#this is all based off of a drawing I did in class

[dilf-docs]

To The Devil I Know

dbf!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: your infamous girl's trip with your best friend sarah gets crashed by his overprotective dad. but what is the perfect way to leash all your anger out?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, it's pussy spanking time again bc i do in fact like it a lot, praise/daddy kink sprinkled somewhere, reader calls him mr. miller A LOT, exhibition kink (v nasty), degradation kink (he calls her little slut), pantie sniffing (joel's kind of a perv, ay), dirty talk (they have a sentence awaiting in horny jail), y/n grinds on joel's nose bc yeah i too want that, this is contradicting but lwk sub!joel bc that man's touch starved as HELL, may do a part two idk pls give it love

word count: 7,195 words

side note: this request got me HOOKED the moment i opened it and since i'm currently on a pedro hyperfixiation rn, we need to put the mental illness to good use. also, this is lwk based on the song by suki waterhouse devil i know! :) i'm seeing that i have two joel fics with devil in the title btw something something abt nickels and not being a lot but weird it happened twice also WE HIT 300 FOLLOWERS??? (and its 1am and i have to wake up at 4am is anyone surprised atp...)

"Sarah!" you shout, "get your ass out here you looser!"

It's probably eight in the morning, and here you are, honking and shouting in the middle of the quiet calm suburbs.

When you spot her curly head running towards you in a rush, you know she's pissed.

"Stop screaming!" she shouts back, "my neighbours will hate me"

You've known Sarah since you were kids. When you first moved to Texas, she was the only one who spoke to you in school. You grew up with her among white picket fences and scrapped knees, mantaining the friendship even as you moved away, until your return for college.

"Why would I even care? I don't live here!" you joke from the driver's seat, hopping off and giving her a hug. "I'm sorry but I can't help it. I'm just so excited for this trip, we've been planning it for ages!"

You keep talking excitedly about your plans, not noticing how her face falls.

"Yeah, about that..."

"You girls ready?" a third voice enters the picture, definitely not belonging to a girl.

"Uh, Sarah" you breath in, "Why the fuck is your dad here?"

In all his glory: Joel Miller, a guy you haven't seen in forever, too busy living in the dorms, girl dates with Sarah often out of her house. You wanted to explore the world: you weren't ten anymore, and the suburbs lost all of it's appeal they had when you were the age of Barbies and drawing on chalk.

"Listen, y/n. I tried, I really tried. But as soon as I opened my mouth, he started to pack his bags"

"Isn't your dad always busy at work?" you inquire, another one of the reasons Joel's face isn't a fresh memory in your head.

"That's part of the problem. He took all of the pending vacations he had at once" she sighs, sounding as dissapointed as you are. "I understand if you don't want to go"

"Are you being serious right now?" you chuckle dryly. "No, absolutely not. I saved for this trip, packed my favorite outfits and aced all my classes so my parents would allow me. Nothing is going to ruin this for me: not you, not your dad. So we'll go and we'll have all the fun we planned, yeah?" you express firmly, holding her hands. "We will have our girl summer, no matter what. Even if we have to ignore the elephant in the room..."

"Did you just call me fat?"

You turn around, and there he is: the uninvited. Joel Miller's aged face stands before you, strong arms flexing under the pressure of a couple of suitcases.

"No" you reply back, "just a nuissance"

He chuckles at your response, amused. "If you thought I'd let my babygirl go alone with you to the beach and get shit-faced drunk, you're not as smart as I remember, y/n"

Your name would always be on his tongue to call you out. Y/n, don't do that. Y/n apologize to the neighbours. Y/n, slow down. Y/n, don't be so stubborn. You were always a troublemaker, and his lips would only know how to pronounce your name if to berate you. But now, as his mouth says your name with a newly learned tone, dripping with dare and amusement, you can't help but feel a fire ignite that burns your skin.

"Dad!" Sarah calls out, taking you out of your thoughts. She flushes in embarrasment, and you scoff at the idea of giving too much of your time to think about Mr. Miller of all people. "I'm not ten anymore, we'll be just fine"

"You're barely of legal age!" he counters back. "What if somethin' was to happen to you, huh? I'd never forgive myself"

You get annoyed at his over-the-top reactions. What did he think you were gonna do? The wildest thing you had in mind was getting drunk while sitting in the sand. Not even in the water! You may be a wild spirit, but stupid you're not.

"Look, Mr. Miller" he cocks his head to the side, daringly so, almost as if waiting for you to try. "I don't know what you're thinking, but this isn't Driveway Dolls" he looks at you confused, so you try again, "Or Thelma and Louise, whatever suits your fucking old ass. Alright? This is a girls trip, heard that? Just two bestfriends enjoying their youth and summer without boys around to ruin it for them"

"Boys?" he laughs. "Too bad, then, 'cause sweetheart, I'm a man"

Your breath hitches, but you're not going to let him win; you always need to have the last word.

"Well, man up and let your daughter be free for once!"

Sarah covers her face with her palms, clearly knowing her dad more. This is a lost battle.

"Stop, y/n. Please. Dad's impossible to bend"

"He's ruining our trip!" you protest, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Take it or leave it" he leans against his truck, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart to the strained fabric of his sleeves, and when he chuckles, you don't know if he noticed or it's because of his imminent victory.

"Fine!" you throw your hands in the air, dramatically so. "Welcome on board, intruder"

Joel Miller smiles, and maybe it's the rare sight, not even common back in the day, that makes your heart skip a beat.

"And we're taking my truck"

"Are you being serious right now?!" Was this man going to take away all your freedom?

He laughs, mockingly. Rage bubbles in your chest, along something darker you aren't going to admit just yet.

"There is no way my daughter is going on a fucking hatchback to the beach"

You try to distract yourself talking to Sarah in the backseat, but her dad's prying glances time to time from the rear view mirror have you shifting uncomfortably on your seat.

He's persistent, always has been. Joel Miller, just as Sarah said, wasn't a man who could be bent. You'd remember thinking he was a sort of superhero: unbreakable. Whenever Sarah needed help, a pair of strong arms would be there, ready to take the weight off of her shoulders. He was now older, as you have noticed: grey and wrinkles sprayed all over his face. And now, the worst part of it all:

Age had made him infuriatingly attractive.

Unfair, you think, that a man so bitter that only seemed to worry and nag, was blessed with the rare quality of aging like wine. You can deny it anymore: whatever Joel Miller has now that he didn't before is working on you like a lovesick spell.

You look again to the front, just in time to catch one of his subtle (not really) stares. You keep the eye contact, only he tears away his gaze first, something akin to regret and fear circling on his warm brown orbs. The fire from before cracks inside of your belly, and the anticipation begins.

If he was going to ruin your trip, you might as well return the favor.

"M' gonna stop for gas" he says after some minutes of silence, deviating towards a gas station.

You take the opportunity to get out of the truck to strech your legs. Sarah does so too, but then whispers into your ear:

"Tell my dad I need to go to the bathroom. Don't want him worrying"

As if you'll talk to him. Despite that, you nod and she leaves you alone with her annoying dad.

"Reckless too, huh?" Joel appears by your side, almost making you drop your phone. "You know you're not s'pposed to use the damn phone on a gas station? Good thing I ain't let my daughter go alone with you"

You put your phone down. "Reckless? I know what I'm doing" but you sound nervous, for some reason.

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Joel says, his voice surprisingly soft.

You heart gets stuck in your throat at the sudden shift, "I suppose not"

"I get that you hate me" he confesses, done filling the tank, "but I couldn't let the two of you go alone"

Your cheeks turn pink at the accusation, "I don't hate you"

He laughs, and the sound has something stirring in the lower of your belly. Why is Joel Miller of all people provoking feelings in you no other boy has ever provoked? You're used to playing with boys as you please, and you come to realize that's where the difference lies: you don't know how to handle a man.

A man so strong, your eyes don't leave him as his arms flex while pumping the gas, the delicious peek his simple white shirt gives you not going unnoticed; droplets of sweat on his temple, sliding down his jawline then getting lost down the crook of his neck. You lick your lips on instinct, horrified when you realize what you've just thought and done.

"Damn right you don't"

You could say you've reached some kind of truce, but then Sarah comes back, and when you look at Joel again, he's reverted to that annoying apathic state of his, but instead of bothering you, it only makes you want more.

"Hey" he says to Sarah, "where you went?"

"I had to pee, dad. Relax" she dismisses, shooting at you a can-you-believe-it look.

He walks away, ready to jump in the driver's seat again, when he turns around to whisper to Sarah:

"Don't ever leave me again" tone stern, "not with her"

But you hear.

You arrived late, the sun hiding behind the large body of water that seemed infinite.

"I can't believe we missed the first sunset!" you whine. "It was going to look so good on my Instagram stories..."

"This generation and their problems" Joel scoffs, taking the suitcases to the house you've rented for the next two days.

The answer is right at the tip of your tongue, but you decide to be the bigger person and remain quiet. If he wants to play, you better play smart.

"Dad, please" Sarah calls him out, and you have to hide a laugh. "Don't fight with y/n"

"I ain't doing shit" he sneers, crossing his bulking arms.

Sarah walks past him, muttering against his childishness. That angers Joel, who tries to remain cool.

"I know you hate me" you suddenly appear by his side. Your vainilla scent gets up on his nose, invading his body of you. "I just think you should try, for Sarah"

"I don't hate you" he answers, and now it's your turn to laugh.

"Yeah? Doesn't seem like it, Mr. Miller" it comes out before you can stop it, and there's something dark lurking behind his brown eyes piercing through you.

"I don't" sounding more sure this time. Serious too.

"You'll have to prove that?"

You enjoy the surprise on his face and the light pink sprinkled across his cheeks.

"Prove that?"

You nod, finding all of this suddenly funny.

"Hmh, you heard me. Prove it, Mr. Miller. That you don't hate me"

But before he can respond, your bestfriend is back.

"Y/n, come on! You need to check the house. It has a shared balcony!" Sarah beams giddy.

You let her excitement infect you, taking her hand as you go inside the house. Joel stays back, your words ringing on his ears.

On the other hand, Sarah and you check the room together.

"Look this" she points at one of the mirrors in the room: it has details that remind you of the sea. "Isn't it cute?"

"It is" you agree, "we should take a picture"

"Okay. But use your phone" she says, "mine died on the road"

You're about to pull it out when you feel your pockets empty.

"It's... not here"

"You might left it in the car" she tries to help.

"Yeah" you try to remain level-headed, "I'll go search for it"

You return to the truck, pressing your head against the window. Just like your friend guessed, it's there, abandoned on the seat.

"Lost somethin'?"

You gasp, turning around. Joel Miller's face is centimeters away from yours, breathing heavily as his body cages your smaller frame against the truck's doors.

"My phone" you find your voice after what feels like eternity, "it's inside the car" "Need help with that?" his voice sounds low, whisper easily to be confused with a growl.

You don't know how to answer, scared for the first time of where your mouth could take you. So your solution is to nod, and step aside for him to open the car.

"There you go" he's dropping it in your hands, fingers lightly brushing yours. There's a shiver down your spine despite the cool weather, and you know damn well it's all his fault.

"Need anything else?" but it feels like a slap to the face, as if he's challenging you to speak what you've been thinking but are too coward to do when he stands before you.

"No" you mentslly slap yourself for how pathetic you sound, "this is all I needed, Mr. Miller. Thanks"

You look back one last time, despite the beating of your heart. And there it is: that same look he gave you in the car, except this time, there's something darker lurking in the corner of his eyes.

"Anytime" but it falls deaf to your ears, as you basically ran away from him.

Him and his imposing presence, enough to make your legs tremble and your mind to stop working. Him and his smell, that brings you back to simpler times and reminds you of a a secret place in the woods, musk getting under your skin. Him and his breath, hitching when you touch hands. Him and his beating heart, just as loud as yours.

"Took you long" Sarah comments when you return, "I was already falling asleep"

She doesn't know or suspect, you tell yourself, but that doesn't stop your heart from beating fast.

That night, as Sarah lays by your side and you try to sleep, all you can think about is his big hands, the lingering feeling of a warm touch. And then Joel, stepping back―coming to his senses; as if something is holding him back.

Anytime.

You can't help but wonder what stopped him.

Days have blurred between drinks by the poolside, waves crashing, wet sand in your fingers and sun carressing skin.

Despite what happened, Joel remains in the shadows, letting you and Sarah enjoy your trip in peace. You may be spending time with your bestfriend, but his presence hangs in the air, impregnated with his strong pine and whisky smell, looming over you like a shadow; suffocating, like his scent is all you can breath. You hate how your mind keeps going back to him, because despite your inicial claims to ruin him, that wasn't the purpose of this vacation, yet Joel seems to have infected you with a need that corners your mind to think of him and him only. The greed you feel is unnatural, like a spell has been cast upon you. He may be far, just as you wanted, and you should enjoy that, but it's that very same distance that is driving you insane.

Today, you and Sarah decided to go diving and then play volleyball.

The day ends, the sun sets, and so does the tiredness. But as Sarah's snores fill your ears, you toss around the bed, trying to conceal sleep to no avail.

Staring at the ceiling, you kept drifting back to Joel, mind wondering and heart racing at thoughts of strong arms caging you, warmth in your body that the breeze creeping through flowing curtains fails to provide.

The sound of wood creaking jolts you awake. His silhoutte is hard to miss, and your eyes follow it cross your bedroom. You pretend to be asleep, his scent up your nose as he walks in careful measured steps, trying not to wake you up. He looks back at Sarah, and the moonlight betrays him when it shines over his eyes, revealing an adoration that gwans your chest.

He keeps walking, until he reaches the shared balcony. It's then that you make a choice, heart pounding in your chest as you race yourself from bed, going his way.

You go outside, finding him resting his arms on the balcony, facing the beach in silence. Soft waves crash against the wet sand, but not even that can overpower the sound of your beating heart.

"What're you doin' here?" he's asking, even if you haven't moved from your spot. Seems like your friend wasn't joking about his heightened senses, despite his old age. "Thought y'were 'sleep"

"Well, Sarah is a fast sleeper" you answer, walking to his side.

"She sure is" and the faintest of a smile appears on his face.

Joel Miller is a mystery to you: the most closed off man you've ever met, hiding behind his apparent apathy that only seems to be gone whenever Sarah is around. She's the apple of his eye, and those soft traces of a more tamed character that come to light have truly picked your interest, begging for more crumbs that will help you puzzle who he really is: he, that is as handsome as a mystery. The worst is, you don't know what attracts you more.

But you won't let him win.

"Mr. Miller?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you married?"

He looks at you, dark eyes partly iluminated by the moonlight.

"Aren't you a bit too young to be bold?"

"And aren't you too hot to be all alone?" you reply in an instant, rendering him speechless.

He chuckles, but it sounds defeated rather than amused.

"Trust me, kid" he's back at facing the ocean. Goddamn coward. "This isn't what you want"

"Don't call me kid" you berate, almost repulsed at it. "I'm twenty one"

He scoffs. "Still hella young"

"But I know what I want" a wavering hand ready to trace over his pecs, but he's stopped you before it descends. Before it's too late.

"You don't" he assures, grip on your hand stronger, without knowing how much you're enjoying this. Or maybe he does. "See? That's the problem with you kids: you think you do, but you don't"

You loose your patience.

"Tell me then, Mr. Miller. Would a kid do this?"

Taking the distraction, the same hand flies now to grop his dick, and to your surprise, it's already hard.

"Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't know what they want"

"Stop" he warns, hissing when your eager fingers unbuckle his belt. It's huge, for some reason, and you can't help but feel an ardent throb at the thought of grinding on it.

When your eyes look at Joel, he swears he sees you devilishly smirk, almost as if you were mocking him.

"Stop?" you bite your lip, feigning innocence as doe eyes look where dark ones had done before. "If that's what you want, you aren't even trying"

You kneel down, and the position gives you the perfect side of his adam's apple bobbing in a nervous gulp. He grows insecure under your intense stare, breath hitching when the wind hits his now free member as you pull down his underwear, revealing it hard and leaking with precum. You laugh delighted, with victory, and he finds himself trapped between the moon and your games, drowning on a sea feet away.

"I think I know what you want"

"How? If you don't even know what you want" barely fighting it.

Your fingers grace over his soft abdomen, tracing down his belly and happy trai. Your teeth nip at the skin scattered with soft rosy lines, entertaining your mouth until your digits touch his hard cock. He whines, squirming, and you're delighted with the receptiveness, needy sounds escaping his overstimulated lips.

You haven't even started yet.

"You're right, I don't" you agree. "All I know is you piss me off and that you ruined our trip, so I'm gonna take my anger out on you one way... or another"

You take your first lick, savouring the dark red head. His hips buck, a shaky gasp robbed from his chapped lips.

"Fuck" he exhales weakly, lost against the sound of water.

"Don't worry, Mr. Miller. I'll take good care of you" admiring his girth; nothing you couldn't take. He looks down on you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Joel can't lie and say he isn't fascinated with the way you look at him, not believing so much appetite can fit in such a small young body. Not even his partners before you, had looked at him like he was the best thing in the world, and now here you were: the loud-mouthed brat best friend of his daughter, sucking his cock while Sarah slept just a few meters away. Just yersteday he was bickering with you, not standing your spoiled attituted and juvenile spirit that can't be tamed and won't shut up. Hell, you had even disrespected him. But here he is, not being able to find the words or actions to stop you: because he doesn't want to.

It was all so fucked up.

But then you're closing your lips around his swollen head, and he knows there's no point in fighting it anymore, his whole body urging him to give in.

"Oh, fuck" he pants, getting all worked up as you take him deeper. "Keep goin'. You're doin' a great job, sweetheart"

The praise gets to you, even if not needed.

Your tongue swirls, running the muscle with wet slides, up and down, tip to base, some pressure applied. You proceed to take in his balls, feeling him tense up. You wanted him to mock him badly, but your mouth was full of his dick, so that wasn’t happening.

"D-don't stop" he pleads, sounding more like a whine.

He's deep enough that it hits your throat. You've never been this greedy, but also, have never tried with a dick so big. You feel him in the roof of your mouth, your lips at the base of the tip, brushing against skin. Joel can't keep up: breath hitching, moans ragged and consumed, barely standing if it wasn't for your hands digging in his thighs for support.

You keep building pace, seeing Joel's face scrunch up.

"M' close" his voice comes out strained, his head tilting back, wild soft locks from before now plastered against his forehead, dripping with sweat. His muscles tense, you can feel it, and it's just about time before he's coming inside your mouth.

You want it. To taste more of him, who you claim to hate but feels oh so good. Strong, just as his presence.

"So good, fuck, you're so good" in a tone so needy and desperate. It falls out of his lips, followed by more unintelligible praises dripping from his tongue.

And then, in a shaky breath, lost to the wind:

"Y/n"

You gasp, and he feels it, the air ticklish on his sensitive skin.

Joel said your name.

Your name, in a way it had never been said before. Uttered like a prayer, submerged in devotion. Your name, melting into his moans, deep within him, the calling full of a primal desire. The experience is intoxicating, making you crave more.

Joel comes with a groan, head falling back. Your name dies on his lips as his hips thrust up with your lips closing in. Thick spurts of cum mix with saliva in the back of your throat. You pull out, a string of saliva still connecting you to his dick. He looks down on you, body shaking as much as yours. Without breaking eye contact, he wipes some of the mess drooling from your lips, his calloused thumbs carresing you with a softness you didn't think was possible. The contrast makes you falter a bit, and you know Joel notices.

"There you go" your voice comes out hoarse, avoiding his eyes, "now you know what you want"

He chuckles, giving you a hand to stand up. As you raise to your feet, his face is barely inches away from yours. You can see the lines time has marked across his face, the grays coloring hair you remember to be brown, and those eyes―piercing through you like they know you better than you know yourself.

"But do you?"

Joel Miller doesn't know what is regret.

He didn't feel it when Sarah arrived unexpectedly at the ripe age of twenty, forcing him out of college. He didn't feel it when Sarah's mother left him alone to raise his daughter all by himself, aware he had tried it all to make it work. He surely didn't feel it when you came back after leaving Texas, long gone the childlike wonder and features that made him see you as an extension of his daughter, his gaze lingering a bit too long on this familiar face in a beautiful blooming new body.

But this is different, and he isn't sure if, for the first time, he's finally known what is regret.

Joel Miller also doesn't know when to back out of a fight.

He remember his brother Tommy, practically begging to let go of some asshole that dared to pick up on him, knuckles bloody no matter if he was young then and old as stubborn now, the same red painted across his willfull hands.

But now those hands prickle and sweat, no matter how much he runs them over the fabric of his jeans. And now, as your dangerous stare pierces through him across the small table, Sarah oblivious to the game as she quietly munchs her cereal, Joel Miller backs down, his gaze the first to look away.

He realizes just now why he was so afraid to look up to the sky after you left. The same stars that stared back from the high of the dark night are akin to the ones dancing in your eyes.

"Mr. Miller" your voice breaks his train of thoughts.

"Where's Sarah?" he asks in a panicked voice, realizing you've been left alone.

"Brushing her teeth" you answer, slightly taken back by his tone. "We were going out today, remember?"

Ah, yes. A little tour to an island not to far away from there.

"M' not goin'. Sorry, kid" he's decided. Before you can speak, Sarah returns and asks the question herself.

"M' tired. That's all" but it sounds rather an excuse.

"Are you sure, dad?" Sarah presses, not sure why he had changed his mind at the last minute.

"Yeah" he insists, all while avoiding those eyes of yours, unsatisfied and searching for answers of questions qithout a voice. "You girls go and have fun"

So you do.

You go and feel like you're inside of Mamma Mia (your favorite movie; both of you learned ABBA's discography thanks to it, something that offended your parents), the sun reflecting in the water, the little island with its green and sun, and the flowers that dust their petals into the shore where your boat arrives.

But when the trip is over and soft waves rock your return, you think of Joel.

You think you should feel at least a little ashamed of becoming so obssesed with a man in barely two days, who, on top of it all, is your bestfriend's dad. But then you remember the taste of him inside your mouth, how his dick had rasped against your throat, his seed warm in the tip of your tongue. And then his eyes, promises meant to be broken locked away behind tides of fear, that do an excellent job of reminding you how easy is to drown; to fall for how in hazel flickers, Joel seems he'd give you the world.

"Let's get drunk" you deadpan once you're back at the shore.

Sarah laughs at your determination, then realizes you're serious.

"What?"

"Yeah, it's our last day here" you reason. "Besides, your dad isn't here. What's he going to say?"

If you sound between angry and dissapointed at his absence, Sarah remains quiet.

"We're running away" she tries one last time, but by the look in your eyes, you've made your choice.

"Are we? We're twenty-one, Sarah. We can do whatever the fuck we want" you feel rebellious all of a sudden, "what? Don't you wanna give this trip a grand finale?"

So you crash into the nearest bar and waste the night away, drinking and dancing. But you're ordering a drink you don't like, and in every glass of whiskey down your throat, his name hangs in the air like the memory of his smell, locked behind a vault as if it's too sacred to say. But when Sarah gets a boy to dance and lends his friend to you, you wish there was rough where soft meets your skin, and chapped when you kiss his lips. Your body burns ablaze with sweat, alcohol and regret, a dangerous combination that makes you pull Sarah out of the bar when you feel you're about to black out. She complains, but you're set on making it to the bed before your eyelids shut.

Maybe it's because you always had what you wanted, or maybe it was the forbidden, but whatever reason had pushed you in Joel's orbit, refused to let you go.

And maybe you're imagining his voice, scolding you likea kid. Maybe you're seven again, and in the shadows of the bed, you've gone back to your childhood days. Y/n, y/n, y/n. That sick berating tone of his, acting like you're stupid and small.

"Fucking brat" he spats, drops of his angry scowl landing on your cheek. You then realize he's hovering over you, and it's real, not a product of your foggy mind. So you stand up, sobering up a bit, when he charges back again. "Makin' my daughter pass out? What the fuck were you thinkin'? Could've ended in the middle of the street. You're s'pposed to go to the damn island and then come back!"

Your mouth tastes like sand, but even if you've passed out a couple hours ago, the fire doesn't die. So your tongue is back, finding it's voice to say:

"Well, if you hadn't left us alone, this wouldn't have happened"

He chuckles, darkly. Humorless. "I see"

"What?" you challenge, a shiver down your spine that looses itself somewhere else.

"You got my daughter drunk as revenge"

You're mortified at the accusation, the remnants of alcohol now long gone of your system.

"Do you think I'd risk me and my friends' safety for you? Out of all people, you?" not caring if you sound bitter.

The truth sticks to your skin as uncomfortably as the sweat.

"I dunno, sweetheart. That's why I'm asking you" the pet name rolls effortlessly, in a rough voice that creates a wet spot in your panties. He gets closer, and you can see the tremble of his lips as he lets out a shaky breath. "Be a good girl and answer"

"I won't tell you shit" you spit.

"You little mix, thinkin' you can run your tongue like it ain't been 'round my cock before" you look like a deer caught in headlights, and Joel's enjoying this more than he should. "That's right, what'd Sarah think knowing her friend's a little slut for daddy's cock?"

The electric current that crosses your body sparks the fire of the woods hiding behind his auburn storms.

Now you're feeling high on a forest fire. You want the flames to engulf you, even if ashes is all there'll be left.

"Tell me you want this" his forehead clashes against yours, and the whole world falls silent, except for your ringing ears.

"I want this" and he's just as surprised as you are by the unwavering conviction. "I need you, Mr. Miller"

You try to get up, but he pushes you with full force back into your bed. Then, the base creaks, and he's on top of you, his weight pressing you against the mattress.

"What are you-"

"You think I'd let you get away easily? Have things your way? Naive lil' girl" he tuts, "I'll punish you for that"

As on cue, drowned out snores are heard from your side.

"But, Sarah-" you try to protest, his body caging you under his mercy.

"That'll mean you're behavin', right?" he runs his thumb across your lips, gently pulling them down, as if the chase was thrilling as eating the prey. "I know you don't want to wake her up and see her slut of a friend bangin' her daddy"

You tense, remaining silent at the threat, even if your body reacts other ways.

"Good girl"

He’s quick to get rid you of your shorts.

"Fuckin' hell" he murmurs against your neck, the clothing discarded somewhere in the room. "Wearin' this little shitty bottoms to rail me up, knowin' damn well when to bent and get me hard. Been thinkin' of takin' them off ever since you wore 'em first"

The confession makes you whine, and Joel's delighted by the sound, and just how putty you are under his big rough hands.

"Let's see what we got here" his large hands caress your thighs as he settles between your legs. "Black lace, baby? Such a fuckin' tease. Wore 'em for me?"

You shake your head, but his calloused digits dig on the plush skin of your thighs, making you wince at the pain.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart. You'd said you'll be a good girl, yeah?" you nod, soaking wet, painfully so.

"Yes, I'll be"

"Show me your manners, then" he presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, close to where you need his graying beard to tickle, "and I'll show you mine"

"Just eat me, Joel" you demand breathlessly. "Fuck. Need you, Mr. Miller, so bad"

"And why should I reward you, impatient little slut? Eager to get daddy's filthy mouth between that pretty pussy" Joel bites the inside of your thigh, and it takes all of your strength to avoid becoming a moaning mess. "You've been bad, sweetheart. A brat"

You deny it, but his head dissappears between your legs, licking the wet spot on your panties. You squirm under the teasing of his tongue, legs shutting close on instinct. You drown a whimper in your palm as he yanks your panties away.

"Don't do anything I ain't tell you to" demanding, and if you weren't this horny and out of your mind, you'd probably be scared. "There'll be consequences"

You try to obey. But then his nose, that big nose you want covered in your slick as you grind off of it between your legs, sniffs your panties. He gives it one big sniff, and then two, fingers going white as he holds the piece of fabric with too much force, shoving it on his face.

"Ye'r too fuckin' sweet, I'll give you that" he mumbles in a drunken haze. "Need to taste that drippin' cunt of yours 'night"

The bed creaks again, or maybe it's the sound of his bones starting to give in to old age, but Joel is sucking your clit, tongue pushed inside of your puffy folds. You hide a moan against his lips, hands traveling to grip his hair.

"Joel" you breathe out. 

He parts your folds easily, and before you know it, a rugged finger circles your entrance. Your back arches, and then he leaves place for his mouth again, flicking your sensitive core with his tongue. A moan a little too loud escapes your lips, making his eyes darken when the bed next to you shifts, Sarah tossing in her sleep.

"You dumb fuckin' brat. What'd I say?" his hand slams against your pussy, a sting you've never felt before, both showered in pain and pleasure, spreading across your cunt. "Don't disobey me. Apologize, now"

He stops his minstrations, and you're so achingly close to your orgasm, that the answer falls easy and rushed from your lips.

"Sorry, Mr. Miller"

"Good girl" Joel praises as he pushes his finger in, next to his tongue on your clit.

But the orgasm is so deliciously close, and you can't wait for more. So now you're grinding in his face by reflex, rubbing against his big nose just like you'd imagined. You whine at the sensation, and Joel rests his tongue flat on your clit with surprise.

"Who gave you permission to do that? Fuckin' brat. That imagination of yours is somethin' else, sweetheart. Have you been thinkin' bout it all this time? Greedy dirty slut"

The orgasm looms closer, hitting when Joel pushes a second rough finger in, walls clenching against his digits.

He finally pulls away, licking his fingers with his tongue.

"Such a perfect pussy you got there, sweetheart. As sweet as you when you ain't bein' a pain in the ass"

You laugh breathless, trying to recover.

"Wanna taste?"

So now he's kissing you for the first time, his lips rough against plush skin, nibbling with your lower lips between his teeth, his tongue still tasting like you roaming free inside your mouth, like he wants to mark every corner; imprint himself in you.

"There you go" he chuckles, enamoured at the sight of your puffy lips. "Now it's my turn"

He's quick to get rid of the jeans and belt (oh well, it'll be another day) until he's over you, just wearing his boxers.

You'd never seen Joel naked before, why would you? But there's a vague memory of hot summer days, trying to survive the heat in the town's pool, just as the rest. He was there, eye candy for the mothers and horny teens. You hadn't understand back then, when he was all muscle, but you do know, where the mighty strenght is still hidden there, somewhere between his sturdy arms and chest as soft as his belly, pushing above the only piece of cloth that forbids you to see his dick, yet the tight outline helps the picture in your head. His chest is full of hair, and God, you feel so dirty wanting to bury your face in the sweat drenched patch of hair.

"Stop lookin' at me like that" he teases, but there is a small voice of insecurity hiding its undertones beneath his smirk and under your insisting stare.

"You're so fucking hot, Joel" comes out before you can stop it, now mouth acting up on its own.

Fuck, he thinks, he's too far gone. There's no point of return.

Your eager fingers pull down the underwear, fingers grazing the softness of his length. You slowly grabs his dick as he comes closer, never seeing anything as big and provoking as it. That makes you tighten your grip on his dick, which stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin. 

He positions himself between your legs again.

"Let's put this big bad boy to use, huh?"

He grunts at your words, large hands finding your thighs for support, as he caresses up and down the skin littered with marks and kisses.

Joel pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck.

"Tell me if it hurts" all softness on his eyes, his forehead falling against yours, as if he hadn't been punishing you just minutes ago. Your heart races at the gesture, tender meeting the rough of his edges.

The real question isn't asked, but you're on the pill and you trust him. You just want to fill him inside of you, all of him.

"I will, Mr. Miller"

He slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, quickly muffled by his palm as he stays buried deep inside of you, givimg you time to adjust to his size. It burns, but you enjoy the way the pain feels. He slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your slick folds take him, and he grunts, supporting his aching body by the forehead against yours one more time.

"So tight, sweetheart. Ain't nobody ruinin' this pussy but me" his growl comes out possesive as Joel establishes a steady rhythm. You softly moan as he keeps moving, pounding into you, hitting a spot no one had before, making you see stars. It gets harder to stay quiet, but Joel caputres every little sound that comes out of you in a kiss, as if that way he could preserve them better and forever.

You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close as your walls clench around him, his thrusts harder yet slower as he keeps going, ramming into you.

"Look at you, coatin' my dick like a fuckin' meltin' ice cream" he gently pushes it again between your folds, rubbing his dick on your clit. "So fuckin' wet, for me"

His lips are slightly parted and his eyes looked all fogged up, lost in the fire, thrusts becoming sloppier as he too feels it coming.

"So fuckin' pretty" drips from his mouth, and there's the stars in your eyes and the light you insist he's always had, even if he'd prefere the darkness. "The prettiest girl in the world with the sweetest pussy, givin' it all to this ol' perverted fuck"

The words and his big dick inside of you makes your eyes flutter shut on instinct.

"Don't sleep on me, baby" he coos, a hand brushing damp hair from your face. You recognize the look: the same in the car, on the balcony and on the poarch of his house, after letting the years go by. Back then, you thought you had dreamed it, but now that the secret saccharine sweetness reveals herself as he slams into you, you know it was real.

This is real.

You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he pounds you so gently yet so rough, trying to show him without words that whatever this wrong and sick feeling was, you felt the same.

"Such'a good girl, takin' me so well" Joel grunts loudly, slamming to the hilt. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna-"

His dick twitches inside of you, walls spasming around his cock as your pussy takes it all, milking him dry.

"Take it all, like the good girl you are"

Both of you pant, and it takes him a while to realize the sun is raising again until its rays hurt his eyesight.

He's about to tell you how this shouldn't be, how he, at such an old age shouldn't be pinning for his daughter's friend: so young, sweet and loud-mouthed. No matter if you felt the same, or if your body was marked in an out by him, No, because wanting isn't enough, and no tide could wash away his sins from the shore.

"Listen, y/n-" your name like he has never said it before: no scold, no malice nor lust. Just a softness he hadn't felt in years, asleep under thick layers of cold.

But your soft snores fill the silence between the beats of his heart.

tags: @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrosgrogu thank you sm for reading! hope u enjoy it :)

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 98

What’s better than this, girls havin fun by Oxidize

That’s right our final piece in the fanfic marathon is once again from Oxidize! A fact that surprised the fuck out of me when I found it out, given the drastic difference in tone between this and Burning Lungs.

It’s also a Chatfic! Which like, how the fuck do I draw that?? I’ll tell ya! I didn’t! What I actually did was I made art inspired by the fic rather than actually based off of it. Does that sentence make sense? No fucking idea! 

But you all know what this is. It is THE fic, the one that started everything off. Until I found this story my connection was Junkan was thinking it was a no good, toxic as hell ship, but also something that could be pretty funny if you played it as “Junko derails her entire plan because she thinks Mikan is hot.” And when I say prior to this fic I’m talking like, 2017-2018. Since that joke was based on a convo that was had in a server I’m no longer apart of and have no plans of returning too, which I left in 2019. 2019 was a real blank year for me and Junkan from what I remember. 

Anyway, there is just a little build up to this fic, but it isn’t Junkan related so I’ll try to keep it short.

So once upon a time I had just gotten into Danganronpa, conveniently I also discovered AO3, a treasure trove of stories about girls kissing. This was at first used for me to read as much Tokomaru as possible, something which would totally have no massively scaled effects on me as a person such as say, my egg cracking and me realizing I’d be happier as a woman. But we all run out of fics eventually, and it didn’t take many insomnia fueled binge reads of the Tokomaru tag for me to run out of stories. So what did I do? Get addicted to Chat Fics!! What the fuck else would I do, right? I just looked up Danganronpa and Chatfic and went to town, I initially avoided them on my Tokomaru binge because when it comes to ships, I’m pretty much always going to prioritize a fic where they’re the focus rather than a fic where they have like, 5 paragraphs of screentime. I would see a Fic, check the tags to see if it had Tokomaru, and if it didn’t, I moved on. And funny enough given current events, if it had a ship like Junkan, I also skipped forward. Oh how the fucking times change. 

I got addicted to these for like, a month or two I think. I would find one, start reading, and couldn’t fucking stop reading until it was finished. I just loved seeing the stupid antics the different classes would get up to, moreso when they interacted with eachother. I vividly remember laughing my ass off at one storyline where a few of the characters get lost in either an ikea or a costco? Hard to remember but god it was funny. These fics could change tone rapidly, had their own series of tropes and plotlines that’d recur throughout different ones, one fic got really fucking dark out of nowhere and it was jarring as hell, they were amazing. I kinda miss the days when I read them in such excess, I always kind of wanted to make one but also god no I could never.

If there was one perk to these Chatfics, aside from more Tokomaru, it was that it definitely broadened my horizons for what ships I was interested. Prior to this I liked Tenmiko and Tokomaru, that was about it. But through these chatfics I got into stuff like Irumatsu, Celesgiri (Fell off of that though), and most importantly and relevantly, Ikuzono.

So I of course, would eventually go on a quest throughout the Mukuro x Sayaka tag on AO3, sometime during early 2020. And unfortunately that was a significantly rarer pair to find fics for, especially for me at the time who was a lot pickier and only looked for Fluff on most days. 

So of course, I see this fic, and I almost skipped forward when seeing the Junkan Tag. But then I read the rest of the tags, emphasizing that it wasn’t gonna be abusive. So I thought “Fuck it” and went for it.

And thus the second domino fell.

Ironically while reading it I wasn’t focusing on the Ikuzono parts, helped partially by the fact that the relationship wasn’t established yet. But the Junkan? It wasn’t the deepest thing I had ever read at that point. It was like most Chatfics, silly, goofy, probably a little out of character, the usual stuff. But this felt different, it was something I had no experience with, and why would I? Up till now I was under the impression that Junkan was one of the most bottom of the barrel ships available in Danganronpa. Y’know cause I was like, only 2 years past my teens so my brain was still made of soup. 

But this was god damn adorable. Mikan was sweet and adorable, Junko was silly and showed nothing but support and love for Mikan. She calls her a Cinnamon Apple! And the fact that I’ve never stolen that nickname is a fucking crime!

There isn’t really a lot to talk about in terms of what actually happens. Junko does cute stuff with Mikan, Junko dropkicks Hiyoko in the head because she’s bullying Mikan, and Junko gets in detention, resulting in antics. It is just a really cute, pleasant fic that makes me really happy to read.

As you can tell that makes doing art based on this, as chatfics don’t lend themselves super easily to visuals. The best I could do is the aforementioned Junko dropkicking Hiyoko while Mikan watches, but it’s been a few years and I don’t have hatred in my soul for Hiyoko anymore.

So I opted to make something inspired by the vibe of the fic instead! And also add in some 2000s energy! Because I have an obsession with the 2000s aesthetic, and it has as much of a violent grip on me as Junkan. 

To capture that 2000s energy I tried to make this look like an ancient, shitty photo taken off of a flip phone. Cause I love flip phones, and hate Smart Phones. Which is why there’s a third version of this art that was purely an excuse for me to draw a Flip Phone. I don’t care if a chatroom like this realistically wouldn’t exist on them at this point in time, I hate Smartphones and I will be petty about it. 

Adding to the attempt at making the photo feel aged as shit I also tried to recreate the red eye that could be sometimes found in old photos from this era. As for the designs, ya’ll probably noticed by now that I drew Mikan similar to how I did for the Burning Lungs art. That’s because ever since I found out this fic was made by the same author, I’ve just kind of headcanonned that this fic is takes place sometime after where Burning Lungs would have ended, which I assume would have involved the two getting together. 

Now, the keen eyed reader will probably realize that wouldn’t make sense because Mukuro and Sayaka were already together in Burning Lungs. Whereas in this fic they aren’t together at all. And you’re right, that is in fact a big flaw with me considering these to take place in the same timeline.

But also. Look at the past 97 fuckin days. And all the other shit I drew while these were posted. It is safe to assume that when it comes to details that conflict with something I’m really into, I am just a little willing to ignore those details.

So Mikan gets her cute little bandaids, her itchy sweater which I imagine Junko would really enjoy cuddling into by this point, and a small detail that was only noted for a moment during Burning Lungs, but a chipped tooth as well. It was really nice gettin’ to draw this version of the characters again! Even if I still lack a lot to talk about with this piece, I simply hope ya’ll enjoy it!

And with that I think I’ve told all there is to tell in terms of how I got into this ship. Only took me 98 fucking days to explain it all properly, and backwards no less! Almost like this wasn’t thought out super far in advance or something! I feel like I should have more to say here but really, I kinda just, don’t? Hope ya’ll have enjoyed the Fanfic Marathon! As I’ve said before I really wanna show more love to the writing community for Junkan in the future, both for currently available fics, and the fics that have yet to be written! 

For now though, there are only 2 days left. And I have hopefully saved the best for laugh in terms of my own personal contributions. Ya’ll ready for another comic? 

As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~

[argcicle]

100days!tommy design hcs

Tommy’s hair is caked in blood towards the back of his head. It’s the only part that really decomposes normally, even though Charlie patched it up constantly.

When his instincts to eat flesh overwhelm him, his eyes go green, but there’s always a hint of green in his eyes when the light hits them right. He also has a vein in his neck that darkens when he gets angry or uses his superhuman strength

Tommy supresses his need for flesh on long expeditions by biting his lip or his cheek, so he comes home with blood dried around his mouth a lot

His shirt is ripped all along the shoulders from zombies grabbing at him. After spending time with Charlie, the evolving ones start to bite at him, so his arms slowly get covered in bandages.

[milkbreadtoast]

quick yoojin phone doodles from memory/without reference... im surprised it turned out so accurate considering i havent drawn him much(this is like the 2nd-3rd time) but ig it's bc im always taking notes in my head when i look at my screencaps of him... 😳

[itslilacokay]

hi hello uh

waiter waiter one grape serving please

thank youuuu :3

back to regular avaming

(purple knocked greens arm off the wall btw)

[dazzelmethat]

I kinda like but dislike that Rumiko and Sunrise (and fans) have never even mentioned that miko (priestesses) are virgins. And that their shinto ability to tend holy places comes from being unmarried virgins. In modern day I guess it is not really required but I kind of wish more people analyzed Kikyo, the dark priestess, Kaede and Kagome in that light.

Personally I think that due to the era Kagome would not be allowed to remain a miko after getting married and having a child. She would still be one of course due to her spiritual ability, but I think she would no longer be allowed to remain in that societal role.

Kagome is so spunky though that I see her rebelling against it. I think Kagome's strength in being outspoken is another great contrast between her and Kikyo. While Kikyo was confined by society and was only freed from expectation when she became an impure monster. Kagome was outspoken and loud to where she didn't have much of a societal role and yet remained 'spiritually pure.'

There is a huge theme of 'societal expectation' in Kagome, Inuyasha, and Kikyo that I think being a miko is a part of.

Personally I'm torn on Kagome loudly choosing to get married and have a child VS remaining a Miko and Kagome choosing to attempt to do both.

More thematic headcannons in the tag below..

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[astraystayyh]

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

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

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

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

word count : 20k

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

part two

You have always been first in your class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"I have an idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

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

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

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

"And right now, how do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

"I do too."

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

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

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

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

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

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

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

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

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

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

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

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

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

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

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

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

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

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

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

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

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

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

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

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

"What's there to miss?"

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

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

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

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

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

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

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

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

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

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll ask her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only tell my friends."

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

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

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

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"You'll catch a cold."

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

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

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

"Yn, I don’t-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something friends think about, right? 

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

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

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

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

"I’ll still cut it."

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

He didn't cut his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

2 months later

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

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

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

"What are you doing?"

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

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that you look scary."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

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

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

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

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

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

"I will." 

"Okay." 

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

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

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

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

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deleted your number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yn-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, let me make it better." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It will take time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

[shaunamilfman]

after midnight

pairing: jackieshauna x reader summary: You get a little too drunk at a party and end up kissing Jackie Taylor, who you mistook for someone else. Just to make sure that Shauna isn't too mad at you, you kiss her too. note: yeah, based off that twitter post.

You focus all of your attention on the ceiling fan, watching as the blades blur together in an endless loop. You’re strangely mesmerized by the action, letting yourself be drawn into it in the hopes it’ll distract you from your pounding headache or the anxious feeling in your chest. The sound of Nat clattering around in the kitchen breaks your concentration, slowly drawing your attention back to reality.

With a pained groan, you finally drag yourself out of bed, stumbling to your bathroom knowing that at least one of the things bothering you had a simple solution. You blindly reach into the medicine cabinet, briefly glancing at the bottle before dry swallowing the pills that will be your salvation from your headache. 

You lean against the sink with a sigh of relief, looking at yourself in the mirror before quickly looking away. God, you looked like shit. 

A sudden realization dawns on you, a sinking feeling filling your stomach as you slowly look back at your reflection. You turn your head to the side, your eyes widening as you catch sight of the unmistakable traces of lipstick along your neck.

You fumble around for a rag, drawing Nat’s attention from the kitchen as you knock a few bottles off the counter.

“Hey?” she calls out, unaware of your turmoil as you scrub at your neck to get the mark off.

“Hey,” you answer, hesitant and unsure as you take one last look in the mirror before joining her in the kitchen.

She grins as she catches sight of you, a quick flick of her eyes up and down your disheveled form before she slides a cup of coffee across the counter towards you without a word. You’re quick to grab it, almost downing it in your haste to get something, anything, in your stomach. 

The memory of last night hangs over you like a fog, each moment shrouded in uncertainty and a lingering feeling that you’d fucked something up. If only you could remember it. You’d woken up with a bitter taste on your tongue, serving as a stark reminder of your excess from the night before. You knew better than to drink like that, knew it always got you in trouble, but you figured you just needed a little courage and then… 

Then everything fell apart.

You were surprised to find yourself still in one piece this morning, so you supposed it hadn’t been a complete disaster. The text you had woken up to did a lot to assuage your nerves, but it was the lipstick stain on your neck that had you sure that the night had actually gone well. You weren’t quite sure how you pulled it off, but you quickly decided a win was a win. 

Now your problem was just piecing together how the night ended.

“So?” Nat prompts, drawing your attention as you warm your hands on the quickly cooling cup. “How did it go?”

“Funny you ask that, actually,” you begin, the words tumbling out in a rush as you brace yourself for her reaction.

Nat groans, propping her head up on her hands as she looks you over. “What's that mean?” She sounds interested despite herself. 

“So I may or may not be dating Jackie and Shauna now.”

She's quiet for a long moment, her jaw dropped as she processes the news. “What the fuck? How?” she finally manages to sputter, her voice tinged with incredulity.

“So I got, like, really drunk last night–” 

“I remember,” Nat says wryly. 

“Right. Well, you know how me and that girl from my math class have had this thing going on–” 

“I'm not seeing what this has to do with Jackie and Shauna.”

“If you would just let me finish…”

…

You finish what's left in your cup before leaving it on the table, looking around for her familiar jacket before you find her. 

Bingo. You spot her off further in, her denim jacket and blonde hair catching the dim light. It seemed a little darker than usual, honestly, but you figured it was just the light. You take a deep breath and try to steady your shaking hands before just stuffing them in your pockets. Now or never.

This wasn’t the most well thought out idea, you knew that, but it was definitely the best one you had. Toss a few drinks back and get enough courage to finally kiss Jenny from your math class. Easy enough in theory, right? She told you to come find her at the party, practically insisted on it really, but you were still so fucking nervous at the thought of it. The thought of her smile, and the way she always looked at you in class, gave you just enough courage to push through the crowd to find her.

You call out her name as you weave through throngs of partygoers, but the music plays so loud you’re not sure if she can even hear you or not. As you reach her, you take a deep breath before putting your hand on her shoulder and spinning her around. Was she a little shorter than usual? Whatever. Before you can second guess yourself, you lean forward and kiss her.

She makes a squeaking noise as you do, her hands slapping against your shoulders as she pushes you away. You stumble backward and nearly fall on your ass, a little offended as you look at her. 

Jackie stares up at you with smeared lipstick and wide-eyes as the gravity of the situation slowly dawns on you. Oh God, that was Jackie Taylor. You just kissed Jackie Taylor and Shauna Shipman was going to kill you. You were too young to die.

That definitely wasn’t Jenny. You’d definitely had one too many if you thought that Jackie looked anything like the girl from your math class.

“What the fuck?” Shauna spits, her jaw clenched and her hands balled up in a fist. She grabs a fist full of your shirt, pulling you towards her as she gets up in your face. You can smell the alcohol on her breath as she gets near, a mix of malibu and rage.

You try to stutter out an apology, but the words keep catching in your throat. It feels like your tongue just won’t cooperate with you, leaving you defenseless in your time of need. Her grip on your shirt tightens, her knuckles turning white as she gives you the meanest look you’ve ever seen another person make that wasn’t a TV serial killer.

“Shauna–” Jackie tries, stepping forward and putting a hand on her arm, but Shauna’s too mad to even entertain her.

“Did you seriously just do that in front of me?” Shauna’s so mad she can barely speak, the disbelief on her face saying more than words ever could. Her eyes are so intense, a fire burning behind them that makes you wish you could disappear.

“You’re unbelievable.” Shauna’s voice is low and dangerous, and you can feel the heat of her anger radiating off her. You can’t think of any way to get out of this situation without getting burned.

Unless…

You make a split second decision as you lunge forward at Shauna. This was a fucking disaster, but man would you have one hell of a story if you could live to tell it.

… 

“... and that's when I realized that I just kissed Jackie Taylor.”

“Holy shit, dude!” Nat laughs, her expression an equal mix of pride and amusement. 

“God. I know,” you groan, burying your head in your hands as you flush in embarrassment. 

“So what happened next?”

“So Shauna's got a fistful of my shirt, right? I'm realizing that, holy shit, she's about to beat my ass. So I do the only thing I can do.”

“What's that?

“Well…” 

… 

You lunge forward and kiss Shauna too, catching her by surprise. She’s frozen solid as you press your lips together, and for an instant you think she’s just going to punch you anyway. Shauna’s hand releases your shirt in surprise, her hands flailing for a moment before reaching up and resting on the side of your head. 

You’d read in a Wikipedia article once during a time of late-night procrastinating that it was virtually impossible for a human to snap someone else’s neck, but if anyone was capable of that, it would definitely be Shauna Shipman. Much to your surprise, you don’t end up dead on the floor; instead, her surprisingly soft hands cup your face with more gentleness than you thought she was capable of.

It’s nothing like the quick kiss you’d shared with Jackie; she’s aggressive and intense. Every movement is met with a swift reaction, as if she takes it as a challenge. Her lips are soft and taste like strawberry lip-gloss and you idly wonder whether it belonged to her or Jackie originally.

She bites at your lip hard as the kiss ends, enough that you’re sure she’s broken the skin. You can feel the sting of it long after she’s backed away, sharing a look with Jackie that you’re too much in shock to pay attention to. You’re left reeling, trying to process the rapid turn of events even though you’d been mostly responsible for them.

You manage to sneak a glance at Shauna, figuring that at least you would see it coming when she inevitably broke your nose. She gives you a dark look, and it’s hard to tell whether she’s flustered or angry.

“Shauna,” Jackie chides. “You don’t have to be so rough with her. She’s not going anywhere.” 

Shauna’s tense posture relaxes slightly at Jackie’s words, but not fully. They seem to have a conversation with nothing but their expressions, something that you weren’t fully privy to. 

Without a word spoken to you, Jackie steps forward and kisses you again. It’s better this time, more deliberate than the quick peck you’d managed before. It felt reassuring, a tenderness that your kiss with Shauna was sorely lacking. Her arms come up to rest behind your shoulders, pulling you chest-to-chest as she kisses you so gently you almost want to cry.

You can practically feel the weight of Shauna’s eyes on you, but it doesn’t seem nearly as heavy as it did before: less threatening, and more curiosity. Her gaze is unwavering as she assesses the situation, stepping closer toward you and leaving you caught between the two of them as your mind races.

Jackie breaks the kiss slowly, giggling as she has to press a hand against your shoulder to stop you from trying to chase after her. She’s close enough that your breath is mingling together, pulling just far away enough to speak as she gives Shauna a knowing look. “See? It doesn’t have to be a fight every time.”

“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Shauna asks, the question posed more as a challenge than any real attempt at concern. Her eyes search yours, trying to find out what you’re thinking without having to actually ask. You nod slightly, giving her the permission she seems to seek. She’s just as formidable as ever, but this time her approach is slower. More deliberate.

“Yeah,” you mutter simply, nodding dumbly as Jackie tuts and pulls your attention back on her with a single finger on your chin.

Shauna huffs, finally closing the distance between you as she presses up against your back. “Good,” she whispers, her lips brushing your ear as she speaks.

Jackie rests her hand behind your neck as she pulls you into another kiss, somehow more demanding than the last. You can’t help but melt into it, immediately responding to the touch. Shauna laughs softly behind you, pressing a kiss against Jackie’s fingers before she finds her way to the side of your neck.

The two of them together are intense, overwhelming in a way that leaves you utterly breathless and lagging a half-second behind. It’s almost too much, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away for anything.

Shauna bites down gently, just enough to leave a mark. You gasp, the sound swallowed by Jackie’s lips. 

“Relax,” Jackie murmurs.

Then everything after that is a blur.

… 

“... I kissed Shauna too.”

Nat laughs so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. She manages to get out a few words in between peels of near hysterical laughter. “You kissed Shauna? Are you insane?” 

“Honestly, probably. I certainly felt like it at the time, Nat. But here’s the crazy part: she freezes, and for a second it’s like time stops, but then she kisses me back!”

“No fucking way Shauna Shipman kissed you.”

“Look, I know! That’s what I was thinking too,” You snicker, shaking your head. “So there I am, kissing Shauna and waiting for her to come to my senses with Jackie’s lipstick still on my lips. But then I pull back and see Jackie standing there just staring with this look of… I don’t know, I can’t even name it.”

“And?”

“So, Jackie says something to Shauna that I couldn’t quite make out and they just kind of nodded and before I knew it, Jackie was all over me too.”

Nat’s jaw drops as she leans forward to look at you. “Jackie too?”

“Jackie too,” you confirm. “Yeah, but it gets weirder. See, Jackie pulls away to look at Shauna again and there’s this moment where I’m like ‘Well, now they’re going to kill me together.’ But then they both just kind of smile at me?”

Nat breathes out slowly, eyes wide with shock. “What does that even mean?”

“I have no idea. I know something must have happened after that, but it’s all blurry after that. All the booze caught up to me.”

“What makes you think you’re dating them, then? It seems like you just got a lucky break that Shauna wasn’t close enough to a knife to stab your dumb ass.”

“See, that’s what I would think to,” you say, pulling out your phone as you scroll through your messages. “But I woke up this morning to a text in a group chat all like ‘hope you get home safe, babe.’” 

You hold the phone up for Nat to see, and she quickly snatches it from you as she looks through it. Her eyes scan the screen, her disbelief slowly turning into astonishment.

“Holy shit,” she mutters, slowly scrolling through the chat. “They both texted you. Jackie even sent you a selfie of her and Shauna together with a ‘we missed you at breakfast’ caption.”

“What?” You ask, leaning forward to read over Nat’s shoulder. That one was new– you must’ve gotten it while you were talking to Nat.

“I don’t even remember leaving?” You mutter.

“This is unreal,” Nat says, handing you your phone back as she lazes back in the chair. “You better figure your shit out before Jackie gets her feelings hurt.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “No kidding.”

You bite your lip before quietly admitting, “I kind of like it.”

Nat snorts, shaking her head slowly.

[sweetbans29]

Varsity Jacket - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You and Caitlin keep it light and playful at a game (based on THIS request)

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Is this not everyones dream?

It's the first time in the state's history of WBB that they decided to play basketball in a football stadium. A piece of history that has been led by one girl allowing thousands to benefit.

The game was chosen to be an exhibition game, a kick-off to the season, naming it the Crossover at Kinnick. They laid the Iowa WBB court within the confines of the outdoor football stadium, drawing a near 55,000 fans to be a part of the first game in Caitlin Clark's senior year. A NCAA record-breaking 55,000 fans. The first of many records Clark would break this upcoming season.

The game followed a lot of football Saturday traditions. The way the team was called out, a stadium flyover, and your favorite part - the Hawkeye Wave over to the kids in the UI Stead Family Children’s Hospital. You had done it before when your team had danced at football games and were excited to be a part of it today.

You are proud to be part of the Iowa Hawkeye dance team - have been for the past three years now. It is what brought you to IU in the first place.

Growing up dance had always been something you enjoyed. Unlike most of the other girls on the dance team, you didn't start taking dance classes until halfway through middle school. When you learned you had a natural talent for it, you started taking it more seriously. You joined your high school's dance team and decided it was something you wanted to try your hand at in college. When you auditioned going into your freshman year, you were one of two freshmen to make the team.

Since then you have captained the team for two football seasons, going into your third. Yet here you are, freezing your azz off because you forgot your damn coat.

Upon arriving at the stadium, you should have been prepared. You should have thought through how it is November in Iowa and how it is about to be winter but that doesn't cross your mind until you are shaking courtside.

"Didn't you bring a coat?" One of your teammates asks. She is currently bundled up in two jackets, ear muffs, and hand warmers.

"If I did, don't you think I would be wearing it?" You snap and immediately realize. "I'm sorry babe, I am just freezing."

You are trying to hide your shaking body and keep moving around to generate any sort of heat that you can.

A part of being on the dance team was being visible during the whole game. You weren't the cheer squad but your team had to be posted up next to them every game. It wasn't bad, it was just cold.

As halftime approached you directed your team to stretch out again, not wanting them to pull anything while dancing. You did the same, as you watched your basketball continue to do what they do best.

Once everyone was stretched, you all bunched together ready to take the court.

"I am still freezing my ass off," you say rubbing your hands together and huddle close to your friend. "I can't believe I didn't bring my freaking overcoat."

The team was coming off when someone bumped your shoulder causing you to take a few steps back.

"Hey! Watch it," you tell the 6-foot frame.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," the girl says. You pull down your skirt and smooth it over. Once you are satisfied with your outfit adjustment you look up.

'Of-freaking-course', you think to yourself as you make eye contact with none other than Caitlin Clark.

"I didn't see you there," she says, the slightest smirk peaking out.

"Very funny Clark," you say trying to hide your own smile and keep it serious.

"Oh, keeping it professional now are we?" She says. "It's cute, but you can call me Caitlin."

"That is so kind of you," you say, kind of surprised she is still there talking to you. You finish your sentence with, "Clark."

She just smiles and shakes her head. You hear the music come on and you know it's your cue. Caitlin doesn't follow the rest of the team back through the tunnel, rather stands to the side and watches you and your team take the court.

Caitlin knows she should be back with her team. More so to warm up but she couldn't nor wanted to take her eyes off you. She stood there watching you and your team keep everyone entertained during halftime. A smile resting on her lips the entire time.

She has seen you around before. How could she not, you were at practically every sports game. Caitlin would frequent the Hawkeye's football games but never really got close enough to see you perform (something she will probably never admit to you). If it wasn't seeing you in passing there, she noticed you would go and watch other sports just for fun. She has to think about it but if she remembers correctly she has seen you at both the men's and women's volleyball matches, women's soccer, and even some track and even the women's swim and dive meets.

Caitlin cheers on your team as you finish your routine and runoff, making way for the cheer squad to perform their routine next. As you make your way back you see Cait standing in the same spot she bumped you in. She is smiling at you and clapping as you make your way over. You walk up to her despite the murmurs you hear from your team, only making out your name and Caitlin's in their muffled conversations.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, Clark?" You ask as you cross your arms over your chest. You may have just performed a 6-minute dance routine but the chilled air was unforgiving.

"Wanted to stay out here and watch - making sure your little frozen ass doesn't fall off," she says, her eyes never leaving yours.

"The team is great," you say with a smile choosing to ignore the second part of her statement and refusing to be the first one to break eye contact.

"I wasn't watching the team," she says, that stupid smirk playing on her lips again. You could feel yourself losing this battle.

"That's a shame, they are great," you say trying to regain any part of this conversation.

"Maybe, but not as great as who I had my eyes on," she says. You blush and look away. You felt like you were being interrogated by the freaking CIA not flirting with your school's superstar.

"Okay, Clark, you win," you say as you crumble under her gaze.

She rubs the back of your arm, letting her hand linger on you. You look back up at her.

"I should get back," she says not wanting to leave you but knowing her job isn't done.

"You should," you say, agreeing for her - the first time since this conversation has started.

"Thanks for umm, thanks for watching," you say, your nerves peaking out. She nods and heads in the direction of her team.

What the hell was that? You make your way over to your team and they are all chattering about the interaction. You take your seat next to your co-captain who is just looking at you.

You keep your head forward still processing it all. Caitlin Clark was just talking to you. Not only that, but she waited and watched you perform then proceeded to flirt with you about it. Her hand was on your arm. You were thankful it wasn't skin-to-skin contact because you probably would have never let her walk away. She was teasing you.

You are too caught up in your own thoughts to see when someone had walked up to you. Your co-cap tapping your leg and nodding at the woman who was standing in front of you.

"Oh hi," you say and stand.

"I was told to bring this over to you," she says holding something, you look down and it's a jacket.

"Oh thank you," you say grabbing it.

"She wanted me to say it is from Caitlin," she says, emphasizing the name. "Told me I had to emphasize the name."

The woman walks away and you unfold the jacket to see 'CLARK' on the back right above the number 22. This girl is not serious right now. If you were under any other circumstance, you would not be putting it on but since the only time you have stopped shaking was while you were performing you decide to put the jacket on.

If your team was whispering about your interaction with Caitlin before, they are shouting from the rooftops now.

The basketball team comes back out and you find yourself looking for a particular someone. To your delight, she is making her way over to you.

"You got it, good," she says, wrapped in an Iowa jacket of her own.

"You didn't need to do this," you say but make no move to try and hand it back to her. It has been the warmest you have been the whole game. She lets out a little laugh.

"Sure, says the one who was shaking like a chihuahua," she says taking in the sight of you in her clothing. She could get used to this.

"I appreciate it, Clark," you say and she groans.

"Caitlin," she says.

"Clark," you retort.

"Cait," she responds.

"Clark," you are not giving in.

"CC, Caity, C - anything but Clark," she says frustrated.

"Why does it bother you so much that I call you by your last name?" You ask now the one who has the slight edge in the conversation.

"Clark, get your butt over here," one of her coaches yells at her.

"That's why," she mumbles and gives you one last look before running back over to the team.

"Get it Clark!" You yell after her, earning some whistles and shouts from your team.

You're thankful it is still cold out because the redness on your cheeks can easily be taken as cold, hiding your blush.

Your team doesn't shut up about the fact that you had talked to Caitlin but she gave her varsity jacket to you to wear. All the girls were staring at you and taking in the sight of the player's jacket.

A ball gets swatted out of bounds and you catch it before it can hit anyone on your team. Caitlin sees where it goes and books it to grab it from you.

Here is the thing about Caitlin, she is the last person to go and catch a ball that has been hit out of bounds. Her whole team was aware of this. So it is to everyone's surprise when she is the first one to hustle after the ball when the whistle is blown.

You hold up the ball for her.

"Careful there Clark, could have hurt someone," you say.

She laughs, "Ya right."

"Since when are you the first one to run after a loose ball," you say exposing that you may have watched her more than a few times. Could anyone blame you? Caitlin has been drawing the attention of the whole nation.

"Didn't want to miss the opportunity to come talk to the pretty girl," she says with that damn smirk.

"You are too kind Clark," you say faking flattery.

"Oh, I was talking about the girl next to you," she says teasing you.

You sit there speechless as Caitlin finally takes the ball.

"I'm kidding, but you should see the look on your face. It's priceless," she says winking at you before heading back over to inbound the ball.

'Oh it is on Clark' you think as you watch them finish up the last quarter.

Caitlin, of course, plays amazing. She finishes the game off with her first triple-double of the season. You watch as she celebrates with her team - all of who were excited to start the season on a high note. You are celebrating with your team when they all go quite in front of you and stare at something behind you. You turn around before Caitlin can tap your shoulder.

"Ahh, so we meet again," you say with a smile. "Well done Clark."

"Okay, enough with the Clark. You are wearing my jacket for goodness sake," she says and shakes her head.

"Oh, ya, thank you for this," you say and begin to take it off. She stops you by putting her hand on your arm - the second time today you note.

"Hold on to it, if you take it off now you will start shaking again and I don't really care to see you looking like a little chihuahua," she says and scratches the back of her neck. You raise your eyebrow at her. If you don't give her the jacket back now, that means you will need to see her again to return it.

"And who exactly am I supposed to get this back to you?" You ask.

"Well that is actually why I came over here," she says and you can tell she is a little more nervous than she had been before. You don't notice but both of your teams are watching the interaction between you.

"Okay," you say encouraging her to continue.

"How would you feel about going out with me this weekend?" Caitlin says as she has to mentally remind herself to keep her breathing steady and to not rush her words.

"I don't know..." you start. "I was thinking I could just have someone swing the jacket by one of your practices."

Caitlin's face looks mortified and you immediately bring your hand up to hers to ease her, your joke being taken a little too serious.

"I'm kidding Clark," you say and give her hand a squeeze. "I would love to go out with you this weekend."

She smiles widely.

"Great," she says. "I'll text you details," she begins walking backward.

"And how are you going to do that without my number?" You say as she is now just out of reach.

"You're cute," she says, now back in control of the conversation. "I've had your number for a while, now I just get to use it."

You stare at her, mouth agape. You don't know how to get the last word in so she does.

"Talk to you soon babe!" Caitlin says and runs back towards her team.

AN: This was a cutie. Hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for the love and support 🤍

[ckret2]

@marsupials-of-mars submitted:

I was planning to do maybe a fic and more doodles of this but now I'm busy with school so I might as well show what I did do!

Based on how the goldilocks fic seems to posit that Bill at his best is a silly professor who loves to teach his own way

Introducing Professor Locke!

Things about this idea:

-post redemption, however that will go. I'm calling it an AU because I imagine it is not your plan for what happens after lol, but currently canon-compliant.

-Bill is at first not very on board with the idea of working in the higher education system. It's a scam and it's dumb that they tell adult people how to think.

-He's eventually convinced to bless Backupsmore with his tutelage, on the grounds that they're less stuck up there, they seem to care about giving their students opportunities despite their backgrounds, and the kids there care about learning rather than going to college just because their parents said they should.

-Ford uses his academic connections to vouch for Bill even though he is very mysterious and has no academic records. This is another reason why they picked Backupsmore: i's a little more lax when presented with a shockingly smart mystery professor. Bill gets an interview and charms the pants off the university president.

-He teaches "astrophysics" in theory (that's the job description) but he ends up teaching a little bit of everything.

-He's one of those professors you either adore or despise. He's very loud, often outright mean, and if you're too shy to speak up in class he does not give a SHIT about you. You gotta want it!

-However, his class is notoriously easy. He thinks homework and tests are facist, but he's required to have a curriculum, so his "quizzes" are like a few true or false questions and then a short answer where he asks something he thinks would be funny or wants to hear about, like "what's the dumbest thing another student has said in class since the last test and why was it dumb" or "fashion advice: what's the coolest thing I wore this last week? Extra credit: draw something cooler I SHOULD wear."

-as a result, students who have completely unrelated majors will take his class. If they end up being interested, he deems them worthy. If they're just there to be lazy, he will bully them into dropping out.

-Mabel buys him stickers to put on people's tests when they pass, or to just hand out when they something he likes. He gets along most with the college kids who know how to appreciate a classic gold star.

-He really wanted a big pretty lecture hall, where his voice would echo and he could point at a big chalkboard. But all Backupsmore could provide was a cinderblock and linoleum basement classroom. The lights buzz very loudly and it smells musty. They have stools and folding tables. Bill finds he enjoys the more intimate environment where he can walk between the tables and also sneak up on people.

-He's broken multiple folding tables by trying to do the cool professor thing where you hop up onto your desk and cross your legs and talk all casual. He is able to do this on his own desk thankfully. It's aluminum.

-Ford gets a bit nervous if he did the right thing when bill tells his school stories at the dinner table, so he finds an excuse to accompany Bill to a campus event where he can meet some of his students.

-His fears are quickly assuaged when he sees how beloved Bill is and how well he gets along with the kids. When he eventually joins in on one of these conversations, one of the students asks if he's Sixer. The students are excited by this. Bill tries to shut them up, to partial success.

OK I guess I just ended up writing the fic more or less so enjoy I guess lol.

Aww, this is adorable! Thank you! (And the fact that you're imagining a future for Bill makes me so happy.) He's absolutely be the weirdest professor in the school and he'd ADORE having a crowd full of trusting impressional minds whose parents are paying him to change the way they think. Talk about playing to his strengths.

Your idea is so wholesome, meanwhile the moment I saw "Professor Bill" I went,

[aerowolf]

the mercs realize it's your bday and you didn't tell anyone because your family doesn't do birthdays

I’m so sorry this is a mess between British and American english. I have an American parent and a Canadian one so it messed me up lolll

if didn't include a Merc you wanted, feel free to request and I'll try and add them :]

includes: Miss Pauling & offense classes

cute platonic, gn!reader

warnings: n/a, this is basically all fluff

You'd rather not make a big deal of it being your birthday, even though it is you were taught that birthdays aren't a big deal and your family never really did them.

You kind of wish someone would care but you feel guilty about that so you choose not to tell anyone about it

The only one of these who actually knows it's your birthday is Miss Pauling, who’s seen your personnel files

Miss Pauling

She knows it's your birthday, and instead of ignoring it she decides to at least discreetly make it a good day for you

She arrives on base for a routine inspection, clipboard in hand, but once she's done with the main thing, instead of leaving, she comes to your room

"I saw that it's your birthday today. I don't know if you celebrate, or anything, but, uh, I thought you'd like a gift. Maybe."

She hands you a box, inside are some candy bars and a plush of a bear

"I know it's not exactly the nicest thing, and I know it's kinda... stereotypical... but, y'know, I thought you'd like something. So, happy birthday. From me.” She’s really shy about it, you get the feeling she didn’t--probably still doesn’t--really get to celebrate birthdays either. 

She offers you a ride on her motorbike, something nice, on the open road--away from this base for a little while. You accept, taking a seat behind her, enjoying the open air--though it is pretty hot out. You guys talk, just enjoying the time.

She smiles at you as you get back. “Happy birthday. You deserve it.”

You thank her and even give her a hug. It’s nice that you got this for once. 

Scout

He has no idea whatsoever that it’s your birthday. He’s interacting with you like usual, teasing you, just hanging out. You’re happy as you talk that day; he’s always good at making you laugh and smile.

At some point he notices that you’re a little down, as much as you may try to hide it, he can tell. You’re his friend, and even though he might act like he doesn’t care sometimes, you know he does. A lot.

You tell yourself you don’t want anything on your birthday, that it’s easier if no one knows, but secretly, you do.

“Hey, what’s up? C’mon, ya know I can tell when something’s wrong.” 

You tell him it’s nothing. 

“You sure? Really? You’re kinda… I dunno, sadder than usual.” After he asks a few times, you finally come out and tell him. You don’t say much. Just “It’s my birthday.”

“No kiddin’? Well, why didn’t ya tell me?” He comes off pretty strong. You feel kind of apologetic for mentioning it, and look away from him. “Aw, hey. Y’know what--it don’t matter. I’m gonna throw you a party like you ain’t never seen, believe me.”

You try to tell him you don’t want a party--well, you do. Maybe. No you don’t. Well, sure. But not a big one. He’s really sweet and enthusiastic about it. “Someone like you deserves a big birthday--but if you don’t want it, dat’s okay. Ya know, we could just hang out, or somethin’. You n’ me, yeah?” 

You tell him you’d like that a lot. You both find a quiet spot in the base where you can just talk. He messes around, too, and pops in a Tom Jones record. 

He’s a little shy, a little embarrassed, but he even sings happy birthday to you. He just seems glad no one can hear him. He doesn’t have a gift handy for you, but he ends up scribbling you a quick doodle of him telling you happy birthday. It’s misspelt, but the drawing is cute, and you keep it. “I hope ya had a good day. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.” You tell him that it wasn’t his fault, how could he have known? 

After all is done, he gives you an awkward hug. You smile and return it.

Soldier

He’s a little crazy so he’s just hanging around base, today he had the idea to strip and cover himself in honey, so everyone has had to convince him to please not do that, and now he’s just moping around, muttering about how anti patriotic this all is.

You sit next to him and mope as well. Unlike him, no one knows the reason you’re moping. To anyone else’s point of view, you’re just comforting him--for whatever weird reason. But he sees that you’re just as sad as him.

“What’s wrong, maggot? Is there someone who needs to see my fists meet their face?”

You tell him no, no one did anything. You’re a little intimidated by him, and you don’t see much reason to tell him anyways. But it’s nice sitting with a friend. 

“If it’s not a person, then… it must be an object! Give it to me and I will destroy it immediately.” He’s being as sweet as he can, you smile and shake your head.

You sit there for a bit, smiling as you watch the other mercs come and go. Today isn’t a bad day, just a little sad. Later, you plan to find some kind of sweet treat to eat alone.

Soldier stands up, at attention, and points at you. “MAGGOT, AS YOUR SUPERIOR AND SENIOR, I ORDER YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG!”

With a sad smile and a chuckle you finally tell him.

“Your birthday?” Soldier seems genuinely surprised. He places a hand on his chin and thinks. “We cannot go without celebrating! This is momentous!”

Although you try to protest, he turns to the base, stating to every other merc, “LISTEN UP! IT IS Y/N’S BIRTHDAY AND WE WILL CELEBRATE!” 

He makes it his personal mission to decorate for a party that very evening, even gets a cake and everything. He makes every other merc sing happy birthday with him. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

You give him a big hug, and he is surprised at first, but proceeds to give a gentle laugh and hug back.

Pyro

You see Pyro colouring with crayons and coloured pencils on their break, and you sit by them. You don’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time, but you enjoy hanging out with them. It’s a long period of silence before you join them in colouring. Regardless of your artistic skills, they’re impressed and encourage you, and are very happy when you show them what you’ve been working on. 

After a little while you get kind of bored and sad. You’ve tried to enjoy this day but it’s another bittersweet birthday. You’re happy to hang out with Pyro though, even though they don’t know what day it is.

Pyro notices that you’ve stopped colouring with them, and that you’re looking at the ground instead, messing with the cracks in the floor.

“Huddah hrmmf mmmrph?” You don’t understand what they’re saying exactly, but you smile at them. They seem to be asking what’s wrong, why you stopped, why you seem so sad.

You hesitate for a moment before finally confessing. They seem to mostly understand what you mean, and they lean back, thinking. 

After a few seconds, they stand up and help pull you off the floor. They point to their room, and you follow them. It’s an odd combination of scorch marks, colourful drawings, weapons, and art supplies. They lead you to a wardrobe and pull out a box. 

Surprisingly, you can see that it's fully wrapped. Did they somehow know it was your birthday? Do they keep these gifts on hand for the mercs?

You won’t get an answer, but they excitedly push it out and offer it to you. “Huddah hmmph!” They sound almost like they are smiling behind the mask. You take the box and open it. It’s got crayons, pencils, and… wow, that’s a drawing of you and them.

You smile, almost ready to tear up, and thank them. You give them a hug, and you notice that they’re hugging you back even harder. Maybe they don’t really understand, but this is sweet.

[cxvii666]

WHY'S THIS DEALER? TAKING THE PISS?!

cw: recreational drug use, bad language, reader is a dealer (loosely based on my last encounter with a fem plug), idiots in love, 21st century love at first sight,

- eventually will be a multi part fic im prolly gonna upload on ao3 but for now standalone

(i make myself laugh)

and here's part two

it's all denki's fault.

i mean it's normally denki's fault, (with a mixture of himself, kirishima, and mina, depending on the context, the situation, or, who bakugou is most mad at), but this time, it is DEFINITELY ALL DENKI'S FAULT.

"dude cmonnnnn. i already promised everyone i'd score for the party."

trust denki kaminari to make promises he can't keep.

so this is where hanta sero ends up, on the corner of the road, in miserable weather, freezing his ass off, waiting for this dealer. it's just gone half ten and hanta's not a fool, so when he saw the "i'll be der for 10" message pop up on his phone, he didn't leave his dorm till quarter past. but now his vape is dead, his phone is on like 10%, and his fingertips are cold, so yeah, he's a little bit pissed off. pissed at himself for not buying a new geek bar, pissed at denki for begging and whining and promising to 'let him have first draw', and pissed at this dickhead for taking their sweet time.

it's a new guy, the dealer. well at least, the number denki gave him was different than usual and their style of texting was nothing like the guy he usually picks up from. hanta likes to think he's relatively chill dude, but if this fucker, who charges even more for a 3.5, doesn't hurry up, he's gonna crash out.

after another slow ten minutes and another "yh man im almost there" text, a car finally pulls up in front of him. he stamps out what's left of his roll up and pushes himself off the fence he was leaning on as the car window slides down.

hanta fumbles and nearly drops his phone out of his hands when he sees you, sat in the drivers seat.

pretty half lidded eyes stare at him, he thinks he hears kendrick playing from your aux but he can't be sure because he's so caught up in you. fingers tapping rhythmically against the wheel, you look up at him through your lashes and call out slow and tired,

"sero, yeah?"

and, oh my god, his family name has never sounded better than it did coming from your plush lips.

he nods dumbly before realising that you probably can't see him very well in the dim lighting of the side road. "yeah. yeah, that's me," he coughs out, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

you face breaks out into a shy smile directly contrasting the cold stare down you'd be giving him before unlocking the car.

"omg, cool! sorry for making you wait so long! i know it's cold, d'you wanna hop in the passage seat rq?" and hanta doesn't even have time to internally debate the pros and cons of getting into a complete strangers car, because his feet are already carrying him across the road and into your front seat.

as he settles into your passenger seat, you slide your chair back the slightest and start rummaging around in a clearly well loved black leather handbag. hanta tries to still, or at least calm, his beating heart. you look strangely familiar, like he's met you in a dream or something. he takes a deep breath and remarks how your car smells faintly of oranges and you begin, "so who gave you my number?"

"kaminari-"

"wow" you laugh, your top lip curling slightly, teeth showing, hanta thinks your so pretty, "you know kaminari? damn, that guy's in my prac maths class and he's-"

suddenly hanta cringes internally, mind flashing back to a scene, maybe a couple days ago, of him and denki hitting blinkers at the bus shelter outside campus, talking about something stupid, them joking about hanta's apparent lack of game (which is not true at all), and denki saying something about some pretty girl in his class who he smokes with sometimes and, in his words, was, 'exactly y'er type bro'.

"he's one of my roommates." is all he says though his lazy smile tenses slightly, no way denki planned this, right?

you hardly notice, rambling about your maths module, and the lack of work that got done between the two of you. you're trying to keep your voice even and not take too many glances at the hot guy, sero hanta, kaminari's cute roommate, who you had instagram stalked literally on the way over, while you were stuck in traffic, because you'd seen him on the blonde's story. it was some badly taken photo of a group of four guys all sat on top of each other on the same couch, two of them laughing, four beers and an open pack of amber leaf on the table. but sero, cheesing at the camera, sat on the thigh of a different blonde who seemed literal seconds away from punching his lights out, had caught your eye.

so to have him here, in your car, right next to you. so close you could practically smell him, and he smelt gooood, the standard stoner boy scent that you expected but with a mix of something spicy, lord-

when you finally look up to him from where you've been digging in your bag, phone in hand, hanta shuffles with the dead vape in his pocket trying to make it less obvious he'd spent the better part of five minutes just staring at you.

"speak of the devil." you shake your phone at hanta to take and on the screen is a recent chat between you and his best friend as well as a snap of him clearly drunk yelling at the camera from five- five minutes ago??

"he's so unserious." you laugh again, and take your phone back from hanta typing out a quick response then clicking your phone off. "you wanted an eighth yeah?"

hanta nods dumbly, still kinda shocked that denki pulled this off without him realising, and you pull out a little plastic bag with a couple nuggets inside and hand it to him.

he goes to grab the cash in pocket but you stop him with a gentle arm to his shoulder.

you drop your arm quick enough, overthinking your next actions but say anyway, "don't worry 'bout this one, yeah-"

"-what? nah 's fine i've got cash," he trails off, you're looking at him, beautiful wide eyes.

"no i've already made up my mind," you grin slowly at his slightly flustered state and for a moment neither of you talk. the song has long sinced changed and your radio is now playing an old rnb track he doesn't recognise but he finds himself relaxed in your presence.

"besides, i made you wait for so long, and," you continue quickly, your smile even wider, as hanta tilts his head to hide his flustered face. "you're a friend of a friend, right?"

when he finally makes his way back to the party, denki's there, cheesing like an idiot, and when bakugou asks why he took forever, and he parrots him "yeaah, sero, what took you so long?" slick as shit, hanta can't even bring himself to be pissed.

yeah it was denki's fault, but the weight of your number, your actual number, with your first name and a '<3' next to it, in his phone makes it worth it.

he throws the baggie of whats left of the bud to his 'friend' who is still wiggling his eyebrows and steals a vape off the table.

"dude stfu or i'm never picking up for you again."

[fairy-writes]

Would it be too much to ask for a William James Moriarty x Holmes sister reader? Like she's a travelling archaeologist/anthropologist who's a genius in the field and has found many artifacts and lost cities and can be a bit of an eccentric looney like her older brother Sherly but she's also incredibly kind to those in need and often donates her treasures to the less fortunate and even helps Sherly from time to time which is how he meets her and is impressed by her smarts and sarcastic wits. Also, a bit of a parkour junky likes to wear mens clothes tailored for her measurements and often wears her hair in loose buns or ponytails and loves riding horseback much to Mycroft's displeasure🤭

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Mildly sexist behavior from Mycroft? It is the 1800s after all.

Notes: So this was super fun to write! 

Fun fact! I took an archaeology class for my associate’s degree in criminal justice and highly recommend taking one to anyone in college! 

I actually took several anthropology classes (intro to anthro, bio anthro, and archaeology). I even considered switching my major to anthropology at some point! (I switched it to English lol)

PART TWO HERE

PART THREE HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

Otis whinnies, and you reach forward from your place in the saddle to pat his neck.

“Easy, Otie, almost there.” You whisper to him and gently nudge him to turn down the familiar road of Baker Street. You could spot your brother’s flat from where you were at, an unfamiliar carriage parked in front. You frown briefly and then shrug. Sherlock could have whoever he liked over. 

But… he did promise to take you out on the town in celebration of your latest discovery. Did he forget?

No… He wasn’t the type to forget something like that. You had been exchanging letters for weeks about your coming home. 

A tall man was at the front of the carriage, tending to the horses. He had spiked black hair and a glove on one hand. He looks at you with skeptical eyes as you draw near and dismount your horse. The Cleveland Bay snorts, ruffling your hair as you smooth your hand up his snout and between his eyes. Then, you promptly tied his reins to the post outside 221B Baker Street and went up to the front door. 

The door knocker was more worn than you last remembered, with the shiny brass turning a glimmering gold color from all the hands touching it. You rap the door once, twice, then a third time, and wait, stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets. 

A young man opens the door, sandy blond hair combed neatly and brown eyes alight with curiosity. A grin breaks your face, and you step forward into his arms as he realizes just who is at the door.

“My dear John!” You shriek, and he chuckles, lifting you off your feet and spinning once in a circle before setting you down. 

“I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks!” He replies excitedly, and you laugh gleefully. 

“We finished early! Anyhow, how’s Mary? Sherlock said you two were expecting!” You say and slap his shoulder good-naturedly. He ducks his head, a pink flush on his cheeks as he nods.

“She’s home at the mo. But yes, we’re expecting. The midwife thinks it’ll be a girl based on how she’s carrying.” He said, and before you could say any more, there was a noise at the top of the stairs. 

You turn, and your grin widens even more until your cheeks hurt. 

“Sherly!” You crow, and he bounds down the stairs to sweep you up in a bear hug. His boisterous laugh made your heart sing, and you buried your nose in his hair. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey. He must have been on a case. He squeezes you tight and sets you down. 

“I thought you were coming back in two weeks!” He exclaims, and you roll your eyes,

“So John said, I told you we finished early!” You tease, and it is then that you notice that there is someone else in the flat. 

He was tall, probably around your brother’s height. He had blond hair and deep scarlet eyes that studied you with interest. He was dressed in a brown suit with a crimson tie. A lord. That much is obvious.

Sherlock notices that you notice his friend and gestures to the man at the top of the stairs. 

“This is Liam! A mathematics professor at Durham University and a friend of mine who helps me on my cases.” He says proudly as “Liam” descends the stairs and approaches you. 

You stick out a hand and introduce yourself. His hand is smooth like you expected, as opposed to your calloused one. You had bandages littering your fingertips from blisters from shovels and tools. 

“William James Moriarty. I’ve heard stories about you.” His British lilt is proper and endearing. You feel your heart flutter and your ears burn. But you smile warmly nonetheless and give his hand a firm shake.

“As much as I’d like to say the same, Sherly has yet to tell me about you in his letters.” You direct the last sentence to your older brother in the same teasing tone as before. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and punches your shoulder lightly while William watches on in amusement. 

“I got distracted!” Sherlock complains, and you break out into giggles. 

“I would love to hear some stories if you’re up to it.” William cut in gently before you, and Sherlock could start bickering. You brighten. A chance to tell stories of your work and not have someone get bored? It sounded like heaven!

That was how you got to where you were at the current moment. 

You were seated next to Sherlock at the Moriarty dining table, regaling them with a story of the most current dig you had been on.

“—and Egypt was absolutely smashing! It was so beautiful!” You say, waving your hands excitedly as you describe the tomb that had been uncovered. It had taken weeks to uncover everything, almost months. But oh so worth it. 

“Might I ask what you did with all the artifacts you found?” William inquires, and you hum as you sip at your wine. 

“Donated it all back to the locals. It’s the least I can do. Plenty of archaeologists steal their finds and bring them back to England to show in museums. I try and do the opposite.” You say and were pleased to see William nod in approval. 

At least someone shared your sentiment. 

You got a letter to your very old and very dusty flat a week after your return to England, summoning you to your eldest brother’s estate. You had been dusting and cleaning your furniture when the postman knocked on your door. You frown, brushing your pants on the seat of your trousers, and answer the door. 

The letter was short. 

Dearest sister, 

I have received news of your return to Egypt. I would like to have your company at the family estate for dinner to discuss business and your adventures. 

With best regards, 

Mycroft Holmes

A summons to the Holmes family estate that your oldest brother had inherited after your parents retired to the country. You look at the ceiling and groan, eliciting a funny look from the postman. 

This was going to be fun.

As soon as Otis realizes where you are, he tosses his head and tries to turn around. You tug the reins so he faces the right direction and nudge him into a walk down the road.

“Otie, I don’t want to do this either. But I’d rather not have Mikey send special forces after us or something.” You say to Otis, and when you reach the stables, Mycroft’s hired stable hand takes your beloved horse’s reins. “Take good care of him!” You nearly reprimand the stable hand who agrees and welcomes you back with ease. 

The maids welcome you in excitedly when you rap on the massive double doors, and you are ushered upstairs into the dining room. 

Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, where your father would be if he were here, and he stood to greet you. He offers a handshake, but you simply smile warmly and hug him tightly. He may have grated on your nerves, but he was still your brother. Mycroft stiffens and pats your shoulders awkwardly when you step back.

“As awkward as always, I see Mikey.” You said and took a seat at the table next to him like you did when you were kids. He clears his throat and calls for the kitchen staff to bring in the food. 

It wasn’t much, considering there were only two of you. But it was as extravagant as Mycroft always demanded it to be. 

“Would you like to change into dinner attire before we eat, sister dearest?” Mycroft says suddenly, just as you are about to dig into the delicious roast prepared by the staff of the household. You put your fork down and scowl.

“Don’t start with this, Mikey. You know I hate dresses.” You snap, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the issue. 

At least… he doesn’t until you are done with your meal and in his study, talking about your travels to Egypt. 

You down the rest of your whiskey and set the glass whiskey tumbler on the table between you two. 

“More whiskey?” He offers, and you shake your head.

“I want to be able to ride home after this.” You say and hold in a yawn. The excellent food combined with the fireplace blazing with a crackling fire is lulling you to sleep. 

Suddenly, Mycroft stands and walks in front of the fire, setting his own glass down on the mantle and turning to face you. 

“Might we talk some business?” He inquires, and immediately, your mood sours. 

So this was his end goal? Get you sleepy and drunk so you couldn’t ride home and were subject to his pleadings?

“I don’t want to hear it, Mikey.” You say and stand, holding onto the back of the wingback chair for a moment as the dizziness sets in. 

He scowls, 

“You are of perfect age. The season is just starting. You could still join in and find a potential suitor!” He tries, and you scrub at your face.

“I already told you I wasn’t interested in courting! I’m interested in—”

“Your work, I know. But what happens when the digs dry up and there’s nothing else for you to do? What will you do when you get too old for this?!” He snaps, and you whirl, steadying yourself with the chair as your anger flares. 

“It won’t dry up! There are thousands of years of history still to be discovered! Hundreds of thousands of cities and archaeological finds!” Your voice rises to a shout, and you hear distant footsteps as maids scurry away from you and your brother’s anger. 

This goes on for several minutes until Mycroft a bomb on you. 

“Mother and Father have decided. If you don’t find someone to court, they will no longer fund your excavations, and you’ll be stuck here with me.” 

You freeze, hands wound tightly in your hair, and argument dying on your tongue. 

“B—But that would mean—” Mycroft cuts you off gently and approaches, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’d be stuck here until you find a husband—no more digs. No more artifacts. Not until you do as they and I ask.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you shrug off his hands violently and flee. 

Your boots pound against the hardwood floors, and you run outside where it has started pouring rain. Instantly, your clothes are soaked as you make it to the stables, dress Otis in his saddle and bridle, and swiftly mount his back. He tears out of the stables at a thundering gallop, and the stable hand barely dives out of the way to save himself from being trampled. 

Otis’s hooves dash against the cobblestone roads. You cling to his reins and hunch over his back as tears stream down your face and sobs wrack your body. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking away your funding? 

No one wanted to fund a woman on an archaeological dig! 

Much less one as young as yourself! 

You were screwed! Doomed to live as a housewife because that was society’s and your parent’s expectations of you!

Otis eventually comes to a halt, and you dismount, collapsing onto a bench, breathing hard as rain pours down your body. Your shirt sticks to your skin, and your trousers swim in water as you sit in a puddle on the bench. But you can’t bring it in you to care. 

A carriage rumbles to a stop before you, and you look up as the door opens. 

“Might I interest you in some shelter?” Comes a proper and endearing accent that you recognize. 

“William?” You sniffle, and he smiles, extending a hand. 

“If you’ll let him, Fred will handle your horse. How about you step inside the carriage, and we’ll take you back to the Moriarty estate.” He says over the rain. A young man with a blue scarf wrapped around his head gets off the front of the carriage and approaches. You hiccup and nod, handing Otis’s reins to the young man and accepting William’s hand into the carriage. He sheds his overcoat and offers it. 

It’s warm and heavy as you wrap it around your shoulders and sit down. Your boots squelch against the floor, and William knocks twice against the carriage's wall, and it starts moving once again. 

The Morairty estate is even grander than you remember, looming over you as the carriage stops by the front doors. You nearly slip in your haste to get inside and are taken up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms. 

“Draw a bath and get warm. I’ll have some clothes brought by. We can have a talk after you’ve collected yourself.” William says gently, and you nod, taking off his overcoat so he can have it back. He excuses himself, and you are left alone in the suite. 

The bath is nice and hot, and you let out a sigh as you shed your clothes into a pile on the floor and sink into the warm water. Your tears are drying, but your emotions are still raging like a rabid dog inside you.

How could they? 

Didn’t your family know archaeology was your passion? Your dream?! Of course, they did! You never shut up about it when you were but a little girl learning to play the piano! You babbled on and on about fossils and artifacts in between lessons until you were blue in the face!

It wasn’t long until you were done in the bath and dried off. As William had promised, some clothes were left on the bed. A button-down that looked like it might fit you, a pair of trousers that might be a bit too long, and a pair of undergarments. You tugged on the underwear and then the trousers, having to cuff them at the bottom so you didn’t trip. The shirt fit better than you thought so you pinned your hair out of your face and left the bedroom and down the hall. Hadn’t there been a sitting room just down the stairs? 

William was inside, stoking a fire with a poker, his back to you. He stood and turned when you rapped lightly on the entryway. His lips curled in a welcoming smile, and he gestured for you to take a seat. 

“Would you like some tea? I had Louis put the kettle on.” He said, and you nodded, sitting on the couch beside the fire.

“Thank you. For the clothes and… everything else.” You mumble, and he shakes his head,

“Don’t mention it. Sherlock mentioned you hated dresses.” He says and pours you a cup of tea.

It’s delicious. It warms you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your bare toes. You scuff them on the plush carpet as William sits across from you. His scarlet eyes are illuminated like glittering rubies in the oranges and yellows of the fire. They’re alive like a torch resides inside. 

“Now, might I ask why you were out in the rain?” William asks as soon as you’ve settled into your spot. You bite your lip and wonder if you can trust him with your problems. 

Sherlock trusted him well enough… 

Perhaps…

“I got into an argument with Mycroft. He said my parents will cut off my funding for excavations if I don’t find a proper husband.” You blurt, and he hums as he takes a sip from his cup. 

“I assume they’ve been funding your past archaeological escapades?” He says, and you nod.

“Correct. But that is going to change unless I get married.” You grumble, and he cocks his head to the side, setting his cup down on the tea table next to him and seemingly mulling something over. 

“This may be a bit forward, but I have a proposal. A business proposal, if you will.” He starts, and you narrow your eyes. A business proposal? You set your own cup down and cross one leg over the other. 

“Go on…” You say hesitantly, and he clasps his hands together as if working out a problem in his head. Sherlock did say he was a mathematics professor.

“I could marry you.” You inhale sharply and proceed to choke on your saliva. William half gets out of his chair to come to your aid when you finally get your coughing under control. 

“Why?!” You demand, and he shrugs, 

“I’ve done some research into you. You are spearheading the way in new archaeological techniques. You donate your finds back to the locals in need. And frankly, I find you fascinating. If we go ahead with this, you’ll have access to my brother Albert’s influence as well as the Moriarty name and fortune.” He says, and you sit back, stunned. 

“I could continue my work?” You say skeptically, and he nods. 

“Indeed. There’s no reason to stop you. I might ask for a lecture or two from you at Durham University. But that’s it. So…” He extends a hand for you to shake. “Have we reached an accord?”

You are speechless as possibilities run rampant through your brain. You’d be free from your parent’s influence as well as pleasing them. Though pleasing them was the last thing on your mind. Yes, you’d be married. But like William said… it was more of a business proposal…

You reach forward and shake his hand. His smile widens marginally as you speak,

“I accept your proposal.”

[yndrgrl]

your classmate, yandere! bakugou, is deeply & utterly infatuated w/ shy, little you, & he isn't afraid to tell you just how much you occupy his mind.

fem! reader. quirkless! au. ooc! bakugou. long ass fic. soft! yandere.

a/n: based on this video (https://youtu.be/BoHAw_pEtOA), i'm literally OBSESSED w/ it. it's like, imagine being so stunning to someone that you're on their mind 24/7 like GAHHH WHAT.

warnings: slightly disturbing content, nsfw, dirty talk, stalking, swearing, very much "joe goldberg" vibes, smut asf, male masturbation, degrading, sexsexsex, gagging, praise

----

you are sweet. you are a gentle, kind soul-- so shy & reserved. to the big, bad katsuki bakugou, you are truly eye-catching. the way you didn't draw attention to yourself & yet would say the most profound things during online discussion posts made him wonder what was going on in that cute, little head of yours.

the way you're just the complete opposite of him made him crave you.

the first time he noticed you, you walked through the classroom door with your bulky headphones on that were clearly a part of your first-day-of-school outfit. enthralled was the only way he could describe how he felt. maybe shocked as well. how could someone so beautiful just walk into class?

he scoffed at his own thoughts, knowing damn well if he heard kirishima or denki say anything like that, he would've rolled his eyes. if she's beautiful, he thought, then she must have a terrible personality that i don't want to get to know.

unluckily -but also luckily- you were assigned the seat right beside him. you, with your pearly, white teeth, flashed him a courteous smile. you placed your bag on the floor, shrunk into your seat, & pulled out your binder.

what. a. nerd. katsuki laughed in his head. he could already read you like a book, he believed. a goody-two-shoes who stutters after every word, no confidence, & lives in her own little bubble, is what he deducted.

& yet he couldn't help but notice how fragrant your perfume smelled. it reminds him of a time when he was at peace, without a worry in the world. "god, how much perfume does a girl need," katsuki loudly said.

it took you a second to register that, beyond the music playing through the speakers of your headphones, there was a voice muffled. slipping your headphones down around your neck, you questioned, "i'm sorry, did you say something?"

"whatever," katsuki mumbled beside you. you felt bad, not meaning to ignore him. however, before you got the chance to apologize, the bell rang, & the professor walked to the front of the classroom. a professor that he could already tel he would hate, by the way.

that was the first day of the semester.

katsuki saw you everywhere after that. it's not like he wanted to or anything. the campus should have been big enough for the both of you, but it wasn't. he would see you at lunch with your goody-goody friends, or walking back to your dorm building with your heavy bag, or in different classes that you didn't sit with him.

one day, as the days grew slightly colder, katsuki needed to blow off some steam. he didn't know what was making him pent up. correction: he didn't want to admit that he knew why he was all pent up. since when can a person can make the great katsuki bakugou pent up?

since the first day of the semester, that's when.

bakugou, in a tight-fitting compression shirt & sweatpants, sauntered into the campus gym with his army green duffel bag slung over his shoulder. at this time of day -that being 6 in the morning- the gym was bare. only the early birds & forced athletes occupied the gym.

& apparently, so did nerds.

there you were, in all your glory. you wore black leggings that accentuated your legs. your silky, soft hair held up by a clear claw clip. your beaten up converse told the story that you are an avid gym-goer.

stationed in front of one of the only squat wracks that had a window view, the morning sunlight gazed upon your features. the soft hue made bakugou choke on his own spit. as he gawked your stature, he watched as you took sips from your water bottle. then he watched as you went to the bar, ducked under, & got ready to squat. he felt something twitch as you began your set.

"hey, bakugou~" a feminine voice spoke, causing him to almost jump. he shifted his bag so it hung in front of him. "whatcha doooing?"

"mina, what does it look like?" he scoffed.

"it looks like you were staring at-"

he cut her off. "i wasn't staring at anyone. it's just weird to see nerds like her in the gym."

"nerds like her?" she questioned, then she quickly changed the subject, "whatever, you're gonna work out with me & kiri, right?"

after that, bakugou deducted you were an anomaly. he learned how kind & attentive you are when he just so happened to read a text you sent out between you & a friend. he learned how confident you truly can be when you believe it's just you-- no eyes looking at you. he learned that your reputation was the opposite of his.

you see, bakugou was rough around the edges, to put it softly. he wore edgy clothing that made heads turn, thanks to his fashion designer parents, of course. he was proud to show off how big his muscles were & how many tattoos & scars littered his skin. he often skipped lectures, which didn't matter in the end because of his high scores on the exams.

on the other hand, you were just a beam of heaven-gate sunlight. always getting the best grades, acing tests, showing up on time, & taking pretty notes with pens, no need for pencils because you never mess up. you were also quiet, almost seeming untouchable.

the first time he caught himself truly thinking about you was late at night. he fell asleep on his dorm bed after a day of ditching classes. soon, images popped into the black void. it was a blur, colors mashing together until it was clear. there you stood, a gasp escaping your pink lips. it was as though he was watching a movie of himself.

he touched your body, scorching your skin with a red blush. he squeezed your thighs, your ass, your tits. nowhere left untouched, & you liked it. your fingers tangled themselves into his blonde tresses. you pulled him closer & begged in his ear to stick his heavy cock into your sopping pussy.

he awoke, breath heavy & a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. his dick was still incredibly hard. it was almost painful. his roommate/classmate/best buddy, kirishima already left for his early morning class & wouldn't be back until later that afternoon. katsuki knew that.

in hopes to dull the pain, he took his cock into his hand & started jerking it. though it helped, he needed something more. he took a breath, & with his other hand, he unlocked his phone & went onto instagram-- your instagram.

the most recent picture you posted was from summer. it was a college of the outfits you wore & activities you've done before fall semester. his favorite one was a candid your friend must've took. you were on the beach surrounded by people katsuki didn't care about. you were in such a scandalous swim suit that left little to the imagination. it was taken from behind so it shamelessly displayed how your swim bottoms did nothing but cover your important bits.

god, what he would do to you if he ever saw you in the swimsuit. he would bend you over, slip your bikini bottoms to the side (because he couldn't waste any time taking it off) & fuck you senseless in front of everyone. he would make you clean off his dick with that pretty, little mouth of yours. he would-

he came. he came all over his abs, & yet his cock was still throbbing. still beating for you. "shit," he whispered. as much as he hated it, katsuki was often self aware of his emotions. it's a nerdy thing to do, he knows. however, after finishing to the thought of you, he knows that he's obsessed with you, & there's nothing he can do so why fight it?

it was another day, another lecture. there sat katsuki, slumped in his seat before you even entered the class. as you did, he watched as your beautiful eyes connected with his & widen with shock. he hasn't been in class in a week, there was no big exam in class, so you were curious why he even showed up.

walking towards your desk with your eyes averted to the floor, katsuki took your figure in. he still couldn't get over how your fashion sense reflected your personality, your aura, perfectly. you seemed so comfortable, nearly confident & he loved it.

you knew he was staring; it would've been unnerving if it were anyone else. however, you found katsuki unbelievably attractive. you were flattered-- of course. what if i'm just being delusional, you wondered, denying that he was looking at you. curiosity would've gotten the better of you if you could hold eye contact though.

you sat in your seat beside him. as per usual, you took out your binder of notes, your colored pens, & placed your headphones around your neck like you do every day in this class. the professor announced that, because it is a communications class, it's important that everyone communicates. the assignment was to create a simple, few-slide presentation introducing your passion project for the rest of the year. dedication at its finest, everyone. it was an easy assignment that required nothing but a few sentences pulled out of your ass & a slides template you can download online.

as soon as he was done with his expectations for it, he let his students loose. the professor was clearly not in the mood to teach for whatever reason. you considered it a blessing because you have stacks of homework & a pile of laundry waiting for you after classes.

you pulled out your laptop you've had since forever. after signing in, you started immediately on the project. it's better to get it out of the way then to forget about it, you told yourself.

you were about to slip your headphones back on when someone questioned, "what are you doing yours on?"

it took you a second to realize it was your deskmate. it took you two to realize he was talking to you.

"um... i'm sorry?" you looked at him, confused. you didn't have any friends in this class. not that you minded.

the blonde hard head scoffed & said, "god, are you deaf? what are you doing your project about?"

"oh, um," you looked back at your computer. the blinking edit line taunting you. "i don't really know yet."

"tch, really? we're almost a month into this class," he responded. "i expected a nerd like you to be already on the last assignment for the year."

"i-i haven't really found the time, i guess."

"yeah right, don't sweat it with an explanation, nerd."

there was a silence, a silence you decided to fill.

"... what's your project about?"

"none of your damn business," he said back. that's your sign you never talk in the class again.

"hm right, just asking," you muttered, going back to brainstorming ideas you could build upon for the next year that doesn't sound too niche. or maybe you want to do something so niche that no one would know if you were right or wrong. so many options.

"i'm gonna do mine on chemical explosives."

he was talking to you again. does that mean he wants to talk with you? only you? you were looking to far into it, but you couldn't help but blush.

"oh wow, that's pretty hardcore," you responded quietly, as not to disrupt everyone else's small conversations. "what made you choose that?"

"it's a passion project; that's a passion of mine," he said as-a-matter-of-factly. he was so reserved, it only added to his bad boy charm.

you took a deep breath, deciding to -for the first time in your college life- to put yourself out there & pointed out, "the curriculum says we have to present our projects to someone of our choosing... would you want to present it to each other?"

fireworks.

you asked that & it felt as though fireworks blew up in katsuki's heart. his stoic face didn't show just how excited he was that you were the one to ask him. if you asked him to be his partner, then you've clearly been thinking of him, & if you're thinking of him, you're practically all his, &-

"yeah, whatever. you better have an interesting passion project."

that was the very first, full-blown conversation the two of you shared.

katsuki replays that moment in his head, thinks about what he should've said differently, about how he would've made a move if the two of you were alone (which he probably wouldn't have).

you ran even more rampantly in his mind. every thought crossed back to you. he constantly wondered how you were doing, what were you doing, who you were with. it drove him mad, giving him a headache. there was no medication he could take to soothe it. he found that he was only at ease when you were in sight or ear shot.

you were his clarity, & what sane person lets their clarity go? it started out small & in such a subconscious way.

katsuki was wandering the campus as he waited for his friends to get out of class when he spotted you. you must have a thing for windows because you sat on a lounge chair facing the grand window in the library. you were focused on your computer screen, so unaware of your surroundings. your brows furrowed, probably thinking about your passion project. your earbuds played whatever podcast you decided to listen to.

so, you're studying by yourself, katsuki took a mental note of that. when he did, he felt the pressure on his temples relieve. he entered the library for no other reason than you. you didn't notice him, why would you? he sat on a table behind you with his phone in his hand. katsuki's ruby eyes darted around the library before opening his camera & snapping a quick photo of you. he told himself that it would be the last time he would take a photo of you like that.

he lied to himself.

as the school year continued on, his private folder of sneaky pictures of you only grew & grew. at first, it was once every so often, but addiction kills, & he just couldn't stop.

the change that came with you was noticeable. the usually brash & unpredictable katsuki was now collected & cool. one thing that didn't change was the permanent scowl etched on his face.

his friends could see through his one-note facial expression. so it was only natural that, during a hangout in one of the dorms, they would ask, "you good?"

"yeah, why wouldn't i be?" katsuki retorted, popping a hot cheeto into his mouth while he focused on the small tv screen. katsuki wanted nothing more than to have you under his arm at the moment.

denki chimed in, "well it's just that you haven't called anyone stupid yet."

"thought you guys would be happy i didn't insult you," he rolled his eyes.

"bakubro, you can tell us anything. we've all gone through a lot together-" kirishima was cut off.

"yeah i know, there's just nothing to tell."

katsuki noticed his friends glance at each other, unconvinced. he supposes he can't blame them; he is acting so strangely afterall.

"how do i say this-" kirishima (poor man) was cut off again-- this time by mina.

"do you like someone?" she snickered. out of all the things she could've asked, that was one of the last things he thought she would ask.

"what? no! i don't like anyone," he said defensively.

"then are you lonely? i can set you up with someone," mina pulled out her phone & started pulling up a picture of said someone, "let me show you her."

"no i'm not lonely either, raccoon eyes! it's none of your damn business!" he shouted, honestly sickened at the thought of being intimate & romantic with someone who wasn't you.

"are you sure~?" mina dragged the last word out in a sing-songy voice.

"yes."

"don't be mad-"

"what the fuck did you do?"

"i already invited her," mina chuckled, quickly stuffing her phone into her back pants pocket.

"WHAT?" katsuki shouted. what would you think? would you even care?

"listen, she's a really sweet girl, & i think that-" mina's defenses were cut short by the angry hot head.

"i don't care, tell her she's uninvited or something." it really wasn't that difficult.

mina stayed silent. katsuki already knew why. as if on cue, there was a knock on the door. "i was only kidding with you, ya big baby. i just invited another girl, no date required," mina joked. she muttered right after, "hopefully you two will hit it off so you're not so grumpy."

kirishima opened the door right as bakugou yelled, "what was that, you pinkie pie bitch?" the sakura-haired girl waved him off, popping to her feet to greet her guest.

she cheered, "y/n!" mina threw her hands up & stepped towards you for a hug. katsuki's head snapped towards the door, cheeks slightly pink because he knew that you heard his outburst.

"hi, mina" you softly said, accepting the hug. you wore loungewear; you wore a black crew neck with a rib cage vinyl design & shorts. "thanks for inviting me."

"of course! let me introduce you to everyone!" she ushered you inside the dorm room, & kirishima shut the door behind you. "that one," she points to the man who shut the door, "is kirishima." he smiled his classic, toothy grin. "that's sero, right next to him is denki," she said. they both -with mouths stuffed with snacks & hands occupied with controllers- said a brief "hi."

"& that one is-"

"i know her already." katsuki had a habit of cutting off his friends. was it polite? no, not in the slightest. did he care? no, he did not. "we're classmates."

"oh, um... i didn't know you were gonna be here," you admitted, cheeks flushed in shock.

"oi! you stalking me now, nerd?"

"no, not at all!" you quickly defended. you really didn't know he was going to be sitting in front of you, he knew that.

mina stepped in, "be nice to her, bakugou! i'm trying to make new friends, remember?"

"yeah, yeah, i remember you yappin' about it," bakugou responded as he laid back onto the dorm bed. he felt your eyes on him. just your mere attention got him riled up. he didn't know how to handle it. he felt as though he were burning up. his eyes shot towards your figure, eyes locking with your deep ones. "quit staring."

"i don't mean to stare-"

"get over yourself, bakubro," kirishima joked. he chucked a throw pillow mina insisted they get to "liven the sad, jail cell of a room."

that night, katsuki couldn't help but stare. hypocrite, he knows. but he just couldn't look away. you were a magnetic force, chipping away at his self-control. even with such modest clothing, he still found himself yearning for your body, your mind, your entire being as you already had his.

time flew by fast. he could tell you were slowly getting used to the dynamic his friend group shared. your shoulders slumped throughout the evening, & you sat without your hands in your lap. denki even got you to play a round of mario kart against mina. though you didn't like being in the spotlight, you thought it was fun seeing everyone's shocked faces after you beat the self-proclaimed queen of nintendo.

the night came to a close after kirishima, denki, & sero passed out on the floor while mina slept on the bed. you fought sleep, eyelids drooping with every passing second.

"tired?" katsuki questioned. he chuckled when you suddenly turned alert.

sheepishly, you confirmed, "yeah, just a bit. i think i'm gonna head back to my dorm."

"waking up your roommate isn't very nice of you," katsuki pointed out.

"my roommate dropped out, & they haven't assigned me a new one."

"is that so?"

you stuffed your keys into your left pocket & your phone in your right before replying, "yeah, lucky me. dorm room all to myself for the semester."

"what building?" dumb question, katsuki already knew what building you lived in.

"building b, floor three," you told him. you stood up & slipped on your slides. "i really should get going. weirdos start coming out at this time."

there was a silence that followed. in katsuki's head, the gears were grinding. never has he thought so much about a decision pertaining another person in his life. would it be too pushy if he walked you back? would he be shitty if he didn't?

"fuck it," he whispered. it was so quiet in the room that you heard him clearly. "let me walk you," he spoke with more clarity.

"you really don't have to!" you didn't know he was going to offer you such a thing. "i mean it, really. i have a mace keychain-" katsuki stood up & threw on a random hoodie that was on his chair as you rambled, tiredness getting to you, "-& i have my phone so i can call the police."

"just shut up & let's go."

the walk, at first, was awkward, to say the least. the night was still, no breeze to dance with the crusting leaves. there was no one in sight, nor were there cars that zoomed past the university.

"if i would've known you were gonna walk me, i would've left earlier," you broke the silence in a hushed voice.

maybe it was because he was still awake hours past his bedtime, but katsuki responded in a softer way than expected. "did you have fun?"

"yes i did," you told him with a small smile.

"then don't worry about it."

he was so sweet to you in that moment that you couldn't help but swoon. cheeks stained pink as you averted your eyes.

katsuki stared at you through his peripheral, catching how you began to mess with the hem of your shirt.

soon enough, the two of you reached the dorm building. katsuki stood there, about to turn around when you quickly whispered, "wanna walk me up?" you gulped. you didn't even know if you could consider him a friend, & now you're practically barking orders at him; what's wrong with-

"of course."

you both reached your room. once again, in that precious voice of yours, you suggested, "you can stay the night here, if you want."

when he remained quiet (due to shock & a growing boner), you back tracked, "w-well because the extra bed is still in here, & you did me a favor so now i owe you, &-"

"i have a confession," he said, "invite me inside."

"o-oh, yeah of course," you stuttered, unlocking the door & opening it for him. you shut the door & locked it. "what do you have to tell me?"

you quickly pulled out another blanket while he sat in a chair.

katsuki experienced some things throughout his life. he experienced fights & competitions & other stupid shenanigans. he's been questioned by cops & dealt with firefighters. however, he's never felt this nervous in front of anyone. his heart leapt into his throat & used his skull as a pounding speaker. he could barely hear his own thoughts. "i don't know how you'll react."

"i won't get mad," you promised, curious. "if that's what you're worried about." you expected that, since it's confession hour or something, he'd reveal things about his past.

"i think about you, y/n." that's not what you were expecting. "i think about you all the fuckin' time."

"w-wha?" what more could you say? from behind, you heard shuffling then warmth & a looming figure. you turned around & met his eyes, trying to find if he was messing with you.

"& i can't stop thinking about you. at first, you were so annoying. with your little outfits & perfume & shit. i found you everywhere i went. i started looking out for you, wondering if you'll show your annoying, pretty face," he confessed. katsuki didn't break eye contact as he sandwiched you between him & your bed.

"you're such a goody-two-shoes. such a fuckin' nerd. but you're the only girl who's ever caught my attention, you know that? why is that?" katsuki's fingertips began to trace your clothed legs then up & under your sweatshirt. he leaned down to your ear, "are you okay with this?"

all you could do is nod, afraid that if you were to speak, it would come out as a mere squeak. he pulled away, staring into your eyes once more with his glowing ruby ones.

"good. i still don't know why it's you. maybe it's cuz of how hard you work, or how disgustingly nice you are no matter what. you're such an angel, & that must make me a demon then," he told you. you felt your entire being light on fire-- cheeks hot, ears red, & you needed to get out of your clothes. "god, let me be the one to taint you, to ruin you."

the blonde pulled you in close to his chest by wrapping his muscular arms around your frame. your hand grazed on a bulge in his pants & he jolted. "you feel that? that's how hard you get me during class."

muffled, you let out, "b-bakugou." & with those big, innocent eyes, you looked up at him.

"it's katsuki, baby."

"katsuki," you corrected yourself before continuing, "you mean all of this, r-right?" you felt tears well up & your throat tightening when you began thinking it was all a joke.

his love-drunk expression shifted into an offended one. "you think i'm sayin' all this shit cuz i think it's funny?"

"i-i don't know."

rough yet lovingly, he grabbed your chin & leaned in, noses centimeters away from each other. "this is real to me, & it will be real to you."

your gaze darted to his eyes, furrowed brows, his moonlit hair, then his lips. the moment you looked at his lips, he smashed his lips against yours. the force of his kids caused you to prop your elbows against the bed all while he snuck his knee between your legs. he pressed his thick thigh against the aching warmth.

you let out a muffled moan, & he mistakenly took that as an invite to roam your mouth with his tongue. you pushed it back with yours but, like in every other aspect besides academic, he dominated you.

the two of you ran out of air eventually. he pulled away, eyes half-lidded. "let me get you out of those clothes." he almost sounded needy, if your ears didn't deceive you.

"please, katsuki." that's all you had to say. it was like a command to him, & he was your ever loving soldier. he helped you take of your sweatshirt. gawking at your chest, you didn't wear a bra.

he scoffed with a smug smile, "sneaky girl." he saw right through you. it's true, you didn't wear a bra because of a fantasy you didn't know you were going to fulfill tonight. easy access. you wanted to give him easy access. "i knew there had to be something about you, & i figured it out."

he fondled your tits while he whispered in the crook of your neck, "you're a filthy slut, huh?" you nodded, grinding against his thigh; he chuckled before he started to mark your sensitive neck with hickeys upon hickeys.

at this point, it was getting hard to keep quiet. you knew it was only going to get harder from there. you bit your pink lip as a form of self restraint as katsuki took off his shirt & slipped off your sweatpants. you wore a lacy thong.

katsuki muttered, "oh fuck." he so badly needed you. his fingers rubbed your arousal through the fabric. he loved knowing that he made you so wet. his other hand pushed his boxers & pants down in one swift motion. katsuki needed to feel you around his poor, throbbing cock.

you might've had self restraint, but your lover didn't. he ripped the panties off of you & threw them somewhere in the dark room, not that he cared. if you were upset about it, he'll just buy you another pair he'd tear off. "fuck, y/n. i need you to tell me you want this- no you need this, need me."

you stroked his forearm with your fingers. this was so out of your comfort zone but you still managed to spit out, "i-i need you, katsu-"

there goes that habit of cutting you off again. he shoved his tip into, causing you squeal. he let you stretch, then stuck in more of his cock until you were finally well-adjusted to him. you felt the weight of cock inside you as your walls tightened around him.

you couldn't help but moan as a way of begging him to move. he demanded, "use your words, angel."

"katsuki~" you whined. his calloused hand clasped around your marked neck.

"tell me what you want, & you get to breath."

"y-you! i want you to fu-fuck me!" you choked out, eyes rolling to the back of you head as you desperately tried to breath. he let go, satisfied that you were slowly coming undone.

"such a quick learner," he praised, "i love hearing that voice of yours." you clenched around his hung prick.

he started to move, shallow humps turned into powerful, bed-rocking thrusts. he through your feet onto his shoulders while your wrists were held down to your sides with his hands. your brain turned into bimbo mush, babbling about how he needs to go harder, to keep going. katsuki happily obliged-- anything for his favorite girl.

every thrust your tits jiggled & your ass slapped against his hips. god, how was your body this divine? "such a good whore, handling my cock so good."

"k-katsuki, wanna cum- i'm cumming, i'm cumming!" you told him, scrunching your bed sheets under your grip. your mouth widened. with lightning speed, katsuki shoved something in your mouth; it was your ripped thong. the one you thought was lost in the room.

"fuck yeah," he moaned while he played with your clit. "cum all over my cock, i'm all yours." katsuki was so mean, yet so romantic. he ruined you so effortlessly & still managed to make you feel like you were a goddess amongst men.

you came. that wasn't the last time that night. he pulled out & flipped you over. "ass up, we're not done."

[petriwriting]

Smithereens - Theodore Nott X Reader

Summary: Based on the song "smithereens" by Twenty One Pilots.

"For you, I'd go step to a dude much bigger than me.."

A/N: very theo coded. I'm back bitches. This was another request. I've been sorting through my requests box slowly, making sure everyone is accounted for and they are all good reads. enjoy. 

Theodore Nott was an interesting person. you had been in a relationship for a few months, enjoying the new feelings that accompany new relationships and young love. You had come to find he was a lot more than his reputation. At a glance, he was a shallow rich kid like his friends, although you had come to find he was a much more complex person than the rumors you'd always heard. Theodore was a softie, he was romantic at heart. He brought you flowers and passed you notes in class. Contrary to popular belief, He didn't sleep around either, he had a laid back flirty side by nature, but he definitely did not participate in the Toxic Slytherin Culture. He was there because he didn't have any other place to be, perhaps it was just by chance. Nonetheless, the boy loved his friends and was loyal to them. So much so that he'd attend parties with them.

The evening was drawing to a close, you had a few drinks and shared many laughs with some friends. It was the beginning of the school year, so to kick off the quidditch team's luck, Slytherin house held a dungeon party. It was the usual crowd, Draco, Pansy, Blaise... and some others who just wanted something to do that evening. The common room was rather busy, with some unfamiliar faces crowding its space mixing with those who were friends. Music was playing, most student's were mingling.

You sat shoulder to shoulder with Theo on the loveseat, while a somewhat drunk Pansy Parkinson went on and on about something to Draco, you had stopped paying attention. Blaise would inject himself into the conversation every so often.

"I'm going to step outside." Theo told you, after some time enjoying each others company, you'd both been somewhat quiet, not drawing attention to yourselves too much. "Care to join me?" Theo asked.

You didn't really care to listen to Pansy any longer, but you knew Theo was just going to step outside for a smoke, a bad habit of his. "I'm okay, actually. I think I'll stay in and have another drink." you said, Theo squeezed your hand and then headed outside. "I'll come back in in a bit, love."

You could handle yourself alone just fine, however, you didn't appreciate unwanted company... almost ever.

Not long after Theo wandered outside, an exchange student had appeared. His name was Klaus, you remembered. He was new to the quidditch team. He was from Durmstrang in Germany, He towered over you as you had poured yourself a drink, sipping on the bitter alcoholic beverage timidly. "Hello." He said, trying to be sly, but to you it just felt awkward. "Hi." you said, trying to be polite. No wonder he played sports, this guy was huge. 

"I saw you sitting with your friends." He said. "oh yeah," you nodded and looked over at draco who was listening to something pansy was saying with exaggerated expressions. "Yeah, they are pretty cool." you said, unsure of what to say to keep the conversation alive, not wanting to be completely rude.

"You are very pretty." He said. "What's your name?" you scoffed, he didn't seem to get the message even after telling him your name. he smelled like liquor. "We could go somewhere more private to talk.." He suggested. you awkwardly played with your hand covering the drink in your hand. "Um, no thanks." you said softly, not wanting an eruption from him. He was starting to get a bit flustered. "Come on. Just to talk," He begged. "no." You said again very sternly.

Klaus however, didn't hear the word no. "Let's just get out of this messy common room, come on now," he said. You were officially uncomfortable. "I said No." You said a bit louder. 

In that moment, you were thankful not to be alone. Theo appeared and filled the space between the two of you, You quietly sighed in relief. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

Klaus huffed, frustrated now his advances were turned down and there was someone else. Theodore Nott was somewhat tall, but Klaus was taller by a head or two, and he was huge. Part of you wondered if he was part giant. . . he had huge muscles and a bald head that was flushed from the alcohol.

"You are not my problem." Klaus laughed, towering over Theo. For a slytherin, that was a very brave thing to do, considering it seemed like he was about to get his ass beaten to smithereens for you. "Yeah, then back up." Theo snarled. "Is this your girlfriend?" Klaus asked, turning to you and rolling his eyes.

"We're having a conversation. this doesn't concern you." Klaus hiccuped. You were scared it would escalate. "Let's just go, ted." you said, grabbing Theo by the arm. "Please?" you plead. Theo shook his head. "Fine, come on." he ushered you forward to leave.

As you were walking towards the exit, you heard Klaus mumbling, which angered theo.

"Have fun ladies." he laughed. "Pussy.. won't even stay for another drink." Klaus had mumbled under his breath tirelessly.

Theo had rushed back over to Klaus, Punching him in the face as the snide comment was greatly un appreciated, and Klaus stepped back wiping his nose of the blood. He threw a punch at Theo in return, causing the boy to fall to the floor. This caught the party's attention. Although physically disadvantaged, Theo was clever and quickly pulled his wand out, in a swift movement stunning Klaus so he was unable to fight back.

You rushed over to Theo, helping him up. "Ah fuck." He cursed, his lip was now split and his jaw would likely be bruised black and blue in the morning. "Are you okay?" you asked, Theo brushed you off, "Good as new," He chuckled. Blaise and Draco had appeared, not far behind was pansy. "Sweet Merlin, Nott," Blaise mumbled. "Looks like he won't be bothering anyone else anytime soon," Draco laughed, stepping over Klaus' unresponsive body.

"He was trying to get me to go back to his dorm with him." You admitted. "Well he won't be going anywhere anytime soon, lucky for you." Theodore winked at you, comfortable enough to laugh at himself. He wasn't embarassed for being knocked on his ass, but he was upset he wasn't there to stave off the creepy guy.

By now the party was slowly dying down, everyone trickling back to where they needed to be, eventually the music stopped and the room was clear of anyone that wasn't a part of Slytherin house.

"Shall we?" Theo asked, you nodded and grabbed his arm to head back to his dorm- your usual spot. upon arrival, Theo sat on his bed a bit defeated. You sat on the other side of him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"You didn't have to do that, Y'know." you said softly.

"I know." Theo said. "You know i'd get myself beaten up for you." Theo said. Maybe it was the alcohol and smoking, but it was one of those sweet moments you would later appreciate. "well," you began. "That was pretty brave for a slytherin," you smiled softly.

"Hey!- Slytherins can be brave. Its not exclusively for gryffindorks." Theo chuckled. "Maybe you're in the wrong house then." you said, earning one of those sweet smiles out of him.

"I just can't describe it, Y/N..." Theo sighed gently, after some time, running his fingers through his hair as you pulled away from his shoulder to face him. "I don't like someone talking to you like that, and I Love You, So i'm not planning on anyone getting in my way anytime soon."

There was silence, not for a lack of words, but that was the first time he had said those three words to you. your heart fluttered.

". . . You love me?"

Theo caught himself, being so used to his emotions making him weak. he was a bit stuck. He had never had feelings for someone like that. He wasn't sure what to do with his feelings for you, but he knew that he liked feeling that way. He hadn't exactly had parents or anyone to look up to in regards to relationships.

"Well- Yes. I do." he said. "I've never said that out loud, but I do." you smiled.

"I love you too, Teddy." you said, using his nickname, reserved only for you. Had you been anyone else, he would have argued it.

Theo leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your lips, but regretting it instantly as he winced in pain.

"Theo, your lip is still bleeding." you pointed out, grabbing a tissue from his desk to gently wiping the blood off his lip. "yeah, I can tell," he said. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I love kissing you." you said.

"Oh yeah?" Theo pried, gaining his confidence back.

"Yes, actually I love it."