#i don't even know if this is coherent anymore but it IS out of my head which is what I needed it to be haha I am free!! for now
Text
TALES OF THE EMPIRE wound up being a mixed bag for me, there was a lot I enjoyed but there was a lot that just felt really unfulfilled. Morgan's episodes were very pretty to look at but I couldn't help thinking--the entire time I was watching, even--that Filoni's not great at creating new characters that can carry entire episodes like this, none of this felt particularly necessary or like it was fulfilling a void that I wanted to know more about. It doesn't help that I still think her arc in live action was badly handled, that if she was meant to be a Nightsister from the beginning, her first episode should have dealt with that, instead of springing it on us later, so when filling in the background of her on Dathomir in TOTE, it brings all that up for me again.
Morgan's first episode was so pretty and it was interesting to potentially get more Dathomir lore (even if it's incredibly thin and I felt it was too close to the "we see others suffering in the galaxy, but we don't want to get our own hands dirty by fighting for other people or getting involved in helping others, btw we're morally better for that :)" trope for me personally) but everything on Corvus just felt superfluous to me and I spent time trying to figure out why I felt that way. If they had done her story this way or that way, would I have enjoyed it more? If they had included this or that, would I have thought it more necessary?
And ultimately I just kept coming back to that I don't really care about Morgan Elsbeth enough that I wanted three animated shorts dedicated to her, when I could have had so many other characters get fleshed out better. I appreciated that they were showing two characters on opposite journeys, that Morgan was falling into the dark step by step, while Barriss was slowly clawing her way out of it, but that's about all that I appreciated of Morgan's story (other than the beautiful animation).
But I'm not sure I feel like Morgan's motivations were all that well planned out. It's clear that she's looking for revenge and trying to find a new family at the same time, but it's not really clear why she's working with the Empire or how she thinks this leads her to her goals. Grievous is the one who murdered her village, how does working with the Empire (as the Separatists were folded into the Empire, too) achieve that goal? Who or what is her revenge focused on? Is it that she just wants the whole galaxy to burn, because if her village burned, so should everyone else? I feel like that's probably what they were going for, but that it could have been more coherently written.
Barriss' episodes hit a lot harder, where I'm glad that she at least got an arc, but I feel like it just missed so many marks, like why even have Vader there, I'm all for gratuitous Anakin cameos, he's my trash can man and I'm always excited to see him, but absolutely nothing was done with him, despite that he was looking Barriss right in the face there. Not even a moment of showing the audience, "Oh, his soul is so far into the dark of fear, hate, and rage that he doesn't even care about her anymore." Just nothing there, like there was no connection at all. How do you go to the lengths of putting Vader in a scene with Barriss and then treat it like there's no history between her and Anakin??? So completely unsatisfying!
And then it's another series where other guest appearances would have made sense--Barriss has a whole unfinished story with Ahsoka and you don't include her here? I'm as tired of Filoni putting Ahsoka in everything as anyone else, but here it would have made sense and would have brought that relationship full circle on-screen, Barriss' betrayal of her and her clawing her way back to the light after all the trauma and hurt, there's so much she and Ahsoka would have between them. And then nothing.
Or Barriss' relationship with Luminara, TCW never really got into how that must have felt for Luminara, to have her student betray the Jedi so profoundly, for her to fall to the dark, there's such a well of potential there and it's just entirely ignored. She mentions Luminara once and it was a lovely mention, but there's no sense of resolution or completion to that arc.
I did enjoy her story with Lyn and I try not to compare what the show wanted to do with what I wanted the show to do, but I couldn't help it. During all those scenes, all I could think was that this could have been so much more powerful and complete if it had focus on Barriss' established relationships and characters I already care about, because a new random Inquisitor is just not going to hold the same weight for me as my pre-investment in Ahsoka and Luminara. (On the other hand, with the way they butchered Luminara in the last season of TCW, maybe I dodged a bullet!)
For all that negativity, though, I really loved that Barriss found herself in being a healer again, that she found the light again. That's all I've wanted for my girl!!!! (That and put a headdress on her, ffs.) I legitimately took in a hard breath when she said, "Then you have one more Jedi to deal with." because Barriss is still working through too much to fully come back to clarity re: the Jedi at that point , but when it really came down to it, when she really saw what the dark side really was, part of her still was a Jedi. And the way she spoke of her time as a Jedi, once she had a clearer, lighter head again, was sweet, I was so surprised that we got that much from her, but I'm so glad because, if nothing else, Barriss herself deserves to be in the light again.
The way she was settled into her own skin by the time she confronted Lyn on the icy planet, the way she genuinely wanted to help her, but wouldn't let her hurt innocent children, the way she could sidestep Lyn's predictable moves and could stop the blade with just a hand held out, she found her path and what she wanted to do, and oh it was so lovely to see Barriss finding herself again. I loved so much that her unshakable compassion did reach Lyn, it was such a satisfying arc for Barriss to reach that place after all the people she'd hurt. I loved so much that Barriss getting back to this place does a lot to remind us that her foundation is a compassionate one, even if she was lost to the dark for awhile.
I just wish that there had been acknowledgement of those she hurt, the people that died because of her, the betrayal she stabbed people in the back with, rather than just "sees the dark side is bad, walks away, finds the light again", which goes back to that this feels like a generic story that's mostly impactful because I'm filling in the gaps myself because I already know Barriss as a character, rather than that it continues the story that was previously told about her.
At the end of the day, I enjoyed it and I recognize that I'm being a little unfair in how I'm saying I wanted this, this, and this, rather than digesting what the show itself wanted to do, but when you're crafting two stories that are specifically about showing us the journey of two characters that originate elsewhere, you're drawing on the stories from those other origins--except TOTE decided to only halfway do that. There's a lot to love in these shorts, the animation was incredible, the voice work was incredible, Barriss' emotional journey was incredible and I'm so thankful that they even gave her any kind of compassionate resolution. But the specter of how much the shorts ignored hangs over it too heavily for me to say that they were anywhere near what they could have been imo.
#lumi.txt#star wars#barriss offee#morgan elsbeth#meta#tales of the empire#tales of the empire spoilers
200 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stray Gods Character Design Thoughts
In order we're going Pan, Apollo, Persephone, Eros, Aphrodite and a little bit of Venus! Disclaimer that I have no professional experience in character design at all, so these are only my vibes-based ramblings and observations purely for fun and because my brain simply won't shut up about this game haha. Also I will freely admit Pan probably gets the most attention in this because of who I am as a person and where my heart truly lies at the end of the day lol
PAN
Ok, first of all I have so many questions and they all delight me. This guy is the god of the wild places ("Where else would I be, but among the trees and the wild things?"), he lives in a magical garden on top of an office building... and he’s walking around everywhere in an expensive three piece tailored suit (when Freddie accuses him of being a sleaze in a cheap suit he protests mildly that his suit is anything but cheap haha). The cut of it is really carefully thought out and planned, but the bold colours under the grey coat and (studied I am sure) careless details like the tie also make it fun and playful. Which is pleasingly coherent with the general theme of his character in the writing too and I adore it.
This is not the point, I know, but I’m wondering how he makes that work just like. Practically now. Has Athena fixed up Olympus with in-house laundry service? And other sentences I did not expect to type out today lol. Ah well he’s wily I’m sure he has his ways.
I can't heap enough praise on it, this design is SUCH an interesting and elegant marriage of the immediately recognizable satyr features and thus animal symbolism with all its added pagan weight in a post-Christianity setting, and the sort of ‘man of wealth and taste’ imagery of the devil at the crossroads they clearly want to evoke, especially in his first scene. And partially through his mannerism there’s also an added element of like… eccentric but surprisingly competent college professor — just look at the way he carries himself whenever he isn’t putting on the charm or when he’s being guarded and self-contained. That little hands resting on his back pose exudes ‘nerd’ so deeply to me haha. (Incredibly fuckable nerd, to be sure, but still!)
you don't fool me buddy I know what you are. I know all the trouble you went to to get a book.
His body language shifts very quickly between wild playful expressiveness and a sort of nonchalant urbane detachment that borders on coldness sometimes, and it fascinates me. Especially since that more refined unavailable side seems to be something he’s deliberately cultivated, to some extent. When Grace calls him out on how boring it sounds to just let yourself go numb and distant to survive, he doesn’t deny that at all, only saying that at least it’s been quite effective.
Putting the rest under a cut to save people's dashes! I may, as they say, have gotten a tiny bit carried away.
Physically he’s not very imposing — he’s only a little taller than Grace, and the shortest of all of the love interests, which I find somehow very charming and also plays into him being more of a guile-based character. “Seeing as I am neither big nor truly bad, it behooves me to be wary of those who are both” indeed!
I’m fairly sure he’s the character wearing the most layers. Even his hands are mostly covered by gloves. He partially covers up his eyes with the tinted glasses — interesting, as one of the features that most give his real nature away with their sidewise pupils, and the lenses are tinted purple as the complimentary colour to yellow, so it downplays just how bright they are. All together it’s very much a ‘well, he’s certainly got to be in there somewhere’ sort of vibe at times. (Since he also seems to care about his clothes quite a bit — he complains about scuffing his pants during the climb in the Medusa mission if you go the lockpick route — I have drawn the conclusion that getting him out of all of that must take quite a bit of time, no matter how much practice he’s probably put in over the years of meeting 'delicious people' lol)
It’s a design that manages to give, at the same time: animal-featured ancient god, deal with the devil, teacher, overtones of con man if you’re inclined to be Freddie-levels of uncharitable lol, eccentric rich weird uncle… there’s a lot going on here and somehow it all works haha. He isn’t wearing any jewelry at all unless you count the glasses, which now that I’m looking at the rest of the character designs in this game is actually fairly rare among them!
His eyes really are incredibly bright when uh naked as it were, though. I like the implication that he is aware of this and actually goes out of his way to downplay it, even when he’d normally be wearing glamour anywhere it would strictly matter for it to show. Between that, the meaningful zoom in on him at the Underworld when Apollo says that all the Idols can be themselves there even if they don’t look human, Pan claiming he’s been distrusted and side-eyed by the others basically since the beginning and seeming kind of frustrated and hurt about it, in his deflecting way, and the implication of a hierarchy among the Idols at least under Athena’s leadership in this stained glass painting (notably all the visibly non-human Idols/hangers on are at the bottom, and Hecate, Asterion and especially Medusa are the characters most affected and confined by the oppressive status quo Athena upholds)...
this one! sing it with me now EVERYBODY LEAVES THIS PLACE ALIVEEE ok we can move on
you know, some possible Subtext and Implications going on here, I’d say. (It is only potential subtext and implication, though, so, you know, take my extrapolations here with a grain of salt!) He certainly doesn’t do himself many favors with the persona he’s built up in regards to being trusted and included either, but his status as a little bit of an outsider does seem to precede that so I feel like it’s more of a response than the main cause. Along the same lines he gets much more testy about the Green route of ‘I Can Teach You’ than he does about you just not choosing him in the Red one, he takes that pretty gracefully. So it is the being deliberately kept on the outside and openly distrusted and dismissed that gets to him. (To be clear I don't think openly distrusting a strange guy showing up in your living room like that is at all unreasonable either haha I just think the nuances of his response are enlightening as to where he's really coming from)
this one isn't even to illustrate anything it's just because I love him so much and think he's pretty I'll be real with you all
Anyway I just keep thinking about how incredibly tender it would be if sometimes, when they’re in private, Grace takes his glasses off to see his eyes better and he lets her. That shakes something deep in my soul apparently. That fucks me up but like in a good way.
APOLLO
- Apollo’s style of dress leaves his navel helpfully exposed for the copious amounts of depressed gazing he habitually subjects it to. (I say this not entirely without affection.)
a crumpled tissue of a man
In keeping with his incredibly emo mode, there’s very little colour involved and he doesn’t take much care to present anything with care (look at the state of that shirt and tell me if Apollo has picked up an iron in the last forty years), BUT interestingly he’s not entirely open and unadorned, he does wear that network of jewelry across his chest and neck. Which I think is to show that the old Apollo is not entirely gone (“There he is, god of the sun”), even if he has been a sack stuffed with sad for a long time now. I wonder how many of these things are leftover preferences from being only Lucas — presumably the tattoos at least are from before he fished Apollo up from the sea? If I’m reading the vibes right on that, the blue of the tattoos and the gold of the sun… thingy he wears with the jewelry are the main splashes of colour in his design aside from his hair, and they’re both ‘leftovers’ from both his previous lives, surfer bro and solar deity recently fallen on hard times. Physically he would be tall and imposing, parodically built, except that he carries himself with all the confidence and panache of a damp depressed dishrag.
Also I can’t believe this guy is walking around everywhere in sandals. Apollo makes sad flip-flop sounds wherever he goes, including when he steps up during ‘The Trial’. That’s so amazingly pathetic (affectionate).
We can see from the photo with him and Calliope that he wasn’t always quite this much of a mess. Once, he did his shirt up a whole maybe four buttons and wore something that wasn’t beige!
Intellectually I acknowledge that it's a design meant to provide fanservice, even though I personally could not consider this guy in a sexual or romantic light if you gave me a thousand years to build up to it. (I've said it before but if he's anything to me, he is the incredibly fail father figure continually letting me down in tiny ways I never had.) Godspeed to the Apollo-enjoyers out there, though, Summerfall gave him those abs and that poor little meow meow energy just for you and it's your right to enjoy that
- Pan and Apollo also bring out some really interesting contrasts both as characters and designs when you hold them up against each other:
Once you scratch the surface a tiny bit Pan clearly has just as much self-loathing as Apollo (“If Athena had taken me up on my offer, the Idols would have been better off” uh. Okay buddy we’re gonna have to process that one together later what do you say), but where Apollo is completely helplessly open in his misery at all times, you need to unbutton Pan at least three layers until you get a honest or straightforward emotion out of him and I think that’s amazingly carried through into their visual designs. It's Good Visual Storytelling Brent
PERSEPHONE
- I’m fairly sure the colour of Persephone’s suit is supposed to evoke pomegranate seeds. See and judge for yourself I suppose:
She also has details on her coat that depict foliage and growing plants, but colour-wise they and the rest of the detailing is in the blue-green that symbolizes the Underworld and so death. Her jewelry is gold, which — and I’m about to do some reaching here, I’ll be big enough to own — could play in with Hades being the god of riches as well as of the dead/the underworld. Probably it’s because it works well with the colour scheme, but I’m going to pretend that it’s because even if she didn’t get the throne she did get that motherfucker’s hoard when she killed him <3 Love that for her. Her jewelry is more rose gold than Apollo’s yellow gold, too. Watch me go for even more of a reach: between the necklace and the watch, those round discs of gold remind me of the coins put on the eyes of the dead but like you know repurposed since she doesn't need them to pay the Ferryman. I never promised I'd be reasonable in this did I.
The short hair works real well for the butch vibe and looks amazing no notes, but I think it’s also a deliberate way to differentiate herself from her younger self — when speaking of Demeter’s death, she says that moment was also the final death of that young her, ‘that girl with the long hair who loved her gardens’. Clearly the Idols do a lot of reinventing themselves over the ages in more and less conscious ways.
She has a tattoo of what looks to be foliage and a skull across her left chest and arm. I really like that idea of her having the testament to both sides of her — goddess of spring, queen of the underworld — directly on her skin, under two layers of clothes that each represent those aspects. The one on her arm looks like stalks of grain tied together to resemble the bones of the hand/forearm, maybe? which is metal as fuck, needless to say.
She is TALL and scary and the staging always plays that up, Grace tends to look up at her like O.O. I love how sharp she is too.
Also she is incredibly hot but you don’t need me to tell you that you all have eyes I assume.
EROS, APHRODITE and VENUS:
- I love literally everything about Eros’ design except his hair. Not even the concept of the haircut and colours or anything, just the way it’s rendered. It looks like one strange flat cap I can’t quite make understandable in three dimensional space as hair in my head lol. Other than that it’s a banging design though, the delicate see-through material over the leather BDSM harness is genius. Choosing this form of sensuality and attractiveness for him to embody -- one that is so deeply queercoded -- also works super well. The warmth and vulnerability of his body language on top of it is *chef's kiss*. just. please define his hair a bit more and it's perfect haha.
- I'm not sure I have that much to say about Aphrodite’s design except that of course she is beauty she is grace etc., it takes a lot of thought to make such a simple design shine and by god did they do it she’s so stunning. Also interesting how her dark blues and greens with cool/silvery details contrast with Venus’ warm reds and pinks and… brass? Idk I don’t really understand jewelry haha. All warmth and soft romanticism, anyway, it looks nice. (Side note but I love Venus’ rose tattoo.) Eros and Venus have much more matching colour schemes and they both bring those islands of warmth standing around Aphrodite in her shimmering ocean coolness. (Which of course is something she has to deliberately put on before going into public these days, and is unselfconsciously glamorous in the way of an old timey Hollywood starlet, as the blue route of 'The Ritual' lampshades)
:') *whisper* everybody...
Venus is wearing pearls, which is pleasing considering her connection to Aphrodite (and the backgrounds of the 'Lost in a Moment' variant of 'The Ritual')! and both of her and Aphrodite's outfits go for a shoulderless look to great effect.
ETA: When the camera is close on Aphrodite you can actually see that she has dark circles under her eyes, only partially covered by the makeup :'( I didn't notice that before I played through 'The Ritual' on a bigger screen today
All in all I just want to acknowledge what a fantastic job the character designers at Summerfall Studios have done! There are some really fresh new takes on these mythological figures here, and it makes so much sense within the world the game presents without resorting to well-worn and tired iconography, I really do admire it greatly.
#stray gods#stray gods pan#stray gods apollo#stray gods persephone#stray gods eros#stray gods aphrodite#sorry about the varying quality of the screenshots I have done my best lmao#if there's anywhere you can get the sprites in high resolution I couldn't find it so uh well be gentle lol#it's SO hard to track down scenes where you see them all in full figure and decent clarity#stray gods meta#meta#i don't even know if this is coherent anymore but it IS out of my head which is what I needed it to be haha I am free!! for now
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
laira schmitt, with love, always. / emily berry, the numbers game / p.d / unknown / cowboyvamp
#was this worth the amount of time i put into it trying to find sources? no#did i have to remove a lot of the quotes i wanted in here bc i couldn't find most of the sources? yes#did i include one unknown anyway bc that quote was the one that got me going? yes i did#am i posting it anyway? yeah ig why not#been thinking a lot about byan's childhood recently and part of it is bc spacy-#well. bc spacy. bc of course it was spacy.#but specifically bc she got me thinking about byan finally getting some revenge on even just one of the people who hurt them and i just#i've been spiralling thinking about it since then#i don't think you're SUPPOSED to weave one quote throughout the whole thing but u know what idc this is my blog#honestly this might not even be fully coherent i can't tell anymore bc i've been staring at it for too long#anyway. dinner and then i'll see about some actual writing now that this is finally out of my head#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ musings ⋮ cowards only come through when the hour's late.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
—gorgeous
pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader
summary: being in love with your best friend might be a bad idea, but drowning your sorrows in alcohol might be your worst one yet
warnings: underage drinking, partying, no usage of y/n, a few suggestive remarks
notes: this is my official entry for the hogmarch challenge of @thatdammchickennugget using prompt 2: “are you speaking parsletongue or am i really that drunk?”
the night was rushing fast away in front of your eyes, easy chatter, at the start of the party, quickly turning into drunken singing and shouting along to the music that was drowning out everything else.
the dim blue light that was shining through the ravenclaw common room did it‘s best to worsen the drunken state many of your classmates were in.
mattheo was sitting on a couch, wearing his usual cool demeanour and being surrounded by his friends. they were known for getting a bit drunk, but never making an embarrassment out of themselves through loud singing or obnoxious dancing.
and normally you were known for sitting right next to them and doing the same.
even though it was dark, you could see mattheo's head turn and his eyes searching the crowd for you. you had excused yourself to get something to drink. that had been over ten minutes ago and you were really debating to just go to bed.
the night had turned out differently than you had expected and you weren't really in the mood to act like it hadn't.
"someone is looking for you" a voice behind you said and you turned around startled.
"harry" you said relieved when you recognized the boy.
it wasn't like the two of you were friends, after all you were coming from vastly different groups, but since a project in astronomy you had become acquaintances, sometimes sharing a few nice words at parties.
"why are you standing here all alone? why aren't you with your friends?"
"why aren't you?" you shot back, making harry quirk an eyebrow.
"well played" he complimented and smiled "i was trying to get away from dean and ginny making out"
"ouch" it wasn't really a well known fact that harry fancied ginny, but you had noticed it right away a few parties ago and he had been able to read you well enough to know that you had known.
"it's alright" he shrugged "i just don't want to sit next to it"
"who would?" you asked sarcastically as you eyes fell on the couple, hungrily making out on the couch, successfully pushing seamus off.
it seemed that a few people felt way too comfortable in the ravenclaw common room.
"oi, it's no fun with these two" seamus complained, sympathetically hitting harry's shoulder on the way to the table with the drinks.
"back to you" harry grinned, seemingly uncomfortable with talking about his secret crush on ginny weasley more than necessary "why are you avoiding riddle? i thought you two were the best of friends"
"i'm not avoiding him" you said defensively, taking a big gulp from the vodka in your cup to prevent yourself from saying any more.
harry took a moment to study your facial expression, before he sighed in a tone that almost made you tear up "oh"
"no" you shook your head "no 'oh', stop looking at me like that, potter"
harry laughed dryly "too late" he shrugged "so, being the best of friends is your actual problem, huh?"
you didn't answer his question, but took another sip from the cup. immediately regretting it.
harry cringed "if you continue drinking at that rate you won't be able to speak a coherent sentence in a few minutes"
"maybe i don't want to speak coherent sentences anymore"
"so we're already at the point of drowning our sorrows in alcohol?" he raised his cup and took a sip "no, you're right, it doesn't look like you're unluckily in love with riddle at all"
you sighed "okay, fine, you're obviously smarter than you look" you rolled your eyes.
"well, ouch" harry said offended, but you could see a hint of mischief in his eyes. "am i allowed to join your little club of self-pity?"
"sure" you nodded "the more the merrier i guess"
"there's no better way to spend a party than drown yourself in self-pity with the girl you're kind of on good terms with"
"yeah, totally" you grinned "but i think if we continue talking at that rate we will be able to call each other friends in an hour"
"deal" harry laughed, before he grabbed the bottle of vodka on the table behind you, filling both your own and his cup back up. he put the bottle back and held his cup in your direction "to unrequited love" he said dramatically.
you grimaced, but raised your cup to clink against his. "to unrequited love" you toasted "and unexpected friendships" you added.
"yeah that too" he smiled before you both took a big sip from your cups.
"vodka is fucking disgusting" you complained and harry nodded, making a face that would allow the assumption that he had been thinking the same thing.
"at least it does the trick"
you and harry spend the next hour recklessly sipping vodka, while you were telling each other ridiculous stories. the vodka had a quicker effect than either of you had thought, making the both of you dance and refer to each other as friends sooner than you had predicted.
just as 'dancing queen' began to play and you were twirling on the dancefloor, did you notice the empty spot on the couch occupied by your friends. there was only one of them missing. before it could really register in your brain who exactly was missing, a voice rang out next to you.
"make room, potter" you and harry both turned around, looking surprised at the arrival of mattheo riddle.
"matty" you laughed after the few seconds it had taken you to recognize your best friend.
mattheo's arm darted to the side, catching you before you could fall to the ground. you had made the attempt to hug him, missing his body by a few feet. you had been closer to hugging cormac mclaggen who was standing off to the side.
"there you are" mattheo noted, gently taking your cup out of your hand, sniffing the contents and grimacing at the strong sent of vodka, mixed with a bit of orange juice.
"do you want some?" you slurred, grinning up at the boy, who's arm was still holding you steady.
"how many of these has she had?" mattheo asked harry, thinking he would be a little less wasted than you.
"like thirty-four thousand?" harry answered before him and you broke into simultaneous laughter.
"had to have been a lot" mattheo muttered, noticing the way you were laughing with the chosen one, gripping his arm, like you were old friends.
he let go of you, taking harry's cup as well, emptying the both into the bucket under the table with the drinks. he came back right in time to witness you saying goodbye to harry with a dramatic hug, kissing both his cheeks and lastly his forehead.
"yeah, that's enough" mattheo said, dragging your body back against his when he noticed you going in to plant more kisses on harry's face. he looked bad enough, the red lipstick you were wearing leaving marks all over his face.
harry smiled before he waved at you and turned around, stumbling through the crowd of students probably in search of his redheaded best friend.
mattheo rolled his eyes. "you're absolutely wasted, darling"
you turned around to look at him and unconsciously bring a bit of space between the both of you "is it that obvious?" you asked.
mattheo watched with a smirk, how you tried to balance yourself out, to just be able to stand. your arm ended up stabilizing your own hip and you almost fell full on to the side, when you moved your leg.
"not really" mattheo grinned "come on, baby" he softly gripped your waist on either side, guiding you in the direction of your friends. you closed your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder, letting him walk you through the room willingly.
"have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?"
"i am?" he asked laughing.
"so gorgeous that it hurts"
"you're flattering me" he smiled, nudging your arm. "but maybe you should concentrate more on walking in the right direction"
he was right. it was taking you way too long to cross the room, thanks to your inability to still walk in a straight line, even with his help.
"hey" mattheo greeted, making the eyes of his friends turn on him. "i'm bringing her to bed"
"already?" enzo asked skeptically, checking his watch "it's only two a.m."
"hey guys!" you greeted when your eyes snapped open. you bend forward, plastering a kiss onto enzo’s cheek. "how the party you doing? good? good!" you smiled, nodding as your eyes fell closed, as you leaned back onto mattheo again.
"what?" theo laughed at your slurred words that had not made the slightest bit of sense.
"yeah, i get it now" enzo nodded understandingly, trying to rub your lipstick off his cheek.
"she's only been gone for an hour" blaise said unbelievingly "how did she get that drunk?"
"she's had approximately like more than a thousand vodka-o's according to potter" mattheo chuckled.
"potter?" draco repeated disgustingly "what has she been doing with potter?"
"harry and i are best friends" you gushed, giving draco an angry look. he rolled his eyes in annoyance, but without questioning your answer.
"let's not get ahead of ourselves, love" mattheo argued, a bit of jealousy in his voice.
"you don't have to be jealous" you softly touched his cheek "you know i love you more than anyone, honey"
blaise let out a loud whistling noise "seems likes she's your girl after all, riddle"
"oh shut up" mattheo said at the same time as you said "of course"
"better bring her to bed now" theo advised and you could feel mattheo nod next to you.
"i'll be back in a few minutes" mattheo promised, as he softly turned you around to be able to walk you in the direction of the door.
"no he won't" you slurred, turning your head in the direction your friends, gripping mattheo's neck and winking at them.
enzo hollored and theo laughed, while blaise repeated the whisteling.
"cheers to that" even draco was amused about you, as he raised his cup in your direction.
"i'll be back" mattheo assured again, pushing you forward.
"no you won't" theo shook his head, smirking as he watched his friend roll his eyes and gently guide you through the crowd.
"how about a shot of tequila?" you suggested to mattheo, perfectly awake again. there was no hint of the tiredness that had consumed your body only a few minutes ago.
maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the sound of a familiar voice indicating the beginning of the song 'whatta man' by salt-n-pepa, which was now booming through the boxes.
"no, no more alcohol" mattheo shook his head, suddenly being the kind of responsible he had never seen himself to become.
"oh my god!" you gushed when you finally reconized the song "that's my favorite song! let us dance, matty!"
he was distracted by two hufflepuff boys almost running into him, when you saw the perfect opportunity to escape his hold. stupidly enough, that was the only thing you could see, as you had promptly gotten lost in the crowd of people.
mattheo was at your side only a second after, making you realize that you had in fact just turned around, without moving more than a feet away from him.
"if you don't come with me on your own accord, i'll have to carry you" mattheo warned.
you giggled, clasping your hands around his biceps "let us dance" you pleaded, completely ignoring what he had said.
mattheo furrowed his eyebrows, still waiting for you to reply to what he had said, but you were busy watching a few ravenclaws and hufflepuffs downing shots. "or we could down some shots" you mumbled.
mattheo took that as answer enough, clasping one of his hands around your forearm and the other around your leg, as he bend down to throw you over his shoulder.
"matty" you protested, as he began to walk you out of the common room. you gave up arguing and continued to sing along to the chorus of 'whatta man' as mattheo walked you both through the crowd of people.
as soon as the door to the ravenclaw common room fell close behind the two of you, you slumped down on mattheo's shoulder, the tiredness hitting you immediately.
"do you want to walk on your own now, baby?" mattheo asked, but he could feel you shake your head. "can you use you words?" he was growing a bit concerned at your sudden mood shift, trying to make sure that you were still somewhat alright.
"no" you pouted "i don't want to use my words"
"you just did"
"i never let a man tell me what to do" you slurred and mattheo had to chuckle.
"clearly" he muttered under his breath.
he walked through the halls of the castle quickly, making sure that you wouldn't be discovered by one of the teachers. you would probably kill him if one of them saw you like this. you never really got that drunk often, so it was on mattheo to make sure that no one found out about it now.
he should've searched for you immediately after you hadn't come back. he shouldn't have waited an hour. but he was scared of annoying you. you were always together and he had taken your absence as a sign for you needing some space.
if he could, he would follow you around all the time, preferably holding your hand while doing so. maybe in another universe you would want him to do that.
"when are we there?" you asked, your hand wandering across his shoulder, before it finally found it's place in his hair, gripping it tightly.
"any second now" mattheo was trying to make sure not to shake your body too much, as he quickly walked down the steps to the dungeon. he wouldn't want you to throw up. "do you feel sick, sweetheart?"
"no" you muttered "i just want to sleep"
"i know, i know" mattheo patted the back of your leg "we're almost at the door"
he hadn't lied. it only took a few more seconds, before he whispered the password and the door to the slytherin common room opened, revealing the familiar green lighting as he walked you both inside. he crossed the room, climbing the stairs to your dorm.
he took his time to set you down on your bed, making sure that no quick movement could make you feel uncomfortable. he unfolded your blanket, spreading it across your body.
he was ready to leave the room, before you called him back.
"matty" you cried and he perked up, walking back to the bed. you threw the blanket to the side dramatically, revealing your trousers and shirt. "i can't sleep like this"
"oh" mattheo said dumbfounded "do you want me to take them off?" he asked slowly, gripping the waistband of your trousers.
"are you speaking parsletongue or am i really that drunk?" you giggled at the joke with your eyes still closed.
"you're really that drunk" mattheo answered, rolling his eyes at your unseriousness "and it's not funny"
"it's a bit funny" you opened your eyes and giggled at his facial expression "why are you so serious, matty?"
"i should've kept an eye on you" he answered "you don't like to be drunk"
"i can make my own decisions" you argued, crossing your arms.
"obviously" mattheo nodded "should i take them off?" he repeated his question from earlier, but the tone of his voice made you sober up immediately, well at least a bit.
"are you really angry at me right now?" you asked surprised.
"i had to leave the party to bring you to bed"
"that's not the reason you're angry" you said, knowing him well enough to see through his lie.
"okay, fine" he sat down on the bed and you sat up, drawing your knees to your chest and hugging them with your arms. "maybe i'm a bit angry that you would rather spend your evening getting drunk with potter than speaking to me"
"matty"
"no, it's fine" he shook his head "i shouldn't be angry about how you choose to spend your time. goodnight" he stood up from the bed, walking to the door quickly, so voice rang out before he was able to twist the doorknob.
"can you please just stay?" you asked and he turned around in surprise.
"what?"
"maybe i chose to spend time with harry, but i'm choosing to spend the night with you. isn't that more important?"
"that's not how it works"
"okay, fine" you said, tired of arguing "do you want to know the truth? spending time with you is super hard while i'm madly in love with you" even though you were a bit more sober than before, he could still recognize the drunkness in your voice, especially because you were never that bold.
"madly in love with me, huh?" mattheo repeated surprised, his signature smirk immediately replacing the frown on his face.
“it’s embarrassing, i know” you buried your face in your hands, hiding your rosy cheeks from his eyes. he softly took your hands in his, freeing your face of them.
"don't hide from me" he smiled "and it’s not embarrassing, because the truth is, that i'm madly in love with you too"
you smiled up at him. “can you kiss me then?” he smiled at your question, but shook his head.
“no more kisses tonight” he muttered, softly stroking your hair “we can do that tomorrow, as often as you want to, when you’re sober again”
“okay” you nodded.
he gently helped you to exchange your trousers for pyjama bottoms, before he took of his shirt and climbed into bed next to you. you cuddled close to his chest, your hair tickling him whenever you moved.
"blaise was right" you said finally "i'm your girl after all"
"you always were" mattheo whispered back, softly kissing your forehead, before the both of you fell asleep, holding onto each other.
#mattheo x you#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#matty riddle#benjamin wadsworth#hogmarch challenge#slytherin group#slytherin boys#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin#hogwarts#hogwarts houses#ravenclaw#gorgeous#taylor swift#reputation#reputation tv
910 notes
·
View notes
Text
argument
its a big one
TG: alright this is probably a bust
TG: more i think about it how the fuck do you even make a marinara
TG: can i even alchemise cheese or do i gotta like alchemise the milk and curdle it myself
TG: how do you even curdle
====================
TG: make a goddamn
TG: curgler
TG: whatever
TG: internet archive gonna pull through
====================
CG: ALRIGHT DAVE
TG: shit
====================
CG: YOU BETTER BACK THE FUCK OFF. I DON'T KNOW WHERE IN BULGEMUNCHING VIRULENT FUCK YOU GET THE IDEA YOU HAVE ANY RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD THINK ABOUT MY OWN GODDAMN PLANET. SORRY TO HAVE TO DEAL A BLOW TO YOUR IMPOSSIBLY INFLATED FUCKING EGO, BUT HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT YOUR SIDE-EYE SLACKJAW HOPELESS DEADPAN BULLSHIT BEHAVIOUR IS ACTUALLY INCREDIBLY FUCKING CONTEMPTIBLE AND DOESN'T PUT YOU ABOVE OTHER PEOPLE? HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THAT?
CG: OR DID YOU JUST ASSUME FROM THE MOMENT YOU FOUND OUT I'M A REVOLTING FUCKING MUTANT LOWBLOOD FREAK THAT I'M SUDDENLY NOT ALLOWED TO LIKE THE IDEA OF MY LIFE MEANING SOMETHING AT SOME POINT?
TG: okay you are wildly misquoting me where the fuck did that come from
TG: also you scared the hell out of me
TG: im just trying to science some pizza here
====================
CG: OKAY THEN, DAVE! EXPLAIN TO ME AS WELL AS YOUR AMBLING ONE-NOTE SMOOTH EXCUSE FOR A 'THOUGHT'SPONGE CAN
CG: IN SOMEWHAT COHERENT TERMS, ALTHOUGH I KNOW THAT'S A TALL ORDER:
CG: HOW YOU SAYING MY ADOLESCENT DREAMS OF BECOMING A THRESHECUTIONER ARE "FUCKED UP AND IRONIC IN A NASTY ASS WAY" DOESN'T QUALIFY AS UNDERHANDEDLY KICKING ME IN THE MANDIBLE PRONGS!
CG: YOUR AUDIENCE AWAITS YOU WITH BATED BREATH! TAKE IT AWAY, M.C. BRAIN HEMORRHAGE.
====================
TG: okay i dont
TG: know how you got a hold of that phrasing because i said that shit in confidence
TG: get out of my business bro
CG: NEWSFLASH, ASSHOLE: THIS METEOR IS A PHYSICAL, LITERAL LOCATION WE'RE BOTH IN. IT'S NOT A FUCKING PRIVATE CHATROOM. THIS MIGHT BLOW YOUR PITIFUL MIND BUT PEOPLE CAN ACTUALLY HEAR OTHER PEOPLE TALK WHEN THEY HAVE TO SHARE A SPACE! BRO!
TG: ugh
====================
CG: AND IT'S VERY INTERESTING YOU ACCUSE ME OF MISQUOTING YOU, AND THEN SUDDENLY TURN AND SPOUT FROM THAT SHITTY DRONING GROANSHAFT OF YOURS THAT I'M INVADING YOUR PRIVACY WHEN I DIRECTLY QUOTE YOUR SMARMY LITTLE SHAMEGLOBES!
CG: WOW! TURNS OUT KARKAT IS ACTUALLY BEING GENUINELY FUCKING UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING — WHO KNEW, RIGHT? WHO WOULD'VE GUESSED THAT I ACTUALLY HAVE GENUINE COMPLAINTS TO LEVEL AGAINST THE PEOPLE WHO GO SPOUTING HOOFBEASTSHIT ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK TO THEIR ECTOSIBLINGS?
TG: no dude can you shut up a second
CG: I MOST CERTAINLY FUCKING WILL, THANKS FOR THE OFFER! I'M NEVER TELLING YOU A GODDAMN THING AGAIN, SO I HOPE YOU MANAGE TO GAIN SOME WRINKLES TO THAT VESTIGIAL FLAWLESS ORB FLOATING AROUND IN YOUR CAVERNOUS NUGBONE FROM ALL THIS. I HOPE IT WAS WORTH ALL THE EFFORT ON YOUR END.
TG: listen!!!!
====================
CG: MHM! MY AURICULAR CHAMBERS ARE WIDE OPEN!
TG: jegus
TG: okay
TG: i have no defense for my literal phrasing but how expeditiously did you shadowstep the fuck away after i said that
TG: because that is some shrek tier "princess and ugly dont go together" level misrepresentation of my sweet self
TG: like if this wasnt obviously a heated platonic argument we were having i would probably be digging what the reference even if it was a shitty trope
====================
TG: i just
TG: have been thinking about some things and none of those things have got an iota of a thing to do with you or your blood
TG: thing
TG: man
TG: i dont know why you think id be so pressed about your vein juice its like
TG: a normal ass color for a normal ass guy
TG: and obviously it was a major fucking deal from how you talk about it but it doesnt need to be anymore
====================
TG: the thing is i just dont like have the same attitude as you about fighting and stuff and thats not something i am getting into right now but i am gonna make it expressly clear
TG: that its just kind of fucked up for me to sit my ass down and listen to someone spew gold and medals and confetti colored shit going googoo all over tall and loathsome ass bloodletters he never knew
TG: and have him tell me he wants to be the best guy at combat since samurai fuckin jack
TG: and thats my capital B business believe me the emphasis is there
====================
CG: SO IS THIS ABOUT ME WANTING TO BE PART OF SOMETHING YOU DON'T AGREE WITH? BECAUSE THRESHECUTIONERS DON'T EVEN FUCKING EXIST ANYMORE. I LITERALLY COULD NOT DO THIS IF I TRIED AT THIS POINT, SO YOU CAN UNKNOT YOUR “KNIGHTY WHITIES” ABOUT IT.
TG: being anti-military is not my point but damn if it isnt a thing thats probably true anyways so good job sleuthing that out
CG: WHAT IS YOUR POINT, DAVE.
TG: bluh
TG: i just said i dont wanna talk about it man
====================
CG: OKAY,
====================
CG: OKAY.
CG: I MEAN. IT FEELS KIND OF IMPORTANT TO THE CONTEXT OF THIS WHOLE UNAMBIGUOUSLY PLATONIC ARGUMENT WE'VE BEEN HAVING
CG: WHICH I'M RELIEVED WE AGREE ON BY THE WAY
CG: BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO KNOW I'M NOT GOING TO WRING IT OUT OF YOU. IT'S FINE.
====================
CG: …IF YOU DECIDE AT SOME POINT THAT YOU WANT TO TELL ME THOUGH, MY RUMBLE VESSELS ARE STILL OPEN.
TG: i swear youre making those up on the spot at this point
CG: I'M KEEPING MY LANGUAGE'S ART ALIVE, DAVE. IT'S BASIC DECENCY TO THE PLANET THAT RAISED ME.
TG: heh
====================
TG: yknow we got these things called anatomical snuffboxes
TG: its got that right amount of vague nose wrinklage to it that i feel like youd be right at home saying that
TG: snug as a grub even
CG: WHAT PART IS THAT???
TG: its that little weird bone bit that sticks out on the back of your palm when you flex your thumb right
====================
TG: look
CG: HUH. LOOKING AT THAT IS KIND OF WIGGING ME OUT.
TG: yeah its kinda gross rose told me about it
TG: but anyways
====================
TG: are we cool
CG: I MEAN… I GUESS SO. YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY INSULTING ME, RIGHT?
TG: hell no dude never
CG: OKAY. I COMPLETELY RESCIND THE MYRIAD OF WAYS I JUST INSULTED YOU. AND I'M SORRY.
TG: nah i know its just fluff at this point
====================
CG: I STILL DON'T APPRECIATE YOU TELLING ROSE THINGS I SAY TO YOU IN CONFIDENCE. THAT WAS BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND MY NOW NON-EXISTENT HOME PLANET ROTTING AWAY TO A CRATERED GRAY HUSK IN ANOTHER DEAD UNIVERSE.
TG: i swear that was like the only thing its just that she gets it and i cant keep my mouth from going on about the gettable stuff
TG: they call me the babbling brook the way my flows so audible
TG: i wont do it again
CG: NO,
====================
CG: I GET IT HONESTLY.
CG: I'M BASICALLY THE NUMBER ONE PROPRIETOR OF AIRED GRIEVANCES IN ALL OF PARADOX SPACE AND THEN SOME, AND I'D ALSO BECOME ITS BIGGEST HYPOCRITE IF I HELD IT AGAINST YOU.
TG: thanks
TG: but i mean
TG: at the gigantic risk of sounding uh
====================
TG: ………..
CG: ?
====================
TG: well
TG: i kinda just think youre better at being a guy to chill out and watch movies with than a guy to tangle fists with
TG: and i dont think theres anything wrong with being that
TG: i think its cool
====================
CG: …THAT'S AN ALARMINGLY BRAZEN OBSERVATION TO MAKE OF SOMEONE YOU'VE KNOWN FOR ABOUT THE SPAN OF SEVEN SEASONAL EQUINOXES, DAVE.
TG: i dont know what that means but it sure is probably
CG: AM I ALLOWED TO ASK WHAT EVEN GIVES YOU THAT IMPRESSION????
TG: i just got that inkling about you man
====================
TG: and you can do whatever you want with that info
TG: throw it in the load gaper or whatever if you want i dont really care
TG: give it a swirly and slam it in a locker call it a nerd break its glasses whatever
TG: but beyond this whole lord english thing weve got going on i am pretty content to never aggress my fellow man slash alien slash monster again if i can help it
TG: i think thats pretty fair given what thats been like so far
====================
TG: and yknow its cool to have some company when im waxing emotional over the narrative depth of click starring adam sandler which we are watching next by the way
CG: UGH, FIIIIIIIIINE. JUST TO MAKE UP FOR CALLING YOUR THINKPAN SMOOTH AND SUPERFLUOUS.
====================
TG: score
TG: we should argue all the time
CG: SNRK
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Echoes of love
"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."
Chapter ii. to remember
genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.
pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)
summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.
cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.
word count : 11k words.
song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.
chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.
A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33
Day 33.
With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear.
A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory.
You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse.
The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance.
Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you.
“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you.
“No, just in time.”
Two weeks ago.
Day 17.
“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade.
You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?
A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.
His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores.
“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.
“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes.
He knows you better than you know yourself.
“Don’t blame yourself, please.”
“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands.
You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from.
What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you.
“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.”
“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.
“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head.
“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again.
“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”
“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you.
The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you.
“I miss you, Minho.”
“I know, I miss you too.”
Day 19.
“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement.
He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.
“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.
“So?”
“A situation may have happened.”
“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.
“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask.
“I do.”
“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”
“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently.
“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?”
“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.
“Pudding.”
“Pudding?”
“For you.”
“Oh.”
A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment.
In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”
“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé.
Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out.
“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms.
He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope.
Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto.
“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating.
“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.
“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.
“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in.
He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back.
As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night.
“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you.
“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?”
“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure.
You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles.
“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door.
“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue
“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place.
“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up?
“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you.
“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.
“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-”
“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.
“Really? They’re really ugly.”
“It's my birthday gift, right?”
Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.
“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you.
“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.
One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.
“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach.
They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls.
Day 22.
“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart.
“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.
“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.”
“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.”
“I can try.”
“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.
“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.
“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles.
“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him.
“Can you help me get the sea back?”
Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.
…
Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle.
He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago.
“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.
“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.
“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”
“Will you drive safely?”
“Of course. I promise you.”
Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear.
“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers.
With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.
In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.
He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm.
“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.
Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.
He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road.
Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart.
“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light.
“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit.
“What?” he asks, confused.
“I can feel you looking,” you clarify.
“How so?”
“My right cheek is tingling.”
Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”
“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”
“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words.
“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.
“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.
“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face.
“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression.
“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running.
Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again.
Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.
“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content.
“You did.”
“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands.
“Of course.”
"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.”
Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”
“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”
A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.
“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”
Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to.
“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.
“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.”
Day 26.
Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads.
It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more.
However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin.
You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest.
“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought.
“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”
“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.”
“Sure, this is your home.”
“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within.
Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals.
…
“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door.
“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for.
“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you.
“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.
“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.”
He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more?
As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were.
Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.
Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks.
“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart.
“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words.
“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle.
“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile.
“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”
“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.
“Of course, I-”
“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words.
“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side.
“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.
“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder.
“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second.
“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing.
“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips.
“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly.
“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends.
“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.
“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.
“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.
You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.
“How are you, Yn?”
“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”
“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.”
“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”
“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out.
Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along.
“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”
“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle.
"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.
The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.
Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.
You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs.
“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.
“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving
You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.
“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.
“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.
A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.
You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.
“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks.
“N-nothing,” you stammer.
“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.
“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you.
“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”
“What?”
“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.
How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you?
You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?
You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.
Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.
Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.
You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out.
“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.
A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.
“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.
“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.
“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.
He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.
And he loves you.
Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.
How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for?
How many more days do you have to love him back?
Day 30.
Minho is sick.
He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face.
Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.
“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”
“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”
“I think so.”
“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.
In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind.
You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.
You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”
“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.
“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented.
His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”
“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow.
“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.
“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.
“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”
“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.
Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.
“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on.
“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers.
“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering.
“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”
“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.
“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.
“Yn… are you worried about me?”
“I am.”
“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you.
“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.
“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.
“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”
“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.
“Can I take off your shirt?”
“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.
“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.
“Because I don't mind.”
“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”
“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.
“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.
“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.
“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.
“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.
2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.
Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.
After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.
“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.
Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”
Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.
You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.
You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.
“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.
“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.
“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.
“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.
“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.
“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.
“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”
“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”
“Why is that?”
“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?
The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.
“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet.
“Anything.”
“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.
“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly.
“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.
“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”
“Did I?”
“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to.
“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.
“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.
Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.
Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.
“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”
“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea.
“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm.
“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you.
Do you want him?
After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.
His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows.
Yes. Yes, you do.
Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.
Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted.
A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.
As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.
Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.
"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.
“Yours.”
Day 31.
Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds.
Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days.
A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.
You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again.
What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean?
Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep.
Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name.
He prayed you’d call his too soon.
….
You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.
But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.
What does one kiss mean?
Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips.
The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.
“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.
“Pardon?”
“I said you seem preoccupied.”
“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”
“No. You just look worried, that's all.”
“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of.
“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.
“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”
“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.
“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways.
“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”
“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”
Oh.
The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications
“I actually have a question for you!”
“Ask away.”
“Do you want to go on a date with me?”
“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?”
“That's the point of a date.”
“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him.
“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.
“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh.
“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”
“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.
“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card.
Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.
Oh wow.
The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.
You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify.
“Hey, yn!”
“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them.
“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.
“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.
“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”
“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”
“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run.
“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.
“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey.
“I will.”
“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.
You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.
Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat.
“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”
“Really? They were so cute though.”
“Yeah, it’s a shame.”
Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by?
You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.
Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.
You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be.
“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.
“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”
You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both.
But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.
It looked like you found your answer after all.
Day 33.
“Did I keep you waiting?”
“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.
“How are you, today?”
“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him.
“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table.
“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here.
“What's your name?”
“Yn.”
“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”
You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines.
“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.
“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger.
“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”
Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”
“And you totally forgot about it?”
“I did. It hurt him a lot.”
Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you.
“But how does that make you feel?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.”
“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.”
“Why is that?”
“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”
“And you don't love him now?”
“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”
Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.
“Describe him to me in one sentence.”
“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”
“Do you have a retort for everything?”
“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.
“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.”
Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”
“What do you mean?”
“Yn, he brought you back to life.”
“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?”
You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.
“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core.
“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.
“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table.
“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”
“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”
“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder.
“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around.
“Oh and Changbin?”
“Yes?”
“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”
“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it.
You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart.
What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room.
A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind.
“Minho?”
“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”
“What? Where to?”
“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”
“Minho... what-what are you saying?”
“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.
“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.
“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.
“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?
Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.
“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”
"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.
“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”
“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.
“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.
“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”
“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”
“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.
“I want you. Please don't go.”
“Swear it, please.”
Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”
“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”
Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.
The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to.
It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.
Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.
“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”
“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.
“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”
Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.
You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again.
Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho.
You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.
Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”
“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one.
Day 1.
In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.
“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”
“Why would they be?”
“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”
“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.”
#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#stray kids imagine#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#skz au#skz reactions#stray kids reactions#lee know imagines#lee know fluff#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#lee know x reader#skz angst#stray kids angst#skz fanfiction#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids fic#lee know angst#lee know fanfic#lee minho x reader
730 notes
·
View notes
Text
more about loser in love Aventurine <3 (hopefully this is more articulated, last thing I wrote was literally a 2 minute brainstorm with no coherency lol), kinda a mix of pre-relationship and loser in love bf Aventurine :3 of course, this is all lovingly and lighthearted :)
let me know if you'd like more or share your own thoughts! also, I want to write a bit about soft bf! Aventurine, biting my hands so hard not to do it here because . . . thoughts are too loud
dividers by @/cafekitsune :)
Panics with no filter as soon as you are out of his sight. You could be walking down the street together when suddenly something catches your attention making you quickly run away from him. Aventurine will literally freeze for a moment, anxious eyes looking for you as the only thing that slips past his lips is "where are you? where did you go?" as he turns his head around hoping for the best. As he finally spots you, a huge sigh of relief leaves his body. He would scold you with such seriousness, how dare you leave him behind without a word? He isn't a babysitter to watch your every move, so try and behave!
As soon as you reply to him, explaining that you don't need a babysitter, fully capable of taking care of yourself and that he is just an overreacting drama king...he just gasps. How dare you ruin his only method of making himself seem semi-normal? Anyhow, he ignores your rationality and the fact you are not dependent on him in a way that he is on you, in the process making a new decision - as this happens...a lot, he decides to use it as an oppprtunity and a lame excuse for you to hold his hand every time you go out together.
He tries to act like it's not a big deal, but internally he is all over the place as the two of you walk holding hands. (he will get teased for this years later)
He is also a needy for attention type of loser with no personal space who texts you all the time. When he isn't texting, he would call you anytime he can, which seems to be a lot. Even if there is nothing to have a conversation about, he is just asking the same questions...over and over again.
"so, what are you doing?"
"mhm, have you eaten?"
"how are you feeling?"
"mhm, is there anything new going on?"
"mm, sooooo, what are you doing?"
"that sounds fun! anyways, do you miss me?"
You can swear that he kicks his feet anytime you talk over the phone or text. But when you explain to him that you don't have to talk to each other all the time, he is slightly offended and sassy. What do you mean by that? Are you bored of him? Is he simply not worth your time anymore? Fine...he will stop doing it so much. . .for about 2 hours perhaps (his personal record! are you proud?) and then he will continue in his old ways.
Don't be mistaken, he does understand that you need your own time and if you put up a genuine boundary he will certainly respect it. It's just that when it's more playful and chill time, he uses it to the fullest because he is a needy man.
Bonus: Aventurine loves sending you videos that remind him of you or the two of you, especially those little cute animals videos where they cuddle, the little art videos and those adorable encouraging pics (definitely not a loser for this, just thought it was cute as hell)
Bonus 2: anytime you send him a picture of yourself, he puts it as his background. Replies "screaming crying throwing up, pls one chance pls pls pls", somehow you manage not to take it seriously which makes him even more desperately in love
Bonus 3: he saves your contact by some silly, yet cute nickname while adding 50388383 emojis and hearts (preferably the ones that are in your favorite color). He says it's a joke, but...but...well.
Desperate, pathetic, miserable, needy, so sickly in love, he absolutely NEEDS you. He can't take it.
Once you get more comfortable with each other, not even fully in a relationship, this man clings onto you like it's his last day alive. Wrapping his arms around your forearm, playing with your fingers if you are distracted, hugging you from behind anytime you stop walking (yes, even while waiting for a green light to cross the road), throwing his thigh over yours anytime you sit somewhere together, takes any chance to lay on your lap and begs you to play with his hair. He is the type of mess up something, get on his knees and hug your legs until you forgive him. He is also the type to do that...for no reason at all actually. Simply because he wants attention and he loves being close to you.
Anytime he has to go and do something by himself, you can tell how pissy he is afterwards. He walks up to you with an evident disappointment and annoyance on his face, quickly grabbing your hand as he mutters how idiotic it is to have to use the toilet. Let's not even mention when he needs to be by himself for longer periods of time.
Speaking of that, he would also question whether you missed him or not after 2 minutes of separation. You sure did? Hm, is that sarcasm? He doesn't care, he will take it as long as it confirms it. He just wants you to miss him and need him as much he misses and needs you.
Bonus (not really a loser): Now, in a relationship, Aventurine needs you to have eyes for him only as he does for you. Only him and nobody else. He wants you to want him, he needs you to need him and he must feel the desire and love you have for him. He mentions multiple times, you can do whatever you want with him however you want, if you wish to use him as a plaything for a while - he is perfectly okay with that, but the one rule he has is to be your only plaything. His desperation comes cute in certain departments, however...there is a lot of work awaiting in order to teach this man what is a healthy relationship.
He actually confesses his love for you properly when he gets sick. A mild cold, slight fever - should be gone in a few days, if not less. But no! He is certain that this is the end. Immediately sends you tons of panicky messages how you need to come see him immediately. So you do, first time taking him quite seriously.
Only to be met with his red stuffy nose twitching as he tries not to sneeze in the middle of his confession. He is so serious and determined that it makes a laugh stuck in your throat as he slowly explains himself, barely able to take deep breaths, not even looking at you. Talking about all the memories, the feelings, the thoughts he ever had with or about you.
"The only thing that I regret is that I am doing this too late."
He is so melodramatic, coughing loudly afterwards as he finishes up his actually heartwarming confession.
You can't help but giggle at the man in front of you, gently urging him to lay down, not exactly replying to his confession yet, but only mentioning how you will make him some soup and tea. He just nods, a bit exhausted from the all-nighter he pulled to come up with his excellent (miserable) confession. Next thing you know, he is fast asleep, hand mindlessly reaching for yours and as soon as he finds it - he brings it to his chest, almost hugging it. Moments like these are very special to you as he becomes more vulnerable and more himself. He will certainly get your own confession as soon as he gets better and least to say, you are the one to make the full first move since he is just...in shock the whole time. But, that's something to unpack some other time.
#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#aventurine x yn#aventurine fluff#aventurine x reader fluff#hsr fluff#hsr x y/n#hsr x you#hsr x reader#hsr imagines
412 notes
·
View notes
Note
OMG I KEED A PART 2 TO SAM HAVING A CRUSH ON DEANS GF
Like idk maybe say Sam didn't listen to Dean and tried making a move on reader? Like ofc he wouldn't ever do that *I don't think* but in this hypothetical scenerio it happens
Hey hun!
Oooof, that's hard. You guys really like this angsty love triangle stuff, huh? 😂 I genuinely think Sam would rather saw off his own hand than hurt Dean that way. But this is like, the only thing I could think of on this one. 😅
See this imagine for context: You are Dean's one exception.
Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader
Word Count: 1,100
Imagine: Sam crosses the line.
Goddamn witches.
That's the last coherent thought Sam has, before his mind is no longer completely his to control.
Well, it's still his mind. His body. But the careful door in his mind and in his heart, reinforced with steel and chained shut with titanium, combo-coded, locked and loaded, now has broken hinges.
Thoughts he hasn't allowed himself to think for months are pried open, with a sick kind of enjoyment in pain.
You're his brother's girl. Sam can't help but love you. He wants you. And now, he might be able to have you.
The witch is dead, but the spell she just hit Sam with remains. He's not dead, so that's a plus.
"Are you okay?" you ask him, slightly breathless. You're the closest to where he's sprawled on the ground, so you go to him. You touch his arm, and he can't help but clamp down on your hand. He looks at you with the thinly veiled eyes of a hunter as he smiles. Because your concern reaches the deepest parts of him.
"I'm fine," he says.
But Dean reads the hunger in his brother's eyes. He's subtle in the way he grasps your shoulder and Sam's (noticeably tighter).
"But what happened? How do you feel?" you ask, trying to take stock of what you're all dealing with here.
"I uh...feel fine, actually," Sam says. He rolls his shoulders. His gaze focuses on you. Dean holds him back from getting off the ground.
"Get the book. See if there's a way to fix this," Dean tells you without taking his eyes off Sam.
Sam tilts his head at Dean, the beginning of an angry frown on his lip as you rush away to find the witch's spell book.
"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asks. He doesn't bother to lower his voice. (He literally doesn't have a filter anymore.) "Afraid of what might happen when she actually has the chance to choose?"
Dean's lips purse as his eyes darken. "This isn't you. And when you wake up from this, you're either gonna hate yourself for even thinkin' what you're thinkin', or you're gonna have one hell of a headache."
Sam stares back incredulously. He scoffs. "What're you gonna do, kill me?" They both know that's not happening.
But that's also when Dean knocks him the hell out.
When Sam wakes, it's to you stuffing tissues in his bloody nose. He groans a bit. He looks at you and still wants. But when he looks down at himself, he's in the bunker, handcuffed to the war room table.
You look worried for him as you go back to your side of the table with the book. Dean is oddly nowhere in sight. Sam thought he'd be watching you (and Sam) like a hawk.
"Dean'll be back in a sec. He's trying to get ahold of Rowena," you supply. "But how're you feeling? What's the spell doing to you exactly?"
Sam rolls the kinks out of his neck and removes the tissues, even though his entire face radiates with pain. His brother once promised to break his nose, and he did just that.
"Basically? I think it took away my inhibitions," he replies. More like threw them in a blender and put his deepest, headiest desires into overdrive.
You frown. "Like a really bad bender, or a truth serum kind of thing? But why would he punch you out for that?"
Your gears are turning rapidly, weighing out all the options. You always were smart. Sam leans forward slowly. Noting your thread of wariness, his face softens. He doesn't want to scare you...
He sighs. "Listen...there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while now."
He reaches out a hand. You're looking at him in frozen surprise. His curled fingers brush your cheek. He leans in toward your face.
But you flinch and pull away.
"What the hell are you doing?" you ask.
Sam should've known, but it still hurts him. His jaw clenches. The spell takes away his self-preservation, however.
Just as he might've tried with words to finally confess the depths of his heart, the door creaks open.
The sound of Dean's heavy boots approaching makes him flinch. But Sam looks over with an unrepentant stare.
Dean glances at Rowena, nostrils flaring. "Fix him." He gestures at Sam before he joins you on your side of the table, resting a protective hand on your back.
Rowena shoots him a droll look. "Only because you asked so nicely."
"I don't need fixing!" Sam argues, glaring at Dean. His voice echoes on the bunker's walls. "You're just afraid of what happens if she knows the truth!"
Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.
"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest. Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat. Dean turns back to Sam.
"Don't do this, Sammy. It don't end well for you," Dean says.
"Like hell," Sam retorts.
"Okay, sleep now, dear," Rowena says. And with a wave of her hand and a haze of violet, Sam's world once again blackens.
When he next wakes, he's in his own bed. Not restrained. He indeed has a massive headache, and it's hard to breathe through his still broken nose. He groans and turns, and his brother is there.
When the overwhelming guilt sets in, Sam knows he's himself again, with all the careful walls around his heart put back in place. Rowena must've broken the spell when he was unconscious. Dean can see the truth in Sam's eyes.
"There he is," Dean remarks dryly. "Our giant Jekyll and Hyde."
Sam inhales deeply. "Dean..." I'm sorry doesn't quite cut it.
"She knows," Dean says, after a moment. "Obviously."
Sam nods, swallowing past a lump in his throat. He hesitates to ask the next burning question, because part of him knows the answer.
"It doesn't change anything."
Sam's head turns at the sound of your voice. You stand in the doorway, with your arms crossed despite the disheartened look on your face. Your eyes meet his, steady and sad, but firm.
"I know," Sam says, with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry...for all this."
"It's not your fault," you reply. Spell or no spell, the way he feels is not his fault.
You step into the bedroom and go to Sam's bedside, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. That hand smoothes up his neck, and your fingers briefly thread into his hair. Another silent conversation passes between you and Dean, the way only lovers that close can accomplish.
After a beat, Dean nods and gets up out of his chair. He thumbs at your cheek; it's both an answer to your unspoken request and an endearment. Then he pats Sam's shoulder before he leaves you and Sam alone in the room.
Trust. That's what that is. Dean trusts you, and now that the spell has worn off, he trusts Sam again.
Sam meets your gaze. As awful as he feels, he still loves you. He knows you know by the way your gaze meets his.
All he wants to do is touch you.
To apologize, and to touch you.
He hates himself.
You shake your head. "I love you, Sam. As my friend. My brother."
"I know," he nods. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry," you reply. "You just have to respect that."
"'Course, I do," Sam nods again. You would've never known, if not for the damn spell.
You surprise him by taking his hand. Yours is soft and warm and kind.
Always kind...
But never truly his to hold.
AN: GAH! The Angst. You could bottle it. 😩
Want to know what that conversation was like between Dean and the reader after she "found out?"
Read It Here: You and Dean talk about Sam's feelings.
Dean Winchester Imagines
Dean Winchester Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Dean W. Tag List:
@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91
@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19
@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420
#ask me stuff#dean winchester#dean winchester imagine#Sam crosses the line#being deans one exception sequel#sam in love with deans girlfriend#sam winchester#sam winchester imagine#sam and dean#angst#unrequited love#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x female reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fic#spn#supernatural#zepskies answers
585 notes
·
View notes
Note
Bottom V and Loser Reader would be a power couple ngl
Loser Reader would bully his ass so hard. V has an argument with some randos during a gaming session and not so casually goes on and how he has a hot partner who'll do whatever he says and everyone else in the call is a pathetic virgin. Reader eventually gets annoyed of his boldface lies and teaches him a lesson by bending him over his desk and refusing to allow him to leave the call even when he's babbling out apologies too fucked out of his mind to form coherent words.
"Ah.... ow!.. fuck- I told you not pull my hair so hard."
"Awwww, master don't like it rough anymore? pfft- don't all like you don't love it, whore. You've never complained before. Quit trying to act rough and fucking apologize."
"I'm.... I'm sorry, okay? You know I didn't mean anything by it. I won't say anything like that again just - please touch me already. It fucking hurts.. I need... i need you to touch me."
"That's more like it~"
#yandere oc#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere#male yandere#yandere blurb#yandere scenarios#yandere insert#V my oc
422 notes
·
View notes
Note
this is so sunghoon </3
you're so real for this sweetie, i couldn't agree more and you know how much we love the sunghoon x bookworm agenda in this house so here we go again 🤭
SUNGHOON who always feed on your obsession for books and literature, spoiling you with a new one every chance he gets. he loves how sparkly your eyes become when you talk on and on about the new book that you finished, and he loves to see you so passionate about it, he could literally listen to you during hours.
what he does not like though is how he asked you to get ready for your date night almost one hour ago and how you're still in your pyjamas, laying in bed with your book. when sunghoon asks you for the ninth time when you plan on starting to prepare yourself to go out, you claim once again that you just want to finish this chapter. and when he asks you one more time and you answer the same thing again, sunghoon cannot take it anymore.
"hoon ? what are you doing ?" you asked, confused, as he climbed on the bed, settling between your legs and spreading them. you try to push his hands away but his grip is too strong.
"i'm teaching you a lesson, since you're too smitten by your book to listen to me." your voice and the protestation you were about to let out die quickly in your throat, replaced by a loud moan when sunghoon fingers pinch your clitoris harshly through the material of your panties. "you're going to read out loud for me doll, and don't dare miss a word or i'm not letting you cum."
you knew better than to answer him directly, only nodding your head at him as he pulled your panties off your body. you were only wearing one of his shirts now, while sunghoon was already in his pretty outfit, hair neatly done. and the way he looked at you through his lashes when he dived into your cunt had you moaning uncontrollably.
but you still tried to follow his commands, reading each word carefully however very slowly. with each passing second, your voice was shaking more and more, your hands barely holding your book up.
"hoon, please…" your plea forced your boyfriend to detach himself from your pussy, his lips swollen and covered in your juices. but that didn't stop him from landing a harsh slap on your cunt, making you cry out and almost drop your book. "i don't think your book says that babydoll. stay focused" and the smirk on his face is just as annoying as it's attractive. you want to wipe it out and at the same time, all you want is for his mouth to be back on you. and he does just that, gaining another noise of pleasure from you.
and you really try your best, but the way sunghoon is eating you out like a starved man while pinning your hips down to the mattress is driving you crazy. you can feel his cocky smile against your folds when your speech starts to get slurred, far too fucked out to form a coherent sentence or even see the words on the page in front of you anymore. "i-i can't hoon ! need to cum, please, please ! i'm- aah !" - "you're so miserable with only my tongue, it's cute."
tears begin to gather in your eyes when he starts teasing you with his fingers too, the pleasurable feeling ultimately becoming too much. you didn't even make the effort to read anymore, your vision too blurry to see anything in front of you. you tossed it to the side, taking a hold of sunghoon's hair instead, only able to whine and beg at this point.
"you're such a brat, but whenever i touch you, you lose all your attitude, isn't that funny doll ?" sunghoon loves how you're only able to moan in response. "come on, cum on my tongue since you've been a good girl." that was all you needed to let go, messing up his perfect hairstyle but sunghoon couldn't care less as he reminded you once again how much better than your little books he was.
#i'll never get over this concept i swear#don't ever stop fueling into it sweetie#eli answering your questions#eli's moots#dinna's asks#enhypen hard thoughts#enha hard thoughts#sunghoon hard thoughts#sunghoon hard hours#sunghoon smut#sunghoon x reader
201 notes
·
View notes
Text
pt.2 is out!
"Could you rail me?"
That's not something Megumi expects to hear at 10 p.m. Especially coming from you.
You're drenched - that's the first thing he notices. It's been raining the whole day, pouring even, making early autumn weather even gloomier than it usually is. You don't have an umbrella and the light jacket you put on yourself earlier in the morning looks completely out of place - it doesn't even have a hood to hide under. Or maybe it's not the jacket that feels off? Maybe that's just you.
You, the one who is always prepared. You, the one who is always put together. You, the one who, as far as he's concerned, should be in the cinema on a date with your boyfriend right now. A dickhead boyfriend, Megumi makes a mental note. He couldn't bring himself to like the guy, but as long as that idiot treated you right, he wasn't really in a place to say anything. But apparently, something has changed.
"Could you rail me?"
Yeah, something has definitely changed.
Megumi doesn't really say anything as you get inside - your every movement is showing how furious you are, and it’s not like Fushiguro's not used to people with bad temper, it's just you're not one of them. He's never seen you like this before and, combining the situation with that question you’ve asked him twice, he's taken by surprise. That gets him thinking. Something must have happened, and judging by your face...
Then he notices. The smudged mascara, the barely visible traces on you cheeks, and your red, puffy, eyes.
You cried.
Megumi has seen you in various mental states, but never furious - and most importantly, never crying, so he couldn't possibly have any idea how seeing you like that would make him feel. He knows now.
He'll kill him.
"Come on, you need to take a hot shower, or you'll get sick", he finally says, his voice sounding surprisingly normal and calm. He's relieved - all these years of hiding his emotions and not letting them surface have at least some perks. Looking at your state, you need something - someone - to calm you down, and Megumi won’t let himself lose control just over his imagination and groundless jealousy. You need to tell him what happened first.
So when you’re finally out of the shower, your hair still damp, drowning in his cotton, black T-shirt, Megumi is waiting in the kitchen - and he needs you to speak.
„He cheated on me.” It falls from your lips, light as a feather, and these words do something to him. Something that could have very bad consequences. „We broke up. But it doesn’t even hurt. I… I am so fucking stupid.” You’re not crying anymore - there’s a fire in your eyes that Megumi has never seen before.
„He’s the one that’s stupid.” That is probably the nicest adjective out of many others he has on his mind right now. He observes you carefully as you adjust yourself on a high hocker next to him.
„No, I am. I…” You sigh, hiding your face in your hands. „I didn’t cry because he broke my heart. That’s the problem. He didn’t.” That’s a relief, but Megumi’s still not convinced. His brows furrow, as he’s trying to understand what exactly has happened. „I was crying because I don’t fucking understand myself.” Your gaze suddenly jumps on him and the intensity of it makes him gulp. „That’s why I want you to rail me.” Before he can form a coherent answer to that, you speak up again. „I think I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. And that makes me a cheater, because I went into a relationship knowing that. Or at least suspecting that.”
So many things Megumi didn’t expect to hear tonight.
He just stares at you, not sure, whether his heart is racing or it’s completely stopped beating. You’re blushing, but at the same time doesn’t look embarrassed. Despite that cute pink tone on your cheeks, you seem determined, and he’s not sure what he should do about it.
„Or you can say you won’t”, you suddenly speak up again. The eye contact is so intensive, to the point it physically hurts. „You can say that and I’ll see if it breaks my heart. It’ll be easie-”
„I won’t rail you.” It jumps out of him faster than he’s able to process it, and his heart drops as your face turns pale.
„Okay. It hurts. So this is a crush after all.” You stand up suddenly and rush somewhere - his apartament isn’t big, but the embarrassment hits you like a truck and you just need to hide. Or die.
„How the fuck do you expect me to rail you?” Nervousness in Megumi’s voice makes you turn around. He’s got up from his seat as well, his worried expression long forgotten - now he just looks angry. „I’ve had sex like three times before. Fuck”, he sighs, pinching his nose bridge. As if that ever helped somebody to focus. He doesn’t have any other options though. „Jesus, (Y/N). You can’t just say these things like that. Why can’t you just like… say that you have a crush on me? At least I’d know how to answer”, Megumi murmurs and now you’re confused.
He cannot comprehend the fact that you haven’t noticed. Everyone noticed. Itadori, Nobara, Gojo - everyone. Even he himself noticed. The gradual changes in your friendship, the staring, the smiles that cost him way more than anyone else, and yet he would give you them for free. The jealousy that came few months ago - with you being asked out, taken on dates, kissed. The irritation. And eventually, the nights where he would be so hard and frustrated, and the only cure seemed to be a memory of you. Of your skin. Of your touch. He was sure when your name left his lips that one particular night - he let his imagination run freely, and it sprinted to the point where he imagined it was your hand going up and down on his dick. He panicked a bit, that night. Your friendship was more valuable than anything else. He couldn’t risk it.
So he endured.
And now this?
That’s not fair. You play dirty. You asked that fucking question three times and now he’s sexually frustrated and stressed beyond what’s humanly possible. He tried so hard, gritted his teeth, tossed and turned - and you just destroyed everything.
So when Megumi comes up to you to catch your face in his hands, you can feel his anger. And a million other things that convince you, that yes, Megumi Fushiguro could rail you without any doubt. He kisses you - and the kiss tastes like longing, like desperation, like something more, than just „liking”. Like…
„He was first”, he murmurs, as he pulls away, just millimetres, but enough to be able to say what he needs to say. His long, slender fingers rest on both sides of your face, the right thumb delicately brushing you cheek. A feeling completely different from that sudden kiss.
„What?” You feel a bit hazy and so does he.
„And you were always so happy… I just couldn’t…”, he mutters, running with his gaze when the embarrassment hits him. He curses himself for wearing that black sweater tonight, it’s so hot he cannot stand it - especially when your hands land on his covered chest.
„I was happy because I was with you, you dumbass!” You moan, and even though it’s not sexual at all, Megumi can’t help but groan. You are intoxicating. „I thought you didn’t like me… So I tried to…” You’re interrupted as he pulls you for another kiss, even more needy than the first one. And you suddenly forget what you wanted to say.
Megumi still remembers, but he needs you. If that’s a dream, then he just hopes he’s not going to wake up. Luckily for him, the way his body reacts is more biological than ever and that gives him some hope.
„You tried to…?”
„I tried to fall in love with someone else.”
„You’re stupid then.” His lips travel down your neck as he’s leaving slow, sensual kisses all over it. You grip tightens on his forearm, nails diving between the sweater’s weaves just to find his skin underneath. You had no idea Megumi could kiss like that, and when his fingers slide down your collarbone, you find out that you had no idea that he could touch you like that either. „If you talked to me, we’d save a lot of time.”
„You could have said something too”, you whisper, and the combination of stress, anxiety and bliss makes your legs go weak. Luckily, Megumi’s here, and his arm keeps you in place. „You never say anything. And I…” A little whine interrupted you as his teeth grazed over your paper thin skin. „I don’t know how you feel.”
„You really can’t see it?”
„I need you to say it. I can say it. I’m in love with you, Megumi”. Is it really your voice, or are the angels singing? He could swear he got the chills. „Please.”
Years of hiding. Years of not saying anything. Years of keeping his feelings hidden. All that, just for him to make a confession.
„I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” It’s shaky, it’s soft and it’s quiet, falling into your skin and melting into your soul - something you needed so desperately. And that’s enough.
You need to see him, so you cup his face into your hands, and the picture leaves you in awe - his soft cheeks are flushed, blue eyes shining with desire. It’s so unlike him, and the fact that you’ve actually managed to pull these words out of him shows how desperate he is.
„You can let go” you whisper, before pulling him for another kiss. „Don’t overthink it. Just… let go.”
Who knows - he might rail you after all.
masterlist ❤️
#megumi x you#megumi x reader#megumi smut#fushiguro smut#fushiguro#jjk megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi#jujutsu megumi#megumi#fushiguro x reader#megumi fushiguro#megumi imagine#megumi headcanons#megumi drabble#jjk drabbles#jjk imagines#megumi fluff#megumi fushiguro x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader
928 notes
·
View notes
Text
like, never ever? — beomgyu x fem!reader | besties to lovers. NSFW/MDNI!
cw. bestfriend!dom!beomgyu, virgin!afab!reader, bondage, corruption, spanking, cunnilingus (f. receiving), unprotected sex (use condoms pls!), pet/nick names (baby, sir), nipple play, slight dacryphilia.
notes. resposted from my old acct, originally a request, did not re-read too carefully., smut under cut!
wc. ~800
beomgyu never thought about you like that before. he knew you were attractive—he's not blind—he just never thought about you in a sexual way. but when you admit it's not that i've never been with someone...i've never even had an orgasm, his brain short circuits.
you've...never? like never, ever? you shake your head and he can't help but chuckle, a cocky smile appearing on his face.
why didn't you tell me? it just didn't cross your mind, but he reminds you i could help you out, you know. his strong hand creeps up your thigh as you feel an ache in your center.
it wasn't just wanting to help out a friend with him. sure, that's a perk—you get to have ur first orgasm and i get to absolutely ruin you. and he's salivating just thinking about touching you, tasting you, pleasing you in a way you've never felt before.
it doesn't take much convincing to get you to lay down on the bed, baby. his eyes fixed on your body as he unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt and loosens his tie. usually, i'd tie you up with this, but since it's your first...but before he can say anything else, or did you want me to use it? you nod shyly, seeing him like this...all disheveled and broad...is definitely doing something to you.
you look so pretty, so pretty all tied up from me on your tummy, hands tied behind your back, ass up. his eyes rake over your body and fuck, i can't believe no one's had you like this. your pussy clenches around nothing as he situates himself underneath you. he seems to forget this all new for you. you gasp and what are you doing?
chuckling, his hands soothe your hips before it's okay, just sit on my face. you squirm and whine, but soon met with a harsh smack on your ass and that wasn't a suggestion. sit on my face.
hesitantly, you lower down to his face and he licks your clit harshly. keeling over in pleasure, you can't hold myself up, sir. can you help?
that snarky chuckle comes out again, sir? you're so polite for your first time. sucking on your clit, he spanks you again roughly, electricity shooting throughout your body. since you asked so nicely, he holds you by the hips, sucking on your sensitive clit. but soon enough, i think i'm cumming, sir, you gasp out and nod rapidly, legs trembling around his face, the knot in ur stomach tightening until you just can't take it anymore. everything feels like it's on fire. tingles are all over your body as you feel what you can only describe as an explosion of pleasure washes over you.
maybe you blacked out there for a minute, you don't know, but he's already ramming his cock inside you from behind and how does my cock feel in that tight, little pussy, huh, baby? you can't form coherent sentences. your ass jiggles with his ruts and spanks and you just wanna be thrown around, sir. please. please throw me around?
his hand meets your backside again before he quickly unties his tie, flips you over effortlessly and ties your hands above your head. legs spread wide, he fucks into you again as you yelp out in pleasure.
you never thought this is how good this felt. you knew it'd be nice, but this? this is so much better than you ever thought possible.
you're trembling, squeaking, shaking, gasping for air—who's making you feel good, hm baby? who made you feel so fucking good for this first time? you nod and whimper and you, sir. he presses your legs up to access your ass again to give it a good spank.
who? say my fucking name, baby. you're still struggling with keeping up with everything. he yanks you up, slamming his cock inside you deeper, which you didn't think was possible. say my name, he grunts with each thrust. you try your best, you really do, but poor baby, can't even say my name. do i need to stop? shaking your head no, please no—please don't stop, beomgyu. he smiles and that's it, baby.
practically crying his name out, you can hardly keep yourself composed before he licks his thumb to rub your nipple. that's when the tears start streaming down your face, close to your second orgasm. ever. a few more thrusts and flicks of your nipple until i'm cumming again, beomgyu. he smiles and follows soon after you, squirting his hot cum inside your tight cunt. and, you must admit, it's so warm and nice. like the best fucking hug you've ever had in your life.
collapsing next to you, you catch your breath and look at each other shyly, both of your juices dripping down further and further before all he can say is that was just...so good. wow.
#hp's writing 🪲#beomgyu smut#beomgyu hard thoughts#beomgyu hard hours#txt smut#txt hard thoughts#txt hard hours#choi beomgyu#choi beomgyu smut#beomgyu x reader#beomgyu fic#beomgyu ff#beomgyu smut fic#kpop fic#kpop ff#kpop smut
970 notes
·
View notes
Note
PLEASEEE MORE OF YPUR MIGUEL ANGST IM BEGGING YPUUU
This is a bit of Mama's side of the aftermath 💔-
Pt. 4
At every step you gave further from the burning mess, the deeper the knife he had plunged with his words buried inside your heart.
He doesn't love you.
Your eyes closed, almost loosing your footing in the process of stair descending.
He's disgusted by you
Mind kept chanting the terrible truths and doubts mostly of your family planted in that little brief time you had shared. A constant and eternal reminder to not come close again.
You had to stop for a minute to catch your breath so your brain could alternate between weeping and breathing.
Fucking Normal
His words still rang in your head, his tone as glacial as a blizzard. But even so, the blizzard felt safer since you would close your eyes to shield yourself from the snow. But how could you shield yourself from his piercing and judging glare? You had no armor against that cause in truth, you never felt needing it whenever you were with him.
He had disarmed you bit by bit, stashing your emotional armor behind in a vault only he knew the combination of, cause he made sure you'd never need it again, but now, you were left bare before him. Stripped, bare and shunned.
Was this one of his tactics? To make you feel loved, cared for and needed, to then just discard you?
He never loved you
Nausea clawed at your throat as the anxiety drilled and forced itself into your brain and guts.
You went home in a cab.
---
"Sweetie? W-What's wrong? You ok?"
Jess' words only reopened the wounds, fresh blood oozing from them as you clung to her and sobbed onto her shoulder as soon as she opened her apartment door.
"What happened, babe?"
You just hugged her as your breakdown spilled from the seams, unable to hold it anymore.
"M-Miguel..." Your throat choked as you tried to wipe your tears.
"He never... He doesn't..." You tried to hold your breath and voice steady so you could properly talk. But none of it was happening.
"He doesn't love me" You blurted and Jessica's eyes went wide.
"What are you talking about? He lo-"
"H-He thinks I'm just like my family, Jess..."
Your throat constricted again and she held you tightly.
"I know you warned me about him"
Jessica shook her head as she caressed your hair and sighed upon hearing your mourning heart speaking for you.
"I should've listened"
"I'm here with you, Sweetheart."
"He knows our of everyone that I'd never hurt him..."
"I know you wouldn't. You don't have to justify yourself to me, babe. He better apologizes. He needs to"
Your head shook.
"He doesn't want me. I can't be with someone that doesn't want me."
"C'mon, don't say that. We both know you love him"
"That's exactly the problem Jess! I know I love him, and right now I wish I didn't cause he hurt me with his stupid thinking that I'd judge him! He-" You sniffed and gave a shaky breath, "How can I trust him when he said I was just like them knowing that I don't get along with my family?! That I barely talk to them!" More sniffling came as Jess pulled the tissue box for you.
"You... you should've seen the way he looked at me."
You had to breath in between choked sobs to make coherence of your words.
"It hurt and still hurts so bad..."
Jessica's lips pursed in a straight line as she saw the few belongings you had left on Miguel's with you. Your necklace gone too. A necklace she had helped Miguel pick for you, to officially ask you to date him.
Shit.
Despite the anger coursing through her veins like molten lava, she knew that the only thing she could do for you was to be there as a friend. She'd deal with him later. Right now, all she could do was to drive you home, provide you tissues and a shoulder to cry upon, and help you to get the remnants of his presence out of your apartment. Our of your system. Out of your life.
Each item had a little of his essence still etched to them. A couple of hoodies that smelled like him. Faded cinammon and leather like with a tiny tone of your lavender detergent. A pair of his sunglasses that had his greasy fingertips imprinted on the black glass, and the t-shirt you had shared your body for the first time with him.
A t shirt you had begged him to keep, due the meaningful moment shared with him. As corny as he thought it was, he allowed you to keep it, after praising how good your thighs looked when you wore it.
And now, it was tossed to the box of mementos, ready to be sent back to their righ owner.
---
"Is bad..."
"You think!?" Sarcasm dripped, laced with venom on her voice. Jessica sighed and rubbed her temples as Peter was probably rubbing his face.
"Look, I'll see what I can do, ok?"
"You're not understanding, Peter. She just packed in his stuff, she wasn't wearing that necklace. And she was definitely having an anxiety attack when she came to me. I don't..."
She had to take a sharp inhale of air before speaking again
"I give two shits he's our friend. But he crossed the line. I'll give you his things for you to hand them over to him."
"Right. Right."
Peter sighed once more.
"I swear... Sometimes Miguel just..."
"He's acting like an ass, stop coddling him!"
"Im not. He's had it rough."
"And so his now ex girlfriend! And she doesn't go around, treating people like shit just cause he's unable to properly manage and sort his emotions!."
Peter just rose his brows in surprise at her words.
"W-What happened anyways?"
"They went to meet her family. Things didn't go well, I think, and they had a fight back home. She said that he told her that her family believes him a freak. You know how he is regarding that."
"Shoot... I'll try to talk some sense into him. If I find him that is. You know he just... isolates."
Jessica rolled her eyes.
"Let me know if anything happens. She's asleep now. Had to give her some sleep gummies. Babe needs a break."
"Of course. Nights then."
Peter hung up and Jess pulled the box on the living room. As much as he wanted to give Miguel a piece of her mind, she knew this was something he had to solve on his own.
At least, for tonight your broken heart could find some fake and momentary peace. Jessica just stared at your sleeping form and then at one of your pictures with him in your mirror. A small strip of kissing booth pictures, something you had probably bribed him to try.
A soft yet genuine smile on Miguel's face as you kissed his cheek with a loving grin.
"Dammit, Miguel"
Jessica Mumbled, unsure of trespassing your intimate bubble and hide the picture away. She just closed your door and let you rest instead.
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#atsv miguel#soccer family ⚽🕷️#Pre Soccer Family ⚽🕷️#miguel o'hara angst#wife reader
399 notes
·
View notes
Note
Pookie I need MROE sub!sam Winchester I’m literally like going insane clawing at my enclosure foaming at the mouth
I need to see with man because I know deep in my heart that he’s pathetic and dose in fact cry big phat tears in bed and dose that hiccup thing and also whimpers and can’t speak coherently because he’s so stimulated and clawing at your arm.
Anyways I need to genuinely be sedated because I’ve never acted like this towards a man like EVER so excuse me and thank you for your time 🫶🫶
Hope u have a wonderful night 🥰‼️
Babe you are feral and I love it <33 I got such a vivid image with this request 🤭🤭
~ 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒆 ~
Sam Winchester x GN!Reader
Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, Penetration, Teasing, Edging, Overstimulation, Orgasm Denial, Begging, Crying, Pet names, Committed Relationship
----
Sam lacked so much control in his life. That's why he always took the dominant position in the relationship. You didn't mind that, you liked it even. You loved letting him take care of you and protect you.
However, sometimes you wanted to let him relax for once. You wanted to take care of him and just have him let go.
That's how you ended up here. Alone in the motel room with Sam. Sam laid on the bed, his head thrown back against the headboard as needy moans left him. Your hand wrapped around his painfully hard cock, pre-cum dripping from the tip. You finally rub your thumb over it, smearing the sticky substance all over the head of his cock. The action draws a whiny moan from the larger man.
His hand instinctively gripping your forearm due to the overstimulation you were providing. "Sweetie-..Sweetie, please" he begged, a desperate need in his tone.
"Hm? What do you need, Sammy~?" You ask, playing dumb. As if you haven't edged him twice and gave him so much foreplay he about came in his boxers. "C'mon babe- I need you to let me cum" he rasps.
You move your hand back up and down his length, stroking him just how he likes. Slightly gripping him just a little too tight, making his grip on your forearm tighten up as he lets out a breathy whine.
You don't respond to his plea, you just gently grab his chin and tug him into a sweet kiss. He doesn't hesitate to respond as he kisses you back. It's feverish and sloppy on both ends, a string of saliva follows when you pull away.
You know he's about to cum, you feel Sam's cock twitch in your grip. "Please, don't stop" he groans but it's messy and needy. You can't help but pull your hand away just to test a reaction.
"Nono- fuck, sweetheart..." He whines, you swear you see tears build on his lash line as you deny him again, a small hiccup leaving him. "Awe, don't cry Sammy" you speak gently as you cup his cheek and kiss a line down his jaw. But Sam can't help it, you've got him borderline crying because you won't let him cum. You've gotten him completely unwound in front of you, his sensitive and vulnerable side welcoming your sweet torment.
You decide to spare him anymore heartache.
You push your underwear to the side, baring your more than welcoming entrance to him.
You grab his cock and push it inside, taking him all the way. Sam immediately grabs your hips, his large hands splayed across your figure. He doesn't hesitate to thrust his cock right up into you, hitting that sweet spot with ease.
"Fuck Sammy~" you moan out as you ground yourself against his chest with your hands. But Sam doesn't stop, now that he's got you right here, sitting on his lap with his cock stuffed into you. His hands keep a firm grip on your hips and he fucks you hard, pounding into that sweet spot that makes your eyes roll back.
"I'm gonna fuck you full of my cum, is that what you wanted? Getting me all worked up so I could fill you?" He grunts as he feels your body respond positively to his words.
He let out whiny moans, tears staining his cheeks from how tight and warm you felt. He couldn't help himself, you'd made him so needy and finally gave him what he wanted.
Your brain turned to mush as he sent you over the edge. He kept pounding you until he finally let out a whiny moan as he came, tears spilling down his cheeks from how good it felt to finally cum. He pulls back before slamming every inch back in, fucking his cum deeper into your hole.
You pant, a moment passing of nothing. Sam pulls out of you, making you think he's finished. But then he grabs you, flipping you over in front of him. You were shocked but before you could even turn to look at him, he stuffs his fat cock back inside you.
You bury your face into the sheets as you moan loudly.
"Sam- Sam wait-" you whine as he begins pounding into you again. He holds your hips firmly.
"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart" he rasps.
#fanfic writer#my writing#reader insert#gender neutral insert#sam winchester fic#sam winchester headcanon#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester smut#sam winchester#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural x reader#supernatural#ask response#requests open#spicy writer
247 notes
·
View notes
Text
Naoya Zen'in x Reader Minors DNI / 18+
Self indulgent because I need smuts to function, lmao
CEO Husband Naoya who would walk around in his grey sweatpants that hung too low, showing his happy trail, who would smirk and chuckle when he noticed you staring at him. He would walk up to you and place a kiss on your cheek and say, "No need to ogle at it, love. It's yours anyways."
CEO Husband Naoya who made sure to diligently check his messages at lunch to make sure he didnt miss any of your texts.
CEO Husband Naoya who almost choked on his meal when he saw your nudes and your dirty texts, asking him to fuck you up.
CEO Husband Naoya who then swore on his life that he'd breed you so well, you wouldn't walk for days and stuck to it when he came home later to find you in only his shirt prepping dinner.
"Whats the matter, sweetheart? Was is all a ruse to make me treat you like a whore?" He spoke utter filth to make you clench incredibly hard around him. It impressed him that you could wrap around him so tight even after all these orgasms he pulled out of you.
Your lack of response made Naoya halt his thrusts, and pull you by your hair, your back flushed against his chest. You swear, you felt electricity shoot through your body from the contact.
He smacks your clit hard, and you cry out, more tears spilling from your eyes. You squirm in his grip, but Naoya is stronger and holds you in place. Your whines and cries just fueled his ego, he was more than pleased to know his effects on you.
He places his veiny hand on your chin, tilting your head and speaking into your ear, "Answer me, slut. I don't know what you need unless you ask me like a good girl, right?"
You could feel his wicked smile and it only made you wetter. But you couldn’t think anymore. Your last orgasms had drained you not only of your energy and senses, but also your cerebral functioning to form a coherent sentence. So you muster your last drops of energy and plead, "Sir, please, I can't cum anymore, I can't, please."
He tsks, disappointed in you, "I didn't ask if you could cum or not, did I, baby? I asked you if you wanted to be treated like a whore. It's a simple question and I expect a simple answer."
He pulls out of you and turns you around, admiring your wet face.
Folding you in half, he thrusts his cock in in one swift go, and you scream.
"Let's try this again, okay? Just answer my question and we'll get going again."
And you cry in frustration because you know he won't stop his assult unless you respond to him, so you decide to agree, "Yes, sir. I want to be treated like a whore."
And Naoya starts to thrust in again at an insane pace, "Wasn't all that hard to admit it, was it?" He grunts.
You tried to push him away, trying your best to make him pull it out, because it was too much all at once. Your body was screaming in pain and pleasure, begging for a break.
But Naoya was anything but sweet in bed.
He held you still, a palm spread on your navel to hold you in place, feeling his dick in you, the bulge from his dick driving him insane.
With his other hand cupping your face, he said brushing his lips against your lips,
"Don't run away like a bitch. You're a grown woman, you should take responsibility for your actions. Come on, be a good girl for me, darling." He trailed hickeys from the back of your ear to your breasts.
He took a minute to admire your upper body crowded in hickeys, both old and new.
You pussy clamping hard around him, was his cue to cum.
Once you came together, Naoya plaed a gentle kiss to your forehead and then your lips.
"That's my good fucking girl."
#naoya being the sex god that he is#naoya x reader#naoya zenin#naoya jjk#naoya smut#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#ceo naoya
837 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! This is my first request, sorry if it isn’t that coherent. Is it cool if I send a hurt/comfort drabble request with gn reader x Miguel?
Maybe something where an enemy takes advantage of Miguel’s lack of spider sense and is severely injured to the point where he can’t keep up his tough exterior anymore. He’d probably dread how vulnerable the situation made him and would want the reader beside him for the next mission, as some kinda filler spider sense after he recovers (or just has them there for comfort but doesn’t wanna admit it LOL)
hiya anon !! this was coherent don't worry hehehe
summary : miguel gets severely injured on a mission and wants you by his sides for all the upcoming ones
content warnings : blood, cuts, miguel almost dying (he doesn't dw), flangst (?), this turns sweet, no use of Y/N, gender neutral!reader
word count : 2,2k
tag list : @fandom-ash
Miguel found himself alone on the field. This wasn't usually a problem, as the number of individual missions he'd carried out before forming his entire Spider Society was vast. It hadn't always been easy, of course, but he'd always managed to pull himself up, like a true Spider-Man would.
The rain clattered against the pixels of his suit, thunder rumbling between the dark clouds where skyscrapers sank like daggers into a black cotton belly.
He was out of breath, the anomaly he was facing was the typical weak point of his mutation: it was invisible, and extremely fast, which didn't help as Miguel's Spidersenses were profoundly insignificant, or even to put it simply: non-existent.
If he could get a visual on his target, everything would be perfectly fine. He could carry out his mission like the usual without a care. But invisible? That was undoubtedly his Achilles' heel in anomalies.
His hand was pressed against one of his bleeding sides as he stood breathless on a rooftop. The anomaly kept using its invisibility and speed to make unpredictable sprints to cut him from side to side.
He muttered an insult under his breath, his shoulders, arms and legs riddled with cuts of varying depths that were causing severe pain all over his body.
The anomaly was taunting him, laughing at one corner and then the next second calling out from another. The situation was becoming far too complex, and he could feel that the loss of blood from his body was starting to have an impact, weakening him enormously in this fight. It was more than a weakness actually, it was a real danger.
His eyes were looking in all directions, turning in on himself. Silence and the inability to know where his enemy was had never frightened him so much. He knew very well that the invisible things were just as dangerous as the visible ones, if not more so.
You don't always see love when it's coming, and you sometimes fail to recognise death when it arrives.
Call for help? Yes, perhaps that would be best, no matter how proud he was and how independent he wanted to be. Trying to regain a less shaky breath, he swallowed as he brought his lips to his watch:
"Lyla call the-" but he was cut off instantly by the anomaly that came at him in a flash, slicing into the back of his leg with such power that he fell to his knees with a grunt. The puddle into which he had fallen became darker, the red of his blood mingling with it under the light of one of the neon advertisements on an adjacent building.
He groaned in frustration, bringing the watch up to his mouth again.
"Lyla-" he breathed a little louder, but the anomaly cracked the silence with a high-pitched laugh as he cut into his back with a straight, deep line of his own.
Miguel arched his back, a growl mingling with a cry of desperation and terrible frustration as he lay on the ground.
Was it the rain, or was his vision becoming blurry ?
The anomaly materialised before his tired eyes, kneeling beside him, tilting its head to one side.
"All so," he laughed horribly, "big and strong and muscular." the anomaly grabbed his arm evilly, squeezing his hand over a cut that was burning hellishly, and Miguel let out screams through his teeth.
"But I'll tell you something, big buy," the anomaly said simply, moving a little closer to Miguel, who was beginning to find it harder and harder to stay awake. "In the end, we're all made of flesh that can be cut, and bones that can be broken."
He held up his knife, which the raindrops were cleaning of Miguel's blood, still glued to the blade. He then placed it against Miguel's cheek, his vision completely blurred.
"Lyla," he whispered, barely audible, using what little strength he had left to cry out for help.
He saw the knife rise, thinking to himself, this is it, it's over, he thought.
He murmured something, just something ? No, it was more important than that. He murmured your name.
He wanted, no, needed to see you now. Hear your voice, see you once more before… he just needed you by his side.
He felt so lonely.
He could’ve chosen anyone to be by his sides, heck someone was literally by his side at the moment and it was an anomaly, so he wasn’t exactly alone. But still, still, he wanted you.
The knife elevated, ready to strike him down, the sound of the anomaly’s laughter echoing in his mind in a numb way. And that’s when he saw a bright orange in the reflection of the bloody puddle, and lost consciousness.
He awoke in the infirmary, his eyes gradually adjusting to the whitish light. The aseptic air caught his nostrils, his lips were dry and a slight headache tugged at his skull.
He was lying on a stretcher in a position somewhere between sitting up and lying down. As he tried to straighten up, he was immediately stopped by an intense pain, and immediately tensed up.
"Hey hey hey, easy, easy."
He knew that voice, very, very well indeed. He opened his eyes again, slowly.
You were there, at his bedside, just above him to make sure he didn't try to get up again. He inhaled slowly, breathing hurt a little, and he wrinkled his nose in pain.
"How long was I out?" he asked, his first thought always remaining on the subject of organisation.
"Three days," you replied, standing next to him, arms folded.
"Three d-!" but the rise in his tone made his whole chest ache.
"Hey shh shh shh," you soothed, coming to rest your hand on his cheek to provide a point of anchorage for him in the middle of all of this pain.
"Three days," he breathes against your touch as he squirmed around trying to find a comfortable position without feeling like his whole body was on fire. "It's too much wasted time, I have to go back-"
"You're not going back anywhere for a little while, Miguel." you cut, voice calm.
"But I have to-" his breath came a little sharper.
"Miguel, you're not going to do anything at all except rest." you reiterated.
"Listen to me-"
"No, you listen to me," you interjected this time in a much less calm and more strict tone, which surprised him enough to stop him from continuing to fidget and breathe almost frantically. "You had a near-death experience, Miguel," your words were categorical. "And I refuse to allow you to not recover from that properly just so you can kill yourself at work instead, because... fuck, I was so scared." your voice had trailed off on the last word, broken.
Your eyes avoided his, looking up at the ceiling, biting your lip as your gaze fell back on the countless cuts he had strewn across his body. Your hand, previously on his cheek, came to rest beside him on the stretcher.
And you could feel his eyes on you, expecting your next words.
"When Lyla appeared to us... I had never seen her so serious and anxious at the same time. I have always seen her as playful and," a sigh, "sassy. But then, what she said made my heart drop," you admitted, looking him in the eye, trying to articulate.
A tear rolled down your cheek, and you immediately brushed it away, trying to pull yourself together.
"When we arrived, you were in an indescribable state, you were motionless... gosh Miguel I've never wished so much to see someone make just one movement," you breathed in, wiping away the other hot tears that wanted to flow further down your cheeks. "You can't imagine the relief I felt when they stabilised your state."
He looked at you, lips parted as he listened intently. And he thought of how he had wished you in death to bring him life and how you had wished him in life to stay away from death.
"I stayed, you know? By your side. Days, nights, whenever I could," you smiled, a small breath living your lips as you sniffed.
His heart was overflowing with emotions, all the sensations and thoughts that had taken hold of him during his confrontation with the anomaly coming back vividly to his mind, and yet he felt it all squeezed into his chest.
"I..." his voice grew small, and he swallowed to try and make his throat more cooperative to make the lump that was forming in it disappear.
"I thought... I'd never get to see you again," he admitted, inhaling softly.
His hand came to rest on yours, his fingers gently caressing your skin as you took it in yours.
"I..." his eyes were veiled by a curtain of tears that stung his nose, and he bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at your hands interlaced.
He thought back to the rain that kissed him goodbye, to the thunder that rumbled through the dark clouds as if to lecture him, to the feel of the sharp blade on his skin and the life that was gradually leaving him. But above all he remembered his vulnerability, and the possibility that this moment might be his last.
"It was so cold... I just," a tear finally rolled down his cheek, "I just wanted you to be here," his eyes returned to yours, "with me."
You could see it in his eyes, the fear, the dread that something like this could happen again. You bit your lip, your chin trembling as you gripped his hand a little tighter in yours.
"I need you by my side," he declared.
Your free hand gently wiped the tears from his cheeks, his lids closing.
"I will be by your side," you whispered, "I will protect you."
He breathed in gently, his eyes meeting yours again.
"From now on, everywhere I'll go, you'll go with me," he concluded, and you squeezed his hand in yours again.
"I'll go with you," you agreed, wiping the last tear from your cheek, the salts of your two cries combining on the back of your hand like an oath.
Miguel had recovered well. At first he'd inevitably flinched at the fact that he'd let everything be controlled by someone other than himself, but in the end he'd let it slide.
You came to visit him every day, not only to make your report but also simply to spend time with him. You always brought him empanadas from the cafeteria, knowing how much he loved them. It has to be said that if there was one thing you could often bribe Miguel on, it was empanadas. That and maybe stroking his hair...
When he finally came out of the infirmary, a tiny celebration was held. He didn't like the idea at all, but you knew deep down that the intention behind it warmed his heart.
Life went back to what it used to be, with of course a slight change that surprised everyone.
As agreed, wherever he went, you went. Every spiderperson in the Society had obviously noticed the sudden change. From one day to the next, Miguel couldn't go anywhere without you by his side.
You went on walks with him in the park, you would always eat with him at the cafeteria, you were in his office whenever he was, and it felt to most spiders now that you two would eternally be inseparable.
The time finally came for Miguel to go on a mission, where you would work with him to catch the anomaly but above all to lend him your Spidersenses, which were working to the highest perfection.
The portal formed in front of you, Miguel tensing slightly. You put your hand on one of his shoulders and he turned to you.
"It's okay, I'm here" you remarked.
This simple fact lifted a weight from his shoulders as if by magic. He smiled at you before you put your mask on, his own mask pixelating on his face, and you stepped through the portal.
You reached a rooftop, the gate closing behind you. Silence fell and Miguel tensed. He had no idea where the danger might be coming from.
"Hey, look at me," you said simply.
He turned to you, still as uptight as ever.
"Just breath okay?"
He breathed in gently, relaxing his shoulders as he listened, a little more reassured by your simple presence.
You waited patiently, not moving an inch. And what if you couldn't feel certain sensations either?
But he had nothing to worry about, because you immediately took him by the arm and drew him against the wall of the roof exit, pressing your body against his as next to you a kind of big multicoloured puddle burst violently onto the ground right where you previously were.
He was breathing heavily, his back pressed against the wall, while you were as calm as when you had arrived. His head turned towards yours, your two masked faces immensely close.
"I meant it when I said I would protect you."
He chuckled.
Wherever you go, I'll go with you.
#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#mads' requests ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara one shot#miguel o'hara across the spiderverse#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#atsv miguel#miguel atsv#atsv#atsv x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel spiderverse
479 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
jesterliesworld
PerthLay Trash #NaYoParty
cerebrosurgeon
〔all of our thoughts collide〕
lunaticaxx
luna
meinemannersockenjedentag
Tägliche Posts von meine Socken
j-restlessgeek
j-restlessgeek