#pathetic soaking wet cat of a man

[lesboficfanatic]

as some of yall know im gong through my first listen through of the malevolent podcast,

I just finished listening to episode 18 “The Madness” and yalll it might be my favorite so far,,,,, it was so yummy

they had that man experiencing all the horrors and personally I am here for it

[deadsetobsessions]

Bruce “Sad Wet Cat of a Man” Wayne meets Danny “Sad Wet Cat of a Teenager” and immediately adopts him. A prompt? A fic starter?

——

This was pathetic, Bruce groused, wringing his cape under the mostly effective shelter of an awning. Amity’s rain was somehow more potent than that of Gotham and it managed to soak the waterproof fabric of his cape. This was not scientifically possible.

Bruce refrained from giving into the urge of slamming his head backwards into the wall.

“You’re new in town, aren’t ya?”

Bruce subtly startled, head swiveling over to the presence he somehow hadn’t detected. His heart gave a little squeeze- and, uh oh, that’s the squeeze he got when he adopted his kids. Bruce was self aware enough to see where this was going, but as usual, he was helpless to stop it.

Batman slightly dipped his head. How did the child know?

Like he read his mind, the teenager nodded. “You look like it. We know everyone in Amity. And you’re new. Tourists.” He chuckled, brushing the weird rain out of his hair. “And, you’re soaked.”

“This is waterproof,” Batman growled.

“Yeah, in other places of the world, maybe,” At Bruce’s questioning look (not that anyone other than liminal could have figured out his friendly intentions via the scary glare he had on), the kid elaborated further. “but you didn’t get Amity-made textiles. They’re made to last in any weather.”

“This is rain.”

“Ecto-contaminated rain, yeah.” The kid sighed, one hand absently fluffing up his hair and getting rid of stray green-tinged water droplets. “I’m Danny. I guess I’m your Amity tour guide today.”

Well, Bruce wasn’t the type to turn down an advantage. If this was a trap one of his enemies made for him to stumble into, Bruce had to admit it was well made and well researched. He never could turn away kids, especially ones that had that edge of work weary exhaustion to them like Danny did.

Danny, as expected, tried to fill in the silence. Alfred's technique always worked. Even on Bruce himself.

"This is the mall, by the way. It's dead right now because you're here on a Wednesday during school hours." Danny smirked to himself.

"Why are you not in school then?"

"It's called skipping. Or, for you, I guess it'd be 'playing hooky,'" Danny sassed, making quotation marks with his hands. He was exactly like Dick.

Bruce felt his heart melt. Oh no. Alfred was going to be mad again. But... it was for a good cause! And besides, what are the chances that Danny'd be a crime fighting vigilante? Can't be that high, right? (Bruce conveniently avoided the fact that statistically, the chances of him adopting baby vigilantes were pretty much at a hundred percent success rate.)

"Hng." He grunted. Danny rolled his eyes. Like Jason and Damian and Stephanie. "Where are your parents?"

He had to get the important stuff squared away first.

Danny shrugged. "Come on. There's a fabric store that way. We'll make you a rain guard first so your stuff doesn't get wet."

Ah, classic avoidance. Danny sure reminded him of Tim. Bruce inclined his head. "Lead the way."

[yngles]

❝ [sloppy] ❞

↳ “how bts like to get fucked”

↳ boypussy!bts x reader

↳ dom!reader, sub!bts, (kinda) implied poly!ot7, reader isn’t gendered but has a dick, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, squirting, dacryphilia, praise kink, degradation/slut shaming (consensual dw), breeding kink, daddy kink (r. receiving), pet play, mentions of bondage, lmk if i’m missing anything <3

↳ don’t know if anyone else fucks with bp bangtan… but i know i do!! also catboy yoongi is sooo hot to me - rory

❝ [kim seokjin] ¡! ❞

↳ seokjin will take you in any way you could think of. this man loves getting fucked more than anything in the world, so feel free to bend him over whenever you want. but he especially loves when you have him ride your cock, making him do all the work without you even lifting a finger. although jin is the #1 pillow princess, he can’t help but enjoy it when you punish him by making him seek his own pleasure without your help.

“what do you need, jinnie?” you can see how your words make him shiver from where he is sat in your lap. “please want your cock. i’ve been waiting for days!” his eyes are getting more teary the longer you make him wait. “i know you have been, sweetheart, i can feel you dripping through your panties.” he gasps, hips slightly shifting to gratify the pent up need radiating through his body. seokjin lets out small whines at the feeling of your cock rubbing against his clothed pussy. your hands come to rest on his hips to stop his movements, making him cry out, tears finally leaving his eyes as he pathetically pushes against your hands to let him move again. “if you want my cock, you can get it yourself.” once he hears your statement, jin is immediately scrambling to pull down both of your underwear and sliding down onto your dick. his slick walls easily suck you deeper as he rests his hands on your shoulders to help keep himself up right. he sits still for a moment, beautifully empaled of your cock, only to be startled back to reality when you place a sharp smack on his ass. “thought you wanted it bad, jinnie, what’s taking you so long?”

❝ [min yoongi] ¡! ❞

↳ yoongi likes it best when you take him from behind. holding himself up on his hands and knees, back arched as you pound in and out of his messy cunt. he loves it when you play into his fantasy, turning your little kitty into a bitch in heat. yoongi wants you to put a collar on him and place cute cat ears on his head, maybe even push a tail buttplug up his back hole. if he gets deep enough into his headspace he’ll start meowing, which makes you start fucking into him at a feral pace while you pump him full of your seed.

all that was heard throughout the dorm was the sound of skin on skin and the wet noise of slick being pushed out of yoongi’s hole. every time you hit his special spot, he would let out a string of meows which only encouraged you to fuck him harder. “does it feel good, kitty?” “meeoow~” was all he responded with, not being able to communicate with words once he got this far into his own head. “want me to fill you up with my pups? gonna knock you up just like you’ve been begging for, kitten.” your vulgar language causes the man’s arms to give out, making him fall face first into the mattress, the cat ears sliding further down into his disheveled hair. you reach your arm under his torso and force him to arch his back more, causing him to fuck your cock deeper into his soaking pussy. the wet sounds made by your ongoing thrusts cause yoongi to cry out, clenching around your dick as he gets closer to his climax. you groan at the feeling and finally fill him up, making him whine and cry as his greedy pussy sucks up every last drop.

❝ [jung hoseok] ¡! ❞

↳ hobi is a slut for seeing your face. any position where he can look at you while you fuck him will make him come very quickly. he loves when you put his legs over your shoulders while you fuck into him, the angle shooting pleasure straight to his core. he’s so loud in bed, unable to stop himself from screaming out when you hit the right spot inside him. he doesn’t even care if his members hear the noises he lets out, wanting them to know that he’s getting fucked by you so well.

“oh myyyy godd!!” hoseok’s screams reverberate around the room as you continue to piston into him at and incredible speed. each time you thrust into him his body goes flying against the headboard, legs flailing from where they are stationed around your shoulders. “that’s it, seok-ah. let everyone know how good i’m fucking you. bet they’re rubbing themselves to the sound of your moans.” your words have his legs trembling and his hands grasping at your arms, which are placed on his hips to keep him in place. “please! please i need it so bad!” hoseok cries out, the amount of cream caking at the base of your dick increasing after each thrust. “i’ll give you whatever you need, baby.” as you finish your sentence, he meets your eyes and you can feel the way he tightens at the intimate connection. your increasing speed causes immense pressure in his pussy, causing him to squirt around you. the liquid soaks both of your stomachs and makes the slide of your cock into his overstimulated pussy much smoother.

❝ [kim namjoon] ¡! ❞

↳ joon likes to get fucked laying on his bed with his legs wrapped around your waist. it’s so relaxing for him to have the ability to sit back and be taken care of. he enjoys you fucking him at a fast but gentle pace, relishing in the feeling of your cock sliding in and out of his walls. joon absolutely loves when you come inside of him but he doesn’t mind if you pull out and nut all over his thighs and tummy.

“taking me so well, joonie” “thank you, thank you- i love it so much. fucking me so good~” he replies, eyes struggling to focus on yours as you continue to thrust inside of him. “are you close, baby? i can feel you getting tighter around me.” your words makes his eyes roll back into his head and his mouth fall open in a silent moan. “gonna come! please can i come?” you lean down to suck on his neck as he keeps begging for release. you reach you hand between your two bodies, quickly rubbing his clit to bring him closer to the edge. “of course you can, baby. want you to come all over my cock.” at your words, he flings his head back against the pillows and allows the pleasure to overtake him. he releases his juices around you, soaking your hand and the bed sheets beneath you. “such a good boy, gonna come inside you now. i know you want it, baby.”

❝ [park jimin] ¡! ❞

↳ jimin really loves riding you, goes crazy at the thought of being able to take your dick however he wants. he especially likes reverse cowgirl, he loves twerking on your cock to hear you groan and give him a good slap on his cheeks. the sting only helps to keep him going, riding you harder once he knows that you are enjoying the view. another fan of creampies, he doesn’t like to let any of your come go to waste. if it slides out once you’re done with him, he’ll scoop it up with his fingers and shove it back inside.

jimin turns away from you, straddling your hips and lining himself up with your large cock. he is always excited when he’s able to take you inside him, no matter how long it’s been since it last happened. once he slides down to the hilt he looks back at you, only to find you staring straight at his butt. “i can never get enough of your fat ass, min. you always look so fucking good taking me.” you end your statement by gripping both of his asscheeks in your palms. jimin whines at once the possessive feeling of your hands on him disappears, leaning forward slightly and shaking his ass on your cock, listening to the sound of it clapping against your skin echo around the sweaty room. you groan at the sight and plant your feet against the bed, bucking your cock deep into jimin’s waiting pussy. he knows that by the end of the night he’ll be full of your seed and that satisfies him enough to let you set the pace, grasping the skin of your thighs in his small hands. “that’s it daddy, jiminie loves your dick so much.”

❝ [kim taehyung] ¡! ❞

↳ taehyung likes to be held while you’re having sex. whether that be you holding him tight to your chest while you gently thrust into him on the bed, or pining him against the wall as you claim his pussy for your own pleasure. as you go between the different scenarios, tae has his preferences of how he likes to be treated and addressed. if you’re slowly making love to him on your shared bed, he likes when you praise him and tell him how well he’s taking you. on the other hand, he loves when you call him a dirty whore when you are fucking him so fast he can barely comprehend what’s going on. as long as you give him proper aftercare, he’s happy.

“how do you want it tonight, taetae?” you gaze down at your sub from where he’s seated on the couch. “want to feel it. please.” he looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout that you would never be able to resist in a million years. “of course, jagiya. you know i’ll always give it to you however you want.” you lean down to scoop him into your arms, his legs automatically wrapping around your waist and his arms circling your neck. you carry him through the hallway, unable to focus on your steps as he sucks on your neck. you come to a stop outside his bedroom door, pushing him against the wall, unable to resist the urge to take him any longer. you shove your pants down and push his panties to the side, inserting your cock into his waiting hole and setting an overwhelming pace. taehyung throws his head back against the wall as you push into him and whisper dirty things into his ear. he comes alarmingly quick due to the amount of stimulation you were providing him with, you following shortly behind him, pulling out to come across his stomach. as you come down from your highs, you hear the door open down the hall and a voice ring out, “can we join next time?” you laugh at the request, knowing tonight is gonna be long for both you and taehyung.

❝ [jeon jungkook] ¡! ❞

↳ one of jungkook’s biggest kinks is bondage. he loves the feeling of being restricted and not having the ability to touch you. it makes him incredibly wet that you are able to do whatever you want to him and he can’t do anything to stop you. he likes when you tie his hands behind his back and fuck him doggy style, having to shove his face into the pillows to quite his screams. he also loves having you eat him out before fucking him because it gets him nice and ready to take your fat cock, but also it turns him on so much seeing you not be able to resist yourself when your face is shoved in his cunt.

“yes!! fuck me with your tongue! feels so good… i don’t know if i can wait any longer.” as soon as jungkook says that, you remove your face from his pussy, grabbing his hair to pull his back flush to your chest. “you’re not going to come until i’m fucking you with my cock. do you understand?” he immediately nods at your words, grinding his ass against your bulge as he tries to get you to put your dick in him. “words, guk.” “yes! yes! i understand! i promise i won’t come until you tell me to!” you let out a satisfied groan at his words, shoving his legs apart to line your cock up with his entrance. as you push in, jungkook can’t help but scream into the sheets beneath him, the pleasure in his core building up as you bottom out.

[red-doll-face]

Getting caught in the rain with Arthur leads to him finding creative ways to warm you up.

(high honor) arthur morgan x fem. reader

I love this trope! prob been done before but I cant resist... 😔Can you believe I wanted this to be a short head canon post?? LMAO it ended up way longer than that. That's why it has a more casual thing going on despite being super long 🥲Happy thanksgiving! This is for the girlies who are stuck with family and need something absolutely filthy to read !!! 💕💕💕💕💕

Warnings: NSFW content, vaginal sex, while honor isn't too relevant, arthur is very sweet and hes kind of a weenie here, in a good way! arthur does not have bad intentions here, he's genuinely a sweet little man...

-

Thinking of begging Arthur to take you away from camp for a while. Maybe you haven't had a bath in a bit or you're sick of hearing Swanson drunkenly parade around camp. But you've decided to ask Arthur, he's always so sweet to you and you know he won't say no. And Arthur and his stupid bleeding heart (the one that bleeds so much more for you) grumbles and pretends he's thinking about it but really he'd probably say yes to anything that came from your lips. He has no regrets when he sees the smile you give him. You're hoisted up onto the back of his horse, holding onto his waist so you don't fall. Arthur is desperately trying to play it cool. 

Then the rain starts coming down, you're soaked through very quickly and Arthur, such a gentleman, sheds his coat to give it to you, except now he is soaked through as well. The both of you are freezing and he tells you that you have to stop until the weather clears. He’s cussing up a storm worse than the one you're in. You nod, just wanting to be warm, wracked by shivers. He comes up on an abandoned shack and guides you inside, shutting the rain out. You're standing in the center of the room, looking like a wet cat after a miserable bath, Arthur is kind enough to take his coat off of you, giving you a ratty old, moth bitten blanket but it doesn't do much of anything for the cold. Trying to get a fire going proves fruitful but it's a small one and the wind blowing in from the flue almost puts it out several times.

Arthur feels so helpless, sitting there watching your teeth start to chatter as you sit in front of the pathetic little fire. He's trying to apologize (Ah, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was gonna come down like that,) but you only tell him it's not his fault. He has to help, all he wants to do is help. Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't want you to come down with something on account of him being an idiot. And then he gets an idea. He’s red all over flushed at the thought but he knows taking your soaking clothes off would help. And he's standing there, awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to hide under his hat. He’s gently clearing his throat, trying to get your attention. 

“Maybe we could try… I…could…” he's nervously stumbling through his words and he's looking at you, sitting on the floor, desperately trying to warm your hands by the fire. You look up to him but he can hardly speak, so enraptured by the look of utter trust, reliance on him. His mouth hangs open but he swallows the lump of spit in his mouth. He tries to shake off these boyish jitters he gets around you. “Uhhh- I mean, it would be better if we weren't sittin’ round in these clothes, I guess, can’t be doin’ you any good...”  

“Really, you think so…?” Your voice is quiet and meek, struggling to say anything past the clicking of your teeth and the shivers. “Well then, turn around, Arthur,” at your obvious attempt to be modest, he nods stiffly and turns towards the wall, listening to you take your dress and your underskirts off, landing in a wet plop on the floor. You whine, peeling yourself out of your undergarments before a quiet ok leaves your lips. He turns and you're desperately covering yourself with that dusty blanket, legs bare, fabric hardly long enough to cover the soft mound between your legs, the fat of your inner thighs squished together. Arthur has a hard time keeping his gaze from locking onto any of the inviting bits of skin you show him. You're embarrassed, biting your lip, squeezing your arms around yourself. 

“Aren't you gonna- Arthur, you're gonna do it too, right?” Arthur has a hesitant nod and a course even though he just now thought he should probably follow along to help make you more comfortable. He’s removing his hat first, nothing to hide under now and he notices that you watch him take his gun belt off, unfastening his suspenders from his pants. You finally look away, his boots and his pants are peeled off and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s breathing heavily now, naked as the day he was born. But you won't stop shivering. Your hair is still wet. And the fire is struggling to warm you from the bitter cold that clings to the dusty air. There isn't much left to burn for the fire. 

“You want me to hold you?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, trying to smack away these thoughts about the glimpses he’s getting of your naked figure underneath the blanket. He swears it's only out of necessity, that you're just not warming up fast enough. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick on me,” He really does only want you comfortable. Unrealistically hoping this won't change what you most likely consider a friendship. You nod, vigorously. 

“I think it would be ok, maybe if you just didn’t- didn’t look. Just- don’t look,” and you're desperate, curling up in his lap in front of the wavering fire. You're unable to look at him, but you still rub into him, enjoying how his body warms up a lot faster than yours. And both of you make some excuse that things would be better without that old blanket between you two. And suddenly you're pressed into him, his arms tight around you while he looks at the ceiling to avoid staring at things he shouldn't. Arthur struggles hard to keep from rubbing upwards into you, trying to keep you from sitting directly between his legs, afraid the way his body reacts to the feel of your body will scare you, scandalize you. But you only seem to want to be there more, getting comfortable with him. His chest hair tickles you, the hair creeps all the way down his torso. You giggle softly as it tickles you. His heart beats fast at the feel of you, so soft compared to the roughness of him.

As if all of the blood hasn't already rushed down to the very center of him, you just have to sit squarely on his lap. He tries to readjust you but it's too late and you've felt him, hard as a rock, pushing at you. He's so embarrassed, stumbling over an apology, “Shit-I-I’m sorry, I-” in that surly voice, all rough and low. you gasp and look over your shoulder. You see how he can hardly stand to look at you with his pretty blue gem-toned eyes. Instead he shows you his profile as he turns away. 

“It's ok”, Arthur has no idea how he's supposed to look at you after this, he can't see himself looking you in the eyes for a long while after you've felt his cock nudging the swell of your ass, unable to deny his own reaction to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to dismiss it as a fluke and not a devastating hope that you’d be interested in him that he's been crushing down for months now. He's trying to will away the burgeoning desire just under his skin, tamping down fires that rage on. And you look up at him again with that look of trust in your eyes, too ashamed to continue touching you, wholeheartedly convinced you don't like him. 

But then you're only closer than you were, looking up at him, so close, he's breathing in your scent, sweet and like fresh summer rain. His eyes search yours for any inclination and all you have to do is put your hand on his prickly cheek for him to lean and kiss you, hands on his broad chest, rushing over the warmth you can feel. How he ends up with you on his lap, tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his big hands squeezing at your hips, he's not too sure. Your arms are over his shoulders, playing with his light brown hair sweetly, rubbing the sore muscles in his back. And the glide of his tongue over yours is heaven, he swears. You whine into his kisses, the heat between the both of you licks over your skin, noses clumsily bumping into each other. 

Then he’s on top of you, tucking you over the blanket. “You gotta tell me you want this, want me,” and all you can do is say “Yes, please, Arthur, please,” features showing your ecstasy, anticipating his hands on you.

His hands are rough; petting down your sides. Any worries he had about being too old, too ugly and too brutish for you are forgotten when you kiss him, spread your legs for him to fit between them. When you push your breasts in his hands when he goes to touch them. Your nipples are hard from the cold but his hands start to warm them up when he gropes at them, squeezing languidly at your breasts, grabbing handfuls.

It's not long before he’s pinning your thighs up with his hands, spreading you and licking eagerly between your legs, so selfless. Letting you moan as loud as you like, telling you how good you taste, the roughened pads of his fingers circling at the sensitive button at the top of your slit. And he's so strong, doesn't put much effort into keeping your legs up. He has dulcet praises for you, “Such a pretty girl, darlin’, jus’ beautiful,” making you soften and ease.

He’s so warm, holding you, like you wanted him to, messy kisses that taste like you. The very tip of him catches on you, dipping softly between your folds. Your nails dig into him, thighs clench tight. He's sweet talking to you, shushing you, rubbing hard at the delicate little nub, getting you as wet as possible. Saying how good you look. How he must be dreaming. That’s my girl is what he says when you soak his fingers with your own arousal, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks. Even more when he's working his cock inside of you, panting, he seems overwhelmed, mumbling and groaning praises to you, his sweet girl, perfect in that slow easy voice of his. You feel him carefully easing you open, hissing at the feel of you wrapped tight on him and leaking down his shaft. You can't say much but his name, begging him not to stop, feeling his fingers almost bruise the tender softness of your hips. 

Arthur pushes so deep, a growl of pleasure leaking from his lips. You didn't think he would feel so big. Telling him how big he is and feels; “You're so big, Arthur,” in a wispy moan, makes him groan. He just wants to hear how much you like him. The rhythm he was trying to keep slow and careful speeds up. And he doesn't last very long, poor thing. It's been a while for him and he's flushed bright red, embarrassed and feeling a tad emasculated. The disappointed son of a bitch he lets out has you petting his hair back tenderly.

But all you have to do is give him a minute, kiss and nip gently, lock your legs around him so he can't pull away, until he's pushing his own seed deeper, mindlessly pinning you under his weight. He loves feeling so close to you, so small underneath him. 

The way you feel clenching down on him, moaning for him, begging him to keep going has him rutting into you, following his instincts, brain feeling like it's melting. He's harder than he has ever been, listening to the sound of your wetness slide on him, the mess he’s left between your thighs sounding dirty and sticky. You don't have to tell him to keep rubbing you, grinding your hips into his so he can press into the perfect spot. 

His thumb is rubbing at the very center of you, that tender bud, so sensitive, has you pushed to the edge and falling over, legs locking up behind him, bucking and moaning much too loud. You sink your fingers into the layer of fat over his broad muscles, arching your back, feeling so complete. Seeing you so relaxed, feeling so good because of him makes him push as deep as he can, making your toes curl, forcing more of his cum even deeper, a sloppy wet mess that drips out of you when he pulls out. But he revels in those few moments where he's catching his breath, still so deep inside of you, feeling you pulse on him. 

Arthur can’t not hold you afterwards, unsure what to say. He thinks it might be too soon for I love you, maybe you’ll be scared away by his raw sentiments and his lovesick words. But you stare into his eyes; his heart jumps when he blurts it out in the silence, too late to shut his damn mouth. But you only smile and say you love him too. You're the farthest thing from cold, tucked into his chest, not even noticing that the rain has stopped.

Thank you for reading! SO sorry this ended up being so long. Excited to write more for high honor arthur, this was more fun than i thought... I love him 😔😳

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: situationship!rafe cameron x afab nerd!reader

cw: angst undertones w/ a hopeful ending, black cat!coded reader x whatever rafe would be, suggestive action in the shower & mentions of off screen nsfw (cum and thigh fucking but the latter is a bit more graphic lol) , class differences, rafe is pathetic and weird, implied drug use, rafe beats a man but you can decide if he killed him, reader has implied mental health issues and low self esteem, ambiguous feelings on rafe’s part (he said ily but he could be lying), dark content themes, rafe calls reader kitty in both a mean way and a pet name way, if the thing with reader’s first crush sounds too real that’s cause it is 🤫, started my period while i was formatting this (i just thought y’all should know)

wc: 1.9k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

consider commissioning me 🫀

“Hey, babe, would you be a good kitty and let me in?” Is what you’re greeted with when you swing open your screen door. Rafe Cameron looks pleased as punch, all things considered, soaking wet due to the pouring rain and no doubt high as a kite.

The slurred speech doesn’t alarm you as much as the river of blood flowing from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe, what the fuck?” You try to sound harsh but the fuck is noticably softer than your other words and Rafe smiles, more blood drips down his chin.

You look over his shoulder to see his bike on its side in the dirt, it’s raining and you just know he’ll be pissed to see the mus clinging to it tomorrow. But for right now, you have an injured situationship to patch up.

He stumbles as you struggle to yank him aside, and he sways but collapses on your couch. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to lose your shit immediately. The audacity of this man to waltz in on you barely alive and expect some twisted kind of comfort, after everything.

“I was studying you know, textbooks are expensive so don’t start getting your blood on them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I know.”

Rafe grunts but keeps his body away from your books. That’s the least he can do, the bare minimum. You sigh and walk over him, kneeling in front of the couch. His eyes are dazed and unfocused as you brush the hair away from his forehead, but his fingers twitch.

“Why did you come here, Rafe? To me?” You whisper, tired and unamused.

You’re startled by his harsh cough, his fingers twitch in your direction again, “ ‘Was nowhere else, wanted you.”

Isn’t that good enough?

You blink dumbly at that, but you have no answer for his crazed ramblings so you slap your knees and make your way to the bathroom. You procure a wet washcloth and some measly bandages, he would just have to deal with it. Rafe’s eyes drag towards you when you kneel back in front of him and bring the cloth to his mouth.

You avoid his stare as you sop up the copious amounts of blood, praying that this wouldn’t need a visit to the hospital. In some ways, you’ve seen too much blood since Rafe Cameron decided to make a mockery of your existence. The gaggle of rich girls he used to have on each arm disappeared but he excused it by detailing his plans to lead you on in front of his friends, checking to see if you were in ear shot.

There’s nothing you did, in your mind. You stuck to yourself and somehow invited the attention of some psycho. That’s the hardest part of the situation, you can’t pinpoint a true beginning. You can only remember being in this murky middle, devoid of an ending. Rafe does have a pretty face though, unfortunately, the water from cloth making his skin glisten. You’ll throw the rag out after this, there’s no point trying to get the stain of blood out of anything.

Eventually, you’re done with the first part and have an excuse to turn away from him. You get back on your feet to reach for the bandages but a groan coming from behind stops you. You turn around and freeze when Rafe buries his nose into your lower stomach, barely brushing the top of your mound over your pajama shorts. He hisses through his teeth in pain as he pushes your shirt up with his bloodied knuckles.

“Rafe Cameron, what the hell are you-“

“ ‘Smells good as fuck, love you.”

You refuse to admit that you love him too, you can’t give him that. Okay, now shit’s really getting out of hand. He dips his head to get closer to your pussy but the second you see the tip of his tongue touch your shorts, you direct his face back to your stomach. You’ve never gone further than ‘will they-won’t they’ type touches with Rafe, but you just can’t give in no matter how much you lie awake at night thinking about it.

“All this is because of you, you know that? You fucked me up and made pummel the crap outta that guy.” The vibrations his clumsy words send through you gives you a serious case of the shivers, so you distract yourself by running your fingers through his matted hair. Because of course there’s blood on his head too. You’d usually chalk what he’s saying up to drugs and insanity, but with Rafe you just never know.

“What?”

“He said maybe I should lay off you so he could have a piece instead, and I just…. lost it. Why should some chump get a part of what’s all mine?” He says with a startling amount of clarity, voice flat and low.

You don’t designate him with a response, and truth be told he doesn’t want you too. You stretch for what in actuality is a $3 dollar package of hello kitty bandaids and rip the white coverings off a few of them. He makes god awful sounds as you apply them to his mouth, head, and hands. The mess in his hair probably isn't his but your conscience won't let you leave it alone. Something foreign to your head and your heart won’t let you leave him alone.

You decide to put the knife in your back all on your own and look up into his eyes. They’re too half lidded to get a clear reading on them but you’re afraid to rely on the emotions underneath the surface. You used to be scared that he couldn’t feel anything. Now, the idea of Rafe Cameron believing he’s in love is far more terrifying.

He’s a bit ridiculous with My Melody, Kuromi, and Keroppi all over himself, you can’t help the small smile that comes over you. You quickly flatten it before he can get too pleased with himself but the fingers curled against your tummy spasm as they spread out to caress your skin. Rafe has an unreadable look on his face as he smears blood over your womb, but you think if you step away he’ll lunge at you.

“I can help you wash the blood off in the shower.” Saying that is in no way a promise of commitment or change, but it might be the closest you ever get.

You’re used to scraps, scraps are fine.

And well, for much you pride yourself on being perfectly fine being alone, it’s achingly human to crave being loved more than anything else. You wander aimlessly because you won’t go where you’re not wanted, and for the longest you’ve been wanted nowhere. But here you are, obsessed over by someone who everyone wants.

Maybe you’re sick of trying to make all the right decisions if this is where it gets you, cold and alone. Is it so bad to not care anymore? It couldn’t be worse than when your first crush told you he loved you and then had a baby with your bully, you reason. Or when he dated one of your friends and she would “joke” about marrying you when you were alone.

The short trip to the shower is awkwardly silent, you have to lead Rafe and make sure he doesn’t trip. You stare more than any Twilight character as you help each other strip. You try to avoid the bruises on Rafe’s torso, but he chuckles about how “You should see the other guy, kitty.”

So you don’t back away when he slows the trajectory of your calloused hands and drags them up his body. Your nails are bitten unevenly, some leave scratches on his abs and some don’t. It’s exhilarating to see Rafe Caneron’s thread come undone, to watch as he tilts his head back and sighs. You rest your hands on his pecs and kiss the hollow of his throat before you can stop yourself.

You won’t mention the squeak he tries to stifle with the back of his balled up fist.

You step away from him to be vulnerable in return, his satisfaction is much more evident this time around. He rips your camisole in two and unhooks your bra too well, clearly having had practice. He cups your breasts in his hands with tenderness that you’d think is out of character for him. Rafe doesn’t even honk them in the dude bro way that you’d always assumed he would. No, he… massages the flesh in his palms between slow squeezes.

“Don’t see why you’re so insecure about these, I like them just fine.” He huffs, bending down to motorboat you before pulling you in the shower through his grunts of pain and exertion.

You notice that he doesn’t steal a glance at your pussy, almost like he’s scared of seeing it bare and puffy… and wet.

You like to feel like a boiling lobster in the shower, so you turn the dial the same direction as always. You’re worried that Rafe will hate the sting but when the water hits, he moans with an open mouth, eyes shut tight. Before your next breath, you’re pushed against the wall and now the blood’s in your mouth as you're taken into a french kiss right out the gate.

You go with it against your better judgment, until Rafe pulls away to pant against your collarbone. His next kiss is softer, shy like it’s an unknown thing to the two of you. His lips glide and mesh with yours as the water trails down in between your slick bodies. You feel like you’re going to pass out but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You open your eyes to see the water at the base of the shower run red, and you lose yourself in the swirling motion until the pop of your honey scented shampoo bottle lid snaps you out of it.

“Turn around kitty, ‘said I'd help you scrub down.”

He’d be embarrassed if you said it, but it’s obvious he’s never done this before. He’s like a bull in a china shop gathering you up in a loose bundle and sloppily spreading the soap throughout it. You stay silent, preferring to bask in the absurdity of it all.

Washing Rafe’s hair takes less time, but like he did when you were cleaning him up earlier, he chooses to stare at you the entire time. You scratch his head to really work the shampoo in there and get the dried blood out, he latches onto your wrists and lets his eyes drift shut. He makes it inconvenient to help him when he kisses your jawline, but you allow it.

“Thanks, you’re pretty good with your hands.” Rafe whispers with a wry grin, pecking your mouth and dropping to his knees. Your pomegranate body wash in his uninjured hand. The amount he squirts onto the dollar store loofah on his other hand is a touch too generous.

You have to replace the hello kitty bandaids when the originals fall off after Rafe steps out of the shower minutes later, he insists on it. You make him lean against the bathroom counter and watch as you take a second shower to clean out the cum, he wears a petulant frown the whole time.

You’re bent over that same counter when you’re back in his orbit, teary eyes wide as he fucks your plush thighs.

The rain turns into a thunderstorm outside.

[poppy-metal]

hi poppy!!! im visiting from cats blog tihi!! am leaving you a little patrick thought, thinking you might enjoy

but patrick would totally be making out with readers cunt through her panties, i feel like he would generally. but esp as a punishment cuz its like enough to feel really good but not, at least personally, to actually cum from it :((( just so desperate begging him to take them off :((( maybe its even coach patrick and its after losing a match :((( need him to be mean and condescending about it too, like begging him to pls kiss your pussy, and hes just being mean and saying he already is? even tho he knows what you mean. just the most soaked sloppy panties by the time he finally takes them off

TIHIHI i get so shy and giggly thinking about mean coach pat, hes so hot

-🐞

mean coach patrick <333333

think he does it as a reward too - thought it feels more like a punishment with the way it's so torturous. he buys you a nice little hotel room - lays you out on the bed - "lay back for me, baby." and you think he'll tug your panties down - maybe with his teeth, like he's done before - but he doesn't. you're looking down at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth because he's so beautiful - so broad and big between your spread legs - trembling on either side of him. his eyes don't leave yours as he leans in and - oh god - presses his mouth right against your clothed cunt.

you're covered by your panties - pink ones with strawberries dancing across them - he'd grinned to seem them when he'd tugged your tennis skirt free from your ankles and tossed it aside - "cute." being all he said - but it was enough. enough to send heat blazing through you like molten lava. how you adored patrick - coveted him. felt butterflies in your tummy around him, erupting into flutters just from a glance from him - it was like a pathetic schoolgirl crush that refused to die down. even still, you couldn't believe this man wanted you back- had been inside you - was currently kissing your sodden cunt through the cotton.

"c - coach -" breathless. not a complaint or an urging, just saying it to say it. "ohhh." sighed out from you when he lay out the flat of his tongue - pressed it right against your slit through your panties. you felt the muted wet warmth of the sensation. knowing what his tongue actually felt like when it touched your bare flesh just made you all the more twisted in knots and eager for him.

he pulls back just enough to look at you - "you're already making a mess." he bites his bottom lip and leans in again to nuzzle your cunt, right where his tongue had just been. "god, your pussy smells so fucking good." he inhales and you flush all the way down to your toes. your hole leaks slick - despite how his words fluster you.

"im - I'm all sweaty from my match." you tell him, the vision of demurity. lashes fluttering. "I probably smell and taste gross."

patrick just huffs against you. his big hands come up under your ass, he grips the fleshy cheeks and yanks your pussy closer to him. you squeal as your lower half is lifted off the bed entirely, your legs scrambling to wrap around his shoulders for balance.

"dont call this shit gross." he warns. he presses his mouth against your cunt again. rubs his lips back and forth over you and drags your pussy lips into his hot wet mouth in one slow sucking drag that has your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. he moans sucking your pussy through your panties for one, two, three, four, pulls before he lets you go. "this is a winners pussy," he tells you. licks the flat of his tongue from ass to clit in one broad stroke. "and it tastes fucking amazing."

you can't argue with him, you don't want to. just curl your toes as he continues to mouth and lick at you through your little cotton panties. he completely soaks the fabric with his spit, until you can barely tell the difference from his tongue actually being on you. the fabric becomes sticky and shrinks in on itself, folding into the lips of your cunt in a thin line like a thong would - and patrick groans. tongues the tint string of fabric eaten up by the fat lips of your pussy until you're sobbing.

he drags a knuckle through your soaked slit, hooked your panties with it and pulls - until the slip of cotton is digging into your cunt - right through your slit and your clit, which squishes out on either side like it's trying to escape the bullying.

you're so wet your thighs are drenched. your hole clenching around nothing.

"patrick -" you whine- desperate.

he pulls the panties even more taut - your spine arches off the bed -

"that's not what you call me when you want to cum."

you brain shudders. your hips jerk.

"daddy." you whimper. and then again, crying it "daddy, daddy, daddy - "

he pulls the fabric back, finally pushing it the ruined soggy cotton aside to expose your drenched and swollen pussy to him.

he parts you with his other hand, making a v with his fingers, your labia split apart and your pulsing core at his mercy - your entrance fluttering at him. begging to be filled.

"look at that juicy fucking peach." he spits - right onto your hole and you wail, a trail of slick leaking out along with his saliva, he watches it trail down over your tight little puckered asshole. he groans.

"if you lost I was gonna fuck this ass." he tells you, licking his lips and unable to resist laying the pad of his thumb over the winking muscle. rubs his spit into the tightly furled rim as he grins up at your wide eyed expression. "yeah, I know. we've played back here, but daddy hasn't had this hole yet, huh? I'm not saying I was hoping for it but -" he shrugs. "- another time."

he drags his thumb back up, through the mess of your cunt. hooks it into your sopping hole and tugs down just to see the pink of your insides. all those pulsing hot walls about to massage his cock.

his free hand comes down to free his dick. it bobs hard and thick against his stomach. already leaking at the tip. flushed and eager to bury into something tight and wet.

"you were such a good girl, though." he tells you and he raises up, catches your legs when they start to fall off his shoulders and holds them there. he nods down at you. "take your reward, baby. put me inside you - feed that hungry fucking pussy some cock."

you don't need to be told twice.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE WORST GUY TO SHARE A BLUNT WITH. ( HOTD x READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader prompt : Aegon is the worst kind of person to smoke with. word count: 1, 298+ words

It wasn't too often that you smoked. You hated the bitter taste of tobacco from cheap cigarettes and standing out in the freezing cold just to be able to smoke. But, when work got on your ass⎯which it often did⎯a soda or a cigarette were better than taking a baseball bat to your boss's and co-worker’s car. 

Helaena’s joking words, “There’s no Netflix in prison” and “What am I going to do if you’re in prison?”, often floated around as well. Like shit were you going to leave Helaena all alone with nobody but Aegon to keep her company whilst you are in prison. That was the only motivation you had. No matter how beautiful it looked in your head to see the remains of your boss’s prized sports car.

Then there was Aegon. A dick at times, but was trying to be what he thought was ‘funny’ and ‘kind’. Of course, the trio of assholes who trailed behind him and were total ‘yes’ men didn’t help. Though, there were moments where he was kind and sweet. Rare, but still moments of the man behind the booze loving part boy mask. 

Then there was Aegon. A dick at times, but was trying to be what he thought was ‘funny’ and ‘kind’. Of course, the trio of assholes who trailed behind him and were total ‘yes’ men didn’t help. Though, there were moments where he was kind and sweet. Rare, but still moments of the man behind the booze loving part boy mask. 

He loved his golden retriever, Sunfyre, in a way that you never thought he could love something. He liked to eat edibles over smoking, though when he did smoke, it was usually for aesthetics or to look attractive to girls. He often threw parties just to get praise for them, as it was the only time that someone would praise him willingly. 

He was also the worst kind of guy to share a blunt with.

Sitting huddled up on the tiny back porch of Helaena’s house, you watch as the rain pours down hard, a cold chill in the air. The world was shit and the urge to just quit your shitty campus job was high. Double shifts. They wanted you to work double shifts on top of your already stressful juggle between work and College, because “Paul doesn’t wanna work Tuesday’s..” But, money was needed to continue with your studies. So you gritted and bore it. 

Blinking away the tears that bubbled in your eyes, you take a long drag of the cigarette, nose wrinkling up at the bitter taste of cheap tobacco on your tongue. Letting out a shaky breath, you truly wanted to quit, to watch the glorious look of panic on their faces as the realization they would have to take on your workload. Bouncing your knee up and down, you put the cigarette down on the ashtray, wiping the tears that brewed in your eyes.

“No, no, no. Stop it. Stop it.” You mumble, wiping your nose clean.

“Stop what? I haven’t even done anything yet!” A familiar voice whines, making you jump.

Turning your head towards him like you were in a horror movie, he was completely and utterly soaking wet, resembling a sad drenched cat. A big pout on his lips and wet puppy dog eyes. He was pathetic, truly and utterly pathetic. Narrowing your eyes at him, you scoot away from him, not wanting to be dragged into his nonsense.

Whatever reason Helaena had kicked out of the house was not your problem. Hearing him let out a whiny huff, you refuse to look at him, knowing his tricks. It was the same old cycle. He’d huff and puff, give you big pouty eyes, and then start talking and talking about whatever things were making him so pouty⎯expecting comfort from you.

“You know..” He stares, making you scowl deeper.

“Nope.” You grunt out bluntly.

“Oh, come on! No one wants to hear me speak, Y/n. I just want to talk, is that so bad?” 

Was he being fucking serious? This was supposed to be your moment. This was supposed to be your little main character moment, the part where the sad music plays and you cry. The audience would weep on your behalf. Then, the rain would stop and all would be well. How dare he try to steal this little moment from you? Doing your best to ignore him, he sits on the step next to you, his soggy clothes leaving a growing puddle on the step. Moving to sit on the step above him, you grab the cigarette from the ashtray, taking the last drag of it before leaving it to die out. 

“I got kicked out of my parent’s house, you know? Dad has Rhaenyra over and Mom’s been all stressed and stuff. She had the maids clean the house and stuff. She had them kick me out too, not wanting me to trigger her and stuff..” He rambles on, “Stupid, right? I was out all day and when I came home to sleep, she refused to let me in! Rhaenyra wasn’t even home at the time!”

"Are you seriously trauma dumping whilst I am smoking my cigarette?" You ask, a deadpan expression on your face. 

"Yes." He nods, an almost proud look on his face. 

"You're a dick." You huff, blowing out the smoke from the now dead cigarette. 

Giving you a big cheeky smile, he snatches the box of cigarettes from the now soaked step of the porch he sat on. Wrinkling your nose up as he holds a soggy cigarette between his teeth, it was revolting, the thought of smoking a soggy cigarette. It was better to not even smoke at that point. But, Aegon had no shame. Truly no shame. He was the kind of guy to shout, “Five second rule!”, before scarfing down a burger that had been dropped on the floor. Or to do the ‘walk of shame’ with a proud smirk and swagger in his step. 

Rolling your eyes hard at his childish antics, he holds his hand out to you, expecting you to hand over your lighter. Throwing the lighter in his face, you knew that it was wrong to do so, it was only encouraging him to stick around. But, it was better than crying your eyes out. He was a pest, but he was a pretty one⎯when he kept his mouth shut. If you had duct tape, you’d take his mouth shut so he couldn’t ruin the moment by speaking. Lighting the soggy cigarette with a big smile, he lets out a drag of it, the cigarette half bent in the middle from the paper being wet. 

“That’s good, personally, I would eat an edible over this, but it will work. Anyways, Mom kicked me out. Then the worst thing happened to me⎯” He rambles on, like nothing had happened.

“What’s happening?” You mumble, staring out into the rain.

“My car broke down, of all times to break down, this was the perfect moment!” He huffs, flicking the ash into the ashtray. 

“Am I dead?” You whisper, a loud crack of thunder booming.

Watching the sky light up from lightning, you shift your eyes onto him, watching him speak. He just talked and talked, unaware of the world around him. Tiny droplets of rain trickling down his forehead, his clothes making a disgusting squelching sound each time he moves around on the porch step. You would think he’d be really pretty like this, if it wasn’t for the fact that he stole your cigarette, bugged your alone time, and was rambling on about the stupidest conversation ever.

“Is this my wake? Am I in hell?” You mumble, wondering what you had done to deserve this fate.

[sanjifucker42069]

An Honest Mistake

Sanji x Reader

I am such a slut for character A catches character B partially or fully unclothed by accident.

Also I don't hate Zoro, I just wanted to write him in a way that was concurrent with Sanji's little bitch attitude. This is 100% written with anime Sanji in mind, love that pathetic wet cat of a man

Bro this turned into something...Reader is MEAN in this lmao, but tbh I really don't blame her.

Warnings: fem!reader, walking in on accident, mean!reader, sub!sanji, bro I would call this dubcon...Sanji reciprocates tho, unprotected p in v (bro, safe sex)

Word Count: 2,600-ish

The sun was high in the sky, the birds were singing, and the Going Merry was moving languidly through the sea. What a perfect day.

Sanji had to piss. The blonde pacing back and forth before the bathroom door.

"Zoro, fuck this I'm coming in."  Sanji threatened, banging repeatedly on the door.

The mosshead snapped back at him through the thick wood, voice hindered by the barrier. "Wanna see my dick that bad, shitty waiter?" 

Sanji bristled with anger, kicking the door. If he was lucky, Zoro would startle, slip in the shower, and break his neck. While the idea was lovely, he wouldn't let that asshole have the last word. "No one wants to see that carrot stick excuse for a dick. I have to piss. I'll be back in five minutes, if you aren't done, I don't care, I'm coming in."

He stalked off before the swordsman could snark back. Sanji felt antsy, he had to piss bad. Curse that green-haired bastard, of course he'd be taking the world's longest shower. He could probably fucking drain all of the East Blue with how long he's taking, Sanji thought bitterly.

What Sanji failed to notice in his stewing, was how Zoro had promptly finished his shower, muttering as he left the bathroom, towel low on his hip.

-------

You practically moaned with relief as the hot water cascaded down your naked body. After an early morning of small repairs to the ship, you were sweaty and sore. You smiled in relief, massaging shampoo into your scalp. Gods this was perfection. It seemed showering was the only time you got by yourself on this ship. You washed your body, happily lathering yourself in a particularly pleasant soap you'd picked up at the last island. You began humming to yourself, really working the lather in.

After truly savouring the experience, you were done. You turned the water off, shivering from the lack of hot water. You pulled the flimsy curtain back, stretching out to grab your towel. You didn't even know why you bothered with the curtain, it was practically transparent. The towel rod was just out of reach. Fuck, who decided to put the towel rack so far out of the way anyway? 

BANG! 

You froze in fear. An angry voice ringing through the door. Was that Sanji? What the fuck?

------

When Sanji circled back, he could still hear the water running. He growled in anger. Now Zoro was just taking the piss. He rapped at the door as a courtesy. No answer. Oh now this asshole was just mocking him. 

He heard the water shut off. He kicked the door, trying to provoke a response. When no answer rewarded him, he got serious. Fine, he smirked, formulating a plan. Sanji would teach him to stop being such an asshole. He'd drag the swordsman out of that bathroom himself. 

Steeling his resolve, he flung the door open, stalking into the bathroom, steam caressing his face. He began lecturing, pointing for emphasis.

"Now listen here you bastard, I told you I'd come in here and now I'm gonna kick you out my-"

That was not Zoro.

Sanji froze as he took in your nude body, soaking wet. He could see your heaving breasts, nipples hard from the cold air. He felt his heart stop. You squealed, slapping a hand over your privates before he could see, catching only a glimpse of the patch of hair covering you. The action pushed your breasts together. Sanji wanted to move, really he did, but he felt frozen by the view.  With your other hand you desperately tried to cover your body with the shower curtain. Realistically, it did nothing. Sanji's mouth going dry at the sight. He tried to tear his eyes away from your nude form, but it was mesmerising him. You said something, but Sanji couldn't hear you over the sound of his heart pumping, blood rushing to his cock. 

"Can you at least close the fucking door you creep?"

Oh. Fuck. The door was still open. Dumbly, Sanji turned around and shut the door. You groaned. Sanji throbbed.

"I was kind of hoping you'd LEAVE."

That seemed to snap him out of it. 

"I am so sorry." He apologised loudly, he heard you scoff behind him. "No, really, I'm sorry!"

"If you're so sorry, get the fuck out." You spat. He felt his cock throb at your harsh tone.

"I can't." He hated how small his voice sounded. "I can't move right now."

You growled. As if he could feel the vibrations himself, Sanji bit back a moan. "Fine! I'm going to grab my towel. If you peek, I will fucking kill you."

He heard shuffling behind him. He stiffened. Eyes forward, eyes forward, he repeated like a mantra. His eyes traced the grain of the word. Anything to take his mind off the fact that you were naked, dripping wet, and within arm's reach. His eyes spied your clothing to his right, just folded on the toilet seat, waiting to be changed into. He gulped.

"Fine." You huffed. "I'm decent. Mind telling me why the fuck you burst in here?" 

"Uh, I- Well-" Sanji stuttered. He heard you tsk at him. 

"Look at me when I'm talking to you Sanji."

Sanji froze. "I-I can't do that (name)."

"I don't care how fucking hard you are you pervert. Look at me when you're speaking to me."

Sanji whimpered. Absolutely mortified, he clasped his hands together, covering his erection from your view. Even now he was throbbing from the humiliation. With a whine, he turned to face you.

Oh. You looked pissed. Breathtakingly gorgeous, but pissed. He tried desperately to keep his eyes on your face. You quirked a brow at him, arms crossed over your chest, both to keep your towel close to you, and to express your disappointment. Sanji shuddered.

"I'll ask you again. Why did you think it was acceptable to burst in on a woman bathing?"

He cringed. "I- You see- Zoro."

"Oh you were planning to catch Zoro showering, I see now." You snarked. Gods, did you have any idea how hot you were when you were mean? Sanji took a deep breath.

"I had to go. Zoro had been in the shower for ages. When I came back and the shower was still going...I thought it was still him."

"You must have had to go bad. Poor baby." You mused. "Go on then."

"What?!" 

"Go on, if you have to piss so bad, go now. The toilet's free after all."

Sanji flushed a dark red. "I-I can't."

"Guess you didn't have to go so bad then?"

Sanji felt tears prick his eyes. He understood you were upset, but this was just too much. And yet.... that perverted part of his brain was screaming out at the treatment, begging you for something, anything.

"I can't!" He whined dropped his eyes to the floor, voice becoming a whisper. "I'm too hard."

He heard you sigh. There was no way Sanji could ever meet your eyes now. "You're lucky you're cute."

Sanji short circuited.

"What?"

You laughed, he dared to look at you, seeing you regarding him with lidded eyes and a lopsided grin. "I said you're lucky you're cute. If you were anyone else I'd have kicked your ass."

"You're not mad?"

"Honey." You stalled for emphasis, grin unwavering. "I am fucking furious. However, I believe you. It seems like something you'd do. Alright...Show me then."

Sanji flushed, his ears burning from embarrassment. You clicked your tongue. "You saw mine, only fair I see yours."

He quickly looked at you again, thinking of how he could get out of it. Your grin was still there, but there really was a softness apparent. Wait? Were you enjoying this? You winked at him. 

Oh. Oh he got it now.

Sanji nodded. Removing his hands. You whistled lowly. He still felt embarrassed, but there was that lingering reminder that you were enjoying this just as he was. His hand fiddled with the fastening, the drag of the zipper leaving him hissing. He pushed his trousers to pool at his ankles. Sanji faltered, but one look into how hungrily your eyes devoured him, he continued. His cock was evident through his underwear, the hard bulge standing proudly. He blushed.

Hooking his thumbs into his waistband, dragging the underwear down slowly, just in case he needed to back out quickly. His cock caught on the fabric, but with a bit of resistance the fabric slipped, tucking under his balls. His cock slapped lewdly against his stomach, the noise reverberating through the small room. Sanji cringed at the sound. But you, you honest to gods moaned. He tampered down the humiliation, further pushing the underwear down to meet his pants.

It took buckets of courage, but he flicked his eyes up to meet yours, gasping at what he saw. You were biting your lip, staring at his cock hungrily. 

"Want me to help you Sanji?"

Sanji didn't think he could respond faster, whining out a hurried "Please." 

"Get on the toilet seat then."

Sanji looked at you confused. You rolled your eyes. 

"I just had a hot shower, I'm not standing up to fuck you. Sit down please."

Sanji squeaked at your vulgarity, moving quickly to get in position. He kicked himself out of the pooled fabric. He moved your clothing to rest on the bathroom cabinet. 

The toilet lid was cold. Incredibly cold on his balls, and he shivered. You laughed sincerely. 

"Your jacket and shirt, Sanji."

Oh! Right. He'd forgotten about that. At a speed that honestly made you giggle, he divulged his jacket. Fingers nimbly undoing his shirt. As he reached for his tie, you stopped him. 

"Uh uh. That stays on." Sanji whimpered. 

Once he was naked, save for his shoes, socks, and tie, you whistled appreciatively. He felt mortified at the realisation his shoes were still on, somehow making him feel more naked. He met your lust-filled eyes.

"Well don't you look good enough to eat handsome. Hope you don't mind if I take a seat?"

You dropped the towel, momentarily stunning the man. Sanji's eyes darted around, evident he was trying to commit you to memory. You laughed. Once you reached him, your leant down, gripping his knees with your hands. Sanji's eyes scrunched shut at the feeling of you touching him, his cock jumping appreciatively. Perversely, you spread Sanji's thighs, relishing in his undignified squeal. Sanji opened his eyes, seeing you spit in your hand, wicked eyes meeting his. 

Sanji let out a cry of relief when your hand wrapped around his cock, spreading thick precum down his shaft. You squeezed him, grinning when he whined. You pumped him a few times before removing your hand, leaving the blonde to whimper and plead. He shut up when you hovered over his lap, fingers playing with his tie.

"Here we go. Time to reward you for being such a good boy."

You lined him up with your entrance, his tip just touching. He stopped you.

"W-wait! What about you?"

You laughed, eyes sparkling. "Sanji I am soaked. You don't realise just how sexy you look right now."

With a moan you sunk down on the man. His girth stretched you deliciously. Unceremoniously, you bottomed out. Sanji whined, trying desperately to keep his hips still. After a few seconds of adjusting you began a hurried pace. Sanji would have doubled over from the speed were you not holding him up. His eyes rolled back. Gods, the way your tits dragged along his chest, or the way your cunt squeezed him deliciously. Fuck, he was delirious with pleasure. 

He tried to keep quiet, really he did. But the way you were fucking him, clearly in charge, was killing him. Moans tumbled from his mouth. You laughed, pulling him into a wet kiss. You swallowed his moans, picking up your pace. The wet slapping that reverberated throughout the bathroom should embarrass the both of you, and yet you two were too lost in pleasure to care. You groaned into his mouth, retreating you tongue to suck his bottom lip into your mouth.

One hand snuck up to grab his tie, fisting it in your hand and pulling it tight. Sanji broke your kiss to whine keenly, before diving back in. You pulled back, leaning down to suck at his neck. Sanji squealed, hips stuttering. 

Oh. He was close.

Your grip on his tie never faulted, instead you pulled harder, yanking him so your lips met his ear.

"Cum for me pretty boy, cum like the dirty pervert you are."

Sanji's hands clamped on your hips so hard it left marks. He began rutting up into you ruthlessly, pride swelling in him at the delicious moan you made. You whined, kissing him below the ear.

"Fuck I'm so close. C'mon baby, cum in me, want it bad."

Sanji's vision exploded into white, his voice raising embarrassingly high as he came. Watching the way his face scrunched up sent you over the edge, and he felt you clench around him like you'd never let him go. The two of you rode through your orgasms, kissing each other hungrily.

The two of you came down from your highs, panting wildly, and staring into each other's eyes.

You caught your breath, as Sanji caught his. Sanji was flushed, sweat coating him. You on the other hand were blushing a bright red, shyness setting in.

"Was that okay?" You asked. Sanji laughed, crushing you against him, burying his face in your chest. You laughed.

"Perfect." He mumbled from his hiding place. Sanji stared up at you. "Sorry for bursting in on you."

You smiled down at him, expression filled with love. "Nah, m'glad it was you. Sorry for using your humiliation kink against you."

Sanji whined. "I do not have a humiliation kink."

"With what I just saw? I beg to differ." You played with his tie, eyes soft. "Love you, you big softie."

"And I love you, my sexy dominatrix." 

You laughed, pulling the blonde in for another kiss. "Really do love you. Please don't think I hate you, or that I meant that stuff...well, maybe I meant it a little. I...you're capable of being treated softly Sanji, and I do intend to do just that. Even if you do make me want to throttle you sometimes.."

Fuck he was grateful he had burst in on you, if he could get you treating him like that one minute, and this soft the next.

With a combined groan you pulled yourself off him. Sanji cringing at his soft cock dragging through your walls. You began cleaning him up with your towel, cleaning yourself as you went. Sanji raised a brow. 

"Gotta wash it anyway. Now get dressed and get out. I'll get dressed and leave later. Don't want anyone to be suspicious." You paused. "Well, anyone who didn't hear you."

Sanji laughed. Fuck, he guessed he really did love you. You gestured with your hands for him to shoo, swatting lightly at his ass he gathered his clothes. Perhaps he wouldn't knock next time either. He stiffened, causing you to regard him with a raised brow.

"You okay sweetheart?"

"I still have to piss."

[a-killer-obsession]

Snow [Law x OC]

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Lost, separated from his crew, and near death in the middle of a snow storm, a chance encounter saves Law.

CW: fluff & smut, near death, oral sex, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, afab oc

WC: 5414

Masterlist || AO3

The horizon was nonexistent, completely obscured by the white out caused by the snowstorm, the flurries coming in almost horizontal as the wind howled and swirled them. Law shook with the chill, one hand pushed deep into his pocket, the other numb with cold as it held his sword close to his body. The snow crunched under his boots as he made slow progress through the sparse woodland, the dead trees doing little to protect him from the storm. He cursed himself for getting separated from his crew. He knew Bepo could brave the storm with his vivre card to search for him, but he'd need to find shelter if the mink was going to find him alive. He was grateful for his warm hat, but his face was windburnt and painful, and the hand that held his sword was numb, he would likely have to abandon his sword all together soon if he wanted to keep his fingers. 

His breathing was starting to become shallow and strained, his heart felt slow, and he stumbled in his step. Hypothermia was starting to set in, and there was no shelter in sight, not even a single evergreen tree to hide under. Another stumbled step and he fell to his knees, the snow soaking into his pants and sending a harsh shiver through his body. Try as he might, he could not stand, his body was too weak. He resigned himself to trying to do what he could here to protect himself, leaving his sword where it fell and pulling his arms inside his coat, slipping them from the sleeves and crossing them tight over his chest underneath. Not much could be done for his legs, but he pulled his knees up into the coat as best he could. He curled up in a ball on his side, doing whatever he could to trap his own body heat. 

A flash in the corner of the eye caught his attention, but when he looked to where it had been, nothing was there. Another flash, another tilt of his head, another empty space. There was definitely something hiding in the flurry, something that stalked silently and camouflaged in the snow, something unbothered by the cold. He laughed to himself, maybe it'd be a snow leopard, how nice that would be to see his favourite animal before he died. But it was a passing thought, there were no large cats in this area. It was no doubt a wolf, and he was no doubt dinner. 

He heard it stalk behind him, the crunch of the snow under its paws almost undetectable, if not for observation haki he likely wouldn't have even known it was there. At least he wouldn't have to face the beast before it took his life, he didn't even have the strength to roll over. He closed his eyes, anticipating the end. What a shit way to go, hypothermic on some shitty winter island, separated from his crew. Not even in the middle of a battle, his only fight was with nature, and nature was surely winning. Pathetic, really. He was a man of technology, a man with a powerful devil fruit who had helped bring down warlords and emperors, but a little bit of wind and snow would be what killed him in the end. 

A huff of warm air pressed to his cheek, but surprisingly did not have the rancid smell of death he expected of a wolf. Ah, his nose must be completely fucked from the cold. No bother, his death would be momentary. A cold, wet nose pressed against his face, and he couldn't help but let out a small whimper. He was a strong man, but deep down he didn't want to die, he was scared in anticipation of the end, and this wolf seemed to be taking its sweet time. 

As soon as the sound left his mouth, he heard the crunch of snow and the warm breaths on his face ceased. The wolf had pulled away. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, had it decided he wasn't worth the effort? Or was it toying with him? More crunches of snow indicated its movement as it paced slowly around his body, and he shifted his eyes to see where it would likely appear near his feet. At first he saw nothing, the wind still carried its flurries and created a void around him, he could barely see past his own chest. 

His breath hitched in surprise when its head slowly came into view, hung low as if curiously inspecting him, approaching him with caution as though it was nervous. He laughed under his breath, was this some sort of cruel cosmic joke? Because it wasn't a wolf at all - it was a snow leopard. Plain as day. It shouldn't exist here, and yet it did, like his own personal angel here to take him from this plain of existence to the next. Well, at least he got to see at least one before he died. 

He felt its warm breaths on his face as it came close again, hovering its head in front of his own. Curiosity got the better of him, hell he was going to die anyway, and he slipped an arm out from his coat and reached for it with a shaky hand. It didn't move, only shifting its eyes to watch the movement as his hand pressed into its soft fur. It closed its eyes like it was relishing the touch, and he intertwined his fingers with the fur, burying his hand in it. When its eyes opened it looked right at him, with golden eyes that matched his own. His breath hitched and he cursed himself for not releasing earlier - snow leopards don't have golden eyes. 

“You're human?” He breathed shakily. 

The leopard shifted its head as though to nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't a wild animal after all, it was human. A zoan type devil fruit user. Likely, a friendly one, if his current predicament was anything to show as his hand slid through its fur. 

“Help..” he mumbled. The leopard nodded again, and couched low to its front next to him. It tugged at the collar of his jacket with gentle teeth, as though urging him to move. He mustered every last ounce of strength he had and half crawled to it, pulling himself onto its back and holding its fur tight as it stood. It took his sword carefully in its teeth and began to walk. Its back was warm and soft, it felt like a sunkissed cloud from heaven against his frozen body as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

He was greeted with a small, dimly lit room when his eyes finally fluttered open. He tried to sit up, but there was no strength in him. He concentrated on what he could feel, trying to assess his current condition. He was in a bed, definitely, covered in a heavy set of blankets. His limbs were weak and hard to move, but it felt like all his fingers and toes were there. He was sure he was in only his underwear, but it was hard to tell without looking. Above all, he felt warm. Too warm, infact. He likely had a fever. 

Soft footsteps approached the bed, accompanied by a sweet melodic hum, and the mattress dipped as they sat. The face of a woman appeared over him, soft and kind looking, despite the obvious burn scar over the right side of her face. Her hair was almost entirely white, though judging by her youthful face it was likely not from old age. There was a section of hair missing near the burn where the hair follicles had been damaged. 

He didn't say anything, just watching her closely as she placed a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. It gave him relief from his fever, and he sighed as cool drops of water slid down his face. Her eyes met his, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she pressed a soft finger to his lips to hush him. 

“Don't try to speak,” she whispered, “save your strength for now” 

He closed his eyes and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as her finger left his lips, her hand now smoothing over his cheek before returning to the cool cloth on his forehead. The relief from it combined with his exhaustion quickly lulled him back to sleep, feeling now a sense of safety despite the stranger. 

Dim light was streaming through a small window over the bed when he awoke again. He tried to sit up, and this time he was successful, though it took a lot out of him and he quickly laid back down. The short glance had been enough though to assitane his surroundings. He was in a small cabin of some sort, with not much more than the bed he laid in, a small kitchen with a fireplace, and a simple table with two wooden chairs. There was also some sort of large chest and a small bookcase with various trickets spread across the top. 

The howling of wind and the dull natural light told him the storm was likely still raging outside. There was a crackle from the wood in the fireplace, which was lit and providing the room a welcomed warmth. The room only had two doors, he assumed one must be the bathroom while the other must be the entry. The heavy door creaked as it opened with a flurry of snow, and the woman slipped inside carrying a handful of cut wood. She quickly shut the door behind her and set down the wood next to the fireplace before shaking the snow off her coat and removing it, as well as her hat, gloves, and heavy boots.

She immediately noticed he was awake, and the mattress dipped as she sat next to him. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, trying to gauge his temperature. 

“Your fever seems to be coming down,” she said softly with a gentle smile, “thought I was going to lose you for a while there” 

She pulled the blanket back up closer to his face, it had fallen slightly when he sat up, and moved quietly to the small kitchen. He heard the familiar clanging of kitchenware as she prepared something, and the room dimmed slightly as she knelt in front of the fire, the light being blocked slightly by her body as she positioned a pot over the flame to boil. She hummed quietly to herself and moved back to the kitchen, pulling a glass from a cabinet and filling it from the facet. The mattress dipped, directly next to his head this time, as she sat. She placed the glass on the small side table and slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him carefully to sit up and supporting his weight. She took the cup of water and held it to his lips, and he opened his mouth willingly as she tilted it for him. His eyes closed in relief as the water slid down his throat, and he drank the whole glass greedily. 

She laid him back down, but propped up by pillows so he could see around him. He was grateful for it, he could only stare at the ceiling for so much longer before he went insane. 

“Do you think you can manage food?” she asked as she retuned to her pot and stirred it with a long handled wooden spoon. “I'm making a thin soup, something that shouldn't be too hard on your stomach. You're not allergic to anything right?”

“No allergies, just hate bread,” he replied. His voice was huskier than normal, his throat hurt a little but the water had definitely helped, as would a hot soup. She chuckled lightly at his comment as she filled a bowl with soup and brought it to the bedside. It was clear to her that he was too weak to feed himself, so she filled a spoon with soup and blew on it, then brought it to his mouth. The hot liquid was savory and pleasant on his tongue, and soothed his throat as it slid down. It warmed his insides and he sighed contently as she filled the next spoonful. He couldn't remember the last time someone cared for him with such softness, usually he would hate being coddled, but there was a gentle familiarity with her that put him at ease and made him pliable to her care. 

She fed him the entire bowl, followed by another at his request, then sat at the edge of the bed to eat her own fill, dipping bread in to the liquid and letting it soak up the broth. He cringed at the sight, and her eyes crinkled with a smile as she noted his frown. He really didn't like bread. He looked away from her, and noticed now his clothes hung on a small rack made of thin branches near the fireplace. She must have removed them when she brought him in since they were wet with snow. He felt like he should be uncomfortable about being in a strange woman's bed in only his underwear, but he knew it was entirely practical and staying in the wet clothes could have been the death of him. 

She placed both of their bowls in the sink when she was done, and sat cross legged at the foot of the bed, inspecting him closely with her golden eyes, curiosity written on her face. She clearly had a million questions she wanted to ask, and to be fair, so did he. He didn't want to seem like he was interrogating her after all her help, so he stayed quiet. 

“What's your name?” she finally said. 

“Law. Yours?” he replied. 

“Lynx,” there was a short silence and she furrowed he brow in slight annoyance, “what the hell were you doing out in the snow without proper clothing? Do you have a death wish?” 

He sighed, he was annoyed at himself too, he'd made a stupid choice and it had almost killed him. “I got separated from my crew, we didn't expect the storm” 

“Pirate?” she asked. There was no malice in it. Most strangers he encountered were scared of pirates, but she didn't even seem to blink at the word. 

“Yeah, captain of Heart Pirates”

She wrinkled her nose. “Trafalgar Law, one of the worst generation?” He nodded. “I've heard about you. Would have been real embarrassing if you'd died out there”

“Yeah, you're not wrong,” he smirked. She smiled back at him, there was a light energy in the air despite the discussion of his near death. There was a easy silence as they looked at each other in the warm orange light from the fireplace. He couldn't help but wonder about her scar, and why she was out here alone when he knew the island held several decent sized towns. She caught him staring at the burn mark, and a light blush crossed her face as she looked away, turning her marred side away from him. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, “I was just curious about it. I'm a doctor, you see”

“Yes I know, Surgeon of Death,” she chuckled a little to herself, “ironic nickname given how I found you”

He couldn't help but smile at the dark joke. She sighed and turned back to him. “There's no other devil fruit users here, so people don't treat me kindly for it. They call me a witch, the burn is a result of them forcing me out of town. I survive okay out here on my own, there's a few kind souls in the town that let me trade wolf pelts for food and resources, but other than that I've been on my own for a while now. To be honest, you're the first person I've even had in here” 

There was a sadness to her voice, he could feel how lonely she was. He knew how it felt to be alone in the world, to be pushed away by scared people. He had his crew now to keep the loneliness away, but it hadn't always been like that. He felt sad for her, that she was forced to live like this because of something as simple as a zoan devil fruit. How barbaric the villagers must be, to push her away and call her witch, when they should be embracing her talents. She was clearly a kind soul, she had saved him without even knowing who he was or asking for anything in return, giving her help willingly without hesitation. It hurt his heart to think about such a sweet girl being forced in to isolation, she can't have been much younger than he was based on her appearance. 

“Will your crew come for you?” she asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice. 

“Yeah, my first mate is a polar bear mink, he should have no trouble with the weather” Law told her. He saw the twinge of anxiety in her expression. “My crew won't hurt you, you're safe.” Her expression softened at his words. 

“You should sleep,” she sighed, climbing off the bed and settling in front of the fire where a wolf pelt lay on the floor. She laid on it and pulled a thin blanket over herself. Law realised with a startle that there was only one bed, and he was selfishly making her sleep on the floor after all her kindness. 

“You can sleep in the bed with me, if you want,” he said hesitantly. She sat up slowly, looking at him quizzically. “I won't touch you, unless you want me to” 

She paused in thought for a moment before she decided to stand and join him. The bed wasn't overly large, barely enough for the two of them, and he shuffled over to make space for her. She slid under the blanket and settled in next to him, pulling the blanket back up over them. She turned away from him, pressing her back against his front, and pulling his arm to rest over her waist. 

“Is this okay?” she asked. 

“Yeah, it's nice,” he replied softly, pressing his face against her shoulder and holding her gently, “you're so warm” 

“It's the devil fruit,” she replied, “but I figured if I'm sharing the bed with you then I may as well lend you my warmth, it'll help you recover” 

He hummed in agreement and made himself comfortable. It had been a long while since he'd slept holding a woman, and she smelt pleasantly of pine and rosemary. Given her situation it was likely that she hadn't been held in a long time, so this was the least he could do to return her kindness. 

He was still wrapped around her when he woke up the next day. She was facing him now, her face nestled against his chest and hidden under her hair, one of his legs wedged between hers. Both of his arms had found their way around her, and they held her warm body tight against his bare chest. She was sleeping soundly, one of her hands around his shoulders, the other resting on his waist. The closeness would have usually put him at unease, but it was comfortable and felt natural. She stirred as she woke slowly, sighing a soft yawn against his skin and looking up at him. Their golden eyes met, and without thinking he pressed a kiss to her mouth.

She startled, pulling away from him and scrambling out of the bed, standing against the wall and watching him with fearful eyes. He cursed himself for being so stupid and invasive. Why did he do that? Stupid! 

“Fuck,” he muttered, trying to sit up, “I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that, fuck, sorry” 

She observed him silently as he laid back on the bed with a heavy plop, running his hands down his face and groaning at himself. The blanket had fallen to his waist, and she eyed his tattooed, muscular chest hungrily. The kiss had scared her because she didn't expect it, she'd been alone for so long she'd forgotten how it felt to be kissed. But his lips had been soft and tender against hers, and she pressed her fingertips to her mouth as she remembered the feeling. It made sparks flow through her, and made her heart race. 

Without questioning it any further she closed the distance between them, climbing on to the bed and pushing the blanket off him, straddling his waist. He pulled his hands away from his face as he felt her weight settle on him, and saw her looking down at him with eyes that showed no anger for his previous actions. Just curiosity. 

She bent down and kissed him, a fire reaching out and connecting to him through their lips, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. She grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips, urging him to hold her and support her movements as she started to roll against him. He was already half hard with morning wood, and it didn't take much of her pressure against him to finish the job. His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips, begging for entry, and she let him in willingly, her own tongue fighting against his for dominance as she moaned into his mouth. 

Her arousal pooled between her legs as she felt his hard length against her center, and she trailed her kisses down his jaw, tracing the bone to his ear where she tugged and sucked at his earlobe, making him grunt and tighten his hold on her. Her kisses journeyed further, making small nips and sucking at his neck as she moved down to his chest, tracing his tattoos with her tongue and flicking his nipple with the tip. He bucked under her and watched her carefully, her darkened eyes never leaving his as she moved further down, nuzzling against his happy trail with her nose as her fingers found the waistband of his briefs and freed his hard cock from them. He shivered as the cool air touched him, the fire from last night long since burnt out. 

He moaned as she took him in her hands, running her tongue over the tip and flattening it to stroke up the underside of his cock, before finally taking him in her mouth. Her head bobbed as she took what she could fit of him, her hands stroking firmly at the base to service what she couldn't reach. He balled the sheets in his hands and grunted as she went down on him, before one hand found her hair and held it tight, eliciting a needy whimper from her that vibrated on his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that”

She looked at him with a glimmer in her eyes, and increased her speed, he could feel her smiling around him before she took him deeper, gagging a little as his cock hit the back of her throat. It put him over the edge and he came with a shudder and a heavy grunt, releasing hot ropes of cum that slid straight down her throat, her eyes still never leaving his. When she was satisfied that she'd completely milked him, she let him go with a pop and smirked, climbing up his body again and making a show of licking her lips. 

“My turn,” Law growled, grabbing her waist and flipping her on to her back. 

He hovered over her, his hands sliding under her shirt to find her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, and his fingers toyed with her nipples as she squirmed under him. He pushed up her shirt to reveal her perky tits and put his mouth to one of the buds, sucking and tugging at it gently, making her moan and writhe under him. One of his hands supported his body weight, while the other slid down the front of her pants and inside her panties. She was soaking wet, and he moaned against her breast at the slick on his fingers as he explored her. 

He pulled out his hand, much to her dismay, and held up his fingers between their faces, looking her in the eye as he slid them in his mouth and sucked her arousal off them. Her eyes widened with lust at the lewd display and her hips bucked instinctually. 

“So sweet,” he cooed, “I want more.”

She whimpered as he slid off her pants, throwing them to the floor, followed quickly by her shirt. He rubbed a thumb against her clothed center, saving to memory the image of the wet spot that had formed on the panties, before hooking the waistband and pulling them off. He flattened himself against the bed, nuzzling into her mound and letting his tongue slide out to run between her folds. Her head fell back against the pillow as she took in the pleasure he was giving her, and he curled his hands around her thighs to hold her open for him. 

He ran a fat stripe up her pussy before finally settling on her clit, running circles around it and sucking on it. She moaned so sweetly, it made his cock twitch to hear. He let go of one thigh to slide his hand under his chin, toying with her entrance before sliding a single digit inside and exploring her. Her hands both rested in his hair, pulling hard and making him grunt into her. He slid in a second finger, and made slow, deep thrusts, curling to find the spot that would bring her the most pleasure while his tongue continued its work on her sensitive bud. 

He increased his pace slowly, building up her orgasm till she keened and her walls squeezed his fingers, cumming on his face. He continued his ministrations as he worked her through it, her hips rolling off the bed as she shook and moaned. When she finally stilled he let her go, sliding his fingers out and climbing up to hover over her. Her arousal dripped from his chin, coating his goatee, and he wiped his mouth with the back off his hand then licked it off. 

Her legs came up and wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. “Fuck me, please,” she begged. 

He didn't need to hear anything else, his cock was already fully erect and throbbing with want for her. He lined himself up, sliding in just the first few inches as she moaned and sunk her fingertips into his back. She simultaneously pushed her hips up, and tightened her hold with her legs, pulling him deep inside her. He let out a deep moan as he bottomed out. 

“Fuck, you're so tight and wet,” he moaned. 

“Law, move, please,” she mewled. 

He began a slow roll of his hips, grunting every time he met his base again, her sweet moans sending electricity through him. He wanted to be slow and gentle with her, but he couldn't help but fuck her harder when her fingernails threatened to break the skin on his back. One of her hands found his hair and pulled him to her, capturing his mouth in a feverish kiss that left them both panting and breathless as he fucked her hard into the mattress. 

She arched and screamed his name as she came again, and her tight walls around him pulled him with her as he released his load deep inside her, shaking as his orgasm rocked through him. They stayed connected for a few more minutes, catching their breaths, as her legs fell limply from where they had been wound tight around him, and he collapsed on top of her. His face was buried in her neck, and her scent was thick in his nostrils, prolonging his afterglow. Eventually he slowly pulled out and rolled off her, laying on his back next to her as she curled up beside him, resting her head on his chest and curling her leg over his. His arm wrapped around her and rested on the small of her waist, while his other hand ran through his dark hair in mild disbelief at what had just happened. 

“Sorry,” she panted, “was that too forward?” 

“No that was, fuck, that was incredible,” he replied. She grinned against his skin and nuzzled against him. She pulled the blanket up to cover them both, embracing his warm body as she came down from her high, enjoying being close to another human and relishing the feel of his bare skin against hers. She didn't know when she'd ever get this again. Soon his crew would come for him, and he would be gone, never to be seen again. Maybe she'd get lucky and fall pregnant from this chance encounter, so she could at least not be entirely alone in the world. 

“You shouldn't stay out here on your own,” he whispered, “you should come with me, to my ship”

“You want me to join your crew?” she asked hesitantly. A sparkle of hope made her heart flutter. Nobody had wanted her around for so long, and now this stranger was asking her to go with him. 

“I can't guarantee you'll be safe all the time,” he explained, “but you'll have friends, and I can show you the world. It has to be better than this lonely shack. And your devil fruit would be useful to my crew, nobody would taunt you for it”

She sat quietly in contemplation for only a moment, it didn't take her long to weigh the options and make up her mind. “Yes,” she told him, “I- I think I'd like that.” 

He smiled at the ceiling and stroked her hair, happy he could do one small thing to make her existence a little better, and knowing he wouldn't have to feel like he'd abandoned her. His crew would accept her, he knew that much for sure, and would celebrate her for saving his life. Not to mention the idea of having a snow leopard roaming around the submarine sounded immensely cool, he struggled to not giggle like an excited schoolboy at the thought. 

They slept a little longer, then he helped her pack what few belongings she actually cared about. His fever had well and truly passed, and obviously given his earlier activities he was feeling a lot stronger. They ate, and talked, and fucked again, before finally, as they ate a late lunch, the crunching of soft freshly fallen snow outside alerted them to the presence of someone else. 

A fluffy white face peered in through the window, making the glass fog with its hot breath, and its face brightened with a smile as it spotted Law. 

“CAPTAIN!!!!” Bepo shouted as he practically broke down the door. Lynx watched with wide eyes, paused mid bite, as the polar bear mink tackled Law, nuzzling his face against Law's and crying all over him. Law smiled and offered a comforting hand to Bepo's fluffy cheek. 

“I'm okay Bepo,” he laughed, pushing the mink away, “get off me you lump” 

Lynx laughed and Bepo finally realised someone else was in the room. He looked at her curiously. She smelt like Law, that much was clear to him. 

“This is Lynx,” Law explained, “she saved my life. We're taking her with us to join the crew”

Bepo's fur raised with excitement and he charged at her, her bowl of soup spilling on the bed as he tackled her in a big, heavy hug. “Welcome to the crew!” he exclaimed before Law managed to pry him off the poor girl. 

There was no need to clean up the mess that had been made, and after a short chat to catch Law up on what had happened to everyone else, they picked up her bags and his sword, and stood outside the cabin. With no regrets she set it alight, and they watched as the symbol of her loneliness was engulfed with flames, fire licking at every surface and lighting the three of them in a warm glow as they watched it collapse. Finally, Law took her hand, and they followed Bepo to the Polar Tang to start her new life. 

[sskk-manifesto]

He's such a little soaking pathetic wet cat of a man I can't do this

[chogiwow]

saudade | lee know

pairing: lee know x gn! reader

genre: angst, fluff

au: exes to eventual lovers

wc: 22k+

warnings: language, anxiety, breakup, insecurities, miscommunication, slowburn, too much wallowing, just sad vibes and mc and minho longing for each other :’(

a/n: repost !

one.

The breakup was messy.

That was partially true, because you were the one who had mostly shed all the tears, but in actuality, the week long sobered up you had admitted to your delusional counterpart that this wasn’t to be a game of blame.

Minho had your best interests at heart, you heard him out and even sympathised with the logic, but at the end of the day your exposed vulnerability had set up its self defences in favour of the innate need to let your feelings to the forefront, because after all, you had worn your heart on your sleeve.

It was a mechanism that had built its wall with excruciating pain of lifting every block of brick the deeper you looked into what you had thought to be a relationship; the fonder your actions, the bigger the amount of effort you had to put into picking up that brick. Everything you had done or said ran through your muscles in painful pricks, a jab at every crevice of your being a reprimanding ramification.

You refused to talk to the man, ignoring his presence in a room and revelling in the forlorn glances thrown your way. You likened your pathetic state to his downturned mouth, intentionally swerving out of his way and going as far as to feign ignorance at the mention of his cats; you weren’t weak.

That was a sentiment you were entitled to convince yourself of, save for the conforms of your room where you could sulk and let the tendrils around your heart tighten in a chokehold.

However, there was a satisfaction of feigning your days into careless smiles and easing yourself into old routines, because it came with the bittersweet taste of regret oozing from the man causing you your miseries, coating him with the consequences of his undertakings. It lead you to believe that the pettiness on your part was only justified.

But slipping back to old habits was not easy. You still laid the table for two sometimes, still brought out two blankets for days you slept in front of the television and still stumbled upon cat toys laying around your house. It made you angry at the way Minho had seeped into your life and left parts of him still etched in your memory that prompted you to preserve those small nothings in every corner of your apartment. It was tiring having to recall small moments of genuine happiness, floundering about searching for it and holding on to it for a moment too long for you to self acclaim yourself as ‘moved on’ and ‘over it all’.

This wasn’t good. You were far too invested in this even now and had to let go of the past in whatever way possible.

So when you were looking for a job, you were desperate enough to grab one at a 24/7 convenience store, even though that meant you would probably end up with a graveyard shift on the weekends, which for you worked perfectly fine if it was to be accounted for distracting you from your thoughts.

Now, you were not so sure you had made the right decision.

It was one thing to work there on weekends for the extra pay, but it was another to drag your exhausted self there after a week of academic torture, only too aware of the pile of assignments waiting for you back home that you hadn't even spared a glance at in the entire week.

This was yet another life choice you were obligated to put in the bag labelled 'questionable and regretful' along with a million others, but you were adamant to admit it regardless of the concerned gazes of your friends; you smiled and waved it off saying you were doing quite alright.

Minho didn’t buy it.

Every single thing that had happened since the breakup had weighed him down like a soaking wet bag of cotton stuffed inside his clothes, and much to nobody’s surprise at all, he blamed himself for your haggard state.

That was saying a lot because he would show up to lectures in his sweatpants and a hoodie, not even bothering to sit upright and pay attention, choosing to bury his throbbing head in his arms for the entire lecture.

The aftermath of the situation was not something he had foreseen and just sometimes he regretted having to be honest all the time. He was torn between this urge to turn back time and never say a word about it and the desire to give in to the constant ache in his chest whenever he saw you, thought of you or dreamt of you.

Minho had never felt this way; never had this contradicting impulsion of either slinking into his seat till he melted into the plastic or the itching spring in his feet that wanted to run to you and beg you for another chance.

He did want another chance, but you had been so frustratingly clear in drawing the line, he had to hold himself back from reaching out to you. He took a step back when you were near but smiled at you though you took no notice of him; let you borrow the book he had been waiting to read for a week, even though he had carefully hidden it away from other eyes; made sure you were hydrating even though he had to put up with Jisung’s whining about how weird it was to go up to you and hand you a bottle of juice (he paid Jisung ten dollars just to shut him up).

He pretended not to be hurt when you left the book on the table without borrowing it, put up with the tight tug at his chest when you refused to accept the drink deeming the heaviness in his chest deserving.

Minho is content watching you smile from afar at someone else he doesn’t know, at something he can’t make out from the way your lips move. He closes his eyes and hopes to forget the image of you ingrained in his memory and the past that he had already ruined seeps it’s way through the cracks of your image like tendrils of a vine.

But Minho was keen and observant of people he cared about.

“Hey (y/n),”

Sighing deeply to yourself you put up a perfunctory smile.

“That’ll be 900 won.”

“How are you doing? Jisung said you left class early yesterday,” Minho says, genuinity weaving through his voice and face, innocent worried eyes peeking from under his bangs that lay across his eyes.

“Peachy keen, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Are you sure? You look pale…”

“I’m fine, can you please pay now?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Will you pay already?”

Here’s the thing about pulling all nighters – it affects your ability to feign interest in conversations you would rather not be a part of and are especially thankful for customers on your shift who come in with clear intent of what they want and what they need, fortunately that only leaves you to deal with them quickly. So right now, you were on the edge of breaking and cracking your facade under the constant interrogation.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t look that well to me, and I’m worried about you.”

You are quick to resign yourself from feeling bad about Minho’s forlorn tone and large eyes that looked at you with sorrow; you felt like you had just told off a child for eating too many candies.

“Just…pay already,” you bite back the words waiting to tumble out of your lips any given second, then with a sigh add, “please.”

Minho fumbles around with his wallet, pulling out the bills and placing them on the counter, however, he doesn’t pick up the kimbap roll he had purchased.

“That’s for you,” he says, motioning towards the plastic covered roll with his chin as he tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“What?”

“Don’t skip meals, it’s not healthy for you.”

You’ve obviously realised what was happening but before you could breathe out another word, you heard his hurried footsteps across the floor and the jingle of the bell above the door, leaving you leaning across the counter, your lips in the middle of protesting dismissal of his good will, but it’s already too late and you realise that with resentment as you watch the boy cross the street in a sprint and walk away, shoulders hunched and head bowed low. 

Minho may be content with watching you from afar, but he can be just as adamant as you are, and one day he hopes to make it all up to you, but until then he struggles against your cracking image, fighting against the vines that shoot past, resolute on resisting the damage of his own actions.

two.

You studied the box you were holding, flipping it over a few times in your hands, hearing the distinct rattle of small, hard somethings inside. You thought you could smell sugar, too. The box looked and felt expensive – the texture of it, the delicate ribbon looped and tied round it, the exactness of its corners. You tried to think of where or whom it could have come from. After all, you weren’t expecting anything, let alone anything important or special.

But that was definitely your name scrawled across the top of the box in a surprisingly fancy script.

You don’t recognise the handwriting, the penmanship was too exquisite.

“Look at you, got yourself a little secret admirer huh?” Jisung’s taunt was loud enough to turn a few heads your way and you felt yourself growing uncomfortably hot at the snickers you received, quickly retracting the box inside your bag, stuffing it in unceremoniously.

Your eyes momentarily flickered to your left where you knew Minho was sitting a few seats away on the row above yours, but he was busy talking to the small group of people surrounding him. He either didn’t hear or if he did, he didn’t care enough. Or maybe he did care, but just ignored it.

Not that you cared whether he noticed or not.

Turning towards the over excited boy beside you, you let out a heavy sigh at the smug grin on his face.

“I saw that,” his saccharine smile makes you flinch inwardly, the way he rested his elbow on the desk making you want to knock it off with a flick of your hand.

“Saw what?” you busy yourself taking out your supplies for the class, hoping that you wouldn’t have to be interrogated about the box inside your bag.

As it turns out, Jisung was not interested about the pandora’s box, well, in a way he was, but right now he was more interested in what he had just seen and that’s saying a lot because Jisung, contrary to his ridiculously short attention span in class and his usual aloofness to a lot of things, was a very observant person.

“I saw you looking at him,” there is a tantalising lilt to his words, one that makes you hover your hands around in the air as if caught red handed doing something bad, but you shake that feeling off with a well fed lie you’ve accustomed yourself to.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You only hear a hum of acknowledgement before being spared the further mortification of confrontation when the professor walks in. As the class settles down, mumbling a less than enthusiastic greeting at the professor, you slump over your desk, doing your best to have your face anywhere but in Jisung’s line of sight.

You don’t need to be in his peripheral vision, however, to lose your damn mind, because he happens to be very good at always having the last say of words.

“If it makes you feel better, he was looking at you too,” he whispers in your ear and though you don’t even dare acknowledge him, you can sense the smirk gracing his face, “perhaps loverboy there might have been a little jealous.”

You don’t say anything, but for the rest of your lecture you blatantly try to ignore the feeling of someone staring your back down.

Your innate ability to not even glance at Minho anymore was only at par with his ostentatious nonchalance at the same.

Before, you would always pass glances with him in classes, sticking your tongue out at him and then chortling silently when he just stared back at you with a deadbeat face, lips puckering out and the playful disdain in his head shake making you double over your desk, hiding away from your professor’s view.

Now your gaze remains stubborn on the presentation on the board, spinning your pen in one hand while resting your head on the palm of the other. He finds his eyes staring towards your bag, as if he could see the box you had stuffed inside if he stared hard enough, teeth biting onto his lips as he tapped his fingers on his desk nervously.

A nudge to his side jolts him from his state, narrowing his eyes at the culprit who was motioning in front with his head. If the implication was not enough, the telltale voice of the professor sounds out in good humour.

“Mr. Lee, if you would be so kind enough to pay your attention to my lecture rather than (y/n)’s back, I would appreciate it.”

A chorus of snickers and giggles breaks out, immediately shushed out by the professor who seemed to be enjoying the indulgence none the same.

You burned in your seat, sinking your head further down under the teasing eyes directed towards you, kicking Jisung under the table when he snickered loud enough to elicit a few more giggles and yet you never turned around to glare at the man causing you your miseries. God, only Minho would get caught in class for something like this!

Even if you did manage to cool down your face, tugging at the neck of your shirt and fanning yourself when the professor’s back was turned, your mind was churning with a trainwreck of thoughts, most of which was making you fumble around, unable to pay attention to anything except the loud buzzing in your ears. Consciously, you straighten your back and cross your legs under the table only to wiggle around in your seat when you realise there wasn’t enough leg space to do that. Your embarrassment increases tenfold.

Minho is not spared as the victim to his share of awkwardness as he all but clears his throat a little too loudly and every breath he takes sounds magnified now. It doesn't help that you stand out like a sore thumb in his eyes, fidgeting in your seat, obviously uncomfortable.

His chances of redemption were looking staggeringly low, any likelihood that you would not hate him more than you already did after he put you under public awkwardness was a shot in the dark.

When the class ended, you were the first one to dash out of the door, almost dropping the books you were trying to stuff inside your bag while sprinting across the floor. Safe to say, Minho didn’t chase you, saving his red faced apology for later.

three.

Minho was a good cook.

He knew exactly how much salt the marination required and the seasoned experience of how long he should let the broth simmer. What he didn’t know was how to bake, and he was in the very middle of doing exactly that; it would be safe to say that even though the general conundrums were proving to be back-breaking and the results were highly questionable, he hasn’t burnt anything down, yet.

An array of ingredients lie about, covering every inch of the workstation Felix had wiped clean only that morning, the powdered flour like snow on the slab and the salted chocolate mix sitting abandoned with an egg-covered whisk in it. Maybe Felix died a little inside but the state of his kitchen in shambles would have been slightly more concerning had it not been for the flour covered man sitting amidst the mess, eyes frantically skimming through a cookbook with splatters of batter speckled on it, hair sticking out like a madman caught in the middle of a very traumatic experience in a particularly intense episode of a Gordon Ramsey cook-off.

“Do I want to know?”

Felix started off timidly, torn between comforting his visibly distraught friend and suppressing an itching urge to reach out for the rag sitting so alluringly on his counter and wipe the whole thing down like it never happened in the first place.

Which were Minho’s sentiments exactly at this point, except he just wished he could start all over again.

He resigns with a sigh, slumping against the counter and abandoning his fifth batch of batter, the whisk clinking against the glass bowl, his heavy breath sifting the stray flour on the counter in the act.

“I used salt in the batter,” he says, hanging his head lower and lower as if it were a physical amalgamation of how he was losing one brain cell per second just standing there in the kitchen that smelt like chocolates and it was honestly making him sick.

“Fucking salt in place of sugar Lix, I don’t know what to do anymore…”

It only takes another heavy sigh on his end and his very much flour covered hands rubbing at his face for Felix to make his decision; Minho needed help, good lord he needed help.

“Hyung…” Felix was quick to move around the counter towards his elder, gently pulling him into a hug only to feel the telltale warmth of tears soaking through his shirt and grazing his shoulder. This was concerning.

“Hyung, talk to me, please.”

A part of Minho knows that this sudden exposure to an incorrigible vulnerability was scaring the younger boy, undoubtedly because he had never put his feelings on display like this, and that part was telling him to stop because if anything, he didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but this only made him sob harder.

Felix was inevitably taken aback at the sudden outburst, but he could not ignore the growing suspicion that this was more than frustration over failed baking endeavours. Minho did the best he could, but he would never break down completely over things he could not achieve, maybe pissed but never so despaired to shed tears over it.

“Why can’t I make some stupid fucking chocolates!” a sniffling intervention cut through, Minho’s sobs almost immediately ceasing as he rubbed at his eyes vigorously, a very alarmed Felix left to blink at the sudden change.

“Okay… a penny for your thoughts?”

Minho sniffs again, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve and carding a hand through his hair before explaining.

“I’ve been trying,” Minho shoves the recipe book in front of his roommate’s face, “to make this for two hours now, and I keep fucking up.”

Felix creases his brow at the said recipe for salted caramel chocolates, eyes flickering in confusion between the man waving it in front of him and the newly ignited frustration in his eyes before venturing hesitantly.

“Hyung, you don’t even like this…”

Whatever it was about those six words seemed to have drenched out the fury in Minho’s eyes, for he blinked rapidly as if flickering between the numerous emotions he was suddenly exposed to, only to look away abashedly.

“It’s not for me,” his words, though mumbled out softly, seemed to have stuck themselves down his throat, a visibly forced will to have them tumble through his mouth and even then they lingered in the heavy air.

A sudden realisation dawns on Felix, but before he can think anything of it, he’s blurting it out in a loud voice, surprising to even his own ears.

“What the fuck hyung, are you serious?!”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you’re digging your own grave is what you’re doing, glad we’re clear on that.”

Felix isn’t a particularly spiteful person, but his words come out implying such a sentiment against his better judgement. Nobody can blame him because he had a firsthand experience of the complete trainwreck that The Breakup was (it was mutually decided by your friend group to capitalise on the rather dreadful affair) to the point where he had felt like he had been at least one of the involved person on more than one occasion; he was clearly upset and trepid about Minho’s sudden endeavours.

“You’re making it sound so bad,” Minho could all but huff out, crossing his arms across his chest challengingly.

“What part of gifting your ex handmade chocolates on valentine’s day doesn’t sound like a bad idea?” Felix challenged slightly more intensely.

“I never said I was going to give it to (y/n)!”

“Oh yeah, so you’re telling me you haven’t been moping around for months around the house looking like a war widow mourning the death of your husband–”

“That’s an oddly descriptive–”

“– are you seriously telling me you’re not making (y/n)’s favorite chocolates right now?”

“Have I really been looking like a war widow?”

“Hyung!”

“Jesus Lix, I’m trying to make things right!”

“By giving your ex handmade chocolates?? On valentine’s day?!”

“What part of making things right did you not understand?”

“What part of the word ‘ex’ did you not understand?”

“Okay look,” Minho sighs, leaning back against the counter, “I know this is crazy but…I feel like – I feel so…I have to make things right.”

There was a finality to his words but held a lot more things unsaid in a way they couldn’t be put through mere syllables. Felix knew how hard Minho had taken it upon himself; you had almost entirely dissociated yourself for a week and when you were back, it had seemed like Minho was nothing but a figment of your imagination that had occurred and now you were up and awake from that fantasy as if reality itself had slapped you in the face, leaving behind a harsh mark imprinted on your cheek.

It was jarring, to say the least, and your mutual friend circle had been obligated to tiptoe around the two of you until you had entirely removed yourself to save them all the awkwardness. Though it was a relief to not have to hold his breath when he was stuck with you two in a room, he was not, and neither were any of your friends, happy about the way you were distancing yourself for their sake. He would be more than happy to have his friends back together, though exempting whatever sentiments you had towards Minho, but whatever this was, Felix had an inkling that it wasn’t Minho’s brightest ideas.

“You know why you guys broke up right?”

Felix’s baritone is like a huge boulder that resounds within Minho’s chest with a dull thud, weighing upon his conscience and his cautious tone tears it through moments later.

When Minho doesn’t answer, Felix ventures to say,

“Hyung, none of us were too happy when we found out, in fact Chan was mad at you and I’ve never seen him lose his cool like that. Are you positively sure that this is something you want to make amends for already?”

Some distant voice in Minho’s head was vigorously nodding along and cling on to every word Felix said; he would like to believe that it was because he was being logical, but in reality he was scared, and had it not been the strong scent of burnt chocolate he inhaled in the few seconds he let himself mull over his words, he probably would have seeked solace in the precautionary counsel and given up.

In hindsight, he would have grown to regret that decision as well had he actually gone through with it, but he realised that even if you ended up hating his guts and purposefully tried to mend a wound that he had no experience nor the know-how about, he would have deserved it all and so much more.

The familiar throbs of dull thuds start to creep up along his forehead, his eyes closing on their own accord as the numbness settles in. Minho was far away from his thoughts at such times, a momentary relief from all the churning and buzzing his mind was otherwise bare to, letting the pain slowly seep through his entire head till he was drowning in it.

“Will you help me?”

The request is barely mumbled, devoid of any intonation, but Felix knows that this was a call for help and there was no turning back for his roommate now.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but I don’t want my name being dragged into this, I’m only helping you because I don’t want you to wreck my kitchen.” This was Minho’s kitchen as much as it was his.

Minho only nods with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

four.

“Minho did what?!”

That’s it, Felix was signing up for new friends – preferably friends who did not potentially get him kicked out of the library for yelling.

He shushes Jisung with a violent wave of his hands, fingers pressing upon his lips as did so many other people sitting beside him, their glares of annoyance turned upon the duo who bowed in apology.

“That was Minho?” Jisung yells in a whisper, eyes wide open and books long abandoned in pursuit of what he had cited as “hot tea”. Felix wondered whether he had made a mistake after all, telling his friend about it.

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to tell anyone!”

“What? Why not?”

“Because ughh,” Felix stressed, lowering his tone and leaning across the table, “Minho doesn’t want (y/n) to know it’s him, that’s why the fancy printed note!”

As if the world had finally started making sense to him, Jisung’s mouth forms into an o, eyes widening further till his eyebrows disappear under his bangs.

“Hold on, I thought Minho wanted to apologise, then why would he be so secretive about this all?”

“That’s the thing, he says he’s sure (y/n) would shut him down if they knew it was him.”

“Wow, so what, he’s trying to make them fall for him again?”

Jisung chuckles at his own theory, the mere idea sounding ridiculous in his head but his smile fades slightly when Felix doesn’t answer.

“That’s the thing, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s trying to do…”

Jisung can’t say anything, quite literally, he’s been rendered speechless by this bit of information. Although, the sappy part of him agrees that it was slightly romantic, sans the part where Felix was adamant on sticking to his ‘ex stalking their ex’ theory, but really, if you ignored all those pessimistic vibes, you would have yourself a sweet little reconciliation story.

“You know what,” he says after a while, his words slow and calculative “I don’t think (y/n) is completely over him either.”

Raising a brow in question, Felix urges him to go on.

“It’s just the way this entire thing played out, you know? I know for a fact that (y/n) believed him when he…uh…confessed, and I think they would have given him a chance. Minho hyung was so adamant too…”

The pair falls silent, staring vacantly at their books, both undoubtedly lost in a stream of their shared conscience that had been prodded when the subject in question had been brought up. Felix is the first to speak after having stared at the words on his page that blurred around the edges, seemingly floating on the white void.

“You think we should have stopped him?”

Jisung glances up briefly, their eyes meeting and a pang of regret hits him square in the chest.

“I think so. Do you think we should stop him now?”

Felix shakes his head in denial, “It’s already done and he’s too stubborn. I just hope none of them have to get hurt more than they already have.”

Jisung twiddles his thumb around his pen, tapping his foot under the table when he spots you making your way over, a bunch of books in your hands and the strap of your bag barely keeping up on your shoulder. You try to dump all your belongings as quietly as you can, but he can clearly hear your panting as if you had run all the way to the library.

“Hey guys, Hyunjin was trying to get me to volunteer for the Sweet Treats ughh, I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast in my life.”

You huff away a strand of loose hair that falls across your eye, slumping in your seat with a laborious breath and greet the two boys.

“Sweet Treats huh? Hwang is what, the running president for the third year in a row now?” Jisung scoffs, squeezing the nib of his pen absentmindedly on the table, leaving an ink stain in its wake.

You exchange a knowing glance with Felix; it was no secret that Jisung had harboured a major crush on Hyunjin since the first day they had met. There was nothing to hide about it, but Hyunjin himself was obliviously unaware of the blatant flirting and stuttering compliments. It was amusing to see Jisung lose his cool over his nonchalance, it was like watching someone be furious at someone because they were too cute – which was exactly what it was.

It was typical of Hyunjin to try and recruit volunteers for fests, especially during valentine’s week and being the president of the cultural club gave him the liberty of persuading students with free coffee and extra curricular credits, and he didn’t mind the flirting.

Jisung hated volunteering because he was always stuck with decorating the gym or carrying heavy boxes, but he could never say no to Hyunjin’s incessant whining and puppy eyes.

“How about you ask him out? Like you do when you like someone…like a normal person, rather than sulk over some guy’s pouty lips?” Felix sniggers, making you stifle a giggle.

“Oh shut up,” Jisung flushes, his ears turning redder by the second.

“Are you gonna volunteer this year?” you ask Jisung who was still trying to stop fiddling about in his seat.

“You know he can’t say no to Hyunjin,” Felix supplies from beside you, squawking when he receives a pen straight to his head, immediately apologising for the disturbance. You hide your head in your hands, trembling with laughter, catching vague whisper yellings of ‘shut up!’ and ‘what the fuck?!’.

If you thought you had escaped the clutches of Hyunjin’s request, you were mistaken and you should have known better because there was no way he would give up that easily and that is how you find the seat in front of you suddenly occupied and a very flushed and surprised Jisung sitting beside the boy, tightlipped and glaring at Felix who now looked constipated.

“Hyunjin…” you groan, smiling at him painfully. He returns the gesture with a smile that looked too victorious considering he hadn’t even made the proposal yet.

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you ran away when you saw me if you agree to volunteer for Sweet Treats,” he starts, brushing his long hair back with his fingers; you had a very accurate suspicion behind his intentions, but one look at his smug grin made you bite back your words. Instead, you shrug.

“I don’t care Hyunjin, but I don’t think I can spend weeks cutting out heart shaped streamers and filling heart shaped balloons with heart shaped confettis and leave heart shaped invitations all around the campus,” at this point you wanted to barf at the sheer amount of times you had said the words ‘heart’ aloud, cringing at the very thought of al those things you just stated.

“Come on (y/n),” Hyunjin whines like the child he is, leaning forward and holding your hand in a vice-like grip before shaking you back and forth, “It’s free coffee and credits, you love both of those!”

“I like both,” Jisung coughs in the back, momentarily catching Hyunjin’s attention who engages with the boy. You think you’re saved and are about to thank Jisung who was already agreeing to everything Hyunjin had to say, nodding along indulgently, but alas, you are fated to have a heart-y valentine’s week after all.

“So (y/n), how about we make a deal–”

“Hyunjin, no–”

“No heart filled work for you if you help with the new booth this year,” Hyunjin wiggles his eyebrows at you alluringly, tempting you to urge him but you don’t, so he continues after a dramatic pause of breath, “we’re going to do a radio show!”

“A radio show? How does that even work?” Felix leans forward earnestly, his attention finally piqued.

“We’re rolling out a portal where people can send in their confessions anonymously, or not, a week before the 14th and all you have to do is read them out through the day of the festival. It would be like little announcements, very romantic.”

“You want me to read out confessions?”

“Yes, Seungmin’s gonna be there too!”

“We never did this before, so why now?”

“Well, we’re trying out new stuff and a lot of people seemed to have something of this sort from last year’s suggestion feedback, so we decided why not.”

You considered his proposition, crossing your arms across his chest with your eyes narrowed at him, trying to decipher what the catch was.

“I won’t have to make heart shaped decorations then?”

“Nope,”

“And you won’t have me fill up balloons with a shit ton of pink and red confetti either?”

“I give you my word, I won’t.” Hyunjin solemnly puts a hand on his chest and shakes his head.

“All I have to do is read out confessions?”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, adding, “You can divide them with Seungmin if there’s too many or you can figure it out yourself. 3racha also agreed to have the PA systems working and DJ.”

“Hold on,” Jisung intervenes swiftly, “I’m a part of 3racha, why was I not aware of this?”

“Oh no, you sir,” Hyunjin ruffles his hair with a smile, “are helping me out in the photography booth.”

Jisung can only splutter, you’re not sure whether it was because Hyunjin had just ruffled his hair or basically claimed a stake on him, but you had a feeling it was both.

“What’s it going to be (y/n), are you in?”

Reading out confessions…how bad could that possibly be? At the most you were either going to coo at the adorable love letters or cringe till your fingers were physically unable to unclench from a fist. But you supposed it was better than having to be covered in glitter and glue and craft paper.

“Alright, but you better keep your word Hwang,” you concede with some hesitance, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to feel about this.

Hyunin smiles at you gratefully and before leaving ropes in a chortling Felix who was having fun at the expense of Jisung being a flustered mess, into helping at the baking booth.

You sigh in defeat; maybe it would be better to not have any expectations at all.

five.

There was still more than a week before the anonymous confession portal was going to be put out, and even though you tried not to let the visible ‘lovesickness’ in the air get to you, it was proving to be difficult when you were yourself a frequent receiver of chocolate boxes and flowers and even drinks and muffins that were already paid for!

It certainly wasn’t helping that the notes were always printed and there was quite literally no trace of the sender, and that was what had brought you here right now, in this predicament.

“Who do you think it could be?” you ask, peering at the floral patterns on the ivory coloured box that had chocolates inside, hoping that if you stared hard enough, it would reveal it’s deepest and darkest secrets.

Felix shrugs nonchalantly, typing away furiously on his phone, barely paying any attention to the object of your interest that was slowly starting to give you a headache. It was one thing to have a secret admirer, but it was another to receive gifts from them that were uncannily to your taste and liking.

The first time, you had let it slide as a coincidence on finding out the chocolates were salted caramel flavoured – your favourite, but the second and third time were hard to pass as believable.

Even today, you found yourself being handed a warm cup of vanilla latte, just the way you liked it, the barista informing you with a knowing smile that it had already been paid for. You flushed when she giggled and winked at you, leaving you to hastily make your way to where Felix was waving at you from, scooting as far away as you could till you were basically pressed up against the wall, your head in hands as you groaned in embarrassment. Felix was having the time of his life, clicking pictures of you and the warm cup of coffee and the box of chocolates you had tossed on the table with a grunt, undoubtedly saving them for blackmail later on.

Now as you regard the box of chocolates in front of you, you force your mind to come to a blank because the only person you can think of is Minho, and it was driving you crazy. All your stupid little braincells could do was chant in his name in tiny font, growing louder by the second, even though you wouldn’t associate him with something like this – giving presents for the entirety of valentine’s was just not his thing, he would rather you both skipped the crowded cafes with lovesick couples. This was so not him, and yet…yet! Your stupid little mind could do nothing but think of him!

“Maybe they’ll confess on valentine’s day?” Felix, finally putting his phone aside, supplies helpfully.

“I would rather they didn’t,” you scowl, nonetheless opening the box and eating one of the chocolates. They were good, damn it.

Cocking a brow at you in amusement, he reaches for one too, suppressing a moan at how good these were; damn, Minho was getting better at this.

“I just…I don’t think I want any part in any of this, especially now when…”

Felix doesn’t have to prod at you to know why you left your words hanging in the air, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly panicked at the prospect. If you were already showing resistance to the very notion of what could perhaps be a simple crush, how would you react if you found out it was Minho?

“Lix, they gave me blueberry muffins yesterday for breakfast, it’s as if they knew I didn’t have time for breakfast on Wednesdays and ordered me some! It’s honestly a bit creepy, how do they know so much about me or is this all a coincidence?”

Okay, maybe Minho was not the best at being subtle and he made a point to tell him that later.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, what if they think I’m leading them on? But the thing is, I don’t even know who it is, and for some reason I keep thinking that it’s Minho but–”

You stop in your words abruptly, turning your wide eyes towards Felix who had the small beginnings of a smug grin creeping up his lips.

“That’s not what I meant,” you hastily explain, scrambling up from your seat.

“I believe you,”

“Don’t sound so patronising!”

“What if it is Minho though?”

“It’s not him, I know him and he wouldn’t do something like this.”

You’re stubborn in your opinion, perhaps a bit more stronger off the front than you would be because of the previous slip up, but now that you say it out aloud, you realise how ridiculous it sounds for Minho to plant gifts in your locker and order you breakfast on Wednesdays. Or was it?

It was. It was, it was, it was!! Maybe if you said it enough times like a mantra, it would be true. Maybe it was true and you didn’t need to worry about it, but why would you worry all the same? You didn’t want it to be him; you wouldn’t be disappointed if it weren’t him.

The only adversity in this whole ordeal is that it’s got you thinking about him again.

Though you had managed to stay away from the endless possibilities of this mystery admirer, your mind kept drifting to one particular guy, his sharp nose and soft lips like a permanent engraving in your thoughts and the 15% special discount on products for valentine's week where you worked didn’t help console you.

Scanning an enormous box of pepero sticks, you force yourself to smile at the girl who had purchased it, still in high school with the slightest blush tinting her cheeks, no doubt thinking of the person she had bought it for.

“Would that be all?” you smile, handing her the packet.

She shakes her head, bowing thankfully before leaving the store.

It was getting late, your shift only an hour away from ending. The sky outside was softening it’s hue to a darker blue, the onset of spring preventing nightfall from setting in early. Glancing around the store, you figure you would restock the chocolates section, since it was running low after the immeasurable amount of purchases in the last hour itself.

Abandoning your post from the counter, you retrieve the stock in a basket from the pantry, moving along the aisles, careful not to knock down anything else. In the middle of reaching the last aisle where the shelf was, the front door opens, a fainter tinkling resounding to the back and you yell out a hasty “be right there!’ before dumping the box on the ground and heaving out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, sorry, how can I–”

Well wasn’t this a surprise.

“How can I help you?” there it was, the uncanny rigidity in your voice at the sight of Minho. Your eyes stray down, the white and black patterns on his pants painfully familiar, but it brings a smile to your lips.

As if aware of your observation, Minho shuffles timidly on his spot, internally banging his head on a wall in embarrassment. Why, of all days, did he have to saunter into the convenience store wearing the cat pyjamas you had gifted him on Christmas!

Moving on instinct, Minho joins you in the back of the store, rummaging around the instant ramen section and picking up a few bags of crisps while you restocked the chocolates, patiently waiting for you at the counter. You don’t make him wait too long, skipping across the basket and hurrying to check him out.

“Will that be all?” you ask, handing him his stuff and gulping when your fingers brush.

He nods before placing the roll of kimbap on the desk and sliding it across you. You sigh.

“Let me guess, this is for me?”

“Don’t skip–”

“–your meals, yes I know and I haven’t been skipping them; you don’t have to do this you know.”

Your words came out harsher than intended, although you had not been purposeful about it, but the brief flash of hurt in Minho’s eyes resounds through your chest with a loud gong, the bottomless pit in your stomach opening up and you feel yourself free falling in the darkness. When did you become this mean?

“Right, of course. I’m sorry if I came off too overburdening,” Minho starts in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving the spot on the counter, too vulnerable to meet yours as his fingers dig into the plastic in his hands, the crinkling sound of it barely of any comfort. You think you can hear yourself breaking his heart, and even though that was what you had intended since the beginning, seeing him hurt made you feel ashamed to have been the reason for it.

“That’s not what I meant…” it’s not even an apology, but it was a weak attempt at one.

Minho says nothing, smiling at you before turning away and leaving through the door.

The door shuts behind him, the bell tinkling briefly before the sound fades away and you’re left alone in the store with your thoughts, staring at the roll of kimbap and wondering whether this had been worth it.

six.

Minho finds himself bumping into you more often than not these days.

The added cheerfulness of the people around him buzzing about the valentine’s festivities, if he dared to call it that, rubbed him all the wrong ways as he felt his resolve grow smaller day by day when he saw you in the halls or the library or laughing along with someone.

Not much has changed; you still avoid him but you don't necessarily ignore his presence in a room. You falter in your steps, blinking away when you catch his eyes, but you don’t ignore his smile across the room, acknowledging it with an awkward nod of head. It’s weird, to have to tread cautiously, but it’s Minho – the extent of your apology would only go so far as long as you had one feet dipped in a civil apology that functioned as a way to carry the load of guilt and the other feet in the conscious reminder that this was Minho – your ex and someone you could not be comfortable around yet.

Minho didn’t try to offer you any more food on his occasional trips to the convenience store which seemed to have increased to one visit per day, but you didn’t chide him for leaving a bottle of flavoured milk or a chocolate bar behind.

You both were toeing around this invisible line that you convinced yourself to consider a huge barrier, which would have been easy to blur had it not been for the constant, painful reminders of all the couples around you walking hand in hand or kissing in the hallways. It’s like someone had suddenly injected a huge amount of pheromones in the air and everybody except you was drenched in it.

Moreover, you were additionally drenched in an immeasurable number of anonymous confessions, ranging from ridiculously cheesy pickup lines to a “my honeybun <3” and to much tsundere versions of a typical bad-boy vibe you couldn’t help but grimace at; at least they tried, so A for the efforts.

As the days passed by, you kept dreading having to read some of these aloud, unsure of whether you would be able to keep the grimace out of your voice and Seungmin seemed to share the sentiment. Although, a part of you did admit this to being romantic, you didn’t stop yourself from joining Seungmin when he threw dirty glances across the table at Hyunjin, who, the hopeless romantic that he was, seemed to be cooing at almost all the letters you had received.

“Stop giving me the stink eye, you’re just jealous you don’t have a date for valentine’s,” Hyunjin never held back on his smugness when teasing Seungmin, his urge fuelled by the disgust on the latter’s face.

“I don’t think I need any more of that in my life after going through this hell,” Seungmin points accusingly at his screen where he was scrolling through the inbox full of anonymous messages.

The three of you sat in the computer lab, going through all the mail you had received and checking to make sure they were all appropriate to be read out loud on the day of, a precaution Hyunjin had insisted upon and you had found common logic in, although nothing so far had been of that nature, except the over the top cheesiness that you had tortured yourself with through the two hours you had spent. At this point you would willingly bang your head on the wall in hopes of at least having a concussion and passing out.

You are given a respite from your miseries when the door to the room opens, Minho trailing in with his bag on his shoulder and looking straight in your direction. Some respite.

Hyunjin waves him over with a smile while you slump in your seat, listening in to their conversation but not taking part in it.

“Is that the anonymous mailbox?” Minho asks, suddenly leaning forward and peering at your screen. Startled by the sudden proximity, you wheel your chair away slightly, but his hand comes to rest at the back and now you’re trapped between his frame and the desk. 

You steal a furtive glance at his face, the tip of his nose illuminated by the screen light and glowing, his eyes blinking slowly while Hyunjin rambles in the background. Averting your gaze, you find Seungmin already looking at you two, smugly leaning back in his chair and hiding a smile. You shoot him a glare.

Minho glances at you carefully, smiling at the way your eyes flicker between him and the computer before finally settling away from him. He doesn’t hear much of what Hyunjin says, painfully aware of the distance between you two and the invisible barrier you had put up that he had yet to cross over.

He was trying, really. He kept looking for a door he could knock at, a loose link or a crack in the bottom, but the more he searched the longer the wall extended, going on and on for as far as his eyes could make out. Minho was starting to convince himself that he had lost the chance he had once had, and that he would never find that door you had willingly left wide open for him.

The sudden realisation dampened his mood, the proximity getting harder to bear when he knew he could reach out and touch your face and tuck your hair and kiss you. How had he taken it all for granted back then? When he could have easily sneaked up behind you and hugged you tight, when he could have kissed you for days on end but he whined when you did, when he could have let himself be vulnerable to his feelings; time had run out for him, leaving him feeling empty and uncertain of what the future held and the moss and dirt covering the deep dark pit in his chest start to rumble and fall apart.

His bag weighs him down, the box of chocolates inside becoming heavier by the second and the churning pit in his stomach gurgling in anxiety and precariousness. He doesn’t hope to find a door now, but he does hope that the apology he leaves by the wall is gone the next time he comes. That you would consider, but he knows not to push his boundaries and he had anticipated as much that he would no longer have the free pass to a mistake he could kiss away or buy his way out with coffee.

And although it hurts, he does not regret the time he spends on it. It was always meant to be for you. He does not expect you to forgive him all at once. So he keeps looking. Until the choice is an actual decision to open the door or turn around and look for a path that will take him somewhere else.

In fact, making you chocolates and buying you breakfast did not guarantee that either, nor was he trying to weasel his way in that way, but it was a step he took because he was desperate to even prove to himself that he cared after all. Of course he cared, he can’t believe he thought otherwise.

Seemingly done examining whatever was on your screen, Minho retracts his face away but remains standing with his hand on your chair while conversing with Hyunjin. You catch the faint whiff of a sweet scent, a familiar trace of vanilla you vaguely remember having a faint recollection of, but you can’t quite place it in your memory.

Minho doesn’t stay long, only there in the first place to collect his printouts. His hand brushes against your hair gently when he leaves; you're still mulling over the sugary sweet scent, your fragmented mind unable to quite let go of it.

seven.

“Look, if you’re worried about Minho, he’s not going to be at home.” Felix assures you on the other end of the line.

“Doesn’t he only have afternoon classes today?” you counter.

The pause is enough to make your face flush, and you’re thankful the boy himself is not here to tease you about it.

“I’m going to pretend you don’t remember his schedule–”

“It was a habit, I don’t–”

“My point is, you won’t run into him so can you please, please, please do me this favour?”

You sigh and groan, slumping further down your bed if that were physically possible, your pyjama clad legs sprawled lazily across the mattress and your phone squished in between your cheek and the pillow. Felix was really making you get off your bed on your one day off of class just to run an errand that would ultimately have you go to campus. Damn him.

“It’s not him, I just don’t wanna get up,” you groaned, and it was true. You didn’t care if you bumped into Minho or not, you were far too relaxed in the comfort of your bed that even the thought of getting up exhausted you, “besides, ask Minho, he’s your roommate.”

“If only he picked up my calls! I bet you anything he’s fast asleep and can’t hear his phone ringing over his snores,”

“Minho snores?” you’re mildly curious at this new piece of information, but try not to show too much interest in it.

“Not the point ughh are you listening to me?! My prof’s gonna kill me if I don’t hand in my assignment today and it counts for twenty percent of my entire grades, I need your help!”

You were already out of bed the moment he had started his spiel once again, you knew he would just repeat what he had said all over so you put the phone on speaker and grumpily tugged on a pair of jeans, tossing the tom and jerry pyjamas with a hole in the bottom on your unmade bed and waddled to your sock drawer.

“–I promise I will buy you coffee the entire week, I swear I will but if I fail this assignment then I’m going to make sure it weighs on your conscience forever that you could have helped a friend in need but you didn’t and then he failed his class and had to repeat an entire year and probably went into depression because god forbid I was idiot signing up for advanced calculus and economics in the same semester but regardless, you failed me as a friend and–”

“Felix, if you don’t stop, I’m going to throw you down the stairs when I come over.”

“You’re coming over?!”

“Yes,” you sigh grumpily, out of your door by this time and hobbling on foot as you try to put your shoe on, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Only when you need something from me,”

“Chivalry is not dead.”

“Shut up.”

Felix doesn’t live that far away from you. It’s a fifteen minute walk from your dorm to his, twenty five if you stop in the way to pet a cat or dog, and there’s always a cat or dog, which is a sort of harsh yet not quite, reminder of memories attached to the long walks made bearable with the presence of a certain someone, which is funny because you just realised that now all of that is put in a box labelled ‘memories’ and that is certainly weird given your unfamiliarity to the sentiment and any suspicions of the same back when they weren’t memories.

You resist the innumerable sighs just tingling at the back of your throat; it’s too early for this.

It’s only when you’ve entered Felix’s apartment with the spare key in the teapot plant that you realise what you’ve walked into – a kitchen that looks like it’s gone through the seven layers of hell with an array of baking equipment scattered all over the counter. The boy himself had an apron on with splatters of batter specking the fabric. He doesn’t notice you, and he's definitely not expecting you.

“Why did you call so many– (y/n)?!”

“Uhh…hi?”

You roam your eyes at his condition, taking in his bewildered face and failing to hide your own surprise at seeing him bake for the first time.

“Felix sent me to get his project…it’s in his room, so I’ll just…” with an awkward gait you try crossing the distance across the kitchen and Felix’s room, ignoring the way Minho was now cowering. You want to laugh because you’ve never caught him so off guard and this would be an otherwise hilarious situation had you not been shocked by the domesticity of seeing him with a whisk, the scent of chocolate wafting through the air like a warm hug.

The minute you’re out of sight, Minho scrambles to his room, digging around for a decent shirt to put on, grimacing and mentally slapping himself when he looks into the mirror and sights the batter stained clothes. Why were you always catching him in his worst state these days?!

The blue folder Felix had told you about was on his desk, laying amongst a pile of clutter that ranged from rolled up balls of napkins and coffee stained sheets of rough papers. Grimacing at the mess, you pull the file out from under the pile of trash but it manages to knock over the precariously balanced advanced calculus books on his desk which fall to the ground before you can manage to save them.

With a resigned sigh, you bend to pick them up, stacking them in a smaller stack this time when your phone lights up, the caller ID you had expected to pop up but nonetheless making you roll your eyes. You pick up reluctantly.

“Did you get it, are you there yet?” the panicked baritone from the other end is slightly drowned by the chattering in the background.

“I just got it, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” you reply, picking up the final book and making your way out of the room with brisk steps.

“Fifteen?!” Felix shrieks into your ear making you flinch, “my class starts in five minutes, you have to get there by then!”

“Just wait out in the hallway, surely your prof’s not gonna kill you for being ten minutes late.”

“No, probably not but I’ll have to do that walk of shame ten minutes into the class and sit in the front seat…can’t you just run?”

“Felix I’m not running,” you retort sternly.

“I can drive you,” the new voice makes you turn around, Minho standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyes expectantly boring into yours.

“Is that Minho hyung? Great, he can drive you, I’ll see you in five minutes!”

“No, Felix–”

The beeping sound indicates that he had already hung up and you are resigned to hesitantly lower your phone from your ear and regard Minho cautiously as if you were gauging his intentions.

“It won’t take long if I just drive and Felix will probably chew your head off if we keep him waiting for too long, so let’s go,” Minho is already running a hand through his hair which is still very dishevelled while snatching his car keys from.

Quite literally, you find yourself being ushered out and into his car that you had been so accustomed to a few months ago, seemingly having no say in the matter that had been decided upon by the two roommates. You’re still in denial of the whole nostalgic sentiments resurfacing when you’re so much so close to an old habit like now, finding yourself sitting in his car as he drives you to campus. It still smells like lemon fresheners and the seats are still covered in cat hair that sticks to your jeans. You can almost hear the reminiscents of the shared laughter and kisses that had accompanied the long night drives and the coffee stain on the back seat that had remained engraved on the fabric from nights ago.

And like so many other times, your hand itches to just reach out and smoothen his tousled hair and tuck the label of his shirt under the collar and pull him in for a chaste kiss. The scent of chocolate that lingers on his clothes is overpowering, the sweetness making your throat dry up and chest constrict.

It’s suffocating, to say the least, and while it certainly weighs your chest down and numbs your mind like it so often does when it comes to rifling through these shared memories of Minho, you’re vividly aware of the said man gripping his steering wheel a little too hard. Perhaps the opportunity of doing you a favour had clouded his judgement of exactly how nervous it made him to be around you too long.

The ride is uncharacteristically silent; you grip on to the folder now in your arms like a shield in front of your chest, there to protect you from whatever it was lurking in the silence to pounce at you at any given chance and Minho bit his lips till he could taste a faint metallic tang on his tongue, swallowing the saltiness of a confrontation he was always cautious of but never knew when to expect.

And if you spend the entire day surfing through the countless websites offering advice on how to be entirely over an ex, no one had to be any wiser of it.

eight.

It’s seven days to Valentine's day, which means seven days of absolute misery for Minho and when Minho is miserable, he coops himself up in the dance studio.

As the days go by, he’s feeling less and less convinced of himself, and he fears his resolve will ultimately be reduced to a wisp of smoke in thin air, dissolving into nothingness.

For starters, he’s finding it difficult to believe that of all the goddamned people on this planet, he’s waiting to confess to you on valentine’s day, a day he had always felt bitter about to some extent. But then he falls into this vicious cycle of losing his mind over the fact that he’s going to confess to you in the first place, eventually finding himself zoning out of his daily activities as he has another mental breakdown over how exactly he was supposed to do that. How does one confess after all?

He assumes it might have been easier had you both not have already broken up and you didn't hate him – here Felix strongly interjects, stating that you, in fact, didn’t hate him, but who was to know – and how silly this all was, but he loved you.

And as he slowly let this piece of information settle, it only stirred up a gust of agitated feelings like dust in a sunny patch. He noticed how his chest squeezed at your sight, like it was trying to force it all out of his ribs, how the slightest discrepancy between his fair judgement and his elevated heart rate were always inclining towards the latter.

There is not a single seed of doubt as to what he feels about you or for you, but somewhere sitting calmly in the pile of emotions he had collected over the months, was a misplaced sense of overwhelming agitation he couldn’t help but creep up like a parasite. Leaving you boxes of chocolates on your desk and ordering you coffee felt like an immature and childish redemptive gesture, which was only reduced to a cowering dog in front of a beast when that parasite wiggled around, reaching out with its arms to move and expand.

But he missed you and he kept telling himself that. 

Neither of you had ever tread into that territory however, the one where words were exchanged with a meaningful implication, it was just there. A sense of belongingness and happiness when he was with you, but also the chain of guilt and confusion weighing him down till he could no longer take it and burst out.

The fight was huge, the confrontation had been a source of getting all the heaviness on his chest to slowly be lifted, till he realised that there are some things which are only clear when you say them out loud and even though sometimes they are better left unsaid, the hurting only lasts so long before relief settles in.

Minho thinks, had he not said anything back then, none of this would have been so messed up. If he had just kept quiet and slowly immersed himself in this new feeling, or better still talked it out without such blunt implications, time would have helped him; but then he would also have been partially lying to himself and to you.

There wasn’t another person, heck he didn’t even fall out of endearment, it just took him some time to come to the conclusion that his feelings had been there all along but when he opened his mouth, all he had implied was that he had not been in love with you, in fact, this might have all been a ruse in the first place – it was understandable that you believed he had no feelings for you in the first place.

A load of miscommunication and the insinuation of his words had hurt him, but probably not more than it affected you. You had put a whole year into this relationship, given it your all, liked him even before you started dating, all to be left high and dry with a ‘I need some time’. He sounded like an asshole even to himself. 

He had put you on the front line of his own internal dilemma, used you as an excuse to come to terms with his feelings and taken you for granted. Put in a bit of fucking around and he would be no less than a fuckboy. In fact, he didn’t deem himself worthy of your attention nor respect anymore.

While his anxiety built up, it’s basis feeding off the numerous insecurities that drowned him in it’s waves, his detachment from you grew larger and larger like a seam slowly but surely tearing apart at the edges and when finally undone, the uncertainty of where you would be in the future, whether you would be together or not, whether what he was feeling and doing for you was enough or bordering on sufficient to keep this relationship afloat. The little seed of doubt and indecisiveness had already sprouted up and begun growing like a parasite and while he never entirely got rid of it, it was starting to stir again in the pits of his stomach now.

He was now set out to face the remains of his destruction, rebuilding what he had hammered down and wrecked.

“Hyung,” a voice calls out, making him look up from the ground where he sat panting after the exertion of his dancing and thoughts.

“What are you still doing here? We’ve got class in a few…” Felix makes his way over to the sweaty boy, handing him a towel from the bench and passing one of the plastic bottles always in stock for the students, uncapping the lid to ensure the elder drank it.

“Do you think I should stop?”

“Stop what?” The confusion in Felix’s voice was clear at the abruptness of the question.

A heavy sigh fell off Minho’s lips, eyes staring blankly ahead at the mirror where he gazed at himself tiredly.

“Trying to make things right, I mean. I feel like I keep messing up… I did last time, when I thought that I was doing the right thing but it ended up being, probably the worst decision I’ve made, and talking out didn’t help. I’m not sure it’ll help this time either.”

The defeated slump of Minho’s shoulders is accentuated by the light from the half open windows, the afternoon sunlight sliding down the curve of his back and falling in a pool around him like a beacon of light, jeering at his pathetic state. His miserable foreboding was not allowing him to break out of his little cocoon of insecurities and the ultimate fear of losing you and the universe seemed to be playing its part in dramatising it with its elements.

Minho is unsure of his own actions at this point, his intentions in a muled pool of whether he was trying to reduce his guilt and doing this for his own sake or whether he wanted this for more than selfish reasons.

“Do you love them hyung?”

The question is like a sharp arrow shooting past his face, the wind whittling and ruffling his hair like a shot of breath; it almost leaves Minho breathless but alleviated from the dull slump he was in.

Felix looked on expectantly, but Minho was at a loss for words, staring back back at him with eyes that seemed hopeful of an answer from the inquirer himself. It’s like waiting patiently for someone to answer their own question if you stay silent long enough, and Minho wouldn’t mind favouring an answer that was spoon fed to him in tiny little bite sized chunks, easy to digest but what was even more convenient was that he wouldn’t have to do anything himself except chew and swallow.

He only wished that it were that easy, except of course it wasn’t and no one could feed him an answer to that. He hated Felix, for asking him something so intimate and for the further turmoil it caused him but more so because he had asked him something that deep within he knew the answer to, but as it had been the root of all causes he had stirred up, he was afraid to voice out loud, and he knew that ultimately he would have to confront that thought.

“You know what I think hyung?” Felix maintains his level tone, choosing his words carefully but never pausing in his thoughts, quite obviously unsurprised at the lack of an answer, “I think you know what you are doing and what you should be doing and also the answer to my question. You’re just too afraid to face your feelings and you think letting the guilt eat you up would make (y/n) feel better; that it would make you feel better even if just marginally. What you don’t realise is how much this is hurting you both, to see each other moping around and so upset at the other’s state.”

Minho is surprised at the words coming out of the younger’s mouth, his unexpected third person perspective a source he had not expected he would have an insight to, but all the same finding it hard to believe that you would have any mutual feeling about the same.

“I think,” Felix pauses, regarding the ground and the patches of sunlight on it with great interest, “it's time you stopped hiding behind your excuses and talked to them.”

Felix leaves after his final words, oddly feeling like he had done something monumental, leaving a befuddled Minho sitting on the floor.

There was the subtle churning in his stomach again, like he had just been told to suck up his fear of heights and jump, except this time he was almost entirely certain he wouldn’t mind the drop.

nine.

Hyunjin and Jisung were being disgusting, but they looked cute all cuddled up on your couch with their eyes barely open, scrolling through the numerous confessions you had received in the span of three more days.

You hide a smile when Jisung nuzzles his head in Hyunjin’s chest, the latter whining at having to change his position, pulling the shorter boy closer so now they were practically lying on top of each other.

“This was a bad idea,” Hyunjin says, sighing as he carefully places the laptop on your coffee table, kicking his feet out and quite literally straddling Jisung in his arms. Jisung seemed to be too tired to protest or splutter nervously at the open show of affection, readily giving in to this soft moment, yet not meeting your eyes because he could feel your teasing smile all the way across the couch.

“I don’t know why we didn’t put a limit to this, it’s like all I’ve been doing is reading confessions and they all look the same! Why didn’t you stop me (y/n)?!”

“Hey, I thought this was your idea!” you retort, chucking a cushion at him that elicits a groan from the boy, “besides, you can’t deny people’s confessions, it’s not like they’re for you.”

Hyunjin looks up when you snicker at him, “Was that a challenge? You think I haven’t had people confess to me this year?”

“Have you?” Jisung’s attention is momentarily piqued; you manage to pass the chortle you couldn’t suppress as a cough.

Hyunjin manages to soothe the boy back on his chest, patting his hair and shushing him to rest his eyes after all the squinting at the bright screens. You could almost see the hearts oozing out of his eyes as he stared at the boy on his chest now softly snoring. 

“You guys are gross by the way, all this pining is making my head hurt,” you state out, expecting Hyunjin to deny your accusation but it doesn’t come.

“I’m planning on confessing,” he simply says, his voice low and eyes droopy, fingers carding through Jisung’s hair who now looked like even a fire alarm couldn’t wake him up from his slumber.

Momentarily forgetting about your own statement, you sit up straight so suddenly, it almost makes you crick your neck, “Wait, what?”

How could Hyunjin be so calm about this all? No less, it looked like it wasn’t such a big deal to him, like he was simply validating what you said. It just felt like the most right thing to be done, as if all the clues and hints had been there all along.

“Don’t act so surprised, I’m not entirely oblivious you know? I’ve liked him for a while now, I thought you all knew?” He turns to you expectantly, but you can only gape at him in surprise.

“I mean, yeah but! What the actual fuck?!”

“Really impressed with your immaculate vocabulary, so precise, I love it~”

“Shut up, you know what I mean!”

“Actually I don’t, this was long due.”

“Wow,”

“Again with the impeccable stock of words~”

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, unable to contain the smile that was bursting out, genuinely happy for him. Your restrained squealing is what finally makes Hyunjin flush, hiding his face with one hand but his lips mirroring your smile.

“How do you plan on doing it? You’re gonna be pretty busy at the photography booth,” you questioned, abandoning your work and grabbing a cushion in your lap, leaning into conversation indulgently; you needed the break anyway.

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering between the laptop and the sleeping boy.

“No way…” the sudden implication of the entire thing hits you and you’re almost on the verge of yelling out loud, but stop yourself just in time, “did you do this entire confession thing so you could confess?!”

“No…”

“Bullshit, you sly bitch!”

“Hush, you’re gonna wake him up!”

“Aha, so you do admit it!”

“I said nothing,” Hyunjin is stubborn, but you can tell from the way his cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink and he squirms in his place, his resolve only barely being held by a thread had it not been for the Jisung who was still sound asleep, unaware of everything that was happening.

“That’s abusing your authority,” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest, but you were honestly dying to hold this as leverage over him.

“Is not! It was a legit suggestion and the planning committee all had a say in this matter!”

“Yeah, the planning committee that you head, therefore making you the final decision maker and of course you play it to your favour!”

Hyunjin groans, his will to fight you over this subdued when Jisung stirs in his sleep and he holds a breath in fear of having been heard but nope, the boy just mumbles something in his sleep and goes back to snoring.

“Hyunjin, you’re simping, stop looking at him with so much love,” you gag, your only aim in your life seemingly becoming an unstoppable drive to tease the living daylights out of your friend.

“What about you, I heard you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Hyunjin quickly defends his stance.

“Don’t change the subject, you can’t fight this.”

“What about Minho, does he know?”

Although Seungmin has been dubbed as the one who’s brutally confrontational. You think Hyunjin has an equal hold of that title in your group with his unwittingly innocent setups that make you fall in your own traps and the stupid victorious glint in his eyes after succeeding in doing so.

“Rude, you don’t have to rub my failed love life in my face, loverboy,” you pout, trying to hide the sudden pain that had spiked in your chest at the mention of the name that had recently been making turns in your head. The very image of the unexpected domesticity of Minho in the kitchen baking had strung your heart with a sharp twang of longingness.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Hyunjin sighs, repositioning himself on your couch as you’re the one left squirming in your seat now.

You know what Hyunjin means, but you would rather not talk about it. In fact, you definitely didn’t want to talk about anytime soon, when all you’ve been doing for the past few days is reading endless confessions and sappy love stories and imagining what it would have been like to be on the receiving end of one of these letters. You’ve tried, on many occasions, to discern the writing patterns and trying to figure out whether one of these could have been sent in by Minho, but of course that’s silly and he would never do something like that but you hope – you so desperately hope for something.

Hyunjin sees the look of turmoil plastered all over your face, your sad eyes and downturned lips.

“(y/n), can you say that you’re entirely over him?”

The words are quiet, but a dissonance in the near silence of the room that is broken by soft snores. You don’t trust yourself to look him in the eye and lie, because you find that you can’t tell him the truth either. The lie you’ve been feeding yourself for months now is like a fraying rope of twines coming undone the more you tug at it; Hyunjin had so easily managed to break your lie open with a few words, you wonder whether he was right after all; whether your heart had been into building this lie and keeping it intact after all.

Because it's hard to pretend not to notice Minho looking out for you and it’s much harder to ignore the burn in your chest when he smiles even though you’re mean to him. It’s kept you awake for nights, months after everything was over – months after you should have been over it all, to have forgotten and forgiven and moved on without ever looking back – but you always find yourself thinking about him; always looking back and finding his face in the crowd without searching for it, finding his little smile and tucking it carefully in a corner of your heart.

And when you’re alone, without his constant assuring presence, you lie to yourself and convince yourself that the stolen smile tickling that corner of your heart was never meant for you to keep in the first place. You lie a little more when you tell yourself that you don't care anymore.

Hyunjin is so skillfully there to bring your lies to the forefront just like how he was there to accompany you in your ice cream marathon, with a bag full of snacks and two whole boxes of tissue with a sufficient supply of some old and sappy rom-coms when you had first cried your heart out after the breakup. When you had bawled about not being good enough to be loved, but most utterly, entirely broken about it all being a lie.

So he knows what it is you’ve been feeling this entire time, maybe not calling you out on it, but definitely there to remind you that there were still so many chances of putting this right, because believe it or not, even your lies have been lying to you.

ten.

Three days to Valentine’s and you felt like the universe was playing it’s most cruel game with you, but it was also making sure that you were still in the game, no matter how weak willed or how close to the edge of giving up you were.

Keeping up with your part time job and the planning for the big valentine’s day celebration, which you had inevitably been more than engaged in given the need for extra hand, had you sitting beside Minho now, shoulders touching and peering at the poster design Hyunjin had changed his mind about in the last minute.

In fact, Hyunjin had changed his mind about a lot of things, which included making a new banner for the Sweet Treats and therefore having to come up with a new ensign for the posters, because he wanted it to complement each other. It was either you stuck having to cut out large hearts out of glittery foam for the new banner – which you had already been given word weeks ago you wouldn’t be required to, but when have men ever kept their word? – or it was brainstorming over the poster design.

And that’s how you found yourself sitting in the very corner of the computer lab, squeezed in between the wall and Minho, the only seat you had managed to grab because all the other computers were taken, working in a forced mental quietude with the rhythmic drone of the students in the background.

The obligatory drumming of your thoughts came as a result from half an hour ago, when Minho had been forced to scoot over to your side by a group of unruly seniors who were having a loud discussion about topics your brain could not comprehend. But that was okay, because it was nothing compared to the fact that Hyunjin had absolutely forgotten to mention the ‘someone’ who was going to help you out was Minho. But even that was fine,  because quite frankly, your mind is too buzzed to process anything, let alone supply valuable help to the boy beside you, who was actually doing the work, while you sat there, hyperventilating about your shoulders touching.

You’ve not been in such close proximity with Minho in a while, and while it never made you nervous in a bad way when you were in a relationship, now it made your stomach flutter and take flight whenever he leaned in close to mutter something about the shade of burgundy and his breath fanned across your ear.

You feel a shiver run down your spine when he leaned forward again, this time squinting at the text before leaning back again with a frown on his face. You pressed your lips in a smile – typical Lee Minho at work; he would stare at the same thing for hours on end till he could figure out what made it look even marginally better than the original format. It was a small habit that had always been there that you hadn’t even noticed you had taken note of in the first place, only realising that it was one of the things you had always liked about him, without even realising it.

Minho had had this way of easing himself into your life, seeping his habits and lifestyle into yours so subtly and gradually, that you had never quite gotten over the shock of not waking up to it any longer. It was like a part of you had been wiped off entirely, a hand pulled out of a glove in the freezing cold. It never sat right with you and you never got used to it.

Minho steals a glance at you, finding you staring straight ahead with the look you had when you were lost in your thoughts. He’s unsure if it’s because you don’t find his incessant stubbornness to get the perfect shade of red correct or you just weren’t feeling well. Well, you did look tired, he knows you stayed up all night sorting out the anonymous confession box thing he had briefly heard about from Hyunjin, and he knew you had a shift later in the evening at the convenience store. Maybe he should just tell you to leave? But that would make it seem like he could do the entire work all by himself and didn’t value your opinions but that wasn’t the case; if anything he wanted to be able to ask you to rest your head on his shoulder and get some shut eye but! He couldn’t do that either! Curse his fate!

“Hey,” your voice breaks his agitation, “wanna go get some coffee?”

For a moment you think you’ve stunned Minho into temporary speech loss but then you replay the past five seconds in you remind and realise that you’ve just asked Minho for coffee, which you were starting to hope he would decline and you could just leave awkwardly after that–

“Sure, let’s go.”

Minho is past the stage of caring, all he knows is that you offered to get coffee with him first and he was in no position to turn you down.

Normally, a coffee run would excite you but today the five minute walk to the cafe you frequent is no less than a nervous stride of awkwardness. Your heels ache with all the pressure you put out in walking, you change the way you breath at least nine times, every time closer to a skittish cliff in the fear of being too loud. You’re really worried about breathing too loudly; now you’ve seen it all.

Minho is no better. His stupid hands keep bumping into yours and the occasional cyclist makes him scoot closer to you but he’s too timid to walk behind you or in front of you. God, what happened to when he could pull you along in a good humoured headlock and berate you for your fifth cup of the caffeinated drink in an hour; he knows it’s not your first cup of the day, he can smell it on you. And he hates it so much, the mere thought of feeling the taste on his lips when he would kiss you, now he’s really resorting to inhaling the coffee scent so familiar to you.

His hand itches to pull you back and away from this stupid walk and away from it all where you could both start over again, but he’s quick to extinguish that thought; overindulging in sweet fantasies only made him long for you more.

He lets out a breath of relief he hadn’t realised he was holding when the cafe comes into view and you both enter.

“Oh hi, it’s you. Do you want the blueberry muffins today–”

Minho’s frantic gesturing cuts the barista off, their eyes widening when they see you come up, apparently digging around your bag for your wallet and they shut up immediately. You don’t seem to have heard the near slip up though, too invested in shovelling through your bag.

Without thinking, Minho’s hand reaches up to yours, your head snapping up at him and the frown on your brows slipping away into a surprised look.

“Just order, I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to, I just need to find my–”

“Please?” The gentle squeeze on your wrist and the soft eyes appealing to you makes it difficult to turn him down. You reluctantly agree, placing your orders and waiting to have them to go since neither of you wanted to spend too much time inside the cafe that was already adorned in red streamers, the yearly specials menu of drinks and pastries making you grimace at the chessiness with which the names had been chosen. Jesus, you’d be embarrassed to even read those out.

Minho doesn’t know how to start a conversation with you anymore, his fingers drumming nervously on the counter until your drinks are out and it was killing him to stand a few feet apart from you when all around he could see couples practically sitting on each other’s laps.

You’re both glad when you’re able to leave, Minho paying and turning a brilliant shade of red when the barista hands you a blueberry muffin wrapped in plastic with a bow on top of it, citing it to be ‘on the house’ and winking at you. He’s so busy pretending not to have anything to do with this little coincidence that he doesn’t notice you speaking. When your words register though, he wishes he hadn't heard you in the first place.

“So uhh,” you start off hesitantly, taking a small sip of your drink as Minho does the same, “I’ve got some of your stuff back in my apartment, you should come by and…take them back. Sometime, when you’re free…”

It physically pains you to speak those words out, your throat constricting and this time you make sure you’re not even trying to gauge Minho’s reaction. Had you actually looked his way, you would have noticed his clenched jaws and the flash of hurt in his eyes that he doesn’t try to mask.

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“What?”

“The coffee, you just wanted to– you know what, never mind. I’ll drop by tomorrow to get my stuff.”

Though you had expected a reaction akin to this, the sudden coldness in his voice and his stony eyes made your heart drop. You felt guilty about bringing this up and maybe you could have tried a gentler approach, but all the same, you couldn’t put this off any longer either.

Without another word, Minho stalks off with the bitter taste of his drink infusing in his tongue like a harsh slap of reality, leaving you staring at his back forlornly as it grew smaller with every step he took.

eleven.

You opened the door in a loose sweater, the sleeves engulfing your hands in sweater paws and the resolve with which Minho had purposefully rang your doorbell with, was already starting to slip away.

Minho finds it near impossible to step inside your small apartment, knowing the walls around him would bring back too many memories he had tried hard to suppress all night the day before, screaming into his pillow in frustration when they had inadvertently bobbed back up like a cork in water, stubbornly reminding him of why he had to be here in the first place.

The first thing he notices on entering is the cardboard box on the coffee table; things only get harder from there.

He’s unsure of what to do with his hands, his head feels too big for his neck and he’s constantly tumbling down an endless spiral of emotions the longer he stares at the empty spaces in your house that once used to be filled up with his trinkets. The feeling refuses to subside when he rummages through the box, picking out articles that punch him square in the chest.

“I thought you liked this hoodie,” he picks up blue coloured fabric, careful not to crease the fold.

You shrugged in response, you only liked it because it smelt like his scent.

As he keeps going through everything inside the box, he’s visibly upset at how you haven’t spared even the smallest of things; his half empty bottle of citrus bodywash, an empty diary from last year he had bought for himself out of impulse, his favourite fountain pen that had rolled under the drawer and he had never bothered to retrieve, until he stumbles upon the small velvet box he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to.

“I got this for your birthday,” his voice rose unexpectedly on opening it and finding the silver chain intactly placed inside, obviously trying hard not to lose his mind and snap at you for the wrong reasons, but how could you return this?

“Yeah well, you also told me that you loved me right after, so it kind of lost all its meaning.” the defensive tone was not intentional, but it was exactly what it was supposed to be – a front up against Minho’s own offence.

“What must I do to make you believe that it was real?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you were ready to walk away the moment he brought up the topic, leaving him to sort things out but a tug on your wrist, harsher than intended, makes you stop in your tracks.

“I want to talk about this,” Minho is comparatively calmer now, but his eyes are livid and not at you but himself. Yet, a part of him, though wary of the sense of deja vu he was having standing here in a similar predicament as when you had broken up, can’t seem to understand you at all. He acknowledges your anger and resentment, doesn’t try to question the way you avoid him at all costs but for the life of him, absolutely can’t understand why you wouldn’t talk.

“You never gave me a chance to explain anything (y/n), you just assumed the worst and refused to believe me even after I tried so hard to explain – to show you that I love you, yet it’s like you’ve built up this huge wall that you refuse to let down and for what? What are you so afraid of, is it confrontation? What is it? Tell me, because I sure as hell don’t understand why we can’t just talk about this?!”

“Oh so it’s my fault now?! This is how you truly feel, don’t you? All those stupid boxes of chocolates and paying for my coffee and those stupid fucking blueberry muffins – I don’t even like blueberry muffins, I only ate them because you liked them! – all that was just so you could feel better about yourself, wasn’t it? And now I’ve hurt your ego by returning what’s yours, so it’s my fault!”

Your voices were slowly rising with every syllable, the anger in your eyes directed at each other in furious glares and the confrontation that never truly happened finally tumbling out in more hurtful words.

“You knew about that?” Minho breathes out shortly, the grip of his fingers around your wrist loosening when your eyes tear up.

“Not until yesterday I didn’t, but you had your fun right? Bet you enjoyed every second of it,” you hate yourself for tearing up so easily, for letting his words affect you so much that it made you shrivel up and cower in fear of more. There was something about his anger that hurt you even more than before.

The venom in your voice was amiss, the way it tumbled out wrapped in hurt and vulnerability and yet again, Minho is reminded of exactly how much he had messed up, all over again.

“I didn’t do it so I could gloat at you or have fun,” he breathes out, rubbing his face tiredly, “I’m so sick of not being able to talk to you or hold you or even–” 

His words are cut short, trapped at the back of his throat and he swallows them down forcefully, heaving his chest in exertion and blinking his eyes rapidly. 

“I love you, I really do (y/n), believe me please.”

What are you even supposed to say? The same man had told you, six months into your relationship, that he had in fact not been sure of his feelings for you, immediately nullifying any meaning behind the three syllables he had so often muttered in your ears or against your lips, and now here he was saying the same thing. How were you expected to not not let this affect you?

“Stop it, I don’t believe you anymore.”

“Give me a chance,” the sniffle breaks you, ripping your insides and swallowing you in a pit of your own pity. You won’t look at him, you won’t listen to him.

Lee Minho does not love you. He will never love, and you must convince yourself of that, no matter how much your heart faltered at the decision.

“No.”

Minho nods his head at the floor, slowly putting everything inside the box again and when the final article is put away, he stands up awkwardly with it in his hands, desperately trying to search for a single ounce of hesitance in your eyes, but you refuse to look up.

“Are you sure about this?”

No, you’re not sure what you’re sure of anymore. But this feels wrong; so, so wrong and yet this guarantees you a safeguard to your feelings, a way to ensure that you don't wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Yes.”

“Okay…okay.”

The door closes behind Minho, the silence in your house echoing against the walls and you’re left standing alone again. Outside your door, Minho stands motionless, slowly letting the parasite squirming in his stomach to reach out for his heart and squeeze it till he could no longer breathe.

twelve.

If love was in the air was a literal concept, this would be it.

The halls were bursting with over buzzed students trying out the various booths that had been put up. It had taken your and Jisung’s combined efforts and reassurances to convince Hyunjin to get a breather and man his own photography booth that he had abandoned in a panicked frenzy of ensuring all the others were running smoothly, leaving poor Jisung to fend off by himself.

The halls were entirely decked with pink and red streamers with posters pointing towards various booths put up along with balloons. The quadrant was set up with kiosks and food stalls, lovely flower arrangements lining up the perimeter, and glitter! There was so much glitter everywhere, most of the planning committee that had been directly involved in dealing with it still had specks of it in their hair, and though they gave Hyunjin the stank eye once in a while, anybody could tell they were proud of their hard work and happy about it too. Hyunjin had really gone all out, you doubted he had spared a single penny of their budget from going into this.

As for you, you were mostly in the announcement room helping with the setup and ensuring all the PA systems were connected to the hallways and running. It temporarily helped in taking your mind off things because boy was your mind buzzing with countless thoughts.

It had been only two days – two days since you turned down Minho, two days since you stopped receiving handmade chocolates and pre-ordered coffee, two days of classes without Minho, two days of nervously holding your breath in every class you shared with him for him to turn up, only to find out that the boy had seemingly disappeared the face of the earth.

Two days of Minho not being anywhere near you and you felt like you had committed the greatest crime in the universe.

Trying to talk to Felix had been futile; he had been in and out of classes in a fretful scurry, mumbling about the humongous amount of baking that had to be done for the D-day and all he could supply you with was a non-committal excuse about being busy.

In short, you hadn’t seen nor heard nor heard of Minho in the past forty eight hours, and now you were worried. Funny how the tables had turned, but oh well, irony doesn’t leave anyone unattended.

So far you had managed to pass off the gurgling pit of of anxiety reflected on your face as nerves about talking into the PA; Hyunjin had been to caught up in his worries and accepted the explanation, but it was a hard pass against Felix who you were currently standing across the booth from, trying to divert his attention with compliments about his cookies.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he deadpans, your eyes blinking at him innocently as you chew on the delicacy. You had about half an hour to report to the broadcasting room, so you were whiling away your time trying to pry whatever information you could about Minho from his roommate, stealthily disguising it under a veil of compliments. It wasn’t working.

“I know something happened between you, you don’t have to pretend (y/n),” he rolls his eyes before turning to a customer with a smile and attending to them. The duality, you do not deserve such slander. But you do decide to drop with the pretence.

“I just want to know if he’s fine, okay? I think I…I was too harsh.”

This was true, but also very embarrassing to admit. It was like one of those moments in life where you say or do something and the immediate train of regret hits you with full force, derailing you from your own resolution and dumping your limp body in a sea of embarrassment and strong desire to turn back time.

Having second thoughts was sadly a part of this whole ordeal, the deal sealed off with a nice pinch of passionate frustration and a confused temperament. Yet, you do not find yourself willing to stand up to the challenge of facing and amending the distress you were left reeling with.

There was a lot you had to admit, the heaviness of your pent up feelings weighing you down but you didn’t know how to say it out loud.

“Listen,” Felix’s attention is on you again, but not for long as more people approach him, “I don’t know what’s going on between you guys, but even a five year old can tell that there’s definitely something between you guys. Now I know I’ve never been in a relationship and definitely have no concept of timely damage control, but if you want to make things right, do it now. I don’t want to graduate from this hellhole watching two of my friends become strangers. It doesn’t matter if you don’t get back together, but you can’t let yourselves be ripped apart like this, okay?”

“I know you both love each other,” his words spread like a warm fire through you, “but you’re both idiots who won’t admit it.” Wrong, Minho did admit it, you were just too scared to let him have a part of your heart again after the first time. This was on you, and it was starting to feel scary to bear such a burden.

“And if you tell me that a month from now, you can walk past each other in the hall as if nothing had happened like there was no history between you two, I might believe you. But if you tell me that you didn’t regret doing this in the future, I will laugh in your face, because damn you would have to be convincing to lie like that.”

Stunned, you can only nod at him meekly, gulping down the bitter taste at the back of your throat at the mention of becoming estranged with someone you loved so dearly. 

“Don’t do this…this wallowing in self pity and pretending to be okay when you both know it’s far from that, just go talk to each other.”

Felix finishes with a pat on your shoulder and a gentle squeeze before leaving you to walk away with heavy steps and a strong desire to dash to the nearest washroom to force those tears back.

You realise that the first step had been to confess the very fact – Minho was someone you loved. The thought of graduating and leaving this place without him by your side was daunting. He had been half of the reasons this place had been bearable. Beyond the four walls with a projector overhead, and a professor droning about something you were too distracted to register, he had always been there to pass notes to you with silly doodles or sent you cat memes to while the time or scratched out wobbly stars in the corner of your notebooks. The little things that you had stored as memories were resurfacing and the heavy realisation of your endearing affection for them was settling in.

Everything suddenly felt overwhelming; your thoughts were tangled in a numb mess making your head throb with a dull thud. The beautiful decorations around you were a blur of red, the loud buzzing of excited people, a drone in your ears.

Love was in the air, but you were out of breath, suffocating as the voices inside your head drowned you out from the world.

thirteen.

You and Seungmin had done about a fifty confessions in three hours, all with a periodic music break where Changbin and Chan would take over, belting out beats and occasionally promoting their band. You were sure Hyunjin wouldn't mind, especially not when it was 3racha in question; the entire campus was in love with the trio.

Hyunjin had burst into the room during one such song break, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling – literally twinkling in happiness – and spluttered out in an excited mess about how he had seen at least a dozen people ask each other out after the confessions were read out.

“Only a dozen? We’ve read about fifty of these…” Seungmin said monotonously, but Hyunjin was seemingly unfettered with the less than enthusiastic reaction.

“I’ve seen a dozen, but who knows how many more are out there? Cheer up Seungmin, I’ll get you a coffee – in fact, I’ll get you all a snack, my treat for working so hard!”

Well, someone was definitely in a good mood, and neither of you were going to turn down the offer of free food and drinks. Besides, you did kind of deserve it after all.

Aside from one bathroom break, you had stayed inside the broadcasting room for most part of the day, volunteering to stay back when the crew wanted to go out and enjoy for a while. Oh and, you had also messaged Felix every half an hour, inquiring whether Minho had come to the fest and every time he had responded with a variation of ‘not yet’ and ‘I haven’t seen him yet’. There might have been a reason you were trying not to leave this room yet.

The rational part of you agreed that calling the man in question would yield better results, but the emotional part of you decided against it if you didn’t want to freeze up at the sound of his voice and burst into tears in the middle of a sappy confession.

Speaking of confessions, it was your turn for another one and it seemed awfully familiar the moment you read out the name. Seungmin gestures at you just as Chan drowns out the last notes of the current song playing and signals for you to start.

“That was ‘On Track’, produced by none other than our favourite trio, 3racha! And now it’s time for another lovely confession! This one’s from loverboy20,” you smile, knowing only too well who this was, slightly excited at how this was going to turn out since you don’t remember reading this before, “to the guy who’s been on his mind since freshman year.”

“Hi, it’s loverboy20 here and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this but heck, if I don’t do this now, I’ll never get down to it and then I’m going to regret my entire life about not asking out the cute guy I’ve had a crush on for ages and…I’m rambling now.

I would go back and type this out all over again, but you need to know exactly how hard this is for me and I’ve already been staring at my screen for an hour, unsure of what to type because I have no idea what to say or how to go about this but forgive me, I hope you won’t hate me entirely once this is over.

I saw you first in the freshman orientation and thought you were kinda cute with your flannel shirt and beanie. You looked like the cool kid with your guitar, sitting in the row in front of me and putting in your headphones. I don’t think anyone noticed but me – they weren’t even connected to your phone. It was cute, you were I mean…you still are.

And then I met you in the talent show where we got paired up for the impromptu segment and we had this huge fight about rapping better and dancing better and…long story short, the crush I had on you was slowly starting to feel questionable. But! But then just as I was starting to get over it, you go ahead and do something stupidly cute like paying for my americano because I didn’t have money on me and saving me from embarrassing myself. I think we started hitting it off from there and then…well, it just happened. Like…I started falling for you more and then one day it was like getting hit by a train full of those feelings. I mean, you were right there in front of me in your flannel shirt again and I just suddenly felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

This is…oh my god, this is so embarrassing, I’m basically rambling about how you made me fall for you oh my god…anyway…it just felt right.

Being with you, spending even the passing moments between hectic classes just getting coffee or sailing up late to talk to you while you worked; it made me happy and I want to keep doing it. I like you, a lot. You make me so happy and I have to physically stop my heart from leaping out when you’re around and can you please not hold my hands without a warning, it makes me nervous…no actually, you can hold my hand if you want to. If you want to, if you don’t hate me already. I’m just shooting my shot, you probably don’t like me and I might never be able to face you again after this, but yeah…okay.

If you don’t already know, this is for you, Han Jisung. My confession probably sucked, I can’t write beautiful words like you do or belt out a song like you but I really, really like you. That’s that then. This is loverboy20, and if you plan on getting back to me, I’ll be working with you in the photography booth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Hyunjin had really done it. Changbin had positively squealed after the confession, hitting Chan in the chest and pretending to cry; you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had actually cried. Seungmin had also been smiling, unable to stop the surprised chuckle when he heard Jisung’s name. Chan just looked like a proud dad sending his kids off to school for the first time.

Something about this spiel had broken you though.

It felt right…

That’s what Hyunjin said. It felt right when he was with Jisung and it made him happy. And knowing Jiusng’s side of the story, his mutual feelings for him which no doubt would be finally conveyed now, they had both ultimately worked it out through their differences and fallen for each other right?

The phrase bugged you. It stuck to you like leech, sucking on your mind incessantly until you realised what it was. But of course, that’s exactly how you always felt with Minho. It had felt so right, just like the night Hyunjin had first told you, like this was meant to be and the feeling is so oddly familiar, it drowns you in it’s simplicity like a warm hug comforting you after a gruesome fight of heart over mind and you realise that wearing your heart on your sleeves was worth it if it was Minho.

It was Minho all along; you would always go back to him because you know – and the enormity of the realisation settles in with a relief – that he’s loved you since the beginning. He  had taken time getting there, maybe he had never realised or indeed never had feelings for you romantically, but he had been there as your friend always. He was there with warm soup when you were sick, with his childish berating when you pulled one too many all-nighters, there with an umbrella when you were stuck without one on campus, there to kiss you goodnight after every date.

Minho waited till he was entirely sure of his feelings for you, because in the end he was afraid of hurting you. And even then he only spoke the truth; all he wanted was your trust and time. You trust his feelings, he’s never meant to harm you before nor now. You just forgot to trust the process and the time it took for him to get there and it ashames you now. 

You didn’t cry all those weeks after the breakup because you had found it hard to accept that he hadn’t loved you just as much as you did. You had cried because you knew he did, for he had trusted you enough to tell you that, but he hadn’t found it in himself to let you down in fear of losing you. And wasn’t that what both of you had been afraid of? Treading around each other like you were walking on a floor made of glass, the inevitable fear of stepping too hard and losing each other in the midst of the million shards you would tumble down with.

There was a way – a final chance – to put this right.

What you were about to do would probably haunt you for life if it all went wrong but you loved him. You love him. You know this.  And that’s where you’ll start – by accepting it. 

fourteen.

Minho can’t fathom why he’s here. He should be anywhere but here, feeling swaddled by all the couples and the cute couple games and the over-the-top decorations.

He hates it all and he hates your voice over the speaker right now, reading out Hyunjin’s confession. He was there in person to witness Hyunjin growing redder by the second and Jisung’s brain trying to process everything. Cute, disgustingly cute. That could have been you and him.

He spots Felix’s booth in the midst of all the chaos, the boy himself looking flushed as he was constantly on the run. Word had spread about his bake sale, and people had started flocking to his booth, leaving him hassled as he was a one man army. He didn’t notice Minho till he walked right up to the front and slipped inside his stall.

“Hyung, I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hey Lix, you look busy,” Minho states, observing from behind as he collects cash and gives out wrapped cookies and brownies, thanking every customer with a bright smile. A few students may have simpered over his boyish charms, but Felix was too busy to notice, failing to notice their obvious flirting. Minho has to hide a laugh as they walk away disappointed with cookies in their hands.

When the crowd dwindles a little, Minho could make out Seungmin’s voice on the speakers now, no doubt swapping with you after five consecutive readings. He finally gets a chance to strike up a conversation with his roommate.

“Business looks prosperous,”

Felix smirks back at him, pocketing the cash he had received before saying, “Yeah, the crowd's pretty good. Some people even came back for seconds, they love this stuff!”

“Of course they do, you’re good at it,” Minho shrugs off-handedly, but Felix could sense the genuine praise underneath.

“Hey hyung, can you do me a favour? I’ve got two cartons of this stuff in my car in the parking lot, can you bring me one? Can’t really leave the booth empty.”

Minho didn’t mind helping out, he anyway didn’t have much to do around here and he had only come because Felix had pestered him to get out of the house and stop sulking all weekend. Granted, the first thing he had heard was your voice reading out a confession like it was your own, he hadn't turned around and sprinted right away like he had thought he would have.

Felix hands him his car keys and off he goes to the parking lot, where there’s a relatively smaller number of people. It takes him a while to search for the car, all the while walking further away from the building, seungmin’s voice a faint noise in the back, and finally finds the familiar blue one parked right in the back.

Carefully taking out one of the boxes, he marvels at its weight and can only assume it’s loaded to the brim. If any of this manages to get saved, Minho has a feeling he knows what the 3 AM snack for the entire next month is going to be. Sometimes, he marvels at the younger boy and the amount of baking he can get done in a matter of a few hours.

As he’s walking back, he registers your voice which was on again on the speakers, growing louder the minute he got closer to the building. He tries his best to ignore the knot in his stomach but stops when he hears your next words.

“The next confession is to an ex, from… anonymous.”

There’s a pause on your end, but Minho is starting to anticipate this one. The word ex resounds loudly inside his head, his chest constricting when he hears the way you say it. It was as if you were taking this to heart when it wasn’t even your confession.

“Hi…I hope you’ve been doing well, I kind of miss you…maybe more than just “kind of”...

I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now, it seems crazy; I feel crazy doing this, but honestly? Screw it, I don’t think I can lie to myself anymore. I know I was trying to save face and keep my distance but a part of me was desperately trying to protect my feelings and yours.

I don’t think you’re here right now, I hope you’re not. Or maybe you are, in which case, good. But not really. This is hard…I don’t have this written out and I can’t do this extempore, but you’re not here, so it’s okay. Are you here though? It doesn’t matter…”

Minho is completely frozen to his spot. He was hoping for too much, but even with your face hidden, he could hear the panic in your voice. Why were you panicked?

“I know I acted like an ass, I know I messed up too but I realised that I couldn’t force you to feel the same way as I did. Maybe you needed more time, and perhaps I should have been willing to give you more of that.

I know we made mistakes – both of us – and I’m scared that this might be the end of everything, but I thought about it for so long and I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to give you more time when you needed it, I should’ve never expected you to fall in love with me all at once; I forgot we all have different paces and different ways of loving.

You said you didn’t love me; maybe I’m being delusional and hopeful when I say this, but I think you did…love me. Maybe not all at once, but it was there – you were there – in bits and pieces; in the way you picked up blueberry muffins on Wednesdays because you knew I didn’t have time for breakfast, in the way you got annoyed at having to pick up coffee for me but you did it anyway, in the way you sat all night looking up my favourite shows so we could enjoy it together, in the way you added peas to my scrambled eggs because I liked it that way.

I noticed it all, but somehow I…I overlooked it. I took it for granted, getting mad at you because you didn’t or couldn’t say those three words back at me because all I wanted was for you to love me as much as I loved you…as much as I still love you. But you did,and you cared so much for me, and I failed to see it. And that makes me feel shitty, but I deserve it.

I want you to know that I still love you, I do. So stop giving me boxes of my favourite chocolates and paying for my coffee and let’s talk this out. I promise, I’ll listen better this time, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes for you to reach out. I promise I won’t rush you, and if you still never feel the same as I do, I promise I’ll not hold you accountable for it.

So Lee Minho, if you’re out there and listening to this…I miss you, so much. And I love you, and won’t ever stop loving you. But let’s talk this out, as adults, and whatever happens, I’ll accept it with grace. I owe you that, so, yeah…”

There’s a pause not many notice due to the chaos, but for those who were listening, they pick up on the abrupt music that starts playing. Minho is one of them, but he doesn’t register the slip up because he can’t, in all honesty, think of anything right now.

He was left reeling in his spot, unable to move his feet from where they were planted on the ground. Lee Minho, that was his name – you said his name. This was your confession. Fuck. 

It was hard to ignore the stare at your back and the bated breath with which everybody had been listening to your ramble, but it’s even harder to ignore the rapid beating of your chest, the only sound now drumming in your ears obnoxiously.

Before you know it, your feet are moving of their own accord. You’re pushing yourself up from the chair, ignoring the cramp that had settled after sitting for more than an hour in the same place and in a split second you’re out the door and running nowhere in particular. Nobody stops you, and even if they tried, they doubted they would be able to.

It almost looked like Felix had been expecting you. He definitely looked surprised when you panted to a stop in front of him, ignoring the weird stares you received, only two syllables coming out of your mouth, “Where’s Minho?”

“He’s in the parking lot.”

That’s it. That’s all you need before you’re running again, slithering through the crowd and wheezing when you finally reach the parking lot. He was here. Minho was here, in the parking lot, on campus and he probably heard your confession. He hates you now, he definitely hates you and the sudden realisation that he heard your confession almost makes you want to tear the world apart in embarrassment. But you couldn’t turn back now.

You were too far down this hole to climb back up any time soon and you were going to see the end of it.

fifteen.

When you had imagined this happening, you had been less daunted by the prospect. Additionally, you also had the safety of these thoughts being in your head and never in real life.

In short, you felt like shitting your pants.

Minho was not saying anything. In fact, after pulling you into one of the lecture halls inside the building the best he could with a heavy box of cookies he was least worried about for now, he hadn’t done much except quietly lean back on the desk, waiting for you to speak while you sat in front of him on one of the benches. This was nerve wracking, the unpredictability of the situation and the long foreboding silence that you had both been sitting in. you had both been riveted by a small patch of dust, swirling around in a small typhoon in a sunny corner of the room, watching the silent chaos quietly.

The room feels too big without the presence of students filling it, you’ve never noticed it before, with its large windows and the sun streaming in like golden ribbons, exactly how much silence it can hold within its four walls.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“About earlier, I don’t know why I did that. I thought you weren’t going to be there, I mean not that it’s bad you heard but–”

“Did you mean it?” Minho cuts you off, but he sounds wary, cautious of where he treads because the trepidation that comes along with a feeling of things coming to an end blankets the two of you heavily.

“Which part?” your voice is reduced to a whisper, your thoughts too loud and overpowering.

“All of it…do you love me?”

This was easier done on the speaker and spoken into a mic. Now you’re too aware of Minho’s gaze staring you down and the sound of his shifting feet on the ground; your head is held low where your own eyes fixate on the ground till you see the tip of his shoes come into view and the telltale presence of a person close to you.

“My inadequacy to love you was never your fault (y/n), I swear I have loved you for ages but I didn’t want to lose you with my incapability of being sufficient.” Minho had to bare his all for this, in a mutual attempt to right the wrong and speak the unspoken, even if it made him want to dig a hole and bury himself under for eternity.

“I know Minho, I know. I’m sorry for not being able to recognise that sooner.”

“But I want to be with you, and for that I was most certain I didn’t want to lie about anything.”

“So you said you never loved me?”

“I never meant that. You know I’m an idiot, you know I suck with words and I would rather you hated me for it than have to speak out my feelings. All of those cruel things I said, all that shouting, every waking moment I wish I could take it all back. But I’m such a fool for you (y/n), I hate what you do to me.”

“You were never insufficient, and you certainly weren’t in the wrong to tell me the truth. I was just too hurt and blinded by the people around me bent on making me believe that you didn’t love me enough…when you said it out loud, I lost it.”

“I should have never made you feel like you were any less loved than others.”

“It was never your fault, it was simply a question of time.”

“I’m such an idiot…”

It came without a preamble and so suddenly, it made you want to joke about it. Minho was anything but an idiot, only too aware of his feelings and deeply connected to them that he had felt guilty for lying about it to you.

“I know you’re an idiot Minho,” a light laughter leaves your lips, your chest gradually starting to feel lighter the more Minho talked, ignoring the fluttering in your heart.

“Is my misery funny to you?”

“No, but your blabbering is,”

“Don’t laugh, please. I feel like a fool and you’re the one who just poured their heart out in front of hundreds of people.”

“Yes, I suppose idiocy seeps into you when one’s around you for too long.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“So, is this it?”

“It is if you want it to be.”

“I just thought this would be a lot more serious. And you might cry, not that I want you to cry but I thought I would make you cry again…not that I wanted to.”

“We’ve both bared too much already Min,” Minho feels like the sun itself had bloomed inside him, the warmth of his name tumbling through your lips like sweetened honey spread through him like wildfire, “I wouldn’t have wanted this to go any other way.”

And it’s true. When you walked into this classroom, you were ready to accept whatever it was that was to befall without any complaints. Regrets, perhaps, but if your heart was to be broken when you left this room, you were prepared for it. It made this talk so much easier when it didn’t end up with a promise of tears.

You came here with an intent and it was to do your best so you didn’t lose someone you loved dearly, no matter the price.

A long silence ensues. You can hear the tunes of a soft song floating through the speakers outside, almost as if Chan had planned it for the right moment. 

Minho leans down and holds your face in his hands, closing the gap between you gently before kissing you. God, you had missed this. You had forgotten how gentle Minho could be when it came to you, how he kissed you softly but firmly, slowly prying your lips open till you were completely drowning in him.

Bringing your hands up, you gently pry yourself apart from him, feeling yourself melt when you notice the panic in his eyes. The parasite inside him starts wiggling again, had you not wanted this?

“It’s okay, I just want you to know that you don’t have to rush this. I’ll be here for you always, I promise.”

Minho feels the parasite inside him slowly withering with every word you speak and every soft stroke of your thumb across his cheek.

“I already know I love you.”

“So you won’t run away?”

“I promise I won’t. And I’ll make it up to you for eternity.”

“That’s cheesy,” your heart does miss a beat.

“I know. I’m going to regret this later.”

“Must be all the love in the air.”

“Must be…”

A cheesy verse about a boy serenading the love of his life breaks out in a tender melody, but you’re both kissing again, never rushing into the feeling of it, just quietly drowning in each other.

“You know, an eternity is a long time,” you say, breaking apart for air again and pressing one long kiss on his lips, “are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I don’t think it would be that bad.”

For the first time in months, Minho finally feels himself liberated from that tight knot in his chest and the parasite that once resided there, nowhere in sight. His insides glow warm under your touch and his overwired mind is finally calm and bereft of muddled thoughts.

The shadows shift and the dust in the corner of the room finally dies down, settling on the ground gently. 

The immense longing of your hearts finally reach out for each other, intertwining each other in a warm hug that comforts the turbulent melancholy within and the loneliness starts to fade away.

An eternity wouldn’t be that bad after all.

[scrimblo-soab]

BRO WHY DO THEY KEEP MAKING HICCUP LESS PATHETIC IN EACH PIECE OF MEDIA HES IN.

If anyone read the books, they knows he’s supposed to be the most pathetic, kicked dog, soaking wet cat guy ever. Then they made him in the movies, and sure in the first movie he’s kinda pathetic, BUT IN THE FOLLOWING MOVIES HES LESS PATHETIC AND KINDA HOT??? LIKE STOP BRING BACK MY SAD LITTLE MAN.

And then in the live action(either going to suck or be ok) HE DOESNT LOOK PATHETIC AT ALL. HE LOOKS LIKE RTTE HICCUP WHO ISNT PATHETIC IN THE SLIGHTEST.

BRING BACK PATHETIC MEN PLEASE BRING BACK MY USELESS LITTLE TWELVE YEAR OLD NERD WHO CAN SPEAK TO DRAGONS NOT THIS FLYING GUY WHOS ACTUALLY COOL FOR THE LOVE LF GOD.

[blurredcolour]

so we know that Brady has an accidental edging era…..what does the intentional edging era look like haha?? Your thoughts??

Goodness gracious nonny, the squeal I squelpt at this concept

Absolutely explicit (and wordy) answer beneath the cut, 18+ only

So once our darling Johnny gets control of his faculties I see this man as a giver

See my numerous head cannons referring to his love language as acts of service

This service to you comes in the form of seemingly endless orgasms before he permits himself to finish

And to be honest, while he was present with you during the accidental edging era, he was trying to focus on a lot of things…on not doing certain things, and so the effect his stops and starts had on you escaped his notice

He’s not going to learn of it until you tell him and while you’re an enthusiastic, passionate bed partner it’s not really a topic of conversation in your household?

At least in the early days of your marriage

I feel like it would come up incidentally - perhaps after you’ve had your first child, put them down for the night, and have just fallen into one another’s arms

And he’s already pulled one orgasm from you with his talented mouth, sinking into you eagerly with his aching cock when he thinks he hears the baby stirring

His hips still and the moan that bubbles up from your throat is pure pathetic petulance

His attention is snapping back to you, eyebrow cocked dangerously

“What was that sweetheart?”

Shudder and buck your hips up against him needily “drives me crazy when you stop…”

His hands are gripping your hips to pin them against the mattress, holding them still as he smirks “that so…”

Can’t help but pout, flexing your muscles around him “mmm just want you, Johnny”

And he could never deny you but now, now that he’s certain the baby is still sleeping and he has a new method of driving you crazy? He wants to play

So he resumes his thrusts, revelling in the noises of delight this pulls from you, feeling the telltale tightness of your cunt, hearing that specific tenor of your whimper that signals your impending climax and he suddenly eases off

The sound of protest you make is striking, akin to the yowl of a cat in heat, briefly making him doubt this plan, but the trembling through your limbs, the goose flesh rippling across your abdomen as it jumps erratically eggs him on

Something whispers to him that this very well could result in something great

And so he goes on, cooing and placating with tender kisses as he drives you to the precipice a further two times before holding you back

It’s when tears of need begin to leak from the corners of your eyes and you’re begging, nigh nonsensically, to cum, that he plants his forearms on either side of your head, not letting up as you begin to praise his name like some kind of saint, making him twitch inside you

“Let go, sweetheart” he murmurs against your ear, gasping as your body collides with his in the throes of your release, a remarkably damp sensation soaking his cock and balls before he bucks hard, joining you in orgasm

Your bodies are sweat soaked, but it still doesn’t explain the tremendous wet stain on the sheets, the slick all over both your thighs as he rolls to the side

And his lopsided grin of pride is both a threat and a promise that he’ll be doing that again

[good-beanswrites]

THE MIKOTO FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS FIC WAS SO SILLY thats literally how i discovered you, never seen a better fic on my dash..... is there any way you could write something similar where fuuta gets water poured on him like a wet cat. now that i know the prisoners will go to ungoldy lengths to cure their boredome i need more content

LMAO thank you so much!! I so glad you liked it -- and I can assure you I would love nothing more than to pour a bucket of water on everyone's saddest wettest cat -- thank you for the request! 😂

“Everyone knows the greatest way to combat boredom is psychological warfare.” 

Yuno said it very matter-of-fact. Fuuta nodded in agreement.

Es was left to stare blankly at the two prisoners summed before them. “Is that supposed to explain why my panopticon floor is soaked, or why Fuuta is dripping water all over my office…?”

“It started a few weeks ago,” Yuno added, as if that would help.

“What started a few weeks ago?”

Fuuta shrugged. “Like she said. We got bored.”

“You got… bored.”

At last, Yuno explained. It didn’t take long, she told them, for the usual methods of entertainment to lose their charm. Conversations and games could only hold them over for so long. As soon as they lost interest in those things, she knew it was time to give the mental torture route a try. 

“Of course,” Es deadpanned.

“Of course!”

She was an expert at pranks, and from very early on she was able to see that Fuuta would be the perfect nemesis.

You see, everyone else took some time to figure out. She realized Mikoto took the fastest showers and used the most products, so it was easy to swap out one of his bottles just before a rapid wash. His hair was pink for two glorious weeks. She saw that Shidou was as organized as he was independent, so once she started moving and hiding his possessions, it took a long time of searching around in silent, stubborn confusion before he finally caught on. She noticed Muu was particular enough about the way she took her coffee that it only took one tiny tampering and a huge sip was spit directly into Haruka’s face. 

But Fuuta? Oh, Fuuta. There wasn't anything to figure out. He was like Mahiru in that way – what you see is what you get. He was unlike Mahiru in other ways – no one would ever dream of pranking her so often. But Fuuta could walk into a joke like no other. His reactions were just as big and outrageous every time. He was practically asking Yuno to prank him. And when had she ever refused a man?

“Hey!” Fuuta’s ears had gone bright red. “It’s not like I’m some pathetic loser!” He stuck his chin up. “I fought back just fine, don’t you worry.”

(That was, in fact, exactly what Es had been worried about.)

Both he and Yuno found themselves on the receiving end of some scares and fake bugs. They both had to struggle through a mouthful of something disgusting at one time or another. Important possessions went missing right at the very worst time. It was awful, they said. It was infuriating. Unbearable. So, naturally, they kept going. 

Which brought them to today’s stunt. With a little boost from Mikoto to get everything in place, and a captive audience gathered in the panopticon, Yuno pulled it off easily. 

They all peered around the corner at cell 003. Loud snoring echoed from inside, despite the late hour of the morning; Fuuta was the heaviest sleeper of the bunch. Yuno checked that everyone was in place. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Fuuta!” She called urgently. “Come quick! Get dressed, it's Es!” There was clattering around within the cell. It took everything in her to hold in a giggle as she added, “hurry!!” 

The bars swung open, tipping the carefully placed bucket of water above. 

Yuno bid Es to picture the beauty of the moment: the ice-cold water falling in a perfect, glimmering arc as it hit its target with a wonderful splat.

Fuuta froze in the entryway. He was missing a shoe. The half of his uniform he’d managed to get on wasn’t even fastened correctly. It, and the pajamas underneath, were entirely soaked through. His hair clung to his face, darkened and dripping. He swept it aside to reveal, in place of his characteristic fierce gaze, the saddest, most bleary eyes the prisoners had ever seen. His mouth gaped open in confusion. He shivered, flinging little droplets into the massive puddle below.

“I should have requested a camera…” she mused. His grogginess had worn off quickly, but there still existed a single moment where she could have snapped the funniest photo in existence. 

“Fuck off, it wasn’t that funny,” Fuuta clarified.

“Oh, it really was,” Yuno assured them.

Es delivered their scolding. They said this behavior was immature. They would not stand for nonsense like this in their prison. All further pranks and practical jokes were strictly banned. After dismissing the pair, they crossed their arms. 

Damn, they wish they could’ve been there…

[danganronpa96]

who is your most favorite and least favorite character in dr 69 and dr 96 and why? And when we will see deadly life for ch. 5?

I'm going to answer this one now for the time-sensitive question becoming completely null and void very soon. Chapter 5 Deadly life will be posted tomorrow! If you want time specifics, we aim to have it out around 9PM GMT (that went for the daily, and hopefully will go for the trial as well).

Now, for the first question. I'd say my favourite character in DR69 has to be Miku, but Teto comes a close second to the point both are basically on the same pedestal lol. Look I'm a big vocaloid head, and I'm still very not so normal for MM!Miku sometimes

My least favourite, which is probably obvious to some, is Peter. I don't like le Family Man, and while I can appreciate his character in the early seasons, there's not much else positive I can say about that fella (still it was fun writing some of his jokes in the fic)

For DR96, my favourite is Hayasaka. Why? Maybe this image will help you:

But apply this to almost 3 years because that pathetic silly rabbit soaking wet cat of a man hasn't left my head and I hate it (affectionate)

Least favourite, however? Now that's a little hard since I do like everyone in this cast. Still, I guess I'll have to go for Walter? As in, I like everyone a little more than I do him. He's still funne though. But also he's a fucked up bastard in BreBa and no he isn't a sigma he's literally just some guy (who built a meth empire)

[peiskos-and-apricity]

A Babygirl is an ungenderable form of sexy. It doesn't matter how they present. Usually has some massive flaw and/or fucked up past.

A Sexyman is either middle-aged or older, an inhuman creature of some kind, or a generic fucking dude. Everyone wants to fuck them.

A Little Meow Meow is just a pathetic little man. Doomed by a narrative, fighting for a hopeless and/or horrible cause. A true wet cat. Just the most soaked peice of paper you've ever seen.

All of these in mind may I present you

THE SEXIEST MOST LITTLE MEOW MEOW OF A BABY GIRL