#that whole “how can i help u feel yellow?” I WROTE IT ON THE DAY I POSTED KDJDBD I'M SO glad i added it i think it makes everything tie back

[astraystayyh]

I LOVE YOUU I've reread this four times already, thank youuuu u already know how much your reblogs mean to me :,))

Invisible thread

pairing : minho x reader

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

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

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

word count : 20k

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

You have always been first in your class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"I have an idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

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

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

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

"And right now, how do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

"I do too."

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

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

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

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

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

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

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

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

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

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

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

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

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

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

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

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

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

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

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

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

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

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

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

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

"What's there to miss?"

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

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

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

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

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

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

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

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

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

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll ask her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only tell my friends."

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

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

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

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"You'll catch a cold."

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

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

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

"Yn, I don’t-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something friends think about, right? 

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

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

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

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

"I’ll still cut it."

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

He didn't cut his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

2 months later

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

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

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

"What are you doing?"

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

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that you look scary."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

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

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

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

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

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

"I will." 

"Okay." 

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

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

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

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

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deleted your number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yn-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, let me make it better." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It will take time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

[bogusbyron]

Show notes from my double show day on 8th august 2024. 2nd show was largely very similar so any extra notes i took on that show are added onto the emds of the relevant scenes. Enjoy!!!

(Ignore the amount of times i mention jordan)

1) Stew snapping the book shut in the prologue real sharp will always make me giggle

2) fun little stolen time pause before stew delivers "do not forget me", makes it short and snappy (SHOW 2: stew threw the yellow slip so jvj would have to go collect it.)

3) valvert stare-down before javert's exit. Okay

4)  at this point i wrote "can't find harry. Worried" because i was scanning the ensemble for harry lake and he WASNT THERE mad as hell

5) verry good low note on "dirt beaneath" in the prologue .. milan❤ (SHOW 2: in that little bit when he steals the coin from the child they messed that the hell up girl you caught jackshit)

6) understudy bishop! Every other time ive been it was Adam Pearce . I think i prefer him but the u/s had a really nice rich voicr which i fw , not quite as deep as adam but i liked him. He was a lot more stern & firm as bishop, with bits like "remember this"  and "passion" being quite harsh.

7) valjean wincing when the bishop helps him stand (SHOW 2: when talking to the policeman after the robbery, valjean shakes his head at the bishop who then nods back at him. Heartbreakinf ohmy gyat)

8) "my life was a war" line being half-spoken, in a very distressed manner... quite liked that. Also he sobbed a bit after "allow this man" which got me in the feels.. let valjean cry 2024 (SHOW 2: harsh on "hate" in I had come to hate the world)

9) higher note on  "god above" which scratched the brain

10) jesus christ milan can hold a note . The whole "eye for an eye" crescendo drives me batty and milan does not disappoint

11) swallowed before "he told me that i have a soul" not sure if that was intentional like at all but considering his nervous delivery on future lines like "ill escape now" i thought it fitting

12) ENSEMBLE TIME🗣 tom is so hard NOT to spot, ginger ass hair. And also during At The End Of The Day he was hunched and staggering dramatically which made me giggle. Also bonnie langford spotted leftmost factory woman. Not important but i saw her. Also jordan was one of the workers and he cheers on the fight between fantine and the other woman but as soon as he sees valjean comes down the stairs he hurriedly goes back to looking busy writing at the desk. Again i giggled .

13) idk if its just me being stupid but katie's wig lookee different to how i remember it last time did she get a new one. ⁉️⁉️

14) "when i was young and unafraid" almost spoken.  Ate🗣

15) THE BRASS ON THE  I DREAMED A DREAM CRESCENDO UUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHH I ALWAUS GET GOOSEBUMPS ON "SHAME" UEGGGGHHH  goosebumps also on "i had a dream life would be"  katie's voice ao good ans clear ill go nuts

16)  i think jordan was the first  dude in lovely ladies  and he also got his arse  tapped by one of them so that was fun . It was harry lake last time but he really got his arse slapped like he stumbled offstage and everything

16) the woman with the hat in lovely ladies i forgot her actress' name but i LOVED her voice . I gotta know if she understudies anyone cause wowzer.

17) bambatabois was pissed as hell he was screaming his head off like a toddler

18) here i wrote "JORDAN POLICEMAN ON DA STAIRS🔥🔥🔥" handwrote the fire emojis and everything. He was playing one of the policemen and he climbed the stairs. I liked that

19) little fantine sob after javert says "i have heard such protestations" which BROKE my heart ohmy gah. Also katie always  eats the crescendo on "you let your foreman send me away"  that whole bit drives me crazy the music and strings bruh ohmy

20) javert's "monsieur le maire"  very curt and sharp almost a hiss which i dont think ive delivered like that before ? Looove snappy javert

21) like when i saw stew & milan on the 14th they have homo moment at the cart when javert holds valjeans bicep for far too long and his voice even goes up higher on "a memory stirs" as he stares into his eyes for Way too long

22) low note on "comes to court" which scratched the brain

23) valjean snatching his coat from javert LMFOAOAOO

24) his whole mini-monologue was so funny cause he was REALLY pronouncing his "k"s so it was just like  traCK🗣ed him down through thICK🗣 and thin. And to maK🗣e the matter certain theres the brand upon his sK🗣in. He will bend. He will breaK🗣 this time there is no mistaK🗣e

25) slight pauses between the last "i am damned" in who am i like  I. Am. Damned

26) i feel like milan is a lot more determined and deliberate and sure of himself as compared to chris' much softer and "mature"? valjean. Which i find interesting

27) katie somehow so good at singing even when "frail"  helloooooooo shes actually cracked  Get out

28) valjean so soft with fantine though  godbless she makes my heart ache. He had her face against her cheek which i thought sweet

29) CONFRONTATION SLIDE  HIIIIIIIT🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣 GO STEWART

30) Valjean scoffing before "men like you can never change" made me giggle hes so sick of his shit

31) gay as fuck fight. Will never get over stewart's insane gagging coughing and whimpering when hes thrown to the ground after being strangled. What the hell. I have a slur to say (SHOW 2: as javert was knelt down in front of valjean (🧐), when he pulled back his fist to fight back it looked like he was about to punch valjean in the balls but luckily valjean knocked him oit before he could do this)

32) BONNIE LANGFORD🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣 shes really witchy as mme thenardier kind of obsessed. I like her a lot . Her naturally high pitched voice creates a very interestinf tone when singing as mme thenardier which i LOOOOVE

33) when cosette asks her not to be sent out alone she kind of like steps back almost like shes afraid of cosette . Dont know whether this was fear or her being taken aback that cosette would reply but still made me laugh

34) JOOOOORDDAAAAAANN🗣🗣🗣 FUCK YALL KNOW ABOUT THE DUDE IN THE RED JACKET , hes the one who shouts  "over here landlord" or some shir and "this place has gone to hell" before the song properly starts. The WHOLE song he was such a delight to watch, hes so camp and did the gayest of walks and dances and whatever the fuck , ohmy god he was so funny . If anyone goes to see the show soon and jordans ensemble please watch our for him in master of the house, tall bloke in the hat and red jacket. You cant miss him hes camp as hell. Im obsessed with him deeply and i wish i couldve watched master of the house on repeat PURELY so i could see the bloke in the red jacket. (SHOW 2: he did a kind of silly gay walk in which he did the wallace (like from wallace and gromit) hands) Here are some doodles i did of him:

35) tom was on as thenardier BTW (ginger thenardier gang) i like the way he shakes his epaulettes on "content to be". I loved tom & bonnie's rapport as the thenardiers too, so good . Tomardier on top . They were dancing together and shit during the  chorus they were fun. Apparently thenardier put mme thenardier in a headlock at some point as well which is funny

36) bonnie did a little r roll on "regular voltaire". Not impoerant at all but i liked it. Also did a low note on "master and a half" which i also liked

37) kept the bit where mme thenardier says "where the fu" before realising valjean is there . And the bit where she sprays perfume up her skirt. Always a good gag (cause like i get it)

38) bonnie's pretending to be worriwd abt cosette was so good . Her comedy acting genuinely endearing and im hype

39) tom, like last time i saw him, goes really high pitched on "like our own, monsieur" which is SO funny god i love tomardier

40) on "treacherous people about" they kind of advance on valjean but then immediately cower away when he stands up to challenge them LMFAOAO

41) marius appears. Jac yarrow has a  GREAT voice , but Is he better than harry lake ? 🤫 maybe im just biased . Harrius sweep

42) jordan as claquesous (which is the only character of his that gets a name) is so funny . Hes swinging around his little corner of the set a lot . Swinging from the beams and shit. I do not  blame him id do the same

43) Ok first of all yaz eponine was AMAZING  her "ITS JAVERT!" is so chilling. Shes awesome godbless WHAT  a voice. Javert also keeping it curt and snappy and hissing "square"  in Another brawl in the square. Hilarious

44) i love the way tomardier tries to escape being held by the policemen on "HE'S ---! THE ONE YOU SHOULD  ARREST!" it always makes me laugh. Also voice crack on "chest" in Brand upon his chest. The way he and bonnie strut offstage after being freed is SO funny

45) OK TIME FOR THE STARS INFLECTION NOTES.  Sharp & curt on "there" which i dont usually hear. Soft on "fugitive". Pronounced "god" like  god-uh which was funny. Soft on "yield". Slight stolen time hold on "mine" ("is the way of the lord" as a result came out sharper). Soft on "scarce" rather than the usual hiss i hear. Dribbling a bit . Growled on "returns". VERY clear note on "bars". Sounded a bit like he struggled with "then" on Until then, but delivered as usual on the final Stars. Hoo boy go stew (2ND SHOW: only one i got was "exasperated "Always"" on  And is always the same. I cannot remember what i meant by this but usually my inflection notes are somewhat accurate so let ur imaginaton run wild)

46) for some reason i noted how gavroche had really long eyelashes. I have no idea if i was just seeing things or what but yeah

47) jac has really solid vibrato honestly . His voice is GREAT . I will refrain from comparing him to harry cause i think we all know how much i like him already . But i have things to say .

48) JORDAN UNNAMED STUDENT NO1 WITH THE GLASSES 😭😭😭😭😭😭 half moon glasses he ate that. Cafe scene started off with him arguing with enjolras which i thought funny. He seemed really prim and bitchy with i loooved, dont ask me what anyone else was doing for this scene cause my eyes did not leave him

49) grantaire shouting *YOU* talk of battles to be  won  while pointinf at enjolras made me giggle

50) jordan scoffing off to the side @ grantaire  as he starts playing catch with his bottle. Im obsessed with him. Maybe id be a les amis fan if he was there. Also he's the one who chimes in "OUR WORLD !🗣" so whatever

51) grantaire spinning around across the stage on "red" during marius' verse

52) jordan did NOT need to stand on that  chair at the red & black crescendo girl you are tall Enough

53) enjolras did a silly little "HA-HA!!" I think after "blaze in their eyes"

54) jordan helping move the big staircase setpiece during do you hear the people sing... hashtag stagehands represent BIG UP STAGE MANAGEMENT🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣💥

55) Lulu may not have my favourite voice ever but she is cute as  cosette i cannot  lie she does little toe bounces every now and then i like that .

56) milan had a little stray loose hair that fell over his face and i couldnt take my eyes off it

57) jac quite harsh on the "burst" in She has burst like the music which was fire. Spit yo shit marius

58) yaz has SUCH  powerful voice it was always so shocking everytime she sang GET HER ON PRINCIPAL NEEOOOWWW!!!!!!

59) marius did a little awkward ass wave to cosette after she comes out on the balcony to see her, like he just lifts his hand up a little, DIDNT EVEN SMILE? just ✋😦 looking slightly startled. So good. He also did a deep ass bow to her when she comes down which made me giggle

60) so jordan had like, a stick  as a weapon as claquesous in the attack on rue plumet and as he runs onstage he kinda fumbled with it. Whether this was intentional or not i dont know but regardless yes i laughed. (2ND SHOW: thenardier tries to get up onto the balcony twice, instead of the usual once. The first time, claquesous gets down on hands and knees like a stool. Thenardier steps on him and claquesous immediately collapses under the weight.)

61) i dont seem to remember this happening in other shows  does thenardier always hit eponine after "you'll scream alright"? Or am i insane. Because he did this show (2ND SHOW: marius blows a kiss through the fence to cosette before he runs off.)

62) YAZ DURING ONE DAY MORE BEUHHHH ohmy days.... so sosososoop good so strong... djavan also as usual strong, the way his voice always rips through the theatre is just amazing godbless (2ND SHOW: bonnie sticking her leg up in the air as she's carted off.)

63) JAVERT IN UNIFORM.......... WHERE THE FUCK IS BAKER BOY.......

ACT 2

64) Grantaire was kinda creeping up behind enjolras for whatever reason at some point. Was funny as hell

65) MILAN  LIKE PAUSES AND PULLS A FACE WHEN HES READING THE LETTER FROM MARIUS TO COSETTE BEFORE HE READS THE WORD "LOVE" WHICH REALLY MADE THE THEATRE GIGGLE 

66) Yaz was so delightfully gentle as Eponine i liked it . Made her powerful voice a lot more standout for me . As for on my own inflection: short on "silver" in Shines like silver. The string pickup as it builds up to the crescendo on "and i know its only in my mind" is always insane ohhumy gyat. Harsh on "the trees" in the trees are bare and everywhere. Harsh and almost spoken on the final "without me". The last crescendo was utterly gorgeous . Yaz eat yuor heart out❤

67) on jod theres usually fog for the barricade reveal. No fog this show. Disappointing..  i love fog

68) army general's bit .. as usual harsh on "you" which i like but i think he skipped a beat . Didmt note where but i remember there being a missed beat and it was a bit fast (2ND SHOW: this might have been for the 2nd attack but regardless, when theyre shouted to get down, jordan's student who was way downstage (audience) left he almost fell over when he went to kneel down . Very clumsy job there boss. Obsessed)

69) stew's baker boy matches jordan's now... last time i saw stew he was in brown. Hes in the green/red now ‼️⁉️

70) yaz's eponine seemed content to submit herseld and die in marius' arms which was so heartbreaking . The key up. Also voice break on "her name was" which made me want to punch a wall

71) gavroche hands marius eponines hat :-(((((

72) i think milan was struggling to get off the barricade he almost stumbled and had to be helped down ajdhdifhd

73) javert just kinda admitting defeat and slumping to his knees with a haunted look in his eyes ❤ getting his lapels grabbed until "youre free" will always fuck hard as well. Theway hes grabbing onto valjeans wrists though I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE (2ND SHOW: during drink with me milan and jordan were off to the side next to each other chatting away. Jvj starts to chug whatevers in his cup. Jordan goes to take the cup from him but jvj turns away so that he cant take it. Jvj alcoholism era. Additionally jvj puts his arm around jordan's character just before the final battle.... ouff... Here are some sketches i did of them:)

73) milan's vocal range is sooogood. His whole Bring Him Home just scrumptious. Plus the crescendo on the strings UGGHHHHHHH. It SOUNDED like he struggled a tad on that final "him" but Home came out GREAT ... godbless

74) final attack. I noticed jordan's student wedged away in the crevice to the (audience) left and everytime hed fire his gun hed turn away and scrunch his face up. Obsessed. I did NOT see where he died though. This tells me he did not actually die and hes alive and well❤

75) javert kissing the cross over gavroche 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 (i THINK valjean does this too earlier? Possibly he did this in the 2nd show)

76) tomardier holding the dead body's jaw and making it say "breath away from hell" in a stupid voice". He also did a silly posh voice on "thankyou sir im in your debt". "And god in his heaven" almost spoken i think. I alsofind it funny how he kicked over marius' body and stepped up on his arse

77) Javert seemed to almost miss & run past valjean ans marius LMFAAOOO i had a little giggle.

78) Jvj looking so sick of javert will never not be funny hes sooooo fucking done

79) I very much liked the slight distant stare like a moment of reflection before he sings "take him valjean!" adds a little to that bit i think. Yum. Thanks stewart

80) Soliloquy inflections.  "Who is this man/what sort of devil is he" GROWLED rather thsn the usual scream he does . Liked it i cant lie. He was quite shaky especially on "caught in a trap" which was LAAAVELY...... spat "back" in Gave me back my life . Harsh  on "mocked" which is always delightful to hear, a classic . Absolutely delectable tone shift  and becoming quite weak and almost croaky for "how can i now allow this man". He was even hoarse for "gave me freedom", and weak on "die as well". As per the Stewart Clarke Special there was a tremendous glob of spit escaping him on "sins"  in Shall his sins be forgiven . Absolutely delightful voice crack on "begin to doubt". Another glob of spit in "lost in shadow".  SUPER shaky "i am reaching". Yet another glob of spit on "stars are black". Low note on "escape now". And, as per, hit that shit (2ND SHOW: voice crack on "he" in "devil is he". Whimpered "gave me my life". Snarled "it was his right". Another glob of spit on "sins" like the first show. Whimpered "and must i now". Another glob of spit for "escape now".)

81) anyway , empty chairs time. Quite short on "on and on". Lovely and rich delivery of "never came" (thats a hard note to hit comfortably!).. again jac's vibrato was very notable to me !!!!! He delivered "phantom shadows" very upset like a half-sob. The following "empty chairs" very harsh. SHOUTED "don't ask me".

82) i liked his distant & haunted stare during every day ughhh mawius...

83) lulu as usual hitting those insane notes Go girl!!!

84) i really liked milan's acting during the confession - i personally preferred chris' performance but both absolutely stellar. His expressions were wonderfully desperate

85) i think someone (djavan?) almost missed their cue as ome of the servants during the wedding i saw them jogging onstage to help with the table LMFAOAOOO

86) if you didnt know already, bonnie langford does the splits when she curtsies when she appears. She also seems more interested in the drinks djavan servant has to offer than the plan to scam marius . She keeps trying to set thenardier right and then tiptoes off to take a swig of wine. Giggled

87) when marius tells them to go away thenardier turns around and says "for god's sake" LMFOAOAOAO

88) after thenadier is punched by marius (does his classic 270° spin) he falls over and gets stuck on his back, flailing around like a tortoise while mme thenardier cackles like a witch

89) they do the littlw pointy toe gay dance together hashtag true love (2ND SHOW: tomardier blowing a kiss at the lord.)

90) milan during the epilogue always heartbreaking he is wonderfully frail. Absolutely lovely  gentle low notes . He was almost sobbing on "on this page" which made me want to start killing. Sniffed before "its a story". Very shaky voice on "to my keeping". ... suicide tomorroeeeeee

BONUS) since i had nothing more to note down in the epilogue i drafted the next chapter of my fanfiction.

[ambivartence]

sorry in advance if you've already answered a question like this but i just wanted to ask, how do you improve on drawing?? i think especially for things like coloring, shading, and lighting , its been difficult for me to be happy with how it looks because compared to the sketch (that i think already looks nice) the colors just seem sort of flat and muddy and i feel like i dont have a good grip on what colors to put where and how to make it look unflatt if that makes sense! just curious on maybe what kinds of practices and studying you do for this(if any))<33 obv you dont have to answer if you dont want to, and thank you for being one of my inspirations, love youu<33333

hihi!! for simply shading/lighting, i would suggest you only work in black and white until you're totally comfortable with developing values. why? marco bucci explains it really nicely in this video but basically if you have good values u can have absolutely garbage nonsense colors and it will still make sense aka when i did this lol:

i'm guessing you're more interested in colored artwork though since black and white drawings can't be "flat and muddy" bc theyre in grayscale lol. for coloring, this is so tough for me too so i thought about this for a day or so and i came up with 3 tips that might help^^ 1) getting colors directly from photo reference or color reference, 2) manually adding filters/color harmony, and 3) studying color theory

i always work from photo reference so it informs a lot of my coloring/shading/lighting and often when i don't understand what color I'm looking at i directly just eye drop it and realize that what i thought was purple was actually just a gray-red. working from an actual picture helps make sure my colors don't look strange and while i used to think eye-dropping felt like "cheating" when i worked digitally honestly i've learned a lot from it and honestly if i stare at a color long enough i can get it pretty accurately now but i'm just too lazy so eye-dropping just speeds up my workflow (plus i hate digital color pickers anyways they r not built for artists and i wrote an entire paper on it in college once lmao) anyways here's an example of a color study i did by directly eye-dropping from a gif with @quokki's incredible coloring (love u ale <3)

if you're not working from a picture directly, you can still use other pictures or artwork as a "color reference" which I used to do a lot. i like to look at art from other ppl with pretty colors and create a color palette to use in my own drawings. for example, the color palette for this felix painting came from a piece (idr which) by Simón Prades on instagram but this palette is really easy to use since it's linear values it's like working in black and white but comes out looking cooler LOL

Recently for my lee know kiki's delivery service drawing i felt that the colors seemed a little flat n muddy to me because it was in an animated flat coloring style (lol) so I added a filter layer (just a flat apricot color set to overlay at 25% on photoshop) that livened up the whole thing and made it feel more cohesive. It's a pretty subtle difference to other people but made a world of difference to me :) it helped take the muddiness out of the shadows of his face and the glass reflection and took the painting from gloomy rainy day with stale bread to warm sunny day with fresh bread :]

and finally if u are interested in actually studying colors and lighting and shading and stuff these r some of the youtube videos and channels that i think do a great job explaining these very cool concepts:

pre-realism vs post-realism is a cool video about the difference between the mentality of how beginners draw vs how experts draw and kinda blew my mind tbh i think the big color takeaway from this video is that something that kids would color (like green grass) might actually be a totally different color to an artist's eye (dark yellow, red gray, even a super desaturated purple) depending on a realistic lighting situation

nathan fowkes did a 3-part guest talk series on understanding color temperature and relationships: (1) (2) (3) also not coloring but i love his video on value massing

this lecture on what charles bernard calls "the mother color principle" takes the "filtering" tip that i mentioned earlier to a much more developed level (it's an hour long so just skip through it.. u get the gist of what he's saying in a few min but the whole demo is also cool too)

i mentioned him earlier but marco bucci has many 10 min digestable videos about color on his channel that i like :) (also this lighting/value video is great too)

sorry i don't really know exactly how basic or advanced i should cater my advice but i hope this helps some anon^^ lmk if u have questions or if u ever want feedback my inbox and dms r always open

[animefreak1145]

For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked  about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o  y o u  h e a r  i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . .  Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

           Pain          Pain              боль

                    боль

   Pain                                         Pain

              боль

Pain        Pain                   Pain

          Pain         Pain    Pain                

боль                                                              боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o̵̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯  ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.”  His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough.  Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. “I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

.

.

.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well. 

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart  @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard  @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @danjer

[inflammatory]

My Repin propaganda:

It’s actually a nice detail that this matchup was posted today considering it’s Ukraine’s independence day; [1] for context (that I regrettably didn’t add when I submitted), the Cossacks composed the “reply” in question to the Sultan Mehmed IV’s demand that they surrender, despite the fact that the Cossacks had just wiped out the entirety of one of the Sultan’s Janissary forces. [2]

So, in high spirits from victory, the leaders of the Cossacks got together and co-wrote a vulgar letter to tell him to sod off, which is the subject that Repin chose to paint. The detail is enough to keep you absorbed for ages:

The dog in the lower left corner disgruntled at all the noise, the Cossack in a white coat turned away to assess newcomers, from the main version alone. The blue of the distant horizon is so beautiful it wounds me. It’s in harmony with the smoke from their pipes and cigars (and a vessel that I can’t really identify).

If you read the Wikipedia page, there’s a very charming compilation of all the models with their bios. For example, the man penning the letter is Dmytro Yavornytsky, the historian and archaeologist who helped Repin depict the scene with historical accuracy. There’s a man he chanced upon at Alexandrovsk pier and captured studies of, and Kuznetsov the battle painter, and Glinka’s nephew, and the man with a “makitra” bowl cut, beside the serious man in yellow — who Repin never saw in real life. He was a student who had to leave the Academy of Arts because of his illness. They took a gypsum mask of his face and Repin referred to it. While they were taking the mask the young man smiled, and left a smile in the gypsum, a smile that carried all the way to Repin’s Reply. [3]

He also made several versions apart from the main one above, which I think should be accounted for; Repin’s process itself is the masterwork to me. Many drafts stand as whole works on their own, as they’re all complete with stunning grounding detail:

From a preliminary sketch [4] that is just as lovely. Repin is incredible at capturing fine human emotions (as evinced in the sublime horror of Ivan the Terrible and his Son Ivan), and he is just so good at laughter. You can almost feel the laughter from all the way deep in the man’s chest, or feel it wrack the second man until he’s wheezing.

From [2]: “That Zaporozhian legacy is very much alive today. Modern Ukrainians accord their Zaporozhian forebears pride of place in the nation’s history and culture. It’s a heritage which helps to explain how - right now, in the face of overwhelming odds - Ukrainian people up and down the country are displaying an almost inconceivable bravery on the battlefield.”

Dewar’s piece on the painting details virtually all the historical background you could want, with the gore and tragedy that you might not get from Repin’s painting. But despite the distance between now and the 1600s, the message of independence is very relevant:

A reenactment by Ukrainian soldiers. [5] Vote Repin!! Happy Ukrainian Independence!!!

[1] Åslund, A. (2009). How Ukraine Became a Market Economy and Democracy, Peterson Institute for International Economics, ISBN 978-0-88132-427-3 (page 185)

[2] Dewar, A. (2022). Ukraine’s Zaporozhian Cossacks.

[3] Wikipedia. (n.d.). Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks, Models. Accessed 24 August 2023.

[4] Repin, I. (1880-1890). Sketch for Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks. Place: Tretyakov Gallery.

[5] u/thewyspa (2022). Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks. In r/ukraine. Can’t find a more original source so Reddit will have to do. Accessed 24 August 2023.

SET FOURTEEN - ROUND ONE - MATCH SEVEN

"Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks" (1880–1891 - Ilya Repin) / "Garden of Earthly Delights" (1490-1510 - Hieronymus Bosch)

REPLY OF THE ZAPOROZHIAN COSSACKS: Uuuuuuooo I’m pretty sure somebody has submitted the world famous Repin with the fella holding his dead son, and yeah that one is truly harrowing and I think it should be in the final bracket cause it would sweep but Repin has such a range and it’s all very deeply felt and sensitive stuff. For this one he did a couple of versions - you could pick either because they’re both rich in a really immediate sense of humanity. Again on the technical side this is a truly bonkers piece of work because he stitched its elements together from countless studies of people he knew and the result is still somehow a Realist masterpiece rather than the patchwork amalgamation you’d expect.

And each figure isn’t just irresistibly human - he gives all of them so much tangible warmth (the riotous laughter! The attention paid to detail in their clothes! The irritated dog in the bottom left corner) and the fact that theyre all his friends and colleagues is really charming. Dunno if its like “molten lava” kind of evocation of emotion but it certainly makes me feel something. ( @idiotpalespiral )

GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS: think it's one of the greatest odes to human imagination and it's insane that it was painted around 1500. it's hard to overstate how innovate and unique bosch's art is. besides, he probably hadn't even ever taken acid in his life, so i don't know how he did that (@cuties-in-codices)

(The "Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks" is an oil on canvas painting by Ukranian born Russian artist Ilya Repin. A large number of the "Cossacks" are modelled after either friends of Repin or people he saw around him, including the bald head belonging to the Grand Chamberlain of the court of the Russian Emperor who declined to be added and Repin painted in anyway. This painting measures 203 cm × 358 cm (80 in × 141 in) and is located at the State Russian Museum in Saint Petersburg. The submitter originally submitted the preliminary version of the piece.

"The Garden of Earthly Delights" is a triptych oil painting by Hieronymus Bosch. It measures 205.5 cm × 384.9 cm (81 in × 152 in) and is located in the Museo del Prado, Madrid.)

[let-them-read-fics]

Too Late To Apologize?

Requested By @rosiesandlilies​: “I was wondering if I can request a Rosé x female reader story where Rosie is an idol who also happens to be ur wife and since she and BP are taking over the world by storm, she starts to forget about you and whenever u ask her to spend a little bit of time with you, she gets upset and fights with you. You’re also an important person but you always make time for her. Can it be angsty with fluff 🥰”

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 6,026

Warnings / Misc: -- Angst, Self Doubt, Strained Marriage / Relationship, Crying, Some Swearing, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Oooooo lord, here we go. I am feeding 👏 you 👏 all 👏 today! This one took a while to write, but I’m pretty happy with it. I wrote it all in one go, starting at like 3am (as usual lol), so forgive me if it’s a little rough. I put a lot of effort into it, though, so I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you for requesting -- Happy reading!

PS ~ I highly recommend that you listen to these songs as you read this:

You Were Good To Me -- Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

Surrender -- Natalie Taylor

The Night We Met -- Lord Huron

I Found -- Amber Run

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Hongdae, Seoul  --  8:00 PM

“Good evening, everyone! Before I open the doors, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for taking the time out of your day to stop in. We couldn’t have done this without your support, and we’re endlessly grateful. We hope you have a wonderful experience with us tonight. Now, without further ado, welcome to La Rêverie!”

To your amusement, the sizable crowd erupts into a fit of cheers once your opening speech is over. Echoes of the joyous sounds carry across the city, wiggling their way through the alleys and streets, bouncing off of the nearby buildings. The customers slowly filter in, greeting and congratulating you on their way; you’re beyond excited to start this new journey, and seeing people so happy to be a part of it only makes you more proud.

Eventually everyone makes it inside to their seats, and you join them.

--- Later That Evening ---

“Y/N, we have a private party that would like to see you. They’re eager to meet the woman behind all of this,” Pierre smirks, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. His demeanor confuses you slightly, seeing as how this isn’t the first time high profile celebrities have requested your presence -- that’s just one of the perks of being a world renowned chef. You brush off his remark as playful banter and send him to tell them that you’ll be out soon. 

---

“...yes, actually. Y/N and I were fortunate enough to meet when she was studying in Paris; we were being trained by the same chef. We’ve been close ever since. I’m not surprised that she hired me, though; I’m practically a master in the kitchen.”

At Pierre’s cocky words, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. A small grin plays on your lips nonetheless, and you smooth out your top one more time before rounding the corner. 

“What’s this idiot on about now? Did he tell you about the time that he nearly got kicked out of our mentorship program for giving Anthony Bourdain the wrong dish?” You ask the table, sending them a glance while ruffling his hair as you come up behind him. They all snicker at that, and it’s his turn to roll his eyes; with an annoyed shove, he scolds you for bringing that story up again.

“Must you always tell people about that?”

Your smile widens, spreading cutely across your face. Mocking him is one of your favorite things to do. “Mhm,” you say simply, nodding your head for emphasis. He attempts to hide his embarrassment, but it only brings a deeper blush to his cheeks. 

At the VIP table, the suppressed sound of laughter carries over to you, and you’re reminded of your reason for being here in the first place. Upon offering your full attention to the table now, no longer distracted by Pierre, you’re met with 4 different pairs of eyes on you. Warm, yellow light illuminates the area, the classy overhead fixture emitting a soft glow to cast down on the guests beautifully. It’s cozy and inviting, just like you had intended it to be, and the sight makes you happy.

As you quickly scan over each of the girls, your brain pieces together where you know them from.

“My oh my, it’s Blackpink themselves. To what do I owe this honor?” All of the natural charisma that you possess takes over now, doing its best to override your nerves. It’s definitely not the time to fangirl over them; you have to act cool. One by one, you shake their hands, making sure to give each of them a glimpse of your award winning smile. 

Jennie is the first to speak up. “Yourself, of course. You’re the talk of the town, Y/N, how could we miss this?” The way that she says it so casually, already skipping past the formalities, puts you at ease. 

“Ah, you’re too kind. Was your food prepared to your liking?”

A chorus of approving noises leaves the table, successfully boosting your confidence in the process. “It was truly incredible, Y/N.” Rosé gushes, her adorable accent adding something magical to the simple phrase. For the first time tonight, your mind goes blank; ever since news broke of your plans for this new restaurant, you practiced to avoid this very thing. As you stand there floundering for a beat, she takes notice of the effect that her words have on you; it doesn’t take long for her to realize how much she loves to make you blush.

“Thank you so much. We’re so glad to have you here tonight.” 

“We’re happy to be here! Rosé hasn’t stopped talking about it for the past week.” The Australian’s eyes go wide as Lisa exposes her, and she shoots the younger girl a shocked look. Lisa only smirks at this, her shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug. Jisoo nods in confirmation, adding, “Yeah, she’s been super pumped.”

On the inside, you’re freaking out. Rosé was that excited to try out your creations? There’s no logical explanation for that one. Your own surprise is evident in your voice as you respond, “Oh really now? And why’s that?”

“I-I’ve just heard a lot of great things, you know? You’re pretty talented.” She tries to sound confident, but the stutter in her voice betrays her. The tips of her ears are burning with embarrassment, and after sending her yet another smile, you decide to spare her by changing the topic. 

“Well thank you, again. It’s truly a privilege to cook for you girls.” The conversation continues from there, effortlessly moving from subject to subject, and you love how welcome they make you feel. Occasionally you excuse yourself to check on the other guests and ensure that they’re enjoying their dinner, and every time, Rosé finds herself sorely missing your presence. Despite only officially meeting tonight, she feels like she’s known you her whole life. The two of you clicked instantly, and she can’t seem to get enough of you.

After spending the better part of 2 hours chatting and getting to know one another better, you grow bold and ask the question that’s been rolling around in your head all night. 

“Would you guys like to come back to the kitchen for a bit? I could give you some tips and we could make a couple dishes, if you want.”

Rosé nearly interrupts you from how eager she is to accept the offer. The second that you’re done asking, she’s already saying yes. The others happily agree as well, and soon you’re leading them to the back to get prepped.

_________

“Just like this, everyone. Cut thinly here,” you inform, using your knife to point to the areas in question, “...then turn it and follow through with the slices. It should come out diced, like so.” The girls observed your swift motions, peeking over at the small cubes once you’re finished. Things continue on like this for a while, and soon you’re halfway done with the veggies while they’re barely done with the first part of their batches.

“Slow down, Y/N! You’re too fast for us grandmas.” Jisoo jests, her voice bouncy with amusement. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll wait, just let me know if you need help.” Your knife comes to rest against the cutting board, and you take the opportunity to lean back against the countertop to watch them work. Your eyes trail over to Rosé, only to find her already looking at you; she tenses once she realizes she’s been caught, and she returns to her previous duties. You decide to tease her.

“Everything alright, Rosé? You seem a little distracted…” She momentarily shuts her eyes at your words, trying to refocus her thoughts and collect herself. A subtle snicker from Lisa can be heard, and Rosé delivers a quick jab to her arm. The maknae lets out a little “oww” before setting her things down to rub away the newfound soreness of her arm. 

A little later, Jennie requests some assistance, prompting you to make your way over to her. The station that she’s working at just so happens to be next to Rosé’s, and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t thrill you. 

“Do we peel this first or leave it on?” 

“Cut the ends first, then slice it in half and remove the outer layer.”

Under your watchful eye, she follows your instructions and is soon back on track. She thanks you, and you bring your hand up to give her a pat on the back. Although she feels childish for it, the action works to make Rosé the tiniest bit jealous; she wants your attention on her. 

The blonde clears her throat before speaking up. “Y/N, I need a little help, too.” Your heart jumps at her words, and you fight hard to keep yourself in check as you spin around to face her.

“Of course, Rosé.” She sighs at the way her name rolls off your tongue, and she’s completely convinced that you’ve secretly put her under some type of spell. Her thoughts of you and your mysterious ways are interrupted when you come to stand next to her, your hip lightly brushing against hers. 

“Oh, well there’s your problem: you’re holding the knife wrong. Here,” you start, reaching out to reposition her hand in a better spot. Now she’ll be able to control it better, and she won’t run the risk of cutting herself.

“Better?” You ask innocently, missing the way that she bites her lip. The close proximity of your bodies is making her head spin, and she can’t decide if she wants you to stay or go. “Yes, thank you.” She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t, so you take that as your cue to go check on the other girls. Rosé silently curses herself for missing that golden opportunity to flirt with you, but she takes solace in the fact that she catches you stealing glances her way fairly often. You feel the connection too, and she’s pleased with that -- maybe she was doing something right after all.

The next stint of the night is spent preparing and cooking the dishes you promised them while trading jokes, banter, and teasing remarks. A mini food fight also took place, but for the sake of professionalism you won’t mention that. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.

---- 

“Goodnight girls. I hope you come by again sometime soon!” 

They all assure you that they’ll be back before you know it, and you believe them. After all, they gobbled those dishes down like they hadn’t eaten in days -- it’s safe to say that they enjoyed them.

Rosé lingers in the doorway, eyeing you as you work to clean off the counter. She doesn’t want to go; she’s loved getting to hang out with you. Contemplating her options, she decides to be brave; she tells the girls to go on ahead, that she’ll be there in a minute. 

“Rosé, did you forget something?” You ask, looking up at her as you reach forward to wipe any remaining debris off the sleek surface.

“Yeah, your number.” Somehow, she possesses all the confidence in the world now, her new demeanor completely opposite to its previously shy counterpart. 

You tilt your head at her, a dumbfounded smile parting your lips ever so slightly. “Bold, are we? Alright, I’ll bite.” You say, holding a hand out for her to give you her phone. Her eyes widen a bit -- was she not expecting you to say yes? There’s no way you could turn down a chance like this. She fumbles around in her bag until the smooth screen of her phone comes into contact with her fingers, letting her know she’s found it.

“Here you go,” she chuckles cutely, an adorable little pattern of blush rising to her cheeks again. 

After entering your number, making sure to save the contact and even take a goofy picture of yourself for it, you give it back to her. “Call me anytime, love.” Her smile spreads even farther at the pet name, and she ducks her head to hide her reddening cheeks.

As she slowly approaches the door, walking backwards, she says, “I will… love,” offering you a little awkward salute at the end of it. You giggle at her antics, and soon bid her goodnight. 

No more than 5 minutes later, your phone dings as it displays a notification from an unknown number. 

“I’m usually not that awkward 🤦‍♀️ pretty girls just make me nervous.” The message makes your heart flutter, and you quickly save her number to your contacts. 

“Really? We have yet another thing in common, then.” 

The girls watch as Rosé does a little victory dance in her seat, her movements a bit limited by the belt stretched across her body. She’s practically glowing with excitement, her fingers already firing off another reply.

________

3 Years Later -- Rome, Italy

Upon seeing Rosé saunter down the aisle, your emotions get the jump on you; before you can stop them, tears flow freely down your face, and you bring a hand up to your mouth to quiet yourself. She looks bruisingly beautiful: the natural curves of her body are accentuated by the silky material of her dress, and her shoulders are covered in lace. An angel cast down from the heavens above. 

She smiles at the audience that’s filled with your close friends and family, offering little greetings as she passes them. Once she and her father make it to the altar, he pulls you in for a big hug, a few tears escaping his eyes. After he takes a step back, he looks between the two of you with pure pride on his face, his hand resting on your shoulder. 

The song ends, signalling for the two of you to join hands and face each other, and he returns to his seat. 

“We’re gathered here today to celebrate the joyous union of Y/N L/N and Roseanne Park. Two souls destined to find their way to one another, travelling millions of miles in the process. We come together to revel in this fact and send them into their new life together with all of our support.” The officiator says into the microphone, smiling at the two of you. You can tell he loves his job, and he’s damn good at it. 

Rosé’s grip on your hand tightens as she tries to contain her tears, but you’re quick to assure her that it’s alright. “You can cry, baby.” At your words, her lip is released from between her teeth, and her tears begin to flow. You wipe them away, stepping closer to rest your forehead against hers. 

The ceremony continues on and the two of you recite the personal vows you wrote. Somehow, unbeknownst to you, there doesn’t seem to be a limit to how much you can cry in one sitting. Rosé is having the same problem, seeing as how her makeup is smudging some as the tears wash the substances away. You don’t care though, and you make it a point to remind her of that; she’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“I do.” You choke out, beaming at her as you run your thumb across her knuckles.

“I do.” She responds, impatiently bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waits for those final words from the officiator. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” 

Her lips are on yours before he even finishes the phrase, her hand resting on the back of your neck as she pulls you in closer. Your lips move with hers in perfect time, working to seal your union in the best way possible. “I love you, forever,” she whispers against your lips. 

____

Present Day, 1:17 AM

In order to spare you from the overwhelming sadness that you’re being subjected to now, your brain takes you back to those happy times from the past. When Rosé still made time for you; when she loved you. 

Even though you hate it, you still find her in everything. The bright sunshine of the early morning reminds you of all the times she would wake you up with kisses, holding you close. The songbirds outside of your window bring to mind when you’d come home to find her at the piano, alternating between striking the keys and strumming her guitar as her beautiful voice carried out across the house. 

You miss that Rosé, so, so much. The Rosé that would call you in between sessions at the studio, if only for 5 minutes. The Rosé that longed to hear your voice after a long day; who fell into your arms the second that she shuffled through the door after practice. 

As time has passed, though, she’s seemed to fade more and more from your life; missed calls and texts have become a given, and it takes everything in you to mask your sorrow. Anyone who knows you well at all can easily see through the facade: you’re now a shell of who you once were, your normally vibrant and cheery self gone. You attempt to hide your sadness behind a smile, but it never really works out; your eyes don’t shine like they used to, and your lips don’t quite tweak up at the corners in the special way they had before. 

But you’re getting ahead of yourself again. Your reason for crying tonight is simple: for the hundredth time this month, she’s cancelled your date night plans, opting to spend the time working instead. The argument that the two of you had earlier replays in your mind:

"I don't have a choice."

Except, she did. She could choose you, choose to take a break, if only for the evening. You never ask too much of her, knowing that she can't handle even more stress competing with what she already has from the company and media. Being an idol is hard enough, and you know you can never fully wrap your head around everything that's expected of her.

Though, that makes this all the more ridiculous. All you've asked for is a couple hours of her time -- for her to relax with you and get away from it all. Earlier that day you had gone to the store and picked up all the necessary materials to treat her to a little spa day, complete with bath and body oils, face masks, and even some bath bombs. 

"Asking my wife to spend an evening with me is not unreasonable, Rosé."

"I'm not having this argument again, Y/N. I get enough shit from everyone else; I don't need any extra from you."

Maybe it was something in how she said it, so final and hateful, her face coming to rest in a scowl. Her arms were crossed as she stood in front of you, and you could see the muscles in her jaw clench and release repeatedly. In some twisted way, part of you was glad to have this encounter; it hurt like hell, but at least she was paying attention to you. She hadn't looked at you for this long in a while.

Before you can even get another word out, she sighs, saying, "I don't have time for this. I have to go back to the studio." 

Just as she turns to go, you catch her wrist. With a slightly annoyed look, she turns to face you.

"If you walk out that door then I'm leaving; at least for the night. We need to talk about this, but if you don't care enough to even give me that, then…" you trail off, tilting your head slightly. You want her to apologize, to say how wrong she's been for doing all of this to you -- but she doesn't. Her expression is tired, irritation written plainly for you to see. She pulls her arm away, offering a petty, "Oh well," with a shrug before exiting the house. 

How could she be so cold? Maybe that's what hurt the most. Seeing the love of your life turn into someone completely different than who you fell for stung more than any argument ever could. The reality is that she's not the same person anymore. Accepting that would be half of the battle in and of itself. 

Your heart is betraying itself, stuck in a sticky situation: you're constantly struggling between your love for her and the respect you hold for yourself. Half of you wants to stay, to make her listen and fight for this; but the other half of you, perhaps the more rational side, knows that that won't work now. You've tried that already, you reason with yourself, racking your brain for any new way to get through to her. 

Sometimes it's like she forgets all of the sacrifices you make for the relationship. Despite having your own busy schedule to deal with, you always make time for her. So why could she never do the same for you?

It's obvious that in its current state, this relationship is only wrecking your mental health -- a testament to that is every night you've spent lying awake, sobbing into your pillow as your list of insecurities grows longer and longer. She used to be the person you'd run to when negative thoughts plagued your mind, her sweet words of love showing how much she valued you. But all of that's gone now, leaving you with a shattered heart and racing mind. When had you stopped being enough?

~~~~~~~

It’s late, well past 4AM when Rosé manages to make it home. Practice absolutely wrecked her today, leaving her body exhausted from dancing and throat sore from all the singing she had to do. She’s more than ready to collapse into bed and pass out. 

One thing that always stayed the same was your sleeping arrangement. No matter how much Rosé hurt you, you still slept in the same bed. Her subconscious was always kinder to you than she was, anyway; the two of you would cuddle in close like before, her arms wrapped around you as she slept peacefully. No arguments or yelling, you could always count on the nights to heal your heart a little bit. 

As she enters the empty bedroom, the memory of your argument from earlier that day comes flooding back. She remembers that you said you were leaving, but part of her didn't fully believe you. She should've known better -- you always keep your word. Guilt washes over her, and she gently taps her head against the wall as a sort of self-punishment for her previous actions. Why did she say that to you? The hurt look in your eyes broke her heart, but she couldn’t afford to skip practice, especially with the comeback quickly approaching. In retrospect, she should’ve just told you that she didn’t feel prepared, and that’s why this practice had been so important. Even though she doesn’t show it, you still mean the world to her. She just so happens to be her own worst enemy. 

With a heavy sigh, she makes her way to the bathroom; there she finds a cute little basket of goodies next to the tub, and a note on the counter of the sink. She approaches the basket first, quickly discovering that it holds some of her favorite self-care items from the local store. Yet again, a deep pang of guilt courses through her upon realizing that you had prepared that for her. Defeated, she picks up the note. 

Roseanne,

If you’re reading this, then I’ve already left. I don’t want you to worry, if you even still care enough to do that, so I decided to leave this letter for you. I’ll be staying with my friend for the next while. I don’t know how long, but that depends entirely on you. I’ve tried to communicate with you, but we’re getting nowhere; we both know it. We’re not who we used to be, Rosé, and I hate that. I want us to be happy again, but it seems that I can’t do that for you. If you want to end things, let me know. 

- Y/N

Rosé’s heart is breaking, splintering into a million different pieces and leaving her with no possible way to collect them all. How had she so royally fucked this up? She only has herself to blame, and she knows that; she can’t believe that she let things get like this. She had been so blinded by the stress that she lost sight of the most important thing in her life: you. It’s slowly sinking in that she very well might lose you for good this time, and she doesn’t know how to cope with that. She can survive without her career, but she knows she can’t go on without you.

-----  La Rêverie, 2 Weeks Later -----

She only intended to walk by -- to see if you were there and safe. But as she gazes through the windows, peeking into the place that houses so many of her dearest memories, she’s transfixed. Her eyes land on you, finding you hard at work in the kitchen. It’s always been where you go when you’re stressed or upset about something -- two things that Rosé knows she’s the cause of.

You’re in your element, face donning a look of pure concentration as you prepare what she assumes is a new dish. Your hair’s in a bun, a few strands coming down to fall around your face as you move about. Gravity takes its time in gently coaxing them out of the tie's hold, and Rosé’s breath hitches at how beautiful you look; it’s as if she’s falling for you all over again. She’s always admired your skills, but they hold a whole new meaning now, an unspoken tension in every movement you make. 

How had she been so selfish? You had been there for her all along, waiting patiently for the day that she would come to her senses. You would always have dinner ready -- usually one of her favorites, hoping that would spark something again -- but she always brushed you off. She never stayed long enough to see the crushed look on your face, or how the pain was becoming clearer and clearer by the day. She realizes now just how much of a toll her actions have taken on the both of you; you're still just as breathtaking as ever to her, but that special sparkle in your eye has long been eclipsed by something more dull. You're tired of being let down repeatedly, stuck in a constant loop of excuses and avoidance, and Rosé can't blame you for a second.  

The time apart hasn't been kind to her at all; there hasn't been a single day that's gone by where you haven't consumed her thoughts. She misses you so badly it hurts, and even now, despite being so close to you, separated only by the walls of the restaurant, you've never been further away. 

The distant sound of a car alarm cuts through the silence, simultaneously scaring her and drawing your attention. Before you can spot her, she ducks down; there’s no way that she can face you yet. Taking this as a sign, she decides to leave.

She’s spent the past 2 weeks attempting to spare you by not coming around; she thinks you need time away from her to deal with everything she’s put you through, and she doesn’t want to upset you anymore than she already has. Ever-torn, part of you is glad that she’s stayed away; however, another part of you just wants to see her again. You miss the nights more than you thought you would. 

--- A Few Days Later ---

Steady sheets of rain pound harshly against the window, vibrating the latches with each gust of wind. Times like these are always the worst, especially when you don’t have Rosé to calm you down. Violent thunderstorms never fail to frighten you, and this one in particular seems like it’ll be the worst one of the season. Swiftly padding over to the window, you sneak a quick peek outside, only to find the branches of the large oak tree that occupies the yard swaying in the wind with reckless abandon. The sight terrifies you, but you do your best to keep yourself from panicking, even having to do some breathing exercises. Your friend can sleep through anything, and you know she needs the rest; so, you stay in the spare bedroom that she’s so graciously allowing you to reside in, and lie awake. 

Across the city, Rosé is tossing and turning. The storm hasn’t fully reached its peak there yet, but she knows how worried you must be. Tears spring to her eyes at the thought of you huddled up under the covers, body trembling in fear as the storm rages on. The deep-rooted shame that she’s grown so accustomed to since you left plagues her conscience, making her even more disgusted with herself. 

After turning over yet again, her eyes land on the picture she has of the two of you propped up on the nightstand. It was taken on your wedding day, that stunning view of the venue paling in comparison to your beauty. A sense of determination washes over her -- determination to make you that happy again someday, in whatever way she can -- and she gets out of bed to collect a few materials. She’ll do whatever it takes.

----

The sound of a car door slamming perks your ears up, and your curiosity gets the better of you. Quickly pulling the curtain back, you’re beyond shocked to see Rosé out there, holding something in her hand. Just as you lean in closer to the window to try and see what it is, her caller ID pops up on your phone. 

“Come downstairs, please.” 

Even with the vast array of emotions coursing through you at the moment, you’re only focused on getting her inside and out of harm’s way. 

You nearly knock the door off its hinges with how quickly you snap it open. To your surprise, she’s still standing by her car, but now you can see what she was holding before; a white sign with black writing on it. The words are barely legible with how much it's raining, the dye of the marker horribly smudged, but you can make out: “I’m sorry! I’m an idiot.” It’s like something out of romantic drama.

Before you can even comment on everything that’s happening, Rosé begins the speech that she’s been trying to piece together ever since you left. 

She has to raise her voice so you can hear her over the storm. You wonder why she doesn’t just come in, but you think that maybe she’s doing it to show you that she’s willing to punish herself by standing out in the elements. “No words that I say will ever be able to fix the pain that my actions caused. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, and I hate myself for being such a coward. I was too immature to look past my own struggles and just talk to you about them.” 

Now, she takes a few cautious steps towards the front door, testing the waters as she scans your face to gauge how you’re feeling. “I guess I just thought I could deal with it like I always do. But losing you showed me how wrong I was; I love you so much, Y/N. I don’t want to end things; I’ll never want that. You’re my world, baby; I’m so sorry that it took me this long to see what was right in front of me.” 

How are you to respond to that? Can you trust her? She looks more sincere in this moment than she has in a long time, and that puts you a little more at ease. Her eyes are begging -- pleading -- with you to believe her, and after a moment you step to the side, wordlessly telling her to come in. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until a few stray tears drip onto your shirt, leaving little marks in their wake. She has to restrain herself from reaching out and wiping them away; she has no idea when -- or if -- you’ll be able to forgive her. 

Soft pitter-patter of the water running off of her coat echoes lightly across the foyer, serving as white noise for the conversation you’re having. Her sniffles work in tandem with it, and she bites back her sobs in order to get the words out. 

“I know this won’t be fixed overnight, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. I won’t blame you for a second if you can’t forgive me, either. I just couldn’t let you get away without a fight.”

With each new fresh batch of tears that settle in your eyes, you have to work twice as hard to blink them away. “I-I don’t know what to say, Rose. You’re the only person in this world capable of hurting me that badly, because you mean more to me than anyone else. But I never thought you’d treat me like that. Do you know how many times I doubted myself, thinking I did something wrong?” Your tone is bitter now, voice conveying the pain from those months of anguish that you had to endure, and Rosé hangs her head. 

“I know that now, Y/N, and I know that I can never take it back. But God, how I wish I could. I’d do anything in my power to take that pain away. It was never your fault; none of it was.”

You know she’s being honest. After seeing the opposite for so long, it’s easy to spot when she’s telling the truth. You nod a couple times, deciding to pull her in for a long-overdue hug. She’s motionless at first, not quite knowing if you want her to return it or not, but the second that you quietly say, “Hold me, Rosé,” she’s scooping you up in her arms like her life depends on it. Her head rests in the crook of your neck, and the two of you cry together, letting all of the pent up frustration and sadness leave your bodies. 

After standing there, embracing one another for who knows how long, she pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. Her gaze subtly falls to your lips, but you don’t fail to notice. “Can I?” She asks gently, raising her eyes back up to yours. “Yes.” You utter, nearly swooning as her soft lips brush against your own. You’ve missed them. 

Her chilled hands cup your cheeks with purpose, and you can feel water running off the ends of her hair and onto your chest.

She kisses you in such a poetic way: softly, as if you might break at any moment, but urgently, like a lost soldier finally returning to the arms of their lover. She wants to make you feel how sorry she is, how much she loves you, and this seems like the perfect place to start.

“I love you, jerk,” you say through your tears, brushing your thumb along her cheek as you look into her eyes.

“And I love you, angel.” She picks you up, spinning you around a couple of times before setting you back down on your feet. 

After a moment, you glace at the window. “Shhhh, wait. Do you hear that?”

She cocks her head to the side as she listens closely for any potential noise that you might be talking about, but she hears nothing. “No? I don’t hear anything…” 

“Exactly; the rain stopped.”

“Huh. I guess it did its job, then.” She smiles, silently thanking the universe for working in its wonderful ways. It brought the two of you back to one another, and neither of you can contain your happiness. Maybe you don’t hate storms as much after all...

[1kook]

paint job, hand job

a some way, some how jk smut drabble  ((there’s references to it but honestly this could be read alone)) tags; established relationship, more autoshop fun, handjobs, praise pink, spitting :/, nipple play, jk gets pampered basically, hints of domesticity notes; I wrote sw,sh bc I specifically wanted to write this scene and in the end I forgot about it…. so here it is in drabble form 🤩

also thank u to my buddy @kigurumu for reading this over for me 🖤🥺 no more wrong usage of verb tenses🤩 and u have rumu to thank for it!!!!!! also thank rumu for sliding me this gif v.v

In the past few months, you’ve come to learn a multitude of new things about Jungkook. He was still as wonderful and endearing as he’d been his whole life, and with no soul-crushing secrets between you two, you were exposed to a whole new side of him. There were, of course, a lot of nice things, tiny actions you had only just begun to notice; the way his eye twitched when he was looking at a car, the mindless way he’d bump his foot against a wheel when he was thinking. But for all the wonderful things Jungkook was, you would also catch sight of weirder quirks. Not weird in that they made him a terrible person, but weird as in they weren’t exactly qualities the majority of society strived to have. There weren’t many, but the ones you knew of weren’t exactly ideal to your position as his girlfriend.

One, he was extremely bad at asking for help. One time you caught him floating through the bread aisle at the supermarket, hands drifting over the plastic bags as if his touch alone would remind him which was your preferred brand. It was amusing watching him wander like a ghost until you finally walked up behind him, gestured towards a loaf. You didn’t mind little things like this, after all you were very picky about buying the correct brands, and Jungkook knows this. At the time, you thought it was adorable. Overtime, however, you can admit that his fifteen minute detour to the bread aisle could have easily been cut in half with one simple text your way.

Two, he was easily stressed. Jungkook’s job was pretty grueling during the fall, when college kids were back on the roads and fucking up their cars every chance they got. Thanks to the multitude of employees on his team, he was never doing too many repairs at once. But every so often, he’d find a project that spoke to him and he’d pour every ounce of dedication into it. He always did good, always left customers happy. The real obstacle was Jungkook’s own need to always one-up himself. He was perpetually unsatisfied with his work, no matter how many times people praised him.

Lastly, and probably where you find yourself struggling the most, was his inability to communicate these things. He never asked for help, never told you he was feeling stressed. It was a guessing game with him, trying to figure out if he needed some extra support or not. You slipped up at times, tried to help him with something only for him to wave you off with an amused smile.

But there were other times where he desperately needed you and didn’t know how to ask. Like now, the shop completely dark save for a lamp shoved up beside his lonely form in the empty garage.

Rolling your sore ankles around once, your heels clack loudly as you enter the space, keys tossed somewhere onto the metal tabletop as you set to work preparing him a snack. His newest project was repairing a beat up Ford GT from the early 2000’s, a silver body with dark blue decals running over the hood. He had found it somewhere by his mom’s house, fell in love, and had been on a mission to revive it since. All this would’ve been fine, normally, if Jungkook wasn’t so set on getting everything perfect down to the last detail. Tonight, it was fixing the exterior. The garage reeked of paint.

It had been like this for the past three days. You would come over, catch him cooped up in the garage late after working hours, and make him something to eat. The weekend had been okay because you had stayed over most of the day and checked in on him when you could. But Monday was trickier to plan around; one glance at the clock told you it was a little past nine.

That morning, as you packed your lunch, you had been mindful of setting aside some for him too. Now, as you pulled a plastic container of washed and scalped strawberries for him, you were glad you had thought ahead.

It’s much brighter where he is compared to the rest of the garage, the yellow glow of the lamp glaring down at where he’s carefully running a brush against the edge of one, straight line. If he hears you come closer, he doesn’t acknowledge it, furrowed brows narrowed at the metal before him. Setting the container on a tool cart beside him, you lean down to brush your lips against his cheek. “Hi,” you murmur, wait for him to mindlessly turn his head and kiss you.

He does, a quick kiss, before diving back into his work. A beat of silence, and then, “hi, baby,” quietly, almost robotically. You don’t mind, leaning over his shoulder to glance at how perfectly he manages to paint along a straight edge, even with you breathing over his neck. He’s got the stool raised up today to properly lean over the hood of the car. Shorter than you still, but higher up than how you usually find him beneath a car. After a moment you return your gaze to the side of his face, pink bottom lip caught between his teeth as his eyes scan over his work, round glasses barely clinging to his nose. Cute, you think, faintly nudging the spectacles up the bridge of his nose for him. He mutters a soft, “thanks.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders when he finally leans away from the car, dark eyes scanning over the paint job. Occasionally you pluck a strawberry out from the container, hold it to his lips as he munches through it, puckered lips mindlessly opening and closing for you. You don’t stop until he’s eaten half of them, by which you then move on to your daily questioning. “What else d’you eat today?” You ask.

It takes him a moment to respond. “Subway,” he says, gestures with a nod at the discarded wrappers in the trash.

“And when was that?”

“Around noon.”

You sigh, rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Baby, that was a long time ago. Have you even showered today?” You ask, tug the beanie off his head to get a whiff of his hair. It smells okay, but you have a feeling his last shower was yesterday night. Jungkook doesn’t say anything but at the first brush of your fingers through his hair, he dissolves. His head rolls back, desperate to feel your touch on him for the first time in a while. You snort, dragging your nails along his scalp. “Feel good?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, body loosening. “So good.”

You beam, trace your fingers down the curve of his neck, until goosebumps are springing up. “You’re so tense,” you note, hands drifting to rub over his shoulders. Jungkook sighs, head falling between his shoulders as you get to work on them. “You need to relax, honey.”

“I know,” he sadly agrees, and, like a baby, stretches his arms up cutely, before letting himself slouch again. You let your hands drop, wrapping your arms loosely around his chest. “But I wanna do good.”

“You always do good,” you tell him, squeezing his middle in reassurance. Jungkook sighs like he doesn’t believe you. “But,” you add, and at this he visibly deflates. “You’d do even better if you relaxed every now and then. No one’s waiting on this car. It’s just for fun, remember?”

He’s always had this obsession with perfection. You suspect it stems from his past, his relationship with Sojin, and most importantly, his relationship with her dad. One can only take so much criticism from their lover’s parents until they snap. Snap, or begin to believe it’s true. He must’ve suffered through so much in their time together and never once did he fight back, a thought that makes you frown as you watch his knee bounce nervously.

Another sigh. You kiss behind his ear, rubbing your hands soothingly over his chest. However, you greatly underestimate how strongly your thirst for Jungkook runs, because even now with him all mopey in your arms, you want nothing more than to please him.

A subtle brush over his abdomen, and Jungkook inhales a tight gasp, abs curling beneath your wandering hands. The sweatshirt he's wearing is your only obstacle. Pressing your lips to the mole on the back of his neck, you move your mouth to his ear. “Let me take care of you?” You murmur, nibbling at one of the tiny hoops that lines his ears.

He tenses up, turning his head, half-lidded eyes analyzing your features. After a moment, he nods, cheeks flushed.

“Good boy,” you purr, hands creeping beneath the hem of his top, faintly tracing over his skin. Jungkook lets out a shaky exhale, muscles tensing under your touch. Another kiss beneath his ear.

It’s rare that he lets you do this, let’s you pamper him while he does nothing. Jungkook was a fairly proactive lover, always making sure you were completely satisfied before anything else. In the past few months of being in a relationship with him, you can hardly remember a time he came without you.

Which is why you take extra care gliding your hands up his chest, over his pecs. His heartbeat thunders beneath your palm, skin so soft and kissable. You’ll save that for another day, you think, tracing a finger over his nipple. It hardens quickly, and you don’t miss the way he shifts in his seat as you begin rolling it between your fingers. “You like that?” You hum, lips pressed against his ear.

It’s so easy to get as close as you’d like, breasts pressing against his back. Jungkook nods, shaky breaths escaping his throat.

While one hand busies itself on his chest, tugging at the sensitive buds until he’s jolting in his seat, the other creeps back around his waist. You run your hand along the skin above his waistband and relish in the way his muscles twitch, until you’re finally slipping it down over his sweats.

His cock is hard, painfully so, and a soft moan escapes him when you run your hand over his length, cupping the head gently. “Look how hard you’ve gotten,” you tease, pressing your palm down more forcefully. Jungkook huffs. “Just from me playing with your nipples,” you chuckle, kissing down the side of his neck. Even through the fabric, you can feel every twitch of his cock, every throb as he grows more and more aroused.

“You like having your nipples played with?” You ask, abandoning his cock to slip both your hands up his shirt again. Jungkook complains with a soft whine, rolling his head back to the ceiling. He’s choked off when you catch both nipples in your hands, pinch the pebbled buds. His hips squirm against the stool, rutting up into nothing, as you continue over his chest. “How does it feel, sweetheart?”

“G-Good,” he gasps, knuckled fists trembling on his knees, pale from how tight he squeezes them. “Can you…?”

“Can I what?” You hum, finally releasing him in favor of gliding your hands down his stomach and over his thighs teasingly. He’s pliant under your touch, muscular thighs reduced to two trembling masses at your every touch.

Jungkook bites down a whimper, eyes trained on the hands that dance over his lower half, barely brushing over his cock like he wanted them to. “Kook?” You croon, right against his ear. He bucks into the air, his head finally lolling back to rest against your shoulder. “Finish your sentence, babe.”

He nods but you can tell he doesn’t remember what he wanted anymore, eyes rolling back behind his foggy glasses. You smirk, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “I, um,” he falters, legs spreading wider as you continue massaging your palms over them. “You…um.” A few more stuttered ‘ums’ later, and then, nothing.

After a moment it’s obvious he won’t say anymore, mind a frazzled mess as he falls headfirst into the sensations you’re bestowing upon him. “It’s not proper to say ‘um’ so many times,” you scold, finally let your hand rest over his cock. He sucks in a breath, teeth clenched. “Good boys don’t do that, y’know.”

“S-Sorry,” he chokes out, and you forgive him with a squeeze around the head of his cock. “Wanna be good,” Jungkook pants, voice strung high.

“I know you do,” you murmur, kissing down his neck as your hand continues rubbing over his cock. His hips circle, body sinking further back onto you as he melts under your touches. “Wiggle your pants down for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes, yes,” he concedes, hands scrambling for his bottoms. Unravelling yourself from around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders instead, watching him as he struggles to tug the rest of his jumpsuit down.

“Kook?” you call, watching his trembling hands fight with his boxers. “relax, okay?”

He nods, takes a deep breath, and then slowly tugs his bottoms down. He doesn’t manage to get that far before his eagerness wins over, and he’s struggling to push them down past the bulge of his muscular thighs. You decide it’s enough, pushing his hands away as you wrap yourself around his waist again, nuzzling your face behind his ear.

“Good boy,” you praise, and a tiny whimper catches in his throat. You glide your hand over his thigh and let it sit at the base of his cock, thumb and forefinger teasingly wrapping around the base.

“Fffuck,” he moans, twitching beneath you.

There’s a pearly bead of precum that forms at the tip, creamy substance slowly dripping down his cock and leaving a glistening trail in its wake. “Pretty,” you comment, watch it pool around your fingers. “But not enough. Kook, spit,” you demand, feel the way his body tenses up at your words.

“Huh?” He chokes, ears and neck flushed as his brain fully wraps around what exactly you’re telling him.

You shift closer, tightening your hand around his cock as you listen to the whine that rips itself from his throat. “You heard me. Lean over, and spit on your cock,” you repeat, feel him shake beneath you. “You’ve done it before, right? Used your own spit to get yourself off.”

He doesn’t answer, so you give his engorged member another squeeze that has him sputtering back to life. “I-I have,” he admits, blush high on his cheeks. “But I never just...spit. On it.”

You hum, watch the way his fingers flex on his thighs.

Deciding to switch tactics, you push as close as you can, licking a thin stripe up the curve of his ear. “But I love watching you spit,” you pout, loosening your grip on him ever so slightly. His cock remains just as stiff, standing almost completely on its own. “Love feeling it all over my body, down my pussy,” you moan, and the way you rub your thighs together is no act. Jungkook throbs in your hold, biting down another groan. “Don’t you wanna know how good it feels?”

His breaths come out shaky, head nodding at your words. He ducks down, dark hair covering his eyes from your view, but not his mouth. His lips pucker, and ever so slowly, a thin trail of spit drips down from his mouth, glistening in the lamp light until it finally reaches his cock, coating his length in a thick sheen that drips down over your knuckles.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. “That’s it,” you gently encourage, slowly beginning to work your hand over his cock. The glide is slippery, squelching noises filling the huge garage as your fist pumps up and down his cock. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

Jungkook groans, bucking into your palm with every squeeze you give. “Ye-yes,” he pants, skin warm and flushed as you kiss over his neck.

His cock is still so hard, twitching for you. You could do this for hours, feel the heavy weight of his arousal in your hands, listen to his tiny gasps of excitement. His head lolls back again, and you can’t help the endeared smile from watching him fall apart in your hands. “Sweetie, look,” you call out, finally making your other hand useful as you cup his balls.

Jungkook hisses. “Babe, that’s—“ a moan rips itself from his throat, your hands massaging over his swollen balls, caressing him as your hand picks up its pace on his cock. “Too much,” he whimpers.

You press a kiss to his neck, nibble at the skin until it’s bruising. He’s quivering like a leaf, sweat trailing down from his hair and over his skin, your name falling from his lips like it’s all he knows.

The head of his cock is angry and swollen, dripping in precum and his own saliva. You want it in your mouth, but the moment was already so fragile, so close to the end, you didn’t want to mess that up by pulling away. So you tighten your grip, licking the beads of sweat from his neck until Jungkook spasms in your hold.

“Fuck, shit, I’m gonna,” he grunts, body caving over as his orgasm hits, grabs him by the throat until he’s gasping for you to stop, voice wobbling on every syllable. You don’t, choosing to stroke him through until his cock is limp, jumpsuit stained with pearly splatters of white.

After he’s done, you press another kiss to his ear. “Good boy,” you smile, straightening your back after wiping your hands against his soiled uniform. You step away and snatch some napkins off the metal table to wipe him down.

You can tell he’s not completely there yet when you crouch down in front of him, dark eyes unfocused as you make a lousy effort to wipe the splattered droplets of cum off his jumpsuit bottoms. “Hello,” you tease, nudge his chin with your hand. “Anyone there?”

Jungkook snaps out of whatever post-orgasm trance he’d been in and helps you to your feet. “Fuck, that was good,” he sighs, and you giggle. “Screw the car, can we just go to your place?”

[elles-writing]

Love Potion - Kili x fem!reader  - Day 1/13

Love potion

Pairing: Kili x reader

Warnings/triggers: Kili’s puppy eyes, mentions of Fili’s and Kili’s cooking/baking

Genre: fluff

Word: Potion - Day 1/13

Word count: 2066

A/N: First piece to 13 days of spooky writing event by @dumbassunderthemountain !! I lately felt unconfident about my writing, so I’ve decided to put on some up-beat music, different attitude and some schedule and this event came really handy! I hope this will make you feel cozy like it made me while I was writing it!

Tags: @dumbassunderthemountain @moony-artnstuff​ @artsywaterlily @trxblemaker @luna-xial

Message me if you want to be added/removed to taglist!

Celebrating Durin’s Day was always an event. Not just an event – through every celebration in Erebor was a huge thing so far – but it was the event of the year. The dwarves spended months of preparations just for this celebration, but they didn’t seemed to be too bothered by it. No. They were excited. Excited to celebrate, especially when The Lonely Mountain was reclaimed back and the Durin’s line survived the battle of five armies.

Thorin was a great king, there was no doubt about it. It was a two years of time since Erebor was reclaimed back, and even if nobody from the Company didn’t insisted you to stay, you deep down knew they did it just so you wouldn’t feel pressured and were ovejoyed when you said you’ll stay with them. Why would you say no, anyways? They became a close family to you through the quest.

After the battle, when a part of dwarves arrived, Fili and Kili got a stunning idea – that you’d meet their mother, Dis. You’ve heard about her from stories they told you and you were nervous that she won’t like you, but oh boy, you were proved wrong! You two became a good friends, you were even something like a daughter to her.

Especially when Fili or Kili (or both of them) would prank you, she was unstoppable. In those moments you realized that they didn’t lied when talked that she made sure they’d apologize. Properly.

It was a two days until Durin’s Day and you were in the kitchens. It was late afternoon and the cooks got their work quickly done, thanks to some cooks from Dale, who helped them out. Now, you were making an apple pie, chatting with Dis and wondering when will Fili and Kili show up. They didn’t got too many duties today, thanks to Thorin, who was busy by some last details about the celebration, so they were free by noon.

Soft golden light was creeping inside, and if you would look out from the windows, you’d see trees with leaves coloured in many different shades from yellow, orange and red, to brown. The whole Erebor now smelled like old leaves, warm spices, tea, apples and pears, in addition to usual smell that has been there. It created nice mix and it made you to feel warm and safe.

You huffed and placed your flour-covered hands on your hips, frowning down on the pie. Dis noticed your intense stare and followed your gaze.

„It looks very nice, dear. Don’t feel discouraged, I’m sure it will be much better than last year.“ You both giggled.

Last year was Bombur and Bilbo teaching you and the Durin’s brothers to bake pies and pasteries with apples, because there was a lot of them. Also as a punishment, when they wanted to prank Bofur and didn’t counted on Thorin and Dain walking right into it, instead of Bofur. You didn’t did it with them, of course, you just wanted to learn how to bake.

Long story short, it was the last time everyone have seen Kili and Fili to cook, as far as you knew. To bake, too. Because as much as they could fight and throw pranks, that much they couldn’t cook, and accidently, their and your pie ended up as a pile of ashes.

But now, neither of them were here.

And despite that cooking lesson, you were getting worried.

You looked at your pie again and sighed.

„Alright, I’ll let it be like this. Let’s hope it won’t end up burned.“ You both chuckled again.

Once the pie was baking, you sat down to Dis and started sipping on your cold tea. But it didn’t took too long, when you’ve heard familiar pair of steps and voices in quiet argument.

When they entered the kitchen, you’ve took a look who it was. Fili and Thorin, Thorin nodding at his sister and you and then walking away. Fili just sighed and sat down to you.

„Bilbo haven’t arrived yet and it’s making Thorin worried,“ Fili said and you nodded. You knew that Bilbo had a special place in everybody’s, especially Thorin’s heart. They usually wrote letters to each other. Bilbo has always made it in time to be there for Durin’s Day, and you didn’t doubted the halfling was alright. This year was more rainy than the year before and you truly believed he just needed more stops and wait until the rain didn’t stopped, so he could continue his path here.

You reached out and patted his shoulder.

„I believe that Bilbo is okay. He will come, I’m sure of it.“ You smiled at him and he nodded.

„You’re perhaps right, Y/N. Wait,“ He frowned and looked at you properly, from head to toe. Then, his face brightened.

„You were baking?“ You scoffed and rolled your eyes with a smile.

„Yes, I did. I’ve got a sweet tooth for something before the celebration.“ You’ve seen Fili’s eyes to sparkle in mischieve. But it wasn’t Fili who spoke up.

„Really? I believe you’re already sweeter than honey, sweetheart. Do I smell a pie?“ You turned to him and noticed his sparkling eyes. He winked at you and your cheeks reddened like autumn apples.

„And I believe I’m smelling and seeing a mud.“ Dis said, looking at her son. It was actually true – Kili’s hair was a mess, there were leaves of many different colours and twiggs in it, his clothes were wrinkled and he had dirt and mud on his clothes and in his hair, too. It was a miracle his face was almost clean.

„What you were doing, Kee?“ You asked him. He usually wasn’t this dirty. He grinned.

„I was showing some children from Dale around the fruit garden.“ Dis raised an eyebrow.

„Okay, I was playing with them here, too. But it was fun!“ You and Fili were chuckling. You knew that Kili would do it anyways – it was usually you three who would be jumping to piles of leaves, climbing up the trees and having a fight with mud, but today you spended in library and here in the kitchens.

Dis shot Kili a look and he sighed and rose his hands in defeat.

„What? It was fun! And besides,“ he grinned,

„nobody was injured.“ You all knew this counted. Before anyone could get Dis‘ reaction, a servant came in and said that Thorin sended for her. You thought that maybe Bilbo arrived.

When Dis left, you got up to check on the pie. Kili started picking leaves from his hair. Fili was looking from you to his brother, seeing how painfully obvious it was by the glances you threw each other when the other wasn’t looking, since the beginning of the quest, that you‘ve fancied each other.

For the last two years, Kili was flirting with you more and calling you only by nice and sweet nicknames, but you knew Kili was flirty like this, so it wasn’t anything too unusual. He looked like a flustrated puppy with pouting face, whenever you shook it off and wasn’t looking.

„It’s done,“ You said and took the pie out.

„It’s great you can bake,“ Fili said, looking down at the pie.

„It’s not that hard. You just need to follow the instructions.“ You three chuckled, knowing damn well that Fili and Kili and instructions or rules weren’t really too friendly.

„I’m hungry, can I take a bite, sweetie?“ Kili’s pleading chocolate eyes were set on you, looking like a puppy. Your heart melted, but you knew the pie was too hot to be eaten.

You placed your hands on your hips, looking at the brothers, mischievous smile spreading on your face.

„I’ll give you a piece, but you will have to wash yourself first.“ Kili pouted and bitten his lip slightly.

„It’s not fair that Fili will get the first one.“ You smirked.

„Who said Fili’s gonna get the first piece?“

„Hey!“ You all chuckled.

„I mean it, go wash yourself, Kee. Besides, it’s still too hot, it needs to cool down.“ Kili’s puppy eyes looked deep into your e/c  eyes again, only to realize you truly meant it. So when he stood between the doors, he winked at you.

„It’s not hot in comparison with you, my dear.“ And he left. Your yaw fell down and he let your cheeks flushed. Fili have seen the whole scene and smirked.

„It almost looks like he drank some love potion back in Bag-End and so did you, doesn’t it?“ You looked down to your feet, smiling to yourself.

„I think the red wine did it.“

„Aye, of course lass.“

When Kili came back with wet hair and clean clothes, you chuckled and pointed to his piece of pie.

„There you go,“ You said with a smirk to cover your nervousness. Fili almost rolled his eyes. Into a different dimension.

„Just say it already!“ He said, flustrated. You looked at Kili, who paled a bit, but then his face flushed.

„Oh yeah, I, uhm like you a lot, sweetheart.“ He looked like a flustrated puppy, and soft giggle escaped to your mouth. His own lips spreaded into cheeky smirk, like he usually worn.

„I-will you to court me?“ He looked at you with wide, nervous eyes. You held your breath and could not believe his words. He was asking you if you wanted to court him.

When you realized he was waiting for your response, you quickly nodded.

„Y-yes, o-of course I want to court you, Kili.“ You smiled and his eyes lighted up.

„Mahal, she said yes! Fili, did you heard that?! She said yes!“ And in a second, he was kissing your whole face. You were giggling when his hair touched your face.

„Kili, it tickles,“

„Fili, Kili, what’s all this about-“ Thorin came in. You three turned to him, seeing there was also Bilbo and rest of the Company, plus Dis. Bilbo seemed uncomfortable for a second, but then he smiled, as well as most of the Company. Dis‘ smile was the proudest, but it was hard to say. They were all happy and proud that you two stopped dancing around each other

„U-uncle,“ Kili looked at him.

„Well, I would like to announce, that me and Y/N are courting.“ He looked at you and you nodded. Dis placed her hands on her hips.

„When did you planned on telling us, you two?“ You looked at Fili and Kili.

„Well, it’s been just a while since we’re courting.“ Dis peeked to her second son, and Fili only grinned.

„Aye, but what does it matter? They’re the most perfect couple in the whole Middle-Earth!“ The rest of the dwarves cheered and Thorin’s face had warm smile, that one you’ve been seeing for past two years much more, since Erebor was reclaimed.

You noticed a tall figure and when you’ve seen a long grey robe, you were sure who it was.

„Gandalf! You arrived, too!“ He smiled at you and Kili.

„Indeed, I arrived with Bilbo. And as I can see, it was in time.“ you smiled.

„Oh yes, indeed.“ You looked at Kili. Then you rembered.

„Actually, I baked an apple pie today, can I offer you a piece?“  You offered to him and he nodded.

„It’s nice from you, miss Y/N.“

„Wait, you baked a pie, lass?“ Bofur came to take a look.

„It’s not a pile of ashes?“ Dwalin said and shot a look to Kili and Fili. You laughed.

„No, now sit down, or I’m not going to give you anything! I mean all of you!“

You didn’t noticed Bilbo was making a tea. You realized that when he handed you a cup and whispered.

„It’s called Love Potion, but it’s actually a mix of warm spices and some sweet fruits. I also know about that wine you and Kili tasted in Bag-End,“ He gave you a bit mischievous smile and shook your head.

„I believe that Fili told you, if I’m not mistaken?“

„Well, yes. He also told me to bring this mix for you as a gift for your birthday, when I was there only last year.“ he said. You smiled and looked over at Kili.

„You sure it was just a wine, Bilbo?“ He raised a brow.

„What else would it be? I’m not a wizard.“

„But surely you know one.“ He smiled.

„Fair enough.“

[espritmuse]

I missed you too 🥺 I’ll make sure to send you a little something everyday okay sweetheart? 💖

I’m an ambivert so like I prefer my alone time and I hate talking to new people but once you get me out of my shell good luck getting me to shut up lol

And yeah it was a bit scary at first. Obviously the lead surgeon asked the patient if I could glove in for a learning experience and the patient agreed and it was just a simple surgery. The man shattered his leg so they were putting steal pins in his leg to help the bones heal properly but it was really interesting to see how the pins went in and whatnot. Lowkey makes me want to change my manger to general surgery but idk I feel like it’s too late for that 😫

I’m glad your first days went well, I use to have insomnia but I went to a lot of sleep studies to help with that and it’s not as bad anymore, looks like we both gotta help each other sleep 🥺💖

My friends tease me saying I have OCD with how organized I am and how I can’t function unless I have it scheduled. I mean I do do stuff spontaneously, hell half the time all my trips and vacations are planned only like a week in advance. One time my best friend and I planned a Vegas trips in 3 hours and were on a plane in the next 6 hours showing up in Vegas the same day we planned it 😂😎

Omg We could visit each other’s Islands on animal crossing all the time <3 I’d send you pretty flowers and sea shells. Idk how tall you are but I’m 5”6 1/2 ((168 cm)) so like we could cuddle up and if you’re smaller than me I could be the big spoon and just hug you to me 🥺 if you’re taller than me I’m still gonna try and be the big spoon unless you wanna be then I’m 100% okay being the little spoon, I’ll just cling to you like a Koala.

We could go shopping for new plants and idk about you but I love window shopping at ikea and just walking around, I absolutely love building things I don’t know why but buying a new piece of furniture and then putting it together brings me immense joy. I live in a big city so like everything is within walking distance and my apartment is really high up too so I have a breathtaking view of the city but like just imagine getting ready in the morning and we go downstairs and get coffee or tea and then just walk in the city with our coats on and stocking hats cause it’s fall and starting to get chilly and we just window shop and there is this cute little bookstore near where I live so we could stop there and see if they have anything new 🥺🥺🥺 ughhh I’m gonna cry -💍 omg I wrote so much oopsie

i love when u write a lot 🥺 I usually never really know how to talk/ have a conversation with ppl so I love listening (or reading in our case 😳)…. U can go for hours and lines I don’t mind, never<3

AND A VEGAS TRIP IM SORRY MAAM- hope u didn’t get married there……….. Vegas is pretty far away from where I live so Jesus I could never plan something like this in a day lmao (also I don’t wanna go …… I prefer nature and all those cheesy stuff, I’m like a grandma or an ….old fat cat? Just gimme the same food everyday and cuddle and I’m happy)

No bc we should add each other on acnh… I don’t remember if I paid the online for this year but yeah!!! I’ll send u letter and little flower!! I think my native (?) fruit is cherry?? I’m not a big fan but ;( also my town is quite a mess elkdnwnxnsnd it’s like a big forest with a tone of trash on the floor bc my pockets are always full……..even in videos games I’m disorganised pls it’s a curse

And let’s not talk about my house…..

AND YES YES YES IKEA TRIPS OMG !!!!! I’D BUY THOSE BIG PLUSHIES !! I have the elephant in my bedroom…..I want the big bear and the shark too….. they’re too big and make me mad when they’re next to me in bed but they’re so….big and and and and abs and and and like….

And I’m 165!!! (I think it’s 5’3? Not sure!!) but I like being the big spoon 😋 I cannot fall asleep if I don’t hug something- so if it’s u it’s even better

We’d go outside during a rainy day, wearing stupid yellow raincoats, holding each other hands and chatting about ur weird ass job the whole way to ikea,,, we would buy some stuff for our journal, some small plants, (you’d buy me the shark plush……..), and we’d head to the bookstore to pick a book for the other!! I pick a book for u and u for me!!! We would read it in bed with hot chocolate and annotate it. Once we would be over, we would exchange them and start reading them, and with it, you’d see all the little notes and annotations I left <3

[only-kiwi]

lose you to love me - part 8

inspired by little do you know by alex & sierra.

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

tobi felt like she was always in the studio these days. or writing. or thinking about it. probably because she had a lot on her mind... harry was really fucking with her. unintentionally, of course. but still. she didn’t know what to do. she loved him so much, but she just didn’t want to go through the same thing again. she needed to be sure it was a forever thing.

getting out of the car, tobi spotted harry walking in. she called his name and jogged up to him, giving him a hug. “hey, how was your interview?” she asked as they stood outside, which wasn’t the best idea because she was sure she heard cameras clicking.

“pretty good, yeah. i covered Big Yellow Taxi.”

“no way.” tobi gasped. “that’s my favourite song.”

“i know.” harry smiled, but it slowly faded when he noticed an iPhone camera across the street pointing towards them. “let’s go inside.”

***

“okay so,” tobi started as they sat down, “i have literally like three sentences.”

“show me them.”

tobi opened up her notebook, there were words and sentences and phrases. most of which were scribbled out. harry knew she only did this when there was too much on her mind, she usually liked her notebook to be really neat and tidy. but this... this is was chaotic and he was honestly quite worried. harry looked at what was written down, he took in her words.

‘haunted by the memories’ ‘trying to pick myself up’ ‘you might change your mind’ ‘i forgive you but i can’t forget’

“what do you think? can we figure something out?” tobi seemed really adamant to get this song out.

“yeah, we can definitely work with this.” harry told her. “i just... are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’ve just been thinking a lot and i have all these feelings that i need to get out. i feel like i’ll actually be able to breathe after. because little do you know-“

“-that’s it!”

“what?”

“little do you know.”

“i don’t think i follow....”

“come here,” harry led her inside the booth to the keyboard. he started playing. “how did you feel when we broke up.”

“uhm, i couldn’t sleep for months. i felt broken, i guess. especially after you got with camille. i was struggling and you were just... fine.”

“ok listen....” he then started singing, “little do you know, how i’m breaking while you fall asleep.”

“yeah, i like that.” tobi wrote it down in case they forgot. “keep playing.”

“little do you know, i’m still haunted by the memories. little do you know, i’m tryna pick myself up piece by piece. little do you know, i need a little more time.” tobi sang and harry looked up at her as she stood in front of the keyboard. “harry, you might be a genius.”

“they’re your words, t.” he smiled.

“yeah, but... you always managed to make sense of everything.” harry smiled even wider at had words. there was something about the atmosphere that just felt so good, maybe it was because they weren’t hiding anything. and it felt like a movie with the way harry was playing the piano. “ok how about, ‘underneath it all i’m held captive by the hole inside. i’ve been holding back for the fear that you might change your mind. i’m ready to forgive you, but forgetting is a harder fight. little do you know, i need a little more time’.”

“you just made that up?”

“i guess. but it’s all i’ve got so i’m gonna need you to figure something out.” the pair wrote, then they threw it away. then they wrote again. harry liked the idea of the song sounding like a conversation, similar to ‘what a time’, so that’s what they went with.

tobi watched harry as he played the piano and sang, she let him do his thing and he looked beautiful while doing it. everyone usually sees him going off on a massive stage in front of thousands of people, and while that’s amazing, tobi always loved watching him like this. tears filled her eyes, the way he looked, the way he sounded... she really loved him.

“little do you know, i know you’re hurting while i’m sound asleep. little do you know, all my mistakes are slowly drowning me. little do you know, i’m tryna make it better piece by piece. little do you know, i, i love you til the sun dies.”

tobi couldn’t help herself from letting out the smallest sob. “why are you crying?” harry asked with a small chuckle.

“i don’t know,” she shook her head. “i just wish everything happened differently.”

harry reached up and wiped away his ex girlfriend’s tears and pulled her into his side to comfort her. “me too, baby.”

tobi cried harder, “you haven’t called me that in over a year.”

“i know.”

“you used to call each other that, you and camille. you said it in your songs.”

“it wasn’t the same.” he said softly, looking at her.

“but it was, though. she was your rebound but you fell in love with her. you’d still be with her if she hadn’t gone back to her ex, you know that.” tobi finally looked at him. “i hate to think about it but i can’t help it.”

“she wasn’t you, no one will ever be you.”

“you wrote a whole album about her.”

“not all of it.”

“what?”

“some of the songs are still about you,” harry told her. “falling, sunflower, fine line. there all about you.”

“you said it wasn’t about me.”

“yeah, i know. i guess i just didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” he shrugged. “oh, and to be so lonely is about you too.”

“i kind of figured but i wasn’t too sure about that one. didn’t think you’d write more songs about me after the first album.” tobi looked down at the piano, playing with some of the keys.

“you called me an arrogant son on a bitch when we had that fight.”

“i did,” she giggled, “sorry about that.”

“you were right.”

tobi shrugged, “come on, we have a song to finish.”

*

Liked by harrystyles, arianagrande and 1,893,076 others

tobiskye need a little more time.

View all 30,829 comments

tobifan1 time for WHAT???

tobifan2 lyrics again pls say yes

arianagrande love u so much

tobiskye @/arianagrande love u more i’m coming to see u asap

harryfan1 are her and harry back together???

annetwist You look amazing, T 🤍

tobiskye @/annetwist i miss you!!

Liked by tobiskye, jefezoff and 2,921,673 others

harrystyles I’ll wait.

View all 36,439 comments

harryfan2 WHAT THE FUCKSSJWK

harryfan3 y’all are so obvious

tobiskye ....so that’s where my scrunchie went

harrystyles @/tobiskye yes and I’m keeping it

tobifan3 stfu i love them

harryfan4 you can’t tell me they’re not together again like you just can’t

Liked by harrystyles, annetwist and all 1,824,053 others

tobiskye 🍏

View all 28,438 comments

tobifan4 <3

tobifan5 listening to the apple lyrics and realising it’s about harry omg

harrystyles Favourite song x

tobiskye @/harrystyles love u

harryfan5 get back together!!!

harryfan6 ily both sm

arianagrande bitch the song u sent me is fire

tobiskye @/arianagrande harry did most of it i just sat there and cried

Liked by tobiskye, arianagrande and 2,134,792 others

harrystyles T.S

View all 32,095 comments

harryfan7 she’s so hot how did you go from this to camille

tobiskye i said 👽

harrystyles @/tobiskye you really did

harryfan8 would kill to look like this

tobifan6 CRYING SHE LOOKS SO GOOD

gemmastyles 💘

[katsukis-sad-angel]

If You Got a Valentine From the MHA Boys, Here’s What It Would Say…

Pairings: Denki Kaminari x Reader, Katsuki Bakugou x Reader, Eijirou Kirishima x Reader, Izuku Midoriya x Reader, and Tenya Iida x Reader

Summary: The titLe

Warnings: Swearing, major uwu, mentions of sexual acts, angst?

AN: I finished this around noon, took a nap, finished AOT season 3, and I realize its 7:20 and I haven’t posted anything for v-day yet. Procrastination at it’s finest

---------------------------------------------------------

→ Denki Kaminari

Baby, you make my palms sweaty, knees weak, arms spaghetti

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Love,

Denki

~

He’d probably spell “valentine’s” and “spaghetti” wrong, and you would probably smack him after reading it, but he still showers you in love and affection all day. After he’s taken you out to eat and given you all the gifts he could afford, he’ll show you the new yellow and black lingerie he bought for you. 

He has quite a few hot yet adorable pictures on his phone now.

His love for you really shows up during this holiday, shining through his usual mask of stupidity.

~

why tf did kami call him ‘kacchan’? does he have a death wish or smth?

→ Katsuki Bakugou

Dear Angel,

Roses are red

Valentines always sucked

When you finish reading this

You’re gonna get fucked

Love you,

Katsuki

~

Despite the crude language on the glittery, handcrafted valentine, you bit your lip in anticipation as you pretended to continue reading. Katsuki stands in front of you, tapping his foot impatiently, red eyes alight and body tense and ready to pounce. There definitely wasn’t a raging boner tenting his sweatpants too. Finally, he snatches the red piece of paper from you, tosses it on your desk and grabs you, throwing you over one muscled shoulder to take you to his room.

Let’s just say it was a nice afternoon, a sweet evening, and a sore, yet pleasant morning.

Lots of chocolate.

And roses.

And a giant fluffy teddy bear with a ribbon around its neck you can buy a BJ’s for like $50

~

i would like to bring todoroki to your attention in the gif above

→ Eijirou Kirishima

To My Honeybun;

Y/n, you are the most amazing girlfriend in the world. Have I ever told you that? If I have, do I tell you enough? Every time I look at you, I swear the world stops. The breath catches in my throat, my heart skips a beat and I can’t help but remember how lucky I am to simply hold your hand when I walk you home from school. Your smile is like the sunrise, your eyes are like the falling stars we saw during the meteor shower, and your hair is softer than the finest silk. You know I could go on forever, right? I don’t tell you enough how much you mean to me, plus if words can’t describe how beautiful you are, then how can I tell you how much I love you? 

I love you.

I have lots of fun things planned today so as soon as you finish reading this, get dressed and come downstairs! This will be the best Valentine’s Day ever!

Your loving boyfriend,

Eiji

~

Honestly, I think his letter would be longer. He wouldn’t hesitate to outline in perfect detail exactly what about you and why he loves it and go on and on for at least 7 pages. 

Change my mind

If you’re dating Kirishima Eijirou, news flash; he loves you more that oxygen itself and he will show you that through many acts of kindness, toothy grins, endless gifts, and sensual evenings. He will put your needs and wants before his own, so please take care of him and show him QUADRUPLE the love he shows you. Because he needs it to stay our favorite unbreakable baby.

~

→ Izuku Midoriya

Dear Y/n,

I’ll do my best to keep this short, but knowing me, that’s probably not gonna happen.

First of all, Happy Valentine’s Day! But even without this holiday, you’ll always be my valentine. I don’t need a special day to celebrate your love in my life. Since today the world is celebrating anyway, I am here to tell you how much I love you. 

That sorta rhymes… right?

I guess that doesn’t really matter as long as I mean it, and I do! I can’t remember a day where your pretty smile didn’t light it up or when one of your hugs couldn’t make me warm. 

I have our whole day planned out so get dressed in something pretty (actually, wear whatever you want. You look beautiful in everything) and meet me by the door.

I love you so much!!!

Izuku

~

This would be WAAAAAAY longer if Izuku Midoriya actually wrote this. Like Kirishima, you’re gonna get a 5-page essay on why you’re perfect, a 17-page essay on his favorite things about you, 2 and a half page essay on your face, 5-page essay on how cute you look wearing his clothes, and on and on and on. If you haven’t noticed, HE. LOVES. YOU. With all the love in his big, heroic heart. And yes. Broccoli boy mcfreakin’ planned out every second of the day, so you better appreciate it and tell him so because the letter you just read sounded like, “You’re gonna be bulbasore tonight babe. Love, Izuku” to him.

~

→ Shouto Todoroki

Dear Y/n,

I got my dad’s credit card so why don’t we go on a little shopping spree? Then we can go to McDonaldTrump’s for lunch afterward. 

Meet you downstairs,

Sho

P.S. Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful!

~

It probably wouldn’t be a handwritten letter, most likely a text message, but you would still appreciate it a lot. Not only do you have a hot boyfriend, but he’s rich, he’s kind, and he loves you. Plus, you hate his dad so you were more than happy to drain a few thousand dollars from his bank account. Not that Endeavor would notice. The dude is literally rolling in cash. 

(In reality, Shouto saved up his money so he could spend it on you. He didn’t want you to feel guilty for spending his or be dependent on his father to keep his woman happy)

Since this was a special day for both of you, Sho makes sure you have a lot of fun and you’re sure to remind him how much you love him too.

Cuddling in the evening while eating premium caramel-filled milk chocolates.

New clothes and shoes still in bags and boxes in the corner.

Forehead kisses.

~

kami... bish u abt dumb as fock

→ Tenya Iida

Dear Y/n, 

I have a few things I want to say in my letter before we go out today so I guess I’ll start with this; you are as important in my life as a beat is to the heart, you know that? I can’t live without you anymore. When I think about the days before we started dating… well, I don’t remember them. I feel like I don’t deserve such a special and beautiful girl in my life. Someone perfect, and fun, and kind. Qualities I didn’t know could exist all in one person. 

Never forget that I love you with all my heart and our bond is strong and irreplaceable to me.

Happy Valentine’s Day, darling,

Tenya

~

Tenya would be so stupidly honest and pure in the letter, it brought you to tears.

When you finish reading, you’re crying your eyes out and run to his room and into his arms. When you crash into Tenya’s bed, he nearly has a heart attack when he sees you crying. Unfortunately, this beautiful man is surprised he even had a girlfriend and their relationship lasted this long. After explaining to him that the letter was the sweetest thing you’d ever read and that you loved him so so much, he let out a huge sigh of relief and pulled you close.

HUGS in those huge, muscular arms of his and head pats until you were smiling again.

*He feels so lucky to have you right then*

You get spoiled all freaking day.

The gifts never seem to stop.

Tenya’s true, calm, sweet, and  loving nature really shines through this holiday and you couldn’t feel more blessed when he takes his glasses off and smiles

[cloveroctobers]

YASMIN DOUGLAS—

IG info/Bio: @/imyasmin_d | 11.6k followers | hello & ahlan 🎶

23-24 years old depending on her birthday (I’m thinking too much about timelines since i know some shows aren’t live and if they filmed it prior & it’s just being shown to us now...then there’s the boat party that comes in after, you get what I’m saying right? No? Okay)

Moroccan heritage

she was born in fes along with her baba

Father works in the carpet & rug manufacturing industry and worked in his father’s business from the young age of 16

her mother is from Essaouira & has often stated that she couldn’t stand Yasmin’s father the first time they met but she wouldn’t want to travel through this life with anyone else

Her father and mother came from two different lifestyles. All he knew how to do was hard work yet he had a sarcastic but playful side to him whereas her mom came from a family that was more financially stable & she was free to do whatever! mainly hanging at the beach with her friends without a care in the world, she was privileged and a little uppity while her father’s life seemed to be planned out from the day of his birth

Yet they still fell in love and decided to leave Morocco months after they got married at 21 & 24 & not too long after they had yas they left for England

She was raised in Kent, England

The Atmosphere led to her boho lifestyle...being exposed to castles, gardens, and underground tunnels from time to time shaped her into what she felt she was meant to be. She loved her second home

they call her “yazzy”

Parents follow islam...Which Yasmin respects but is not strongly devoted to

Can speak & write in Arabic but seems to do better in writing

Her paternal grandparents fault her parents for not teaching her to excel at both & feel that if they weren’t in such a rush to leave home she would speak Arabic better

Which made Yasmin feel like shit. Her paternal grandparents were strict on keeping their customs alive whereas her maternal grandparents were carefree as long as they got to see their granddaughter alive & well that was good enough for them

Idk maybe a only child or has a older brother? I don’t feel like she comes from a big family sibling wise

her mother made her a stuffed purple sheep that she took everywhere with her as a kid & continues to keep close to her. Y’all had imaginary friends? Well Yasmin had a real friend she could see & squeeze the life out that didn’t require talking and hugging the air, but that’s fine do u

100% collects beanie babies until this day but lil yamb is the number one princess in her household

As her significant other you have to be okay with lil yamb sleeping in between y’all that’s just the way it is

These stuffed babies are her comfort when no else can be

she’s a singer/songwriter. Went to uni for it & finished a semester early

Went through multiple hell experiences when it came to interning & temping while still in school & after

Let’s just say she wasn’t down to f*ck her way to the top

this made her anxiety act up, these people made her feel like she wouldn’t be good enough to show the world her craft & it’s didn’t have to be the world, just someone who would listen

But she couldn’t give up, there was nothing else she saw herself doing. She knew this is what she was meant to do but she couldn’t lie and say that her insecurities didn’t get the best of her most days

Although the cons seemed to out way the Pros some days, she kept at it & found herself a solid team that knew what she was about and understood her soul

Was definitely the student who loved all her English classes & when she spoke up everyone found it shocking since she preferred to just write everything out rather than “participate in group discussions”

I feel like her singing voice sounds similar to Jessica mauboy’s (if you don’t know who that is & you’re a fan of r&b/pop check her out or if you’re just curious that works too lol)

Knows her music notes like the back of her hand, duh!

Fav color is royal blue, especially on her eyelids & nails

Occasionally sleeps in rollers to keep her hair wavy

Needs her space when it comes to disagreements, they stress her out & she panics a bit when things go wrong so she feels like she needs to leave the situation rather than talk it out right then and there

She’ll talk when she’s ready, she just needs someone that’s a little patient with her that’s all

Words of affirmation is her love language? When she figures out how to balance her love life with her work life that is. When she’s feeling confident she’s smooth with words but when she needs to show you how much you mean to her & she really takes the time to think it out & feel her emotions, she’s writing you a song or you’re the inspiration to it or a poem, leaving you little love notes on blue post-it’s around the house, will write 50 reasons why she loves you on Valentine’s Day, and will say so when it’s just the two of you in your own comfort

Isn’t too crazy about public displays of affection but will deff hold your hand if that’s something you or she wanted in that moment

I think she’s fluid

Hasn’t been in many relationships. Sure she goes on tour every other year and gets to meet many people but they’re not solid relationships, they’re hookups and she hasn’t done many of those either

Had maybe one or two solid relationships: a androgynous woman that uses she/they pronouns & was in a rock band & a cis male she met at a tattoo parlor his step-brother owned (he kinda favored seb but we’re not going to speak on that)

I believe she wants to get married someday but isn’t so keen on the idea of kids. The furthest she’ll go is adopting a couple of animals. She’ll be a pet mom! I feel like she’ll be anxious looking after the life of a human being when it’s extremely hard to do so not only for herself and the love of her life & you want to add kids to the mix?! Fucking hell! but that could change? Who knows what life can throw at u

Has a hedgehog named Sonia that she drops off at her parents for their weekly sleepovers

Loves lace—mostly bralettes & crotchet clothing

I see her as a corduroy girl too. She has at least some rusty brown low-rise corduroy pants or/and a jacket

owns a crotchet kit, she’s bloody good at it too

Loved pink & purple (still likes them, they’re her 2nd & 3rd fav colors) so much as a kid that she tried to dye her hair half & half while her parents went out on their date night...it was also the weekend before school pictures :)

Says she got her inspiration from starfire & raven. She was only 13 at the time & had braces. Her father approved saying she’s a kid and she should be allowed to express herself. He only said that because his own parents barely let him & his brothers have their own fun

Her mother thought it was atrocious and did her best to get it out with the help of her other hair stylists friends (her mother worked in plenty of beauty shops once she got to England, until she decided to convert their basement into her own shop) who she invited over to see what her daughter had done but when you use certain permanent dyes...

It didn’t completely damage yasmin’s hair plus it was just hair, Yasmin didn’t see the big deal. She thought she looked splendid

Anyway, massive fan of ballroom dancing

She’s got a great ear to begin with so it was extremely fun twirling around while wearing pretty ballroom gowns

Took boring etiquette classes as a form of punishment? After the whole teen Titans inspiration thing “went wrong”

Enjoys western films

yes she owns a cowgirl hat & some boots too so sue her, she likes what she likes

Knows how to lasso but hates doing it to animals but she’ll do it to you :) (*gags* lmao why???)

Also loves visiting western towns & learning some history or at least experiencing what it was like

Type of significant other that will do her best to persuade you to stay in a treehouse airbnb, a cabin, the fucking Idaho potato, or camping out in her Volkswagen van in the middle of nowhere!

Has faux cow rugs, wicker baskets, wicker chairs in her flat, hangs some plants in glass jars & bottles all over her house

Her flat is very bright & vibrant: white, mocha brown, tan, yellows, & pastel purple

When it comes to decision making, she’ll make them pretty quick but only if it comes to choosing desserts

nobody is touching her mom’s meskouta orange cake WITH syrup

the dessert eater that always picks the one that has a surprise inside, meaning it has to ooze out with SOMETHING to make it 10x more satisfying

Leaning towards Buddhism, had studied some of their beliefs and found it resonates with her spirit

Fan of neon lights, probably has a few neon signs in her flat preferably on her brick wall in the loo, “to give u comfort as you go!” “that...actually makes sense.” Tai commented as he rubbed his chin coming to terms with yasmin’s reply. While Iona scowls, “no, no it doesn’t. I feel as if it’s an invasion of my bits!” “...Sorry you feel that way.”

tai & ciaran are automatically deemed as her brothers since she came into the villa with them. She had time to connect with them unlike anyone else. It was just the way the stars wrote their story and it showed outside of the villa too. they often crash at her place all the time when they’re in town & vacation all the time together when their schedules line up + it never feels like she’s third wheeling

“TaiTower” & “BB-Ci” are their names in her phone, Tai picked his own name while the “bb” stands for “best buds” for ciaran —which is a joke since he drunkly called himself so + he loves everyone when he’s drunk

You can always count on her to belt the lyrics to a Chaka Khan, TLC, or paula abdul joint when she’s drunk lol

As for the girls? She’s close with miki 😒 they just seem to be on the same wavelength when it comes to the pressure of the media since they have some sort of fame which increased with them being on the Telly. They bond over that & from there they’ve built a solid friendship

She could also be friends with AJ too (if you didn’t get swiped from her that is lmao!) they’re sorta opposites with aj being high energy/active while Yasmin is more mellow & “mysterious” but seem to connect in different ways: their sexual indentities, insecurities/anxieties, having something to be passionate about but at the same time maybe not? She might lean towards elladine or Genevieve if she had to make a choice?

Aquarius sun + cancer moon

so she’s still 23 y’all, I got it! I can’t do math sorry

“Freddie Mercury was probably my dad in my past life.”

Can play the banjo, guitar, & oud

Participates in hot yoga weekly

If she’s not with mc in the end and continues dating around if anyone from season two: LUCAS, Kassam, Gary, Rocco, maybe Blake? I originally thought Elisa but she’s probably too much for yas let’s be honest here lol they’d be better off as friends

Omg I forgot marisol! Imagine that?! Whew!!!

Season three: maybe Lily? But what if? Me being the slightly messy bitch that I am? Something happening with her & AJ. Now that?! Would be some chaotic shit “from the outside looks of it” name the irrelevant person behind the quote...now!

I’d like to see her interact with allerga but there could be something with her & cherry. I’m thinking cherry, Yasmin, & priya would bond well but we’re not here to talk about that

Getting rid of the physical aspect I genuinely think she’d do well with marisol, Lucas, or kassam. They’d mesh well I think in a relationship

She’s a body shimmer girl for sure!

Loves silk or satin robes

she’s a shortie, 5’2 to 5’5

Is learning Spanish

Loves arcade games, come see her in pinball & Pac-Man!

Quarantine life did not change her lifestyle much, but it did slightly mess with her mental health :/

loves the fall time, feels like she can slow down some and really spend time with family and friends

I feel like she has one best friend outside of the villa & that’s good enough for her!

They met their first year in uni & been close ever since

She doesn’t speak to the temporary friends she grew up with anymore & is often confused why they feel the need to keep up with her in the media which added more annoying worries to her heart but whatever right? Keep your eyes on the horizon

celebs she finds/found attractive: Aaliyah—especially when she played in queen of the damned, Kehlani, Zazie Beetz, Fivel & Booboo Stewart, Lakeith stanfield, Leah Lewis, Sofia Carson, Ryan gosling, & Nick Jonas

She listens to: jade bird, Yebba, Elli Ingram, Wafia, Zeina, Summer walker, Tanerèlle, Mariah the scientist, Teyana Taylor, Tove Lo, lady Gaga, Ra Ra Riot, Empire of the sun, & smallpools

Anthem? Diana Gordon — Rollin’

[svt13roses]

Say Yes

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Seokmin has one question for you: “say yes?”

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x Reader 

A/n: Say Yes was stuck in my head all day and I kinda wrote this on impulse, whoopsie 

-

  “This is it”, he thought, “today’s the day I’m finally gonna do it.” Seokmin hadn’t realized that his coffee was ready two minutes ago and was getting colder by the second as he zoned out onto the little navy blue box sitting on the kitchen counter. He couldn’t stop staring at the box. 

     “How could a tiny blue box be so intimidating?” he chuckled to himself.

     Snapping out of his trance, he grabbed his mug of coffee and checked his phone. No messages except a good morning text from you, reminding him that you were out helping a friend redecorate their apartment this morning. Although he appreciated the reminder, he couldn’t help but smile at how he had planned this day for so long. Of course he knew what you were doing today, today had to be perfect and he made sure to take any and all precautions to make sure everything would go as smooth they could (hopefully) go. 

     You and Seokmin had been together for three and a half years now and, albeit cheesy, he would say that these past years have been the best years of his life.  You had both dabbled in the topic of your futures together in the past. Usually, it was in something casual: the occasional quip while making dinner (“I’m spouse material Seok, you’re just too blind to see it”), little comments while heading off to work (“Yeah yeah I’ll be back tonight, just like every night and every night for the rest of our lives”), or even the fleeting late-night discussions of adding something more to your lives (“We’re both too busy to be dog owners right now. You know this- hey stop that pout!”). It wasn’t until a few months ago where it all seemed to click to him. He had always held all those comments to heart, whether you knew it or not, but somewhere along the line it all seemed to fit together like pieces in a puzzle. 

     Amongst all the excitement and nerves, Seokmin patted himself on the back. He was well aware of the fact that he could not lie to save his life. He was grateful for the fact that although you loved him dearly, you were quite oblivious to the world around you. It’s not that you didn’t notice people and their emotions, you just thought nothing of it. Someone could be telling you all about the latest movie they saw, and you would ask moments after their explanation if they saw the one movie they were planning on seeing. Despite your obliviousness, he had convinced himself that somehow along the way he would screw up and accidentally tell you his proposal plan. Thankfully, he had been able to keep his mouth shut (for the most part) for the past two weeks. 

     The previous night he had been able to play as casual and inconspicuous as he could, and you, thankfully, hadn’t seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. This morning had seemed to go as it normally would as well: it was a weekend day so you had gotten out of bed after much convincing that his “five more minutes” of cuddling had been over fifteen minutes ago. He had fallen back asleep as you got ready for the day, eventually making your way out into the world as he stayed tucked away in bed. When he had woken up, he double-checked the practically unused medicine cabinet in the bathroom to make sure the ring was hidden away in its normal spot: in an empty container of day-time cold medicine. Even if you had opened the cabinet, you would have been none the wiser since you usually resorted to asking him for help with what you should take for the different aches and pains. After taking the ring out of its spot, he made his way to the front door near the various assortment of shoes. He grabbed a black dress shoe and reached inside for the navy blue box. Putting the ring inside the box, he walked over to the kitchen to get started on a mug of coffee, thus leading to his current position. 

     The coffee now had cooled off a little too much for his liking, but he finished the drink anyway. He rinsed the mug briefly and made his way back to the bedroom to get ready for the day. His plan for today was simple: pick you up from your friend’s apartment and then go to the park you two would often visit on weekends and he would propose there. The plan itself? Easy. Actually executing it smoothly? Questionable. He had made sure to dress casually and to grab the soccer ball that had made its way into your weekly park visit routine. Checking the time on his phone, he sent you a text making sure that he was still picking you up in a half-hour. 

     y/n: yep!! Plz come soon my arms are literally about to fall off

     y/n: if they ask how I feel about a painting placement one more time I’m not coming here ever again

     y/n: ALSO!!! I never knew how many different shades of red there were

     y/n: if u asked me to tell the difference between sangria and vermillion I would cry (fyi I almost cried cause I couldn’t tell the difference between sangria and vermillion)

     Seokmin couldn’t help but burst into laughter at your texts. It was the little things like this that made him fall even more in love with you. Did he even know that those two colors existed? No, but he couldn’t help how happy it made him seeing you get so worked up over something so simple. After sending a reaffirming text that he, personally, believed those colors are fake and that he was on his way, he pocketed his phone, grabbed his keys and the ring box, and made his way over to your friend’s apartment. 

     The drive over to the apartment went smoothly, except for the part where he accidentally missed the right turn onto the street and had to turn around. When he pulled up in front of the building, you had been waiting at the front steps. You had spotted his car immediately, and he could have sworn that the smile on your face was brighter than anything he has ever seen. You practically sprinted to the car and threw open the door. 

     “Well close your door already then! We got a date that’s totally a surprise and you definitely don’t know where we’re going.”

     “Hi there! I’m Seokmin, your Uber driver for today! Where are we headed today?-”

    “Seokmin, honey, I love you but if you don’t drive away right now I’m pretty sure I’m going to be roped back into deciding between ‘dusty yellow’ or ‘beige’ throw pillows for the new couch.”

     “I can see the ball in the back seat-”

     “Ah.. it’s such a mystery.”

     You lightly punched his arm, both of you laughing at his antics. The drive to the park was filled with your stories of the horrors of apartment decorating. He didn’t realize how passionate someone could be about the different styles of curtains, but apparently your friend had been very adamant about how certain curtains fit different kinds of rooms. He told himself that he needed to be actively listening to what you were saying, but he couldn’t help but get hit with nerves once again when he realized how close you two actually were to arriving at the park. His grip on the steering wheel tensed slightly, and your words seemed like background noise compared to how loud his heart seemed to be beating. Somehow, he managed to keep the conversation afloat without you noticing anything was off as you two arrived in the parking lot of the park. 

     You jumped out of the car and opened the back seat to grab the ball, meanwhile he made sure the box was still in his shorts pocket and hadn’t fallen out in the drive over. After making sure everything was in its right place, he locked the car as you both made your way over to the field, hand in hand. The walk over seemed to last for miles, and the box seemed to all the sudden hold a weight that he didn’t seem to notice before. You, however, paid no mind as you swung your hands back and forth and practically skipped along. 

     The park itself wasn’t the closest one to where you and Seokmin lived, but it was the only one that had goalposts for soccer and in your opinion, which you stated almost every time you came, it was more scenic. 

     “I mean c’mon-” you had said one afternoon during a short break in your playing, “what kind of soccer field is surrounded by flower beds in a city? Also, you can’t miss how beautiful that field of wildflowers is behind the goalpost that’s missing a net.” He had to agree, the wildflower field was pretty. Hence, that’s the spot where he planned to make everything happen. You two had arrived at the soccer field and it was empty, much to both of your delights. Sharing half a field was something you both had grown accustomed to, but having the whole field to yourself always made the game more fun. 

     “Ok so before we start, my dear opponent, we have to choose sides” Seokmin had started to say.

     “Yes, I know how this game works. It’s not like we played it every weekend for the past three years” you laughed. “You already know what I’m gonna say though! I want the goal with the net ‘cause I don’t want to have to get the ball when it inevitably gets kicked into the wildflowers.”

     “Actually, I was going to change it up this time.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “Let’s do what the pros do, coin toss for which side we go to!”

     “If you’re sure about that babe, then let’s do it. I just don’t see why we gotta break routine” you pouted. 

     “Aw c’mon, it’ll be fun! I promise!” He chuckled and ruffled your hair. You swatted his hand away, still pouting.

     “Let’s just toss the coin already. I call tails, tails is the lucky side.”

     “What- what side was that Seok? You didn’t even give me a chance to see it!”

     “I always heard it was heads-”

    “Just flip the coin!” You sighed, getting slightly peeved as he kept putting off the game. He took a coin out of his pocket and took a deep breath. He realized that banking on luck alone for this part of the plan was probably not the smartest decision, but what’s life without a little risk? He set the coin on his thumbnail and flicked it high into the air, watching as it falls to the ground and quickly snatching it from the ground. 

     “Well, you just gotta be quicker then, sweetheart. I was right about heads always being the lucky side.” He grinned mischievously. Even you realized at that moment that you probably had won the coin toss but he refused to admit it. You rolled your eyes, letting him have his way. 

     “So, since I won, I’m gonna have the goal with the net this time.” He had explained, a little too happily. You wanted to be at least a little frustrated with him, but the smile on his face was contagious. 

      “Seems like someone is just getting tired of having to hunt the ball down in the wildflowers all the time” you sung. 

     “Not true! Like I said I just wanted a change-” his sentence had been interrupted as you set the ball down and began dribbling to your respective goal. He didn’t even try to argue further as he quickly sprinted down the field in an attempt to stop you. He managed to get a foot in front of yours, making you stumble slightly and lose your footing on the ball. He quickly brought the ball down to your side of the field, the goal wide open. Right as he was about to take a shot, he felt a tug on his shirt. You had pulled him back, snatching the ball from him in the process. He quickly recovered and made his way back to his goal, getting there before you could set yourself up for a proper shot. You kicked the ball, and it went flying into the air. Seokmin headed the ball, gaining control of the ball and made his way to the other side of the field. You had taken the time when the ball was in the air to make it back to your side, giving yourself a little bit of a break. Seokmin practically sauntered down the field, having to catch his breath. He approached you with the ball, faked to the right, and went around you scoring the first goal of the game. 

     “I even got a head start on you so this wouldn't happen, you jerk” you chuckled. You grabbed the ball from the net and casually made your way down the field. When you got about halfway on the other side of the field, you paused. You kept the ball under your dominant foot and crossed your arms. “Well,” you taunted, “I’m waiting.”

     “Y/n you do this every game-”

     “And you always fall for it. If I know it works then I’m not gonna change it. Now c’mon, I’m willing to stand here for the next hour if I have to.” You laughed, rolling the ball under your foot. Seokmin slowly made his way forward, trying to calculate where you would go. You took this opportunity of him creeping forward to sprint past him, making your way to the goal. In the heat of the moment, you had forgotten that the goal you were shooting at was the one without the next, as you shot the ball as hard as you could. The ball flew forward, past the goal post, straight into the field of wildflowers. 

     You heard Seokmin guffaw behind you. “Well damn, my girlfriend really does have power. Y’know you put up such a fuss about having to use this goal I thought you would have shot the ball a little more, oh I don’t know, gently?”

     You groaned at his teasing, “Yeah yeah I know. You don’t even need to remind me of the rule. You shoot the ball, you retrieve it too.” You began jogging into the field, internally cursing yourself for shooting so hard. “Ugh, the flowers are so pretty but it sucks when you have to find something in this mess” you mumbled to no one in particular. Little did you know, Seokmin had been following behind you. Trying to stay as quiet as possible, he made sure to keep a distance close enough to where he could see you but far enough where you wouldn’t hear him behind you.

     After what felt like an eternity, you found the ball. You picked it up and quickly turned around, not wanting to make Seokmin wait any longer than he had to. You almost screamed in surprise and dropped the ball, seeing him behind you down on one knee. 

     “What- Seok what are you doing?”

    “Well, I could be funny and say I’m tying my shoe,” he chuckled nervously, “but obviously that’s not it.” He pulled out the navy blue box, opening it to reveal the ring inside. You both sat in silence, as you felt tears beginning to form. 

     “When did-”

     “Before you ask any questions, I just want to say I had this whole speech planned. I did. But seeing you in the flowers just made me realize how lucky I am to have someone as beautiful as you.”

    “Seokmin-”

     “Please, say yes?” he looked at you, and you could see him beginning to cry as well. You wiped your tears and walked over to him. You knelt down and extended your left hand towards him, trying to keep your hand as steady as you could. After he realized what you were doing he fumbled with the box, pulling out the ring. He slipped it on your finger, a perfect fit. As he admired the ring on your finger he could hear you laughing.

     “What’s so funny?” He looked at you, wiping away more tears that had built up. 

     “I’m just thinking about how it’s gonna be when we tell the guys how you proposed. You even asked please, like you were begging me to say the words you already knew I was going to say.” You sniffed, making eye contact with him. “Of course I’ll say yes. I would have said yes even if you dropped the ring, which I was fully expecting you to do by the way-”

     “Hey! I’m a bit clumsy but not that bad-” You cut him off with a kiss, short and sweet.

     “I know, I just like to mess with you. Just like how you messed with me and the goals today.”

     “Are you ever going to let that go?” He chuckled.

     “Nope, never. For as long as I live. Which means you’re stuck with me reminding you since we’re gonna be together, forever.” You laughed, still wiping away any remaining tears. He pulled you into his embrace and kissed your cheek.

     “Forever, I like the sound of that.”

[mavspeed]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

1.

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon. 

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

2.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

3. 

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

4.

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

5. 

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

6. 

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

7. 

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

8. 

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

9.

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10. 

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11. 

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess 

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13. 

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14. 

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb

[dredshirtroberts]

Tagged by @tumbleweedtech!!

What is your total word count on AO3?

Oh thank god you're asking me to look there where they calculate it for me so i don't have to try and figure it out across all eleventy-million of my fucking WIPs xD.

uhhhhh looks like...274,424 heh. that's lower than i thought but then again I post very little of what i actually write so...

How many fandoms have you written for?

On AO3? if I lump the related ones together (which i do) it's 4. If we're talking across the board in general? uh...f u c k. there's so much i haven't posted or thought about posting yet. just go ahead and like. add ten more on top of the four fandoms on AO3 i think that's about close if we're counting crossovers and inspired-bys

What were your top 5 fics by kudos?

Right Back to the Beginning

Constellations

Please, What?

Spearwort, Iris and Ash: Spearwort Yellow for Joy

Lia & Em's Adventure In Thedas Part I: The Wrath of Heaven

Do you respond to comments - why, why not?

I... want to? I try sometimes, if someone's comment touches me or came at a particularly bad time. It's overwhelming to respond to people - I'm a lurker by nature and never really grew out of the habit of teen-me knowing i wasn't supposed to be looking at the fics i was reading and so i wouldn't interact with them or the authors at all. So it can be hard to like. reconcile that I'm a fully grown adult person who is allowed to not only read and write what i enjoy but also that like. other adult people are reading and enjoying what i write? and that they'd want to tell me? I admit to also falling out of what little habit i'd started due to continued weirdly critical (yet not *negative*) comments that just. rub me the wrong way so I can't figure out how to respond? yeah.

What's your fic with the angsty-est ending?

Again I guess if we're going by what's actually posted, I'd probably have to say the Super Fucking Old fic I added from my FF.net days: A Late Summer Afternoon (hopefully that's the right link - sometimes copy and paste doesn't work the way i want). warnings for MCD. I...imagine you might be able to pick up on why that one's my angstiest ending xD I generally try to like. end my stories on a positive note? even if it's not all better yet - so the second angstiest would be Color of Your Eyes or Have This probably. Likely more Have This over Color of Your Eyes but they're both relatively tame as compared to my earliest writing xD

Do you write crossovers?

Uh...yes but i haven't posted any yet. Most of the reason nothing I write gets posted is because I am incapable of writing small projects and I get nervous about posting chapters before i know where i story is going yet because i feel like i can't edit if it's been posted? Anyway I'm going to try and get over that eventually. Not right now, though. I still have to edit some stuff.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Hate is a strong word. I...assume most people who have commented mean well, regardless of how their comments may come off to me on my end. Several have rubbed me the wrong way due to phrasing and an inability to read tone over text-based communication, but I refuse to believe they would have kept reading if they didn't like most of the story. Certainly it has been generally positive feedback across the board so I don't feel comfortable at all calling any negative comments i've received (intentional or not) "hate"

Have you ever had a story stolen?

As far as I'm aware, no. Thankfully I tend to write shit that people just don't care that much about so I'm pretty safe I think. Watch that come bite me in the ass xD

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah. I hope one day to be proficient in my target language and will be able to translate my own fics myself but see aforementioned note about how no one really cares that much about what i write xD it won't happen unless i do it myself.

What is your all time favourite pairing?

You want me? to pick favorites? in THIS economy?

What is a fic you would like to finish but don't think you ever will?

currently none are looking like "never gonna finish"es which is good. RBttB sat unfinished for a long while and I probably won't polish the ending on that one, but it's technically done. I also don't want to finish that one either so. it wouldn't have fulfilled the requirements of the question.

Writing strengths?

You want me? to compliment myself? in THIS econo- alright alright i know, it's a terrible joke. Uh...I understand i'm pretty good at smut. and descriptions? i think? I feel like my humor is unparalleled but that's also because i'm pretty sure i'm the funniest person in my apartment (we'll just casually not mention i live alone...) Seamless integration of current and historical memes? Puns? i don't know. i am super confident about writing but i couldn't tell you for sure what i'm actually strong at.

Writing weaknesses?

uh. Getting anything finished. endings. d i a l o g u e. writing. flow. pacing. repetition. writing. see what i did there? i told you my humor was awesome. no but really i struggle with actually starting to write and then it ends up being a lot of me repeating myself a bunch until i find the sentence or four that work best. and like. my pacing is weird so it can be hard to...figure out what i'm trying to say? oh and commas. i use commas wrong.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages?

I enjoy the shit out of it. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea but I try really hard to get it right. if I'm not 100% positive it's correct I will change the whole sentence. mostly because i only know a handful of people who know languages other than English and I am bad at reaching out for help when I need it. mostly the second part though.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

YuYu Hakusho! A friend and I wrote this epic fucking self-insert not-quite-isekai style fanfic back and forth in notebooks back in the 6th grade (which was about...oh. nearly 20 years ago jesus i'm old). Only one of my notebooks survived when she decided anime was demons and the devil trying to tempt her away from Jesus so a lot of the story was lost. It was also in pencil so it's half worn out of the notebook as it is. then there was the phase i went through where i decided i could make my notebooks more interesting by cutting them into shapes which lost me a bit of text in the margins that i'd forgotten about... look we're mostly lucky i had it at all or that i've kept it all these years. Why do i still have it?...hm.

What's your favourite fic?

Of mine? So far it's probably a toss-up between Spearwort, Iris and Ash and Lia & Em's Adventure in Thedas. you know. My two biggest projects Oh...oh possibly also the Current-Reworking-The-Title fic I've started that I've not posted anything of yet in the Arcana fandom. Which is also a huge major project. I don't write small if I can help it, apparently.

of someone else's? You want me? to choose favorites? in THIS- yes i know that's the same joke three times. I think it changes based on what I need most out of my fic reading experience. I have an extensive bookmark collection on AO3. one of them in there's probably holding a spot as favorite, most likely.

Tagging: @concertconfetti, @daughterofdungeonbat, and anyone else who wants to do this! If you want a specific tag to do this, please LMK and i'll tag you <33

[breathings-of-the-heart]

To Love Another

Levi Ackerman x Reader

A/N: Hey guys!! Back after a long hiatus, sorry hehe. I know y’all must hear this a lot and be sick of it, but there was a lot going on in my personal life that I needed to deal with. (I.E. an parent custody issues and succession of court cases) But everything has been settled in my favor so I’m back and excited!! 

Anyway, this is a part two I promised like years ago which can stand by itself kinda so u don’t have to go back and read part one lol. I wrote so much that I’m dividing it in two; part three will be out most likely by tomorrow. If you want to read part one, link for it is here: Imagine Relating to Mikasa about Loving someone in the Military

(requested by @a-single-uwo @dracq and @little-diva-gurl and to you three specifically, so sorry for the wait! But I didn’t forget :3)

“He loves you, more than he’s ever loved anyone. Surely you know that,” Hange tried to plead, taking (Y/N)’s small hands into her own.

With an inability to overlook the throbbing in her chest, the girl simply met her gaze with a sorrowful smile. Her friend’s expression was sympathetic, conveying her sentiment with a sense of urgency and conviction; such a gesture was appreciated, but considering the events of today leading the broken girl thus far, easy to brush off. Levi’s own harsh words and hard-set countenance were forever etched into (Y/N)’s memory-- speaking louder than any other subconscious that told her he didn’t mean the things he’d spoken. All she could see now was the Captain’s anger trumping all the blinding endearment she thought the two of them to shared. There was no room in her brain for two such vastly different images… the young woman viewed herself an idiot.

(Y/N) was barely able to speak, a thousand words at once caught in behind her pursed lips as she shook her head, wishing Hange’s statement was true.

“With all do respect, Section Commander…” weak voice trailing off, the petite beauty cleared her throat and willed herself not to cry. “I don’t believe you. I was a fool to think of myself as more than my true worth to Levi.”

Said man of the conversation stood on the other side of the door, a whole world away, fist lifted mid-knock. He stilled, gray orbs downcast as he heard the girl’s reply echoing in his ears. 

The documents in his hand fell from his fingertips as his body slacked, the pages fluttering in the air and settling with the ambiance. He hadn’t realized he dropped them, and when he did, Levi could not bring himself to care. His eyelids squeezed shut painfully and the stoic male turned heel, footsteps rhythmically sounding off the lacquer floor as he shuffled away in defeat and heartache.

And only when the stoic man reached the privacy of his room did he realize his fingernails were dug so tightly into his palms that crescent moon scars would indent the skin for life.

A cruel, constant reminder. A testimony to his greatest pain--- your heartbreak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Commander Erwin sat at the head of the office table of one of the many meeting rooms littered along the castle, a serious expression cast on his defined face. There was a tired yet determined look fixed on his shadowed face; deceptively aged with worry lines creased across his forehead: a tell to the stress and conflicting passion his position required. Untold horrors must have crossed the man’s mind on the daily, yet, the disciplined, solemn facade did well to suggest otherwise.

Even in another dim scenario such as this one, he remained the epitome of strength.

As Erwin studied a long paper in front of him, there was a flicker of deep thought that passed just as quickly as it came. The thought grew smaller in his eyes, and the put-together authority figure stroked his freshly kempt chin.

Having not seen the Scouts since their rescue mission to save Eren, you were shocked at the change in the head of the regiment. With an arm lost and the deceptively young-looking appearance faded, it was only then when you realized his hair told stories as well-- speckled with select gray strands, the stress-revealers hid amongst a thicket of slicked away blondes.

Things seem to have shifted. From what I’ve read in the reports… Eren controlled the Titans with his scream without knowing how. It feels like we’re moving forwards and backwards at the same time.

You touched the bandaging around your torso, wincing a tad as you pressed too hard.

If I’d been more careful last mission I would’ve seen it all for myself.

A map was spread out across the wooden surface of the ancient worktable, the parchment’s top ends brushing against your fingertips. It gave off a beige hue with ink blended in a thoughtful, delicately beautiful layout of Wall Maria’s charted territory. Sunlight filtered through the window shades and illuminated the figurines representing another formation of the Commander’s. Clusters creating an almost horseshoe shape laid out in front of the spectators in the room, squads labeled accordingly. The symbols representing the Special Operations Squad were located on the innermost circle, standing out in bright yellow.

You took a moment to gaze up and break away from the lull of the deafening silence.

You were painfully aware of Captain Levi’s presence next to you. Eren sat on your other side, with another squad leader directly across. Hange was at Erwin’s left side, and Moblit peered past Mikasa’s shoulder in order to see properly as the head of the Survey Corps spoke, finally leaving the separate worlds of his own mind. Armin and stood behind the blonde man, absorbing each of his words carefully.

“There’s many obstacles to be dealt with, naturally” Erwin intoned, officially beginning the meeting. “For starters, we cannot risk any casualties on the journey to Shiganshina. Knowing the enemy, they will be prepared for our arrival and not a single soldier can be spared until we get to the battle field.”

Erwin brought up a lingering, troubling issue that already started to make your head hurt. As a key strategist and extension of the Brain Trust, however, your mind was your strongest weapon. There had to be a way to work around it all.

“Traveling at night is yet another risk,” you relayed, resting your weight on your forearms. “Considering the events experienced the night of the Beast Titan’s appearance.”

The light of the full moon must have been bright enough to give the titans energy.

“How are we supposed to work our way around that?” Eren groaned in exasperation.

You wracked your brain, biting your lip in frustration as all came up blank. All motion came to a halt, though, as you felt a hand grip your knee firmly. Electricity shot through your body as you met the penetrating gaze.

Levi.

“Calm down, brat. Tapping incessantly will only piss me off.”

You hadn’t even known you’d been doing it, but the second the Captain touched you, you were frozen.

Your eyes met his, fully, for the first time in months. And from that instant on, they were trapped in the blue-gray you had drowned in so many times before. You couldn’t help but absorb the sight and engrave it to memory, the art of Levi himself a blessing you had nearly forgotten. But he was different from last time. Maybe it was the illusion fading, or your distant memory. Of him, never.

He looked tired, like you, the fire in those orbs dulled into dying embers. Was that the mission’s doing? The loss of nearly half the regiment?

Or was it something else entirely?

Then your focus shifted to his hand, which dared to travel the smallest bit upwards. Levi kept it there, as if stuck in his own trance. A minute, hour, day could have passed and still, in that moment, you wouldn’t have noticed.

Until reality hit and you remembered everything anew.  

As if he had been burned, Levi retracted his hand as quickly as you looked away. The illusion faded once more, just as tragic as last time.

Breath, (Y/N). This is bigger than you.

“I suspect,” you sighed, regaining yourself, “the indirect source of sunlight the moon reflects, is enough to generate energy for these new titans. The solution is simple.”

“We can initiate the expedition next new moon!” Armin exclaimed, pointing at you excitedly.

“Mhmm, that is our most promising option. But I doubt it will be safe doing it on horseback. We need to be quiet, stealthy, and aware of our surroundings considering the dangers of the dark. Our vision will be limited,” Hange pointed out. “We’ll need to walk them and our supplies, and find a better source of light.”

Erwin nodded, looking slightly impressed.

And as your nonchalant front solidified, you realized it was becoming easier to smile than to remember the hurt. It seemed that way for Levi too, who took an elegant sip of tea as if nothing fazed him at all.

There are more important things, clearly.