum stained his underwear.

"That's it baby… so good to me, such a good boy," You murmured against his ear as you moved your hips slowly, riding him through his orgasm as you chased yours. He was a mess beneath you, his whole body convulsing from overstimulation. Yet his member was still hard between your legs, throbbing with desperation as if Bucky hadn't just had one of the best orgasms of his life.

"It's… it's too much, f-fuck, I-I can't." Bucky tried to speak, struggling to catch his breath and recover his cognitive abilities. He had never experienced anything similar before. He was still flying high from his first orgasm and could already feel a second forming in the pit of his stomach. He was painfully hard and overstimulated, his cock still dripping cum adding to the sticky mess that was in his boxers. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He wondered if his current condition had anything to do with the years he had gone without any kind of sexual activity, or if it was simply the effect you had on him. He guessed it was a little of both.

"Are you gonna cum for me again?" you asked him between moans, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten with each brush of your clothed core over his bulge. "Fuck, that's so hot, baby. Cum with me, please. I'm so close, baby. I want to feel you cum with me, please." You begged him, your voice broken with pleasure. You gave him a quick, sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue as you chased your orgasm. When you broke away you rested your forehead on Bucky's, looking into his eyes as the world around you collapsed, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm overwhelmed your senses.

Seeing your face screwed up in pleasure pushed Bucky over the edge again, his second orgasm leaving him completely ruined and unable to move underneath you. His cock throbbed between his legs as he released rope after rope of cum, creating a bigger mess of sticky fluid in his pants. He had never cum so hard or so intensely before, but he'd be lying if he said that wasn't exactly what he needed.

You collapsed onto Bucky's chest, hiding your face in his neck as you both struggled to catch your breath. You stayed in that position for a few minutes, the sound of the movie playing in the background the only thing you could hear in the room besides your accelerated breathing.

"How do you feel?" you mumbled against the skin of his neck, curious to know if the experience had been as wonderful for him as it had been for you.

"Great. I feel great," he replied, struggling to form a coherent sentence. "That was..." he trailed off, unsure of how to describe what he felt.

"I know," you assured him with a chuckle, placing a sweet kiss on the skin of his neck. Bucky smiled, wrapping his arms around your body to draw you closer to him. He used his flesh hand to caress your back, tracing imaginary shapes with his fingers as he enjoyed the way the warmth of your body enveloped him.

"How do you feel?" he wanted to know.

"Awesome," you smiled. " Although I need a shower," you added, moving to get up from your spot. But before you could pull away, Bucky tightened his grip on you, trapping you between his chest and arms.

"Later," he said. "I want to stay like this for a little while longer." You smiled, settling into his arms as you inhaled the scent of his cologne. Bucky really was the man of your dreams and you would forever be grateful to fate for having crossed your path.

“I love you,” you told him as you traced imaginary figures on his chest with your fingers, losing yourself in the warmth of his body.

“I love you too, doll.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #marvel imagines

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the-palelady · 19 days ago

Note

I was wondering if you were writing your crime wife thought as a full story/longer drabble? If not may I request her meeting Ghost???? Thank you!!!

- 🪼

i have written some thoughts on this, and half of a chapter, but it's been so long since i've written a series. i'm not sure how i feel about it tbh. i'm pretty self conscious. i'll mention here and in the warnings that reader is afab and she also doesn't have a name, but she does go by a nickname. friend of mine helped me to decide on the nickname and where it came from so shoutout to them otherwise it would have ended up being something about sharks lmao

but plz feel free to send reqs for this little idea or any others! ♡

cw ; afab!reader, brief mentions of abuse, reader has severe anxiety and a stutter, brief mention of blood in a metaphor, reader does not have a name but she does go by a nickname, i tried to keep most other descriptions of reader pretty vague so everything else is up for interpretation, she and ghost are hella awkward

The breeze was a stranger to you, an unknown feeling against your skin as you stepped out into the spring sun. Your dress fluttered like the wings of the birds that flew about around you, dancing along the thralls of freedom, something you had longed to taste.

How long has it been now? How long have you been stuck here in this prison, the walls of your cell slowly closing in on you day by day? Time was hardly something you understood anymore. What was the point in keeping up?

Your husband had taken his leave earlier in the morning. You were thankful that he left you be, allowing you to stay consumed by your dreams. However, you could hardly call a void opening up underneath your feet and swallowing you whole a dream.

But nightmares were safer than the gaze and touch of your oh-so-loving husband.

You had the house to yourself, for the most part. You knew somehow, someway, your husband still had eyes on you. You were unsure how, but he always managed to know every little thing you were doing from what books you read to what time you decided to crawl into bed. Even if he was miles away from home, he knew every detail about your life. Your own personal dictator.

The thought made your temples pulsate, a headache beginning to form when you had barely stepped outside.

You wouldn’t let your husband get in the way of your one chance at solace. He wasn’t here to hound you about how disheveled your hair looked when the wind had torn through it, pushing it to and fro. He wasn’t here to decide what your dinner for the night would be. He wasn’t here to put his hands on you, shoving you back into the wall as he blamed you for every little wrong thing that happened in his life. He wasn’t here to blame you for his own mistakes.

So you put on a dress you had kept hidden in the back of your closet, a white sundress with blue lemon tree accents and puffy sleeves. The waist was cinched, revealing your curves, and the square neckline allowed the sun to kiss the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. The dress cascaded down to the middle of your shins, pooling out around you as you sat amongst the blanket you brought with you to the garden.

You were surrounded by all of your favorite things: the sun, flowers, and butterflies that danced atop the curves of the leaves on the bushes you had spent years mothering.

This was your safe haven, your joy. The only happiness you felt you had left.

Soon your husband would return, and you’d have to retreat back into the warzone that was your own home. You’d be tucked back into your tower, unable to see the sun, unable to see the flowers you’d spent so long taking care of, flowers you’d watched bloom with your own eyes all those summers ago when love didn’t take the form of a wild bull. Its horns had ripped flesh from bone, puncturing what was left of your heart and letting you slowly bleed out.

Nausea began to settle deep in the pit of your stomach.

Your hands reached for one of the many books you had brought out, landing on The Picture of Dorian Grey, one you had already read a thousand times.

You open to the first page, your eyes gravitating to the words as if it were second nature. You read sentences, and paragraphs, ahead in your mind, the book memorized from front to back, engraved in the crevices of your mind.

And yet you still found yourself smelling the roses and lilacs of Basil Howard’s studio as he listened to Lord Henry boast about his art, and how he explained the beauty of the young lad Dorian Grey.

“You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours…” You read the lines aloud, word for word, your voice growing soft as you reach the end.

“...That is all.”

Snap.

Your eyes fly up to the bush that sits to your right. Over the years your ears had grown sensitive to the sounds around you, always listening for the footsteps of your husband, listening for the clack of the bulls' hooves as he charged towards your cell.

But you were met with a silence that sucked the oxygen from your lungs. You could have looked away. There was nothing there. Nothing that you could see at least. So it was safe, right?

So you blinked back the fear in your eyes, pushing it aside and turning your attention back to the book in your lap. However, it was hard to concentrate on the words now, the syllables jumbled into one chaotic mess, a tornado of letters that seemed incomprehensible. Your ears felt full of water. Your esophagus became tight, an unseen force pushing you under the waves of an ocean you’ve only ever seen in your nightmares.

You were being consumed by the fear that your husband had instilled into you, the vexed look in his eyes flashing behind your own. However, fright molded you into an ignorant woman, that very ignorance keeping you from seeing the brawn of a man standing from behind the very bush you had been wary of. He was slow, calculating, giving you plenty of time to react, and yet you didn’t.

You were lost at sea, plunged under the waves by the anxiety that had nestled its way into your life, so graciously placed there by the so-called “love of your life”.

The leaves rustled, and you blinked: once, twice, then three times.

You were intelligent. This was one of the few words of affirmation you had given yourself over the years, one of the few things you actually believed.

And yet in this moment, you couldn’t have felt any more stupid. Thinking wasn’t an option when his clouded, amber eyes locked with yours. His size was something you should have accounted for when your book fell out of your grip and you lept from the blanket. You thought you’d be fast.

But he was much faster.

His iron grip was on you before you could even take a step towards the house. His massive, gloved hand practically consumed your bicep. Out of instinct, you kept quiet. You blame your silence on your husband. The only sound you made was a quiet gasp as the stranger tugged you towards him, forcing you to face him.

Those chocolate eyes were so much brighter up close, the color reminding you of the outer wing pattern of an Atlas Moth. They shined in the afternoon sun, glowing in a way that had you enamored despite the pure horror that circulated through you. The rest of his face was obscured by a mask with a skull painted on it. The skin around his eyes was painted with black paint that seemed applied in a rushed or lazy manner, and you could see beads of sweat dripping down through the pigment.

Your eyes were wide, you were sure, a deer in headlights. Yet you didn’t resist, didn’t tug against the hold he had on you. After all, obedience was all you had ever known.

“Shh shh…husband doesn’t need t’know I’m ‘ere. Be quiet f’me, yeah?”

You simply watched the way his mask crinkled where his lips would be. His voice was a deep timbre, a sound most would find intimidating and yet you found it…charming. The way he spoke was hardly threatening, and over time his grip on your arms seemed to loosen as well.

“Well?”

Your eyes darted back up to his, lips parting to speak, but words were never your strong suit. So you instead opted to nod, bobbing your head up and down slowly, noting the way he studied your movements so closely.

And as quickly as his touch was there, it was gone, one hand falling to his side while the other reached up to rub across his face and down his chin.

“Bloody hell…” he whispered, your eyes still tracking his movements. After all, this was your home, your garden, and this complete stranger was just…standing here, speaking to you so casually, even making demands of you.

Not that you’d have told your husband anyway.

You watched his irises flick from the flowers of your garden to the windows of your house that sat behind you and then back down to you. You stood on the brink of being consumed by the stillness of the air, the situation making you fidget your fingers, index fingers intertwining with one another as your hands crossed.

It was impossible to read him, his body language relaxed and yet stiff all at once. You couldn’t tell whether he was scrutinizing you or simply just had a staring problem, maybe even both. The man simply towered over you, staring down at you with a look you couldn’t decipher even as he spoke.

“Husband did say ya were a quiet one. Although most people would scream if they were grabbed by a stranger.”

His statement was blunt, tone flat. Perhaps you had a staring problem as well, focus cast on the look in his eyes, and the way the sun made the pools of amber sparkle. You didn’t even notice the way your lips parted or the scratchy voice that came out right after.

“Just…just wasn’t expecting it was all.”

You were met with silence, the quiet air between you both making your skin crawl with an uneasy feeling, fingers wrapping around one another tighter.

“You’re one of the men from…across the street, right?” You finally blinked, his gaze becoming too much and you looked away, deciding that the ground was much more interesting now. He shifted his stance, arms crossing over his chest. His biceps bulged out a bit, the sleeves of his shirt tightening around the muscles.

“I am.”

You felt an odd sense of satisfaction knowing that someone else out there was just as bad at conversation as you were. The thought almost made your lips twitch into a smile, but you stopped it before it grew any wider.

The breeze picked up again, cutting through the stillness in the Spring air. Your hair swayed behind you, dress fanning out even as you pressed your palms down against your thighs to keep it from flying upwards. The longer you stood there in the quiet, the longer that familiar blade of anxiety cut through your sternum and dug deep into your chest. You felt sick.

His boots drug across the dirt when he uncrossed his arms, “S’pose I should ask your name?”

“It’s…um…” You stuttered out, eyes flitting from the ground, up to him, then back down. Why was talking such an impossible task, something so menial?

“Make it easier if I told ya mine first?” Your hand came up, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear while you nodded, looking up at him from under your lashes just the tiniest bit.

“Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

Even through the mask, you could see the way his eyebrow rose in a quizzical manner underneath.

“Got a problem with it?” You thought perhaps this was his way of sounding sarcastic. You let out a faint huff and shook your head in response.

“Good. Your turn then.”

You uttered your name to him, quiet, yet loud enough for him and the ensemble of flowers and butterflies around you to hear.

“But…most people call me Scarlet.”

There it was again—that same curious glint in his eyes from before when you questioned his own name.

“It’s a butterfly,” and as you spoke you turned. Distantly, you could hear him take a step towards you. However, you simply bent over, grabbing a hold of a book that sat on top of a larger stack of books. When you faced him again, you were already opening it to a page that was familiar to you. Of course, you had turned to this specific page numerous times before.

There was a large picture at the top of the left page with a black butterfly sitting front and center, and a few paragraphs of information listed underneath. Closest to the body and on the edges of the hindwings were sections of scarlet. You point to the image, his attention moving from you to the book.

“They’re called Scarlet Mormons. I’ve always…liked butterflies and moths, but they’re my favorite…” Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you explain your favoritism for the species. In your mind, you sound like a child, so any scrutiny he decides to throw at you, you feel you deserve. And as he opens his mouth, you prepare yourself for the worst.

“They’re beautiful.”

Your apprehension becomes a distant memory at the sound of his voice and the words that fall from his lips, a word that sounds taboo coming from a sinister-looking man like him. Is a man like Ghost allowed to say such a word? Does he even know what it means?

You don’t take him for an idiot. Of course, he knows what it means, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest cavity, begging to burst from the space between your ribs.

“Why are you here…Ghost?” The question comes out hesitantly as you seek a change in subject. You don’t notice the way his eyes flick to your lips when you enunciate the syllables of his callsign, the way he tracks your hands when you close the book and press it to your chest.

When you do finally look back towards him, you can see him pondering something. The gears in his mind are working double time, and you don’t think you’ll even get a proper response. There’s a hundred possibilities as to why he’s here. You think maybe he works for your husband, cozying up to you to earn your trust and tell your husband all of your whereabouts and what you do while he’s gone. Perhaps he is an enemy of your husbands and you’ve made a terrible mistake, your ignorance once again clouding your judgment.

That same fissure begins to open up below you, threatening to pull you under. You’ll be blamed, and this time the mistake will be your fault. Your husband will take the last bits of happiness you have: your garden, books, the sunlight.

And it’s like Ghost sees this void underneath you, the foreboding tendrils of your husband dragging you into the furthest depths of Hell when he whispers out, “Think you’ve been pulled into this war enough. That’s a secret for another time.”

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ineedhaikyu · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter Two

Summary: Inarizaki vs Karasuno. Foxes vs Crows. A match between two powerhouses competing for the next slot in Nationals and while tensions were high, Karasuno’s ace couldn’t help but look forward to the upcoming match. Or rather he was looking forward to seeing her.

Word Count: 8.9K

Warnings: A long fic with a huge amount of fluff! Once again Asahi's anxiety will be mentioned. Conversations are prolonged between reader and Asahi in order to establish a well-meaning relationship. Brief description of reader's hair.

A/N: PART 2 to Glass-Hearted Ace!! A lot of people wanted a continuation so here it is!! I had so much fun writing this because I absolutely love the adorable craziness that goes on in Haikyu as well as spreading more love to our gentle giant. Let's keep spreading our Asahi love!!

3rd POV

Day 2 of Nationals. The second round has already begun with the first match of the day. It wouldn't be long for the next match to start. Karasuno vs Inarizaki. The atmosphere was filled with the same energy of anticipation and eagerness just as it was the other day though multiplied by a hundred.

As this was her third and final year in participating in the Spring Tournament, (L/N) (Y/N) felt confident enough to say she was calm and collected. (Y/N) smiled to herself when she compared her younger first-year self to now. Back then, she was such a nervous wreck. Always getting lost on her way to the restroom or the time she followed the wrong team to the WRONG gym. (It wasn’t her fault that the team wore the same maroon jackets. Good thing that happened in her first year otherwise Suna and the Miya twins would never live it down.)

(Y/N) shook those thoughts away and continued her way to the gym where her team was preparing for their match. She was only gone for a few minutes as she had to fill up the water bottles, but knowing the second-years (Y/N) knew it was only a matter of time before something happened. Luckily, the Karasuno volleyball team hadn't arrived yet when she left but perhaps they have already.

The familiar warm feeling returned at the thought of seeing Karasuno’s team. More specifically the team’s ace. Azumane Asahi. The same guy that caught her eye when he played volleyball. The same guy she met yesterday who saved her from getting hurt. The same guy that made her believe in the lyrics of all those love songs.

(Y/N) wanted to say she was a good judge of character and she had a good feeling about Asahi.

A sweet guy, every bit of a gentleman. Very cute too. Every time his soft brown eyes met with hers, she swore it reminded her of a cute puppy. His smile didn’t bring a few butterflies in her stomach… No. They brought a swarm. Each flap of their metaphorical wings gave her the shivers but the grin on her lips never left when she was with him. Even his hair played a part of her enchantment on him. It’s not often to see guys with long hair, but Asahi pulled it off amazingly well especially when he has it in a man bun. Despite his tough guy appearance, Asahi was a gentle giant with a glass heart. In the little time she knew him, (Y/N) hoped she was able to help him realize his self-worth.

God. It hasn’t been 24 hours and not once has Asahi left her mind. They texted each other last night for almost two hours. The conversation between them flowed so easily. Just like before, (Y/N) enjoyed talking to him. Not once had he made her uncomfortable. Quite the opposite actually.

The next morning she woke up early enough to do research on Karasuno’s team. While Inarizaki’s motto was: we don’t need the memories, (Y/N) couldn’t help but see how Karasuno was like from their past matches. They’re different from any other teams they’ve competed against. Besides, it was nice matching names with faces. Luckily, someone made ‘I’m Awesome’ videos of Karasuno’s starting lineup. She’ll admit whoever made these videos was good as they depicted amazing receives to jaw-dropping spikes.

She recognized Daichi, Suga, and Asahi immediately. Their libero, Nishinoya Yū, looked high caliber and so was their setter. She’ll keep her opinions to herself on Kageyama; she didn’t need Atsumu hearing her say that. They’ll have to keep a lookout on Karasuno’s #10, Hinata Shoyo. He’s on the short side considering he’s a middle blocker but judging by the video, the first-year is full of surprises.

Then again, the Inarizaki volleyball team has a few tricks up their sleeves too.

“Ah. Look, it's her!”

“(Y/N)- senpai!”

“Over here!”

The said manager snapped back to reality and was confronted by the usual crowd of fans in front of her. Inarizaki always show their pride with each event but with volleyball, they took it to another level. Then it doubled with the arrival of the Miya twins. Their popularity soared to new heights and as a result the marching band, cheerleaders, and several students took part in Nationals. Both a blessing and a curse.

The curse part? Well, as much as she loved her school’s support, the fangirls… Well…

“(Y/N)-senpai! Can you give this to Atsumu?!”

“Oh, please give these chocolates to Osamu! I made them last night!”

“(Y/N), is there any way I can get a picture with Suna? Please!”

Yeah… This was pretty much the usual for her but this time it was going too far. Girls ranging from first-years to third-years were blocking the entrance to the gym. She recognized some as fellow classmates but others she was almost positive they came from other schools. And they were all trying to catch a glimpse of their favorite player.

Despite the hectic scene in front of her, there were two girls that caught her attention.

One of them looked the same age as her with beautiful black hair that reached her shoulders and fair skin complexion except for the beauty mark underneath her lower lip. Her gray eyes seemed to sparkle behind her thin framed glasses. The other girl looked visibly younger with her petite frame and blonde hair that was styled with a star hair clip. Right away (Y/N) knew that the girl was a first-year. She could see the way the girl was trembling at the sight of the crowd.

They didn’t look like they were a part of the crowd, but they did look troubled. That’s when she noticed they were carrying water bottle carriers just like her. They must be the Karasuno team’s managers. In the spirit of good sportsmanship, (Y/N) decided to go talk to them.

The older girl noticed her first. She stepped in front of the blonde girl as if shielding her. (Y/N) didn’t let that get to her. Instead, she smiled and introduced herself.

“Hi. I’m (L/N) (Y/N). I’m the manager for the Inarizaki team. Are you two the managers for Karasuno?”

The two girls glanced at one another before nodding in unison.

“My name is Shimizu Kiyoko. Third-year.”

“I-I’m Y-Yachi H-Hitoka! F-First-year m-manager! I-It’s very n-nice t-to m-meet y-you!”

“Hey, there. No need to be scared of me. I’m just a manager, just like you.” (Y/N) tried her best to console the first-year’s anxious nature. It was almost like deja-vu with Asahi. “Are you excited for today?”

Kiyoko nodded, finally feeling at ease with her. “The team has worked hard to get to this point.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night because I was so nervous!” Hitoka added while trying to fan herself in order to cool down her face. “But the team is excited to play against the team that placed second place in the last Interhigh!”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done your research. I’m impressed. But don’t worry, we still have some tricks under our sleeves. We know we’re up against a great team.”

The Karasuno managers felt the same warm feeling coursing underneath their skin at the compliment.

“Does that mean you’ve done research on our team?” Kiyoko asked.

(Y/N) nodded. “Of course. I like to be prepared.” Her cheeks began to warm up when she thought of Karasuno’s ace. “You two have impressive players on the team. Are they in the gym?”

“Yes. They’re practicing right now. We went to get some water for the match when this happened.” Kiyoko gestured to the sea of girls in front of them.

“We tried to get through but they’re scary!” Hitoka was practically shaking in her shoes. “The first match is already playing their second set.”

“Man! I swear time flies around here. Come on, I’ll help you through.” (Y/N) gestured to the girls to follow her. “We can’t let our teams forget us.”

“Are you sure?” Kiyoko asked her. “We can find another way.”

(Y/N) shook her head and gave them a carefree grin. “This is the best way into the gym. Trust me, I’ll get us in there.”

“W-Why a-are you h-helping us?” Hitoka stuttered out. “A-Aren’t you scared of them?”

“Well us managers have to stick together, right? And trust me, after dealing with the Miya twins for a year, these girls don’t scare me.”

Taking her word for it, the pair of Karasuno managers followed her. As expected the crowd of girls showed no sign of parting, in fact, it has grown in number. Kiyoko and Hitoka were waiting for (Y/N) to politely ask the girls to move aside, like they did before, but the Inarizaki manager did something quite unexpected.

(Y/N) looked over her shoulder and smiled, “Cover your ears.”

The girls obeyed. Lucky for them. Unlucky for the fangirls.

Because (Y/N) let out the loudest whistle anyone had ever heard. A series of groans and shrieks were heard from the fangirls. Then they all had turned to face the managers.

“(Y/N)-senpai? What was that for?!” One of the fangirls that she recognized as an underclassman.

“Oh, come on guys. I warned everyone last time this would happen.” The manager told them, not an ounce of fear in her voice as she addressed the crowd.

“B-But we just want to see the twins practice!” A girl holding a hand fan with the words ‘Miya Twins’ on it. “We aren’t doing anything wrong.”

“The boys need to warm up. You’ll see them on the court. Do yourselves a favor and find good seats to watch and cheer from.”

“Aww but (Y/N)!” They complained.

“You guys know the rules. Now, please, let me and my friends,” She stepped aside to reveal her new manager friends, “get into the gym. We need to do our jobs as managers. Don’t make me tell Kita-san and have him ban all of you from watching practice matches in the future.”

At the mention of the serious captain and under the threat of closed practices, the fangirls dispersed quickly. Some had the sense to apologize and others wished them good fortune on the upcoming match.

“W-Wow.” Hitoka said in awe. “You knew exactly what to do. That’s amazing.”

Kiyoko agreed before asking, “Does this happen a lot?”

(Y/N) let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah… They’re big fans of the team and they mean well but sometimes their excitement can take it too far. As Inarizaki’s manager, sometimes I feel responsible for their behavior.” She bowed her head and continued on. “I apologize on their behalf for any trouble they may have caused you two.”

The youngest manager out of the three was speechless at the older girl’s sincere words in her apology. They’ve only known the Inarizaki manager for like ten minutes but she proved herself to them that she’s a kindhearted yet self-assured person. One look at her senpai and Yachi knew that they were thinking the same thing.

What Yachi didn’t know, Shimizu was smiling for a different reason. Yesterday, she accidentally overheard her fellow third-years talking. She didn’t mean to listen in and she was about to leave when the topic of the conversation caught her attention. Apparently, a girl caught her friend Asahi’s eye. A girl from the Inarizaki team that, according to Suga, sounded like the perfect girl for her anxious friend. So when the girl’s name came up, (Y/N), Shimizu wanted to see for herself what the girl was like.

Now that she has, Shimizu can see how and why Asahi would fall for her.

“Don’t apologize,” Kiyoko finally spoke up and offered the girl a kind smile. “Sometimes, these things happen.”

“You sure? I mean, this might happen again when we have to go into the main gym. There are some fans of the Miya twins that can be a bit… Fierce. If you want, I can help out. It’s no trouble at all.”

Kiyoko shook her head. “It’s okay, (Y/N). We can handle it. Right, Hitoka-chan?”

The first-year nodded eagerly. “Yeah! We’ll be okay. The guys on our team can be scary too. Ah! I need to tell the team that the first match is already in the second set. It was very nice to meet you!”

The third-year managers watched in amusement as she scurried into the gym. (Y/N) smiled before facing Kiyoko. She offered her hand for a handshake and said, “I know it’s customary for players to shake hands before and after the match, but I do it too with the managers. Let’s have a good game.”

Kiyoko took her hand and squeezed. “May the best team win. No hard feelings, right?”

(Y/N) laughed and nodded. “I like you, Shimizu, but yeah, no hard feelings at all.”

“Please call me Kiyoko.”

~Meanwhile inside the gym, ten minutes earlier~

‘Where is she?’ Asahi thought as his eyes searched the other side of the court. ‘Is she hiding from me? Did he say something that scared her away? What if he creeped her out last night when they texted each other?’

“Yo Asahi!” Suga’s energetic voice scared him back to reality. “Are you looking for someone?”

He didn’t miss his friend’s teasing tone that laced his words nor the way his eyes shined in amusement. Leave it to Suga to tease the hell out of him. Last night, for example, was too much. Even after he told his friends about his time with the Inarizaki manager, Suga still wanted to know everything, down to the last detail. Luckily, Daichi took pity on him and reeled Suga back on a somewhat normal level of interrogation.

But that didn’t mean he was going to drop the subject completely.

“I can’t find (Y/N).” He admitted to his friend. “Have you seen her?”

“Hmm. Not yet. But I wouldn’t worry too much. Her team’s here so I’m sure she’s somewhere around here. She’s their manager after all.” Suga clapped his shoulder. “But if you really want to know where (Y/N) is, why don’t you go ask her teammates?”

Suga pointed to the nearby Inarizaki members that were practicing their spikes. He recognized the Miya twins and Inarizaki’s ace, Ojiro Aran. And while he saw how they played from previous matches last night, it didn’t ease the anxiety clawing its way around his heart. It also didn’t help when one of the wing spikers turned the set into a powerful spike. The impact of the ball being slammed to the floor echoed throughout the gym.

Just the very action scared Suga’s suggestion out the window. There was no way he was going over there and ask about their manager! If they were anything like Tanaka or Nishinoya, then he’ll be ripped to shreds.

“N-No way!” He stuttered out a reply and waved his hands in front of him. The slight blush on his face was becoming more visible by each second. “But I’m worried. What if something happened to her?”

“Her who?” Daichi asked as he came up from behind them. “What’s going on?”

Suga answered before he could. “Well, our dear old ace here, is worried that his crush is somewhere out there dying without him knowing. And he’s too scared to ask her friends where she is.”

Karasuno’s captain chuckled and patted Asahi on the back. “Quit worrying. I know you saved her yesterday, but this isn’t a little girl you’re talking about. She can hold her own. After all, this isn’t her first time here in Nationals.”

“See, Asahi?” Suga, clearly amused by this whole conversation, told him. “There’s nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t be surprised if she walked through those gym doors right now.”

He pointed to the entrance and they followed it only to see a swarm of girls trying to catch a glimpse inside the gym.

“You mean those doors?” He asked his friend. “They look ready to burst in here.”

“Who are they?” Daichi asking the question everyone was wondering.

“Judging by the hand fans, I think they’re fans of the Miya twins. They must be really popular to have this many. That’s annoying.” Suga muttered the last part with a pout.

“Can anyone get through?” Asahi wondered as he avoided eye contact with the girls. Something about them unnerved him somehow even if they wore bright smiles and loud cheers. “They look vicious.”

“They’re fans, not witches.” Daichi stated. “I’m sure they’re nice. After all, they're showing their support to their team.”

“Let it go, Daichi. Asahi is only like this because he misses his dream girl.” Suga jested. “He’s going into withdrawal.”

“I was just hoping to see her. She texted me-”

“Woah! Woah! Texted?! When did this happen?” asked Suga, his eyes wide with this new information. “You’re at the texting-each-other stage?!”

“Was that who you were texting last night?” Daichi asked him.

“What?!” Suga exclaimed. “Daichi, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were asleep and I was tired.” The captain defended. “And it isn’t my business who Asahi texts. He’s old enough to make his own decisions… That being said, what did you guys talk about?”

“You didn’t tell her our secret weapons, did you?” Suga whispered his question, referring to all the tricks they perfected in the past few months.

“(Y/N) isn’t like that, Suga. She didn’t squeeze any information out of me. We picked up where we left off and talked about normal stuff. We thought it was better than to talk about the match between our schools.”

“And what did you guys text about?” The vice captain pressed, eager to know more.

For some reason, Asahi couldn’t help but recall how he initiated the conversation with the pretty manager from Inarizaki. Actually it was more like he couldn’t believe he was texting with (Y/N) last night. It felt unreal, like a dream. After reading her note, he remembered how hard his heart was beating and how warm his cheeks grew.

Ever since she mentioned it in her note, admitting how he made her nervous, Asahi took some comfort that he can do the same to her and vice versa.

Though, she did prove herself to be bravely spontaneous when she wrote the note and after texting with her last night, he hoped he could do the same. One of his many concerns since starting high school was that girls in his class were always disappointed after finding out his timid personality didn’t match his physical appearance. He’ll never forget the time when one of the girls called him a wuss. It was years ago but the girl’s remark was like a stab wound in the back. It healed over time but it still made its mark on his self-image.

Luckily, (Y/N) wasn’t like any of the girls in his class. She’s so kind when she bought him a shirt as a gift. She’s so understanding when she patiently listened to his problems. She showed compassion when she offered some advice to help ease the anxiety that almost suffocated him. Then there was that beautiful confidence she had in herself. He liked that about her and while he just met (Y/N) yesterday, he wanted to prove to her that he can be confident too.

That’s why he’s been looking for her. He wanted to be the first to greet her. It might not seem like a big deal to others, but it was to him.

‘Baby steps,’ He thought when he was second-guessing himself. ‘What was that saying? Rome wasn’t built in a day. Well, that applies here too. Bit by bit, confidence will grow.’

“Asahi? Earth to ace?”

“Huh?”

“You zoned out there for a second.” A smirk appeared on Suga’s face. “Must be quite a conversation you had with her. Wouldn’t you say Daichi?”

It was always nerve-wracking to have both Daichi and Suga tease him. So it wouldn’t be a surprise if the captain joined in on the teasing. But to his surprise, Daichi clapped him on the back causing him to huff a bit under his breath.

“Well, I think (Y/N) is the kind of girl that can make our dear ace invincible. Make sure to show what you’re made of during this match.”

“Yeah!” Suga encouraged, his hand clapping the ace’s free shoulder. “Let her see how awesome you are on the court.”

“No pressure or anything.” Daichi added, his smile matching Suga’s teasing grin.

“None at all!” Suga piped in. “Just remember she’ll be watching you when it’s your turn to serve. Don’t mess up!”

“You guys aren’t helping!” He yelled at his friends. His face burned in embarrassment.

Daichi and Suga laughed but before anyone could say another word that could cause further humiliation for the ace, Asahi’s saving grace came in the form of their first-year manager running into the gym. He thanked whatever deity who was watching over this episode that spared him from further teasing from his friends.

“The first match is in the middle of their second set.” Hitoka informed them.

Daichi nodded and clapped his hands together. In a loud voice, he announced, “Alright, guys. Let’s get into our uniforms.”

Following the captain's orders, Asahi grabbed his alternate orange jersey and placed it over a nearby chair. He looked across the gym and saw the Inarizaki players putting on their uniforms as well. Still no sign of (Y/N).

“Hitoka-chan, wasn’t Shimizu with you?” Suga asked.

The first-year nodded. “We made a new friend just now. She helped us out when we couldn’t get into the gym. I think she’s still talking to her by the doors.”

Asahi tuned out their conversation as he took off his shirt. In his head, he had to concentrate on calming down his nerves. The scariest moments of his life played like an endless nightmare. Like the time when he was a kid and he had to show his parents the bad grade on his report card. Or the time he wanted to pet the neighbor’s puppy but ended up getting chased by the puppy’s mother. Or how Date Tech’s iron wall blocked every single spike; shaking him to the core so much that he temporarily stopped playing volleyball.

The whirlpool of anxiety and dread arrived on schedule in his stomach. Was it getting harder to breathe? Was the air getting warmer? Or was he getting colder? Yeah, no. He was definitely getting colder. His hands felt like a block of ice. Was he this nervous during the Shiratorizawa match? Probably. He made a mental note to trace 人 on his hand, hoping it was enough to settle down his nerves.

He threw his jersey on and was just about to fix his loose hair strands when he heard a familiar laugh coming from the entrance. He looked up to see Kiyoko laughing along with another girl. It was only a glance, a quick one, when he did a double take. He couldn’t believe it.

(L/N) (Y/N), the girl that caused his brain cells to go on a roller coaster ride, was standing there in all her beauty.

She was having a conversation with Kiyoko and by the looks of it, she must have said something funny because it made his usual shy and quiet manager laugh a little. Now he was 100% convinced that (Y/N) had a natural aura that eased people on friendly terms if she was able to hold an amiable conversation with Kiyoko.

Not to mention her smile that complimented her eyes that seemed to shine in excitement. Or how her hair was styled a bit different from yesterday. This time her hair was pinned back from her face with two small side braids connected together where it fell in rhythm with the rest of her hair. It looked cute on her, lovely even. Should he mention that to her or would that be too weird?

SLAP!

“Ow!” Asahi turned around to find the culprit who slapped the (for lack of a better word) living shit onto his back. Nishinoya didn’t have an ounce of shame or regret in his eyes. Quite the opposite actually as the libero was smiling ear to ear. “Nishinoya? What was that for?”

With no remorse, the second-year player ignored the question and asked several of his own. “That’s her, right? The Inarizaki manager? The one who’s talking to Kiyoko-san? The girl you like?”

He could feel his ears begin to burn. “H-How did you know?”

“That’s not important.”

Asahi begged to differ as he thought it made a world of difference now that Nishinoya knows about his crush.

With his arms crossed in front of his chest, the libero continued, “What are you doing standing here? Go over there and talk to her! Be a man!”

“I-It’s not that simple. I need to build myself up before I talk to her. And then I need to think of a topic that we can talk about. Then what type of questions I should ask-”

“Oh come on Asahi! You have to stop acting like a cowardly wimp. Man up and go! She’s right there!”

“J-Just give me a second and I will.”

Nishinoya was just about to retort back when he realized something. This was the first time Asahi was nervous, visibly and mentally, for a girl. Well, scratch that. Asahi was always nervous around girls but this was the first time he seemed to actively try to impress someone. Like the way he repeatedly made sure his jersey was tucked in, double-knotted his shoelaces, and double-checked his hair was safely tied in his usual bun.

So he did what any good friend would do. “You look great, Asahi.”

With a glimmer of hope in his eyes, the ace stood up straight. “You think so?”

“Personally, I don’t care about what other people think about my looks.”

Asahi physically deflated at those words. If only he could borrow some of his friend’s confidence.

“But then again I’m awesome.”

The ace couldn’t argue with that one. But before he could wallow in a pool of anxiety and dread, the libero’s next words saved him from drowning. Along with a strong slap on the shoulder that could echo throughout the gym.

“You’re awesome too. You’re the ace of our team. Take pride in that.”

Asahi took his friend’s words to heart as he stood up a bit straighter. He glanced up to look at (Y/N) who looked breathtaking while wearing her maroon Inarizaki jacket. If only she wore a black Karasuno jacket… He could just imagine the alternate dimension where she could have been a classmate, a close friend, or even something more.

“I… I don’t want to mess this up, Noya.”

Concerned, Nishinoya asked, “How would you mess up?”

“I don’t know! Anything could happen. With my luck, I could trip over myself in front of her. I want to be confident and go over to her and say hi-””

“Alright. Then let’s go.”

Asahi’s mind froze. “What?”

“You heard me. Let’s do what you said and walk up to your girlfriend-”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

Nishinoya rolled his eyes but the grin on his face showed no sign of leaving. “Fine. The girl you wish to be your girlfriend. We’ll go together. You’ll say hi and introduce me to her because I want to know what kind of girl makes you act this way.”

Asahi could feel his face turning red. “Okay, let’s go. But please don’t say anything embarrassing. Daichi and Suga did enough of that yesterday.”

His friend laughed loudly before slapping his shoulder. “You really need to grow a backbone off the court, especially if you want to impress your crush. But don’t worry, I have your back.”

(Y/N) felt as if she met her long-lost sister through Karasuno’s manager. Kiyoko definitely could relate to the ups and downs that comes with managing a group of boys (especially rowdy second-years). But she admired her commitment. Being a third-year, specifically attending Nationals, it was their last chance to help their respective team to make it to the top.

“So, how are you feeling about being here?” She asked as they sat down on a nearby bench. They still had time before the ongoing match ended. Why not take the opportunity and spend time with her new friend?

“It’s unreal. Sometimes it feels like a dream. A lot of people doubted us since we were a forgotten powerhouse. We were devastated when we lost in the third round of the Interhigh to Aoba Johsai. Our only chance to get to Nationals was to win all our matches.”

“Woah, I can only imagine the pressure your team had on their shoulders. More so on the third-years.” She took a chance to look for Asahi. Her eyes automatically found him and she couldn’t help but smile. It looked like he was having a conversation with the libero. “How did you guys manage all that?”

Kiyoko shrugged her shoulders but she had a faint smile before answering, “It was rough. But we didn’t want to give up on volleyball. Not when there was a chance to make it here. It was a risk. Our advisor warned us third-years to take our future into account before we made our decision.”

“And now you guys are here! I have to give you and your team respect, Kiyoko.”

Kiyoko laughed as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks. It’s been a journey and we’re ready to play against the best.”

“Trust me the feeling is mutual.”

“Speaking of feelings,” Kiyoko began with a teasing tone. “I’ve heard there’s a guy on my team that caught your eye.”

(Y/N) let out a nervous laugh as she looked away. “He told you?”

“Not directly but Daichi and Suga weren’t exactly keeping it down about it. Asahi is usually quiet. But he sounded happy when he talked about you. I think you helped him in more ways than one because I’ve never heard him sound so confident.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help but smile widely. “You're not just saying that, are you?”

Kiyoko shook her head. “I don’t know what you told him but it looks like he took it to heart.”

“I just spoke the truth. He helped me so it’s only fair that I helped him too. He’s a gentle giant that needs a boost in confidence.”

“Do you like him?”

“Well… It’s too soon to tell but I think so. Asahi is not like any other guy I’ve met. I just want a chance to get to know him more and vice versa.”

“So like a date before the actual date?”

“Exactly!” It was like Kiyoko and her were on the same wavelength. “Is that too weird? Or is it stupid? I mean, I just met him yesterday and so far he seems like a great guy but like… I’m nervous. He makes me nervous and… Shoot. I’m sorry for rambling.”

“Hey, it’s reasonable to think and feel that way. Take it from me, Asahi really is a good guy. He can be a scaredy-cat sometimes and can be insecure about a lot of stuff but he really means well.”

“I saw that side of him yesterday. He’s the type to shoulder all the blame, isn’t he?” (Y/N) asked.

Kiyoko nodded. “He’s still our ace and he’s been working harder than ever to prove it.”

(Y/N) remained silent, taking in all the information Kiyoko told her. She looked for Asahi again and smiled when she saw him getting clapped on the shoulder by the libero.

“Does that bother you?” Kiyoko asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

Confused, (Y/N) furrowed her brow before asking, “What do you mean?”

“Does it bother you that Asahi is the ace but he doesn’t have an ace-like presence?”

While Kiyoko hated asking the question she believed it was an important one. Girls can be ruthless. She heard the gossip from other girls and how they talk about Asahi behind his back. Calling him a wimp or how he was a part of a gang. As Asahi’s friend, she felt it was her responsibility to see if the girl he has a crush for is actually genuine in her feelings towards him. Because as much as she enjoyed (Y/N)’s company, Kiyoko will choose to defend Asahi over her.

“Should that be important? If anything, it goes to show how different Asahi is. When I saw him play yesterday, I knew he was an amazing ace but when I talked to him and got to know him… I saw a guy who’s not ashamed to admit his insecurities and who’s not scared to admit his feelings. I respect that. And after what you told me of what you guys have gone through, I know Asahi will show his self-worth on the court and show everyone why he’s the ace. So who cares that he doesn’t have the traditional personality of an ace? I think he’s already brave.”

Kiyoko smiled at her. That was the answer she’s been hoping for and (Y/N) delivered it. Her (E/C) eyes matched the conviction in her voice and Kiyoko loved it. Not to mention, the timing was absolutely perfect and she thanked the gods that (Y/N) didn’t notice the two people behind her.

“(Y-Y/N)-san?”

Oh god. She could feel her heart falling to her stomach when she heard her name in that deep voice that made her feel everything all at once. Her face became warm in seconds and she didn’t dare move an inch. It wasn’t until Kiyoko let out a small cough that brought her from cloud nine back to the gym.

(Y/N) took a moment to center herself before turning around to see Asahi. His chocolate brown eyes met hers and she swore the butterflies from her stomach danced between her ribs.

“A-Asahi-san! Hey!”

She quickly stood up, a bit too fast as she accidentally knocked her team’s water bottles out of the carrier. Embarrassed, (Y/N) fell to her knees and grabbed the nearest bottle.

“S-Sorry about this.” (Y/N) didn’t dare look up as she already embarrassed herself in front of her crush and his friends.

“N-No! Don’t apologize. It was an accident.” Asahi kneeled, grabbing the last bottle before handing it to her. His breath hitched ever so softly when her fingertips touched his hand. It was as if the rest of the gym faded away. Being so close to (Y/N), he saw how her eyes were beautiful as he remembered. He swore it was no trick of the light that her eyes seemed to shine like stars in the night sky.

(Y/N) felt so self-conscious about how close she was to Asahi. She hoped she looked okay in his eyes. Usually she wouldn’t care so much on how she looked, but the idea was thrown out the window when she met Karasuno’s ace. His long hair was once again in a bun but this time it was neatly in place, a perfect bun any woman or man could be jealous of. The small scruff of facial hair on his chin suited him very well, giving him a sort of wild, intimidating appearance.

But she knew better because Asahi was an adorable giant with a large and gentle heart. If she was being honest, his presence was like springtime coming to wash away winter’s snow. His warmth was… Indescribable.

How was it possible for him to be that handsome yet so adorable at the same time?

The moment was interrupted when someone cleared their throat. Loudly. (Y/n) looked up to see the libero, Nishinoya, with a large grin. His eyes were bright with excitement and amusement. She can immediately tell that this guy was the mischievous and energetic type. As they stood up, she could have sworn she saw Asahi blush.

“(Y/N), this is my friend Nishinoya Yū. He’s a second-year and the libero of our team.”

While he maintained a normal composure, Asahi was mentally beating himself up. ‘Why would you say that?! She’s a volleyball manager!! Of course, she knows that Nishinoya is a libero! She has eyes. She can see that he’s wearing a different color jersey! Asahi, you’re such an IDIOT!’

While the ace was mentally berating himself, (Y/N) formally introduced herself to his friend. During her introduction, Nishinoya could only gawk. When he heard from Suga and Daichi about his friend Asahi finally having a lucky break encounter with a girl, he couldn’t be happier for the ace. And it didn’t take a genius to see how hard Asahi fell for her.

“By the way, I’ve watched those ‘I’m Awesome’ videos.” (Y/N) brought up and immediately caught the attention from both boys. “That match with Shiratorizawa when you made a double save against Ushijima was so cool. It was so amazing that I had to replay it like five times. I even showed it to our own libero and he literally took my phone out of my hands.”

Nishinoya beamed. “Really?”

His chest swelled up with pride and the thought of another libero studying his techniques was just the icing on the cake, but to have a pretty girl, like (Y/N), praise his skills… Well that’s the cherry on top. He liked her already.

“And Asahi, you were amazing too. The way you were able to smash through Shiratorizawa’s defenses was unreal!”

The warm and fuzzy feeling from his chest exploded and it was as if all the heat rushed to his face. Asahi was sure his whole face was red. He tried to stammer out a reply but Nishinoya beat him to it.

“I know right!” He slapped Asahi’s shoulder repeatedly. “He went head to head against one of the best aces in the country and helped lead our team to victory. We wouldn’t be here without him.”

“T-That’s not t-true-”

“Of course it is!” Nishinoya looked back at the girl who was chuckling at their interaction. “Ignore that. He’s so humble whenever someone compliments him.”

Her eyes met Asahi’s and gave him a knowing smile. Although this was her second encounter with Karasuno’s ace, (Y/N) noticed the trend of Asahi’s friends building him up and teasing him at the same time. She had to stop herself from laughing at the lack of subtlety amongst them. Still, it was cute to see Asahi this way.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, her hand casually tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Asahi was listening intently. “Then I bet this next compliment is going to be unbearable because I thought you looked great during that match. It makes me wish I was there to see you guys play live.”

Nishinoya grinned. “Don’t worry, (Y/N)-san. You won’t be disappointed with our match. Asahi, here, will make sure of that. Right, Asahi? Oh, did I mention how-”

Kiyoko, who was silently watching the entire interaction, noticed the slight panic in Asahi’s eyes. She knew the libero means well but there were times he can take things a bit too far.

“Nishinoya, can you help carry this for me?”

“Anything for you, Kiyoko-san! I’ll follow you forever!”

Asahi was about to stutter out his friend’s name when he saw Kiyoko give a little head gesture towards (Y/N), subtle enough so she wouldn’t see it.

‘This is your chance, Asahi.’ That was the message she was telling him as Kiyoko led Nishinoya away. ‘Don’t mess up.’

“So, um, (Y/N)? H-How are you? You know, with everything?” Asahi could feel the goosebumps traveling up and down his arms at how cringy he felt.

The dark cloud of self-doubt and worry that plagued Asahi this morning has evaporated into thin air the moment she smiled at him. How was she able to put him at ease like that?

“So far, so good. I'm a bit nervous for today. Not the bad kind of nervous but the excited kind, you know?”

Asahi nodded as he knew exactly the feeling (Y/N) was talking about. He was feeling it right now! “I know that feeling very well. I feel it almost everyday.”

(Y/N) chuckled before replying, “At least, you’re honest, Asahi. Most guys usually lie about their feelings.” She glanced back at her own team where she saw Atsumu arguing with his twin, probably over something stupid.

“Well someone did tell me that it wasn’t a bad thing to express my feelings. I’m just following her good advice.”

The smile she gave him was like no other to know that Asahi was really taking her words to heart. Words can’t describe how happy this made her nor the warm feeling she felt stir in her chest.

“So, are you ready to play against us?” (Y/N) asked the ace in an effort to keep the conversation going. “Because we’ve been looking forward to this match.”

“It’s a bit nerve-racking that we’re playing against the team that placed second in the Inter-High. You have great players on your team.”

(Y/N) waved her hand in dismal with a shake of her head. “Oh don’t let that rattle you, that was yesterday.” Her school’s motto rings true in her words. “Besides, I’ve done my research. Karasuno isn’t like it was before. Your team has cool players too and that includes you. All you can do today is challenge yourself.”

Asahi couldn’t help but smile at her. “You’re just full of good advice, aren’t you?”

She beamed while tossing her hair over her shoulder in a joking manner. “I’d like to think so. But seriously, Asahi,” Her hand gently touched his bicep and Asahi didn’t shrink away. “How are you really feeling?”

“H-Honestly?”

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes looking up to him, patiently waiting for his response.

“I haven’t told anyone so d-don’t make fun of me but… I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“I’m scared of failing. I’m scared to drag the team down. I’m scared to lose the trust my team has in me as the ace. I mean, I’ve watched the Inarizaki clip last night and I can’t help to compare-”

Asahi stopped talking when he felt a pair of warm hands wrap around his cold ones. The blush from before came back in full force. (Y/N)’s hands were small and so soft compared to his yet it was enough to calm his fast beating heart. With her holding his hands, it reminded Asahi of the time when Kiyoko held Suga’s hands during the fifth set of the Shiratorizawa match. He remembered how he, Daichi, Nishinoya, and Tanaka became jealous towards the vice captain. Now he was in Suga’s position and with (Y/N) holding his hands, Asahi understood the feelings Suga went through that day.

“Listen to me, Asahi, what you’re feeling right now… That’s normal, okay? You’re not the first ace to feel this way and even if you are the first that just goes to show how considerate you are to your teammates. I can tell you worked hard and you have skilled, trustworthy teammates. That’s why you’re here in Nationals, remember? You earned your spot on the team as the ace and I understand you carry a burden on your shoulders, but you’re not alone. You have your team with you.”

Asahi opened his mouth but no words came out. It was as if (Y/N) took his ability to talk. He felt enlightened in a way. He was pushed so much in the darkness by his own self-doubt, anxiety, and worry that he almost missed the ray of light that gave him hope.

“You with me, Asahi? I didn’t lose you, did I?” (Y/N) questioned, giving his hands a small squeeze. “Or did I say something wrong?”

“Oh! Sorry! No! I mean- Yes! I mean-”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Breathe, Asahi. There’s no need to be nervous. It’s just me. No one special.”

He shook his head. “That’s not true. At least, not to me.”

She blinked. Then blinked twice. Three times. When she realized that she hadn’t misheard him, she swore those butterflies in her stomach made their way to her chest and danced around her heart. The feeling never went away when he met her eyes. His brown eyes took her breath away while melting her heart at the same time.

Still, she wasn’t expecting Asahi to say that and judging by the obvious blush on his cheeks Asahi wasn’t either. Well, two can play at that game.

“Oh? I’m someone special to you? When we only met yesterday? If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re falling for me.”

Asahi felt his Adam's apple bob up and down. He was used to teasing by his friends and the second-years but never before has he felt like this. Wait a minute… Was this teasing or flirting? He hoped for the latter because he didn’t want it to stop.

“What if I am?” He asked, his confidence growing with every word. “Would it be a bad thing?”

(Y/N) smiled widely. “I… I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

Asahi felt his heart soar to new heights at this. Any anxiety he had began to slowly fade away. His hands were no longer cold but he wasn’t going to stray away from (Y/N)’s touch.

However, the universe thought differently.

“Hey. Do you mind not holding hands with my manager?”

(Y/N) grunted when she felt a strong arm swing over her shoulders. Even without looking, she could tell who it was. The same person who had no problem starting a confrontation with anyone. Not even his twin brother.

“Atsumu.” She warned, letting go of Asahi’s hands, hoping this action would relieve the tension her setter placed around them.

The blond-haired twin kept the same annoying smirk as he met his manager’s eyes. He knew that look very well as he was always on the receiving end of it.

“What?” He asked innocently. “I’m just looking out for you, (Y/N)-senpai. You’re our precious manager after all. Now, is this guy messing with you?”

(Y/N) sighed, closing her eyes while counting to ten in order to calm down. She could only imagine how this must look.

“He’s not. This is Asahi and he’s my friend. We were just talking before the match began. Asahi, this is Miya Atsumu. He’s the setter-”

“Star setter.” Atsumu interrupted as he shook Asahi’s hand, gripping it hard. “An All-Japan Training Camp setter.”

Confused but feeling bold, Asahi matched the twin’s grip strength. He took a tiny bit of satisfaction when Atsumu grimaced the tiniest bit.

(Y/N) raised her brow at them but shook it off. “Sorry about him. He can be a bit much. Anyways, Atsumu, Asahi is Karasuno’s ace. We watched their match yesterday, remember?”

Atsumu gave him an unimpressed look before shaking his head. “Not really. He must have not made a good impression for me to remember. I don’t remember players who suck-”

He was cut off by (Y/N)’s sharp elbow to his stomach. “What was that for, (Y/N)-san?!”

“That’s for lying!”

“I wasn’t lying!”

“Just yesterday you told me he made a lot of great plays. Not to mention, you praised his service ace.”

Atsumu could feel himself blush a little when his manager caught him in his lie. “I… I don’t remember.” When lying doesn’t work, denying is the second best option.

She rolled her eyes while pushing the setter’s head down, forcing him to bow with her. “Sorry about him. He can be incredibly insensitive at times.”

Atsumu twisted his head to look at his manager, quietly struggling underneath her surprisingly strong grip. “No, I’m not!”

(Y/N) sighed before letting go and ignored the glare Atsumu gave her. Instead, she focused on Karasuno’s ace. “I wish we can talk more, Asahi but I need to get the team ready before the match. But I’m glad we had the chance to catch up.”

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled at her, much to Atsumu’s displeasure. “Can we talk later?”

The manager grinned and was just about to answer when she felt a strong tug on her arm before getting dragged away. “Hey, Atsumu! What the he-”

“You said it yourself.” Atsumu pointed out. “You need to help get the team, our team, ready. Let’s go.”

(Y/N) yanked her hand back and gave Atsumu a glare before he could utter a complaint. “Atsumu, be a dear and take this,” She placed the water bottle carrier in his hands. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“But- I, er, we need you. Remember, there’s that thing… That important thing…” His eyes gestured to his hands.

To anyone who didn’t know the Inarizaki setter very well, it may have sounded like there was something urgent she, as the manager, had to do. But (Y/N) knew Atsumu and she almost wanted to laugh at the desperation in his voice. This happened every single time before a match. It was obvious that Atsumu didn’t want to admit his problem in front of Asahi, who had a confused look on his face.

“The stuff is in my bag, inside the small pocket. Just don’t use too much like last time.”

“Yes!” Atsumu fist-pumped before running back to the rest of the Inarizaki team, forgetting the reason he came over in the first place.

(Y/N) chuckled as she watched her friend dig into her bag before turning back to Asahi. “Again, sorry about that. He can be a bit much. But he does have a point, the match is going to start soon.” She offered up her hand for a shake. “Best of luck to you, Asahi.”

He wasted no time in shaking her hand. “You too. Good luck to your team.”

“And whatever happens, win or lose, we’ll be cool, right?” (Y/N) asked, hoping Asahi wasn’t one of those players that completely shuts down and shuns people when they lose. She really liked him so she hoped that wasn’t the case.

“Of course we will.” Asahi promised. “No matter what happens, we’ll give it our best.”

“Good. See you later, ace.”

With one final encouraging squeeze, (Y/N)’s hand slipped away before making her way towards her team. Asahi seemed frozen to the laminate gym floor as his eyes were fixed on her maroon Inarizaki team. His hand was still in the air where he could still feel her fingertips.

“ASAHI!”

He flinched when he heard Nishinoya yell out his name and he almost fell over when he felt the libero hoist himself to do a handstand on his shoulders. It always amazes him how Nishinoya was able to do that effortlessly.

“H-Hey careful!” Asahi warned him. “And what happened to having my back?”

“You were amazing Asahi-san!” Nishinoya praised, stars in his eyes. “And I did have your back. We all had your back. We were watching the whole thing! You looked so cool talking to the girl you like!”

Was it just him or did that last sentence sound so loud?

“Don’t make it so obvious, Nishinoya.” Suga chuckled.

“Yeah, we don’t need Miya Atsumu to come back over here and scare Asahi again.” Daichi joked. “We had to pull Nishinoya back so he wouldn’t go feral on him.”

“I-I wasn’t scared! He just surprised me.” Asahi defended though he wasn’t going to admit that there was a tiny moment of fear when the Inarizaki setter confronted him. “He’s intense though.”

Kiyoko stepped forward. “You didn’t run away. I think that speaks louder than words.”

Asahi swallowed hard. “You think so?”

“Trust Kiyoko on this, Asahi.” Daichi said. “And trust all of us when we say, don’t give up. I know I give you a hard time with you being a coward and all-”

“Thanks.” He said sarcastically.

“Let me finish.” Daichi laughed. “I was trying to say… (Y/N) brings out the best in you. So keep going. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Alright, let’s go win!”

“YEAH!!”

~Meanwhile on the other side of the gym~

“You done flirting with the enemy?”

“Does that bother you, Suna?” (Y/N) countered as she checked her bag, looking to see if Atsumu used all her hand lotion. (He’s always complaining about his fingertips being dry.) “I thought that’s what you guys wanted? For me to find someone?”

“At least give us a warning. Atsumu said it was that scary samurai-looking guy.”

“Atsumu’s dramatic.”

“Am not!”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“He literally was squeezing my hand off! Trying to ruin my perfect setter hands!” The blond complained. “I call sabotage!”

“Maybe you’re just that weak, ‘Tsumu.”

“Shut up, ‘Samu!”

“So,” Suna interrupted before the twins could start another infinite argument. “You like this Azumane guy?”

“Is he Lucky Schmuck #1?” Osamu followed up.

“Or Unlucky Schmuck #6?” Atsumu mumbled with his arms crossed.

“I think… He’s the one.”

Next: Chapter 3