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slytherinslut0 · 8 months

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TOM RIDDLE. | Tighter Than A Noose

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Good Sex, Praise Kink, Fingering, Oral Sex, Standing Sex, Edging, Teasing,

A/N: Yes. Yes I would throw myself in front of a bus for this man.

You were busy studying at the desk in your boyfriends dorm, your mind struggling to stay focused on the task at hand, when a sudden creaking sound broke the concentrated silence. You looked up to see Tom, water droplets glistening on his bare chest, striding out of the shower while clad only in a tantalizingly low-slung towel.

Your breath got caught in your throat as his piercing eyes met yours; a devilish, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He sauntered toward you, his body exuding confidence and magnetism, a sight that effortlessly lured your attention away from your book without notice.

"What's the matter, princess?" he purred, his voice dripping with seduction. "Am I distracting you?"

His words wrapped around you like a silken web, ensnaring your senses and leaving you yearning for his touch. Unable to tear your gaze away, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. The mere sight of him, his sculpted physique and enticing presence, stirred a fire within you that refused to be ignored.

As he stopped beside your chair, he reached out, gliding his fingers along the contour of your jaw, tracing a line down your neck. You shivered with delight as his cool touch sent goosebumps crawling over your skin.

"A little..." you teased, your voice a mere breath in the air. "How am I supposed to focus when you come out here looking like that?"

"Mm." He leaned closer, his mouth grazing your earlobe as he whispered, "why don't you take a little break? You've been working so hard..."

Your lids fluttered, fingers gripping your book with force. "I suppose a quick break wouldn't hurt..."

As you gave in to the tempting proposition, a mischievous glint danced in Tom Riddle's eyes. He smirked victoriously, pleased with your surrender.

"Finally," he murmured, his voice heavy with anticipation. His hand reached out to grasp your chin and drag your gaze up to meet his. "Stand up for me, princess."

You quickly rose from your chair, eager to please him--eager for his touch. As soon as you stood, his large hands wrapped around your waist, pulling your ass in tight against his front, pushing the front of your thighs against the edge of the desk.

"You look so fucking sexy," his grip on your waist tightened, his breath washing warm over your skin. "You know I love watching you study...watching your brain work...you're so smart, my girl...I'd love to show you just how much that determination of yours turns me on."

His fingers trailed down to the hem of your skirt, teasingly inching it up higher. Your breath hitched as they reached your ass, massaging it firmly before moving down your thighs. The sensation sent shivers through your body, making your heart race with desire.

"Tom..." you mewled, pulsing for his touch. "Please..."

Tom's hands moved with impatient urgency, pushing you over the desk and drawing a shocked gasp from your lips at his newfound force. His touch was firm and possessive, showing you that he always takes what he wants without hesitation. He knocked your legs apart further with his knee, and you could feel his fingers teasing at your folds through your panties, rubbing and pressing playfully.

"You're already so wet for me," he murmured huskily, "fuck, you're such a good girl...so eager..."

You gripped the desk so hard your knuckles turned pale, and Tom hummed, his breath hot against your neck as he shifted your panties to the side and slowly slid his fingers between your folds.

"Oh, Gods..."

Tom groaned, deep in his chest, thrusting his first two fingers inside your dripping heat, curling them inside you expertly--playing your body like an instrument as he drove you wild with pleasure.

Your lids fluttered, his free hand gripping your hip with force. "You like that, don't you, pretty girl..." he murmured, the rasp of his voice driving you insane. "Being bent over and taken like this, while you're still wearing your little uniform skirt...fuck, it makes me hard just thinking about it..."

When his thumb brushed your clit, you moaned loudly, entire body jolting with pleasure. "Oh, Tom...fuck-"

In the midst of your ecstasy, Tom stopped all of his movements, and you nearly groaned in protest, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he kept them buried inside you. His free hand shifted to your chin, tilting your head slightly to meet his eyes as he looked at you with a quizzical expression, as if he just remembered something important.

His obsidian eyes bored into yours. Gaze focused. "You were studying for the potions exam, weren't you?"

You nodded, lips parted and brows furrowed in confusion. "I-I was..."

"Let's see how much you remember, shall we?" Tom said, his voice low and husky as he deftly continued to tease you. "I'll ensure all that hard work pays off..."

You parted your lips to question him, but he cut you off. "Let's start with an easy one..." his breath was hot on your face as he softly pressed his lips against yours. "What is the use of Asphodel in a potion, my love?"

You tried to focus as he resumed his ministrations, pumping his fingers inside of you, his pace quickening with each passing moment. Your mind struggled to stay on track as pleasure coursed through every part of your body--rendering your thoughts a near jumbled mass of bliss.

"I- it's used for the...strengthening solution..." you gasped, trying to keep up with his relentless teasing.

He smirked and his movements sped up, making it harder to focus.

"That's correct. But can you list all the ingredients needed for the Draft of Living Death ?" Tom's voice was deceptively calm as he spoke, but the underlying tone of dominance was unmistakable.

That fucking bastard.

As you tried to recall the ingredients, your hips involuntarily bucked against his fingers, your clit screaming for attention. Tom seemed to take pleasure in this reaction, a smug grin spreading across his beautiful fucking face.

"Come now, darling. You know the answer...I won't let you cum until you prove it."

With a pout, you strained to remember the ingredients. Fighting the building urge to entirely unravel before him, fighting against the pleasure rolling through your limbs as you silently worked to collect yourself.

"Mmm, I-I think it's...powdered root of Asphodel mixed with an infusion of wormwood-ah-and t-then it needs to be simmered for about six hours." You paused, squirming through your bliss, feeling the tightness building within you with every passing second. "After that, just add some Valerian root and a bit of sopophorous bean juice."

Tom almost immediately nodded in approval, grin widening with sheer proudness; his long fingers slowing down their movements. You were so fucking close to the edge, but it was clear he wasn't finished with you yet.

"Good job, my girl..." he purred. "Now, tell me what happens if you add too much sopophorous bean juice."

The desire and pleasure were making it nearly fucking impossible to concentrate. You tried to think, tried to wrack your brain for the information, but the building pleasure was getting to you--making your body vibrate with pulsing, unabashed need. Tom noticed your struggle and smirked knowingly, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Come on, pretty girl...don't disappoint me now..." he trailed his fingers from his free hand along your inner thigh, the frustration and desire mixing within you, fueling your determination to answer him.

Through gritted teeth, you managed to recall the answer. "If too much sopophorous bean juice is added, it can cause a prolonged sleep or even a coma-like state in the drinker."

Tom's grin widened, realizing that you've answered correctly. "Well done, my little plaything..." he purred, swiping his thumb over your clit again. "Fuck, you make me so fucking proud...just one more, baby..."

Suddenly, he increased the pace of his fingers, plunging them deep inside you and hitting all the right spots. The pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, and there was no fucking way in hell you could hold it back for even a second longer. But just as you were about to reach the peak, Tom slowed his pace down once again, denying you release. When you groaned in protest, your head falling back in frustration, he shushed you, pressing his lips against your ear.

"Keep being a good girl for me...if you get this right I will give you what you want, my love..." he purred, free hand caressing your thigh. "What is the purpose of using unicorn hair as a potion ingredient?"

You groaned in both frustration and pleasure, feeling your body quivering with need as he thrust his long fingers deep inside you. Despite the intense sensations, you were able to concentrate just enough to answer his question.

"Unicorn hair is used in potions to neutralize poisons, purify the drinking water or to bring about magical healing," you said, panting heavily.

Tom nods in approval, the hunger evident in his eyes. "Mmm, very good," he purred. "Fuck...I could watch you study all day if it meant getting to do this..."

Without warning, he thrust his fingers in and out of you with lightning-fast speed, thumb rubbing harsh circles over your clit, sending you over the edge with a scream of ecstasy in a matter of seconds. You clenched around his fingers, pussy milking them as he worked you through your climax, lips attacking your neck as you moaned and squirmed against him. As you came down from your high, Tom pulled his fingers out of you and brought them up to your lips; shoving them past your teeth.

"Taste yourself off of me," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re always so responsive...it's no wonder I can't keep my fucking hands off of you."

He ripped his fingers from your mouth and pulled you closer, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he pressed his body against yours. You could feel the hardness of his erection pressing against your thigh, and just the fucking thought of what was about to happen made you even wetter. You needed him in ways unimaginable, you needed him in ways your own brain couldn't comprehend.

"Tom..." you murmured, head falling back as his teeth grazed your pulse. "Please, fuck me, fuck-I need you..."

Tom smirked at your desperate plea, his eyes filled with an intoxicating mixture of amusement and hunger. He knew exactly how to play with your desires, how to manipulate you into begging for him; into becoming nothing more than a drooling, pathetic mess at his feet.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered with a low, seductive tone, "not so fast, princess...I enjoy seeing you squirm with need...I want you to crave me, to fucking ache for my touch."

His fingers trailed teasingly up your inner thigh, lingering just inches away from where you wanted him the most. The anticipation continued to build, the ache within you growing stronger by the second.

It was almost unbearable. "Tom..."

"Tell me," he breathed against your skin, his voice a tantalizing whisper, fingers brushing over your clit. "What would you do to have me inside you right now? How far would you go to satisfy that insatiable little cunt of yours, hm?"

He thrust a finger back inside your aching pussy and your lungs stalled. Your pulse quickened. "Oh...anything...fuck-I'd do anything you wanted..."

Tom raised an eyebrow as he watched you squirm in pleasure beneath his touch, his eyes darkened with lust. "Do you really mean that, princess?" " he murmured, his fingers slipping in and out of you with ease. "You know I could make you do unspeakable things.."

You nodded frantically, gasping as pleasure washed over you in waves, your need for him multiplying by the trillions. "Anything, fuck-" you whispered, your voice strained with desire. "I'm yours."

Tom pulled his fingers from you, gripping your hips and pressing himself against you, a low groan leaving his chest as he did. You could feel his desperate bulge pressing against your ass, your cunt clenching in acknowledgment of it.

"Prove it," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Show me that you're mine."

From over your shoulder you met his gaze, your own eyes full of lust and desperation. You wanted to simply beg him to just fucking get inside you, but you knew in his world actions always said more than words. The desire in your chest was too strong to resist, and so you dropped to your knees before him--trembling hands instantly reaching for his towel and tugging it off his perfectly sculpted body, freeing his long, hard length from its confines.

Tom groaned as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. "Take me in your mouth, princess..." it was a command, a gentle but stern command. "That's it, just like that..."

His hands tangled in your hair, gripping your soft between his fingers strands with commanding force. You swallowed his length until the tip hit the back of your throat, licking and sucking on him with selfless abandon. You wanted him to feel good--you wanted him to feel fucking desired--you could only hope this returned him even the smallest percentage of the pleasure he's made you feel, time and time again. He groaned with pleasure, thrusting into your mouth with increasing urgency, until he stopped you abruptly, tugging you back up to your feet by the hold on your hair.

As he bent you back over his desk, you felt his head teasing your slick slit, coating his throbbing length in your juices. You clenched in anticipation; his hand snaking around your throat and tightening his grip; pulling you back against his shoulder as he teased you with slow, false thrusts.

"This what you want, my little slut? Hm?" He purred, lips pressed again your ear. "You want me inside that pretty wet cunt?"

Through his grip on your throat, you nodded. "Yes...please..."

He groaned, bending you over slightly, releasing the hold on your throat. "Fuck, princess..I love the way you beg for me..." he murmured, pressing the head of his cock inside you before pulling out. "Do it again."

You wailed in respite. "Please, Tom! Please...take me..."

"Mm." He hummed. "Good girl..."

His hands shifted to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he pushed his throbbing cock inside you, your walls swallowing him to the hilt and pulsing around him as he paused there; letting you adjust. You were already a moaning mess, your legs shaking and your eyes rolling back as he slowly pulled out before thrusting back in again, and again, and again; the pace shifting, intensity increasing with every single one.

The desk shook, slamming against the wall as he pounded into you without mercy, his hips slapping against your ass with a deliciously rough rhythm.

"Shit-you feel so good..." he growled from behind you, his hot breath tickling the back of your neck. "You were made for this, you were made for me to fuck senseless, weren't you slut?"

His words only drove you wilder, adding to the unfathomable pleasure as he slammed into you with a relentless intensity. You couldn't help but to moan and whimper, completely lost in the sensations coursing through you.

"Fuck...I am..." you choked through your gasps of pleasure. "Only for you."

He groaned, fucking you deeper, his hips picking up speed--you squealed as his fingers snuck around your hip and found your clit; the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room, punctuated by your wanton gasps and his husky grunts of pleasure.

"That's right, princess..." he groaned. "You're fucking mine. Only mine."

You nodded, unable to speak another single word into existence as pleasure suffuses every inch of your being. Tom's fingers increase their speed on your clit, his hips slamming against your ass with every single thrust, the power of his body utterly consuming your entirety. As he brought you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes rolled back, fingers gripping the desk so hard your knuckles cracked; your jaw falling open in incomprehensible bliss.

"Oh-Tom-fuck!"

You writhed, legs shaking, vision fading as the pleasure wracked your body; and you're left teetering dangerously fucking close to the edge.

"That's it, baby..." he purred. "Cum for me."

You wailed, and with one final explosive thrust; one more steady swirl over your clit; he brought you tumbling over the edge, your entire body convulsing with pleasure. If it wasn't for the power of Tom's body behind you, you were certain you'd be a pile of limbs on the floor; your orgasm wracking through every ounce of your existence.

"Shit-" he hissed through grit teeth. "You're tighter than a fucking noose, princess, fuck-"

As much as he tried to hold off his release, it was clearly useless, and with only a few more deep; brain-shattering thrusts he followed after you, his body convulsing with release as he spilled himself inside of your pussy.

He kept himself buried inside you for a moment, tilting your head to the side to capture your lips with his; you melted into his mouth, his hands coming up to cup your breasts as he held you against his chest.

"You're perfect, baby..." he purred against your lips. "And all mine."

"All yours." You breathed, smiling.

#harry potter #tomriddle smut #tom riddle #tomriddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x yn #tomriddlesmut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #tomriddle x reader #tomriddle x you

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astraystayyh · 6 months

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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.”

749 notes · View notes

elsfleur · 1 year

Text

⋆·˚ ༘ * COOL ABOUT IT

ellie williams x reader

summary: it was an odd thing to enjoy your work, but with a passion for music and a fling with your coworker the days at the record store seemed bright, until of course you meet her girlfriend.

content warning: use of substances like weed, somewhat established relationship, mentions of cheating, mentions of nsfw content, somewhat angsty

word count: 1,432 and part two found here

📼 ʾ ⠀

the employee’s room smelled perpetually of weed and sandalwood cologne in her grace, and you watched as the girl you’ve grown to adore pressed down your herbs along her pot with a concerned expression at the jasmines and chamomile tainting her trusted old smoke, eyebrows furrowed.

“this is the girliest shit i’ve ever rolled in my life”

“shut the fuck up, williams” you reprimended, not missing the way her iris sparkled with amusement, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips displaying the softest of creases by her cheek.

ellie rolled her eyes before finally turning them to take you in, she had grown accustomed to mapping you out in her head as one would dissect a drawing, memorising the curves and angles effortlessly until your features sneaked their way into her mindless sketching, ripping out the pages in embarrassment. the stars were back beneath her lids as she maintained eye contact while licking on the silk paper painfully slowly, a pathetic tease.

“pretty girls first” she motioned you the blunt and leaned back on the couch to grab your hidden lighter by the r&b records’ archives, the hem of her shirt lifting up with the movement to expose pale skin begging to be painted red in suction, though you brushed away the filthy thoughts as to not feed into her ego, placing the silk between your lips as she lit it up for you, inhaling floral and exhaling smoke directly at her face, watching her pretty features get fogged away.

“it’s medicinal, just so you know” you defended the frilly choices “supposed to help with anxiety and sleep”

“yes, doctor!” she saluted taking the blunt from between your fingers and inhaling herself, letting go towards the ceiling “nothing like taking a good sleeping agent in the middle of a work shift, our boss must be so proud”

you fell into a comfortable rhythm of silence, passing the silk back and forth until it inevitably burned your fingers to a halt. ellie was staring again, this time against her own will. she enjoyed the way you puckered up and your cheeks flushed at the drug effect, watching your eyes get glossy and your attitude brighter, enjoyed your hands and calluses grabbing on to the very last inch possibly smoked of the substance, your hair and its natural cascade, your twitchy nose to the scent. she had sketched you eight times the night before without real attempt, feeling as though trapped by a love curse at your sight, her brain escaped to you like a boat finding lighthouse.

“why are you all the way over there” she questioned your distance on the couch, though barely even half a metre away, you knew instinctively what game she was playing with the innocent phrase.

“i told you i am not kissing you again until you play something for me, it is already betrayal enough you have heard me boast about how i want the new guitar we’re selling to learn without telling me you could play it”

“i’m really not that good”

“does it genuinely look like i care?”

she thought for a second before giving in with a sigh, heading out the door towards the empty store’s front and carrying back the black dyed instrument with her onto the seating, significantly closing the previous gap between you. ellie found your anticipating gaze once more, the ghost of a smile hovering over her lips so softly it was barely recognizable though you both knew, silently. her tattooed arm made its way to the front of the guitar, playing on the chords to confirm tuning before she fully began playing to you, a love song being quietly hummed under her breath just enough for you to make out certain words.

once finished, her hands lightly trembled in anxiety before gathering up courage to look at you, enthralled by her performance in a way the jokes you anticipated making and snarky retorts dissipated into thin air, mouth agape and too slow to notice her ego boost at your sight.

“you want me so bad right now” she smirked earning a playful slap to the arm in response that evoked melodic laughter to echo through the whole room loudly.

“fuck you” you replied before shutting her up with a kiss, soft lips pressed against her chapped ones. she moved the guitar away as best she could without breaking your contact, letting it drop on the carpet with a surprisingly loud bang that was anyhow disregarded as she snaked her arms over your waist pulling you to her lap. you grazed your teeth over her bottom lip before pulling it softly, her low whimper making it known who truly controlled the situation though her fingertips rose under your t-shirt to the clasp of your bra with familiar ease. you chuckled into the kiss at her desperation.

“who wants who so bad again?” you teased in a whisper, taking her palm into your own and pulling it up to cup your breast, your moans mixing into each other's at the new sensation.

“please” she begged doe-eyed and you nodded raising your arms up to help her remove it and toss it aside before working her tongue down your neck and onto your nipples, she sucked so forcefully you felt your eyes roll back while her left hand grabbed your other neglected breast before switching focuses.

you faintly heard the ringing of bells beneath the heavy breathing that filled the room and pushed ellie’s head away from your body, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted at your reaction in a way that sent shivers up your spine “there’s a customer” you explained letting loose of her grip and searching around for your clothes.

“i’ll take it it’s fine, at least i’m dressed” she joked standing up and going into the main room with a vocally cleared throat and smoothed out uniform.

minutes passed and ellie still wasn’t back, that’s when you made your way towards the entrance as well and watched as a flustered ellie insisted a customer go home. you watched the interaction unnoticed as long as you could, but the black haired girl soon caught on to your staring and smiled apologetically as a greeting, causing ellie to turn around and face you with a gulp.

“is… everything okay here?” you questioned.

“hi! i’m cat, ellie’s girlfriend” the customer introduced herself with an extended hand you did not take as you stared between her and the girl you’ve been having an affair with for the last six months and you have grown to consider a friend, fuck, more than that, so much more than that. her silence to the interaction hit you like a bullet.

“oh i’m sorry, how stupid” you faked a smile shaking her hand “i didn’t know ellie had a girlfriend, is that new?”

“well if you think three years is new” the girl giggled.

“yeah, no, we’re not really uh close so i wouldn’t know, congratulations on three years or something”

“cat, shouldn’t you be getting home? we’re about to close up here” ellie interrupted and the girl though furrowing her brows nodded before pressing a kiss to her lips and wishing you both an uncomfortable goodbye before skipping out the store, wind blowing through it with the opened door that made you as cold as you felt interrupting ellie’s attempt at a sentence.

“it’s cool” you said with your hand up, stopping her words until you fully watched cat’s silhouette be far away enough from the store “i was just a fuck right? not enough to ruin a three year relationship over, i won’t tell, anyways shift’s over so”

“angel, listen-“

“don’t fucking call me that?” you spat out unnerved “whatever this was ellie, or actually scratch that–, i’m sorry i apologise for thinking this was something when it clearly isn’t now you can stop with the pet names and whatever other antiques you’re thinking of pulling and save them for your girlfriend”

you rushed to the employee’s room, tripped on the guitar and cursed out loud your pain while jumping on the single good foot you now had towards your backpack, ready to leave. you do not listen to a word ellie says while walking out, you do not wait nor do you turn around. you do not see the tears that spill from her eyes like open faucets, the sob that stuck to her throat weighing down like a rock, the four words that came out way too late in a whisper not even the records could hear: but i love you.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #ellie x fem reader #lesbian #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #elsfleur

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himbofan · 2 years

Text

shy shiratorizawa manager

thank you lovely anon for this request!! sorry it took so long i got carried away lol

no beta read we die like daichi

cw: gn reader, manager reader, reader is shorter than ushijima, fluff

characters: most of shiratorizawa's starting lineup

word count: 1k

Coach Washijou was intimidating in a manner disproportionate to his size, and simply put, he terrified you. He had already dealt with past managers only joining the team to flirt with team members, so he was even more tense than usual. It felt like every move was being watched and calculated to make sure you were adequate enough to manage the great Shiratorizawa volleyball team.

However, the coach was only one of the scary obstacles you had to face. The captain was another scary wall looming over you, despite him never saying anything to you besides ‘Thanks’ and ‘Hello’. The rest of the team was plenty intimidating as well, with most of them towering over you effortlessly.

You made it a point to remain as stoic and professional as possible during practice to seem cool and calculating, never wanting to run the risk that you might be perceived as childish. Tendou often tried to poke at you with remarks and jokes, trying to lighten your serious demeanor. Although you appreciated his attempts, you simply smiled politely and continued on your way.

“What’s their deal? Am I getting worse at jokes or something?” Tendou chuckled, leaning against the scoreboard casually.

Leon took a swig of his water bottle before responding, “Nah I don’t think that’s it, they’re probably just shy, I mean we’re not the friendliest looking bunch.” his gaze trailed over to where you were hastily picking up volleyballs around the gym.

Semi came up from behind Leon and slapped a hand on Tendou’s shoulder. “You’ll get a reaction soon enough, positive or otherwise.”

The redhead scoffed and shook his head, “What kind of encouragement is that..”

Their conversation was cut short by the coach’s booming voice yelling your name.

The boys watched curiously as you scurried quickly across the gym to the small man. “Yes, sir?”

“I have some paperwork I need to finish so I’ll be in my office, just start cleaning up if I don’t come back by the end of practice.” he stated gruffly as he rose from the bench.

You bowed as he turned towards the door and made his way out, silently relieved that you would get a break from his stern gaze. The team was instructed to practice serves for the rest of the day by the other coaches.

You took a deep sigh and closed your eyes. It was as if a hot spotlight that had been searing you for the whole day suddenly turned off.

The team practiced their serves in two groups, taking turns due to the sheer number of members. You passed out water bottles to the group currently taking a break, which included the starting lineup players.

Tendou spotted his window of opportunity, sauntering over to you with a pun brewing in his head.

“(l/n)!”

You turned to see the middle blocker jogging over to you with a grin on his face. Subtly straightening your back to look more professional, you responded “Yes? Did you need something?”

Tendou shook his head, “Nah, just wanted to chat.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Oh, um okay.”

He chuckled at your shy demeanor, “Anyway, I have a joke for you; when did the-”

He failed to finish his sentence before being slammed in the back of the head with a stray serve, leaving Tendou bent over in pain with his hands on his head.

A terrified looking first year stood trembling on the other side of the court while his friends were trying to hold back from cackling.

Tendou snapped up with a hand covering the back of his head, violently turning around to see who the culprit was. “Oi! Whoever did that is gonna pay!” he snapped.

You stood bewildered for a second before bursting out into uncontrollable laughter, hands moving to cover your mouth as you doubled over.

The third year turned back to you with a surprised look on his face, bewitched by your full smile and laughter. In fact, the whole team

You noticed he was staring and quickly started panicking, “I’m so so sorry for laughing, it just surprised me and-”

He cut you off, waving his hand with a smile, “No no it’s fine I’m not upset at you at all! But I can’t lie, that made me totally forget the joke.”

You giggled, and Tendou swore his heart skipped a beat when he saw your smile.

The rest of the team began to clamor around the redhead, making sure he was fine before continuing practice.

“Damn, our manager actually has emotions.” Semi stated with his eyebrows raised.

Leon lightly elbowed him in the ribs, “Don’t be rude, I told you they’re just shy.”

They looked over to see you handing a water bottle to Goshiki with a warm smile while he sputtered out “thank you” with a reddened face.

Shirabu rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at the first year’s reaction, “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

Tendou smirked, “Yeah right, I saw your water bottle totally miss your mouth ‘cause you were staring so hard.”

The setter was unable to retort, the tips of his ears growing red at the middle blocker’s observation.

Meanwhile on the other side of the gym, you were finishing passing out water bottles to the team, ending with the captain. Handing off the drink to the intimidating ace, you immediately turned to leave before being interrupted by a call of your name. “(l/n).”

You turned with wide eyes, “Yes?”

Ushijima looked down at you with piercing hazel eyes as he spoke in a slightly (like, extremely subtly) softer tone. “You look good when you’re smiling.”

You felt heat growing across your face as you desperately tried to find a response, while the tall boy simply walked away.

From then on, you allowed your smile to slip out a little more around the team. Tendou was very appreciative of your newfound expressiveness, trying to make you laugh all the time to see that pretty smile. Everyone already liked you but now they love you, their precious manager. <3

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #my work #sfw #gn reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #tendou x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x gender neutral reader #goshiki x reader #shirabu x reader #requests

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thetxtdevil · 10 days

Text

Royal Guard pt. 1

Taehyun x Reader

Inspired by the author @page-matcha

Royal!fem!reader touching herself late at night in her personal chambers while guard!taehyun stands outside her door at his post hearing every single noise you let out. But he's forced to stay outside and stay in his spot.

this was just so good that i had to write something.

content: smutty, royal!fem!reader, guard!taehyun, female masturbation, slight perv tae, my grammar and spelling has left the building a long time ago…

word count: 1.5k

you were the most exquisite maiden of the palace. effortlessly wearing the tightest corset with the most intricate embroidery and gowns that swayed with every move you made. you had people's heads turning, girls wanted to be you, men wanted you. being the kingdom's only princess was the cherry on top. however, with the outmost beauty you had, it left people astonished with your lack of husband even lack of courting.

spending time with your friends in the garden next to the palace. they were chatty and you found it entertaining.

"ooo he's cute." one of your friends points out a gentlemen.

the others giggle and agree while you smile at him but ignore the opportunity.

"ugh come on y/n you have to be interested in someone"

"you cannot force love it just has to happen" you say calmly as your eye up a batch of tulips.

your friends roll their eyes and they continue to look at bachelors. you were pretty but you were also smart. you are not going to settle with a simple man you had to find the perfect one. as a princess you were also a romantic and needed some romance in your life.

having enough of the hot sun and your loud friends you retire to the castle. a few maids surround you, one giving you water to drink, the other patting down a cool towel on you. your eye then catches a familiar face, a guard that the queen, your mother, tends to trust the most. he looked like he had a mission to get somewhere and wanting to know where your mother is you rushed to him after thanking the maids. you pick up your floor length gown so you could speed walk to the guard.

"excuse me"

the guard instantly stops and turns to you.

"yes you majesty"

surprised by his quickness and his great features you struggle to remember what you were about to ask.

"if you're wondering about the queen's whereabouts she is in the library, please don't mind my assumptions"

you smile lightly to him "i was wondering that"

"i was about to go there, would you like me to escort you?" the guard says while sticking his arm out for you to hold onto

"yes, i would like that very much" you smile at him again "and remind me your name"

"i am lieutenant general taehyun your majesty"

as you both arrive the library taehyun opens the door for you. you thank him before you were greeted by your queen mother's presence. you walk towards her.

"nice to see my beautiful tulip, grab a book a read with me"

you gladly do as she says and start looking for a novel. the cathedral windows light up the tall shelves of books, twirling around you settle on one area. looking closely at the titles of the books, you set your eye on one. reaching up to grab it you find your height betrays you. next thing you know a hand reaches high than yours to grab the spine of the book.

you look over at your hero which turns out to be taehyun. "thank you"

"you're welcome princess, my i say you picked a good book"

"that's good to hear, it look interesting"

you look up at the man who's looking at you with such warmth. you can't help but get lost in his big brown eyes. butterflies start to flutter in your stomach. you mother glances from her book to see you and her trusted guard. she smirks to herself keeping her thoughts to self and continues reading.

taehyun's puppy eyes suddenly turn into a stone-cold gaze as he realizes he was staring at the princess for an inappropriate amount of time.

"enjoy your book my princess" he says bowing to you

you head towards the lounge chairs you mother was laying on. every now and then you would glance at the guard feeling those butterflies again.

"i have an event in the palace tonight, would you like to join?"

you look over at your mother sighing. you go to so many events as your duty being a princess it can get tiring.

"I would like to politely decline"

besides your mind had other things to do tonight. you mother softly pinches your cheek as she smiles at you accepting your decline.

---

the sun was setting from your library day with your queen mother. you have parted ways a long time ago to do your own things. your mother was looking over what has already been prepared for the event of the night. as she straighten out the fabrics upon the table an idea pops into her head.

raising her hand for a guard to come she says "can you bring lieutenant general taehyun to me"

taehyun was outside the palace yard looking over the horses, testing their fitness and skills. he notices a fellow guard rushing to him.

"the queen summons thee"

guard taehyun rushes through the dimly lit castle halls. he finally gets to the ballroom being used tonight. the queen was talking to the maids and butler as she gets a glimpse of the guard.

"your highness"

"hello taehyun, I have an assignment for you tonight"

"yes your highness, anything I will do for you"

"can you be princess y/n's chamber guard tonight?"

taehyun gulps, he was about to question his presense on the event but decides to settle the conversation.

"will do, your highness" he bows and starts towards your chamer.

---

as he arrives the current guard informs him that you had just finished your bath. taehyun then tells the guard that their duty is now to look over the ballroom. your chamber doors are open wide revealing to taehyun the beautiful architecture of your room. wide windows that look over the kingdom one side and a big lake on the other side. your bed was in the middle with purple silk sheets and pastel color drapes encapsulating it.

you walk out with a towel in your hand drying your hair. you gasp as you see a man in your room but relax when you see it was the very handsome guard taehyun.

"sorry to scare you, your majesty, i am your guard tonight"

"oh" you say shyly

"is there something wrong?"

"no, i was just hoping to have alone time tonight"

"do not worry about me your majesty i will be just outside your chamber doors

you nod at him with a small smile. taehyun stares at you, admiring the silk slip you're wearing that matched your bedding. he straighten his posture when he caught himself glancing at the curves of your breasts. he bows to you and walks outside the chamber hiding from your sight but still within range.

you blush at the guards lingering gazes. once he was out of sight you threw your towel and fall down on your bed. you felt relaxed not having to worry about being a proper princess at the moment. fully getting into bed you open your book and start reading it, but as you're reading the feeling of butterflies keep filling your stomach. you can't help but imagine guard taehyun's handsome features being close to you again. letting those big veiny hands roam your pristine body.

you let your hand caress your breast you lean your head back on your plush pillows. your book forgotten, you let your hand fill up your sore breast from the very tight corset making a few soft sighs leave your lips. your legs were rubbing together trying to create friction on your soaking heat. you slide your dominate hand down to your already bare cunt. middle finger slipping against your folds making you sigh once more.

taehyun was a vigilant guard watching over every atom outside your personal chamber, but then he hears a small noise. he dismisses the fact until he hears it again, he walks across the rooms door trying to see if anyone is around the corner, but there was no one. as he gets back to his post he glances into your room. there he sees the most unholy sight of your pretty thighs spread apart showing off your fucked out face, your breasts bouncing from you fucking yourself with your fingers.

it takes a lot out of tae to stop himself from going into your chambers and replacing your small digits with his. with his greatest strength he goes back to his guarding spot.

there he stands there listening to every moan, whine, and whimper coming out of your pretty lips.

there he stands getting uncomfortably hard against his suit. forced to stay outside, forced to stay loyal and protective.

read -> pt. 2

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil + @page-matcha

#txt imagines #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt thoughts #txt devil #taehyun smut #txt x reader #txt x y/n #txt x you #taehyun x y/n #taehyun x reader #taehyun x you #taehyun scenarios #kang taehyun

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ponett · 1 year

Text

I have now finally seen the Mario movie. It was Pretty Good. Here are my wordy thoughts on it. (I am going to spoil the entire movie. Duh.)

In many ways, the Mario movie does what I wish the first Sonic movie had done. They just took the characters and the premise and the world from the games, and made it a straightforward animated adventure movie. It's bright and colorful and remixes things JUST enough to include fun elements from multiple games, and it doesn't make Mario get adopted by James Marsden or whatever. It even has the music!

That's all you really need, right? Right...?

I'll get this out of the way up front. Chris Pratt was fine. He's fine

If anything, it really feels like they did the movie a disservice by letting us hear so little of the Mario voice in the previews. It took one scene for Pratt to disappear into the role for me. It was totally fine. If anything, I found Charlie Day's normal voice coming out of Luigi WAY more distracting, even if I did like him in the role.

Everyone else was pretty good, for the most part. Jack Black was obviously very good as Bowser, but I'm biased. Seth Rogen does the Seth Rogen laughs as Donkey Kong, but I thought DK was fun, too. (I liked his little rivalry with Mario where he was just constantly giving him shit.) The only casting choice I truly hated was Fred Armisen as Cranky Kong. I hated every line that came out of his mouth. He sounds atrocious. Just the worst. I swear to fucking god if they do a DKC movie and we have to hear him for 90 minutes

I did think Peach was lacking, but that was on the script, not Anya Taylor-Joy's performance. It's cool to see Peach fight, but it's one of those all too common instances where the writers put so much effort into making the main girl kick ass and be an effortlessly confident girlboss that they forgot to give her an actual personality. Not that I'd point to Super Princess Peach and its mood swing superpowers as positive representation or anything, but there's a happy middle ground, surely. Shrek was 22 years ago, just having the princess do flying kung fu kicks isn't enough.

Okay. With the voices out of the way, let's talk about the big picture:

It's way better than the words "Illumination Mario movie" implied, and I mostly enjoyed my time with it. The spirit of Mario is there 100%. But I'd also describe it as "ruthlessly efficient."

This was perhaps the main complaint critics had, and they were absolutely right. People have responded to these totally average reviews with "Well, what did you expect? Shakespeare?! It's MARIO!!" Like, yes, I would prefer it if the movie I paid to see had writing that was good instead of bad. What a shocker. My issue isn't that it's not "high-brow" enough. The problem is that it feels mercenary. It feels like an editor went through and deleted almost every line of dialogue that isn't some form of exposition, at the expense of the pacing. Any scene that's not a montage or some sort of action is kept as short as they could make it, with barely any room for embellishment, character interaction, or anything other than the bare minimum word count to hit all the typical Save the Cat Hollywood screenwriting 101 story beats to the letter. There aren't even as many jokes as you might think (and the ones that are there are extremely hit or miss, including a lot of the slapstick with Mario himself).

Mario and Peach's little arc together in the front half of the film is probably the worst example of this pacing. Even having read reviews that complained about how fast Peach goes from meeting Mario (by her admission the first other human she's ever met) to deciding to train him as the new savior of the Mushroom Kingdom, I was SHOCKED at how fast it was. They don't even lampshade it.

Peach takes Mario straight into the big training sequence where he learns how to use mushrooms and jump over platforming obstacles. Peach is apparently already a hypercompetent platforming pro and a great fighter, so there's no clear reason why she's taking the time to train this random guy to be half as good as her when the world is in danger. Then they set off on their adventure, Toad joins them, and we get a VERY brief travel montage. It's about thirty seconds total - just long enough to give Peach a line about how she wants to protect this beautiful world of hers to try and give her some stakes. We get the genre-mandated nighttime campfire heart to heart, which is exactly long enough to have Mario say he misses Luigi and to have Peach give the two sentence summary of her origin story and not a second longer. Then they reach the Kongs, and their big journey is complete. (They barely interact for the rest of the movie.) So much of the movie is like this - always ready to get on to the next scene as soon as a new one starts.

I'm not criticizing the script because I expect The Super Mario Bros. Movie to be a prestige drama - although there are certainly halfhearted attempts at a dramatic arc. The stuff with Mario's family was a fun enough idea, but again, ruthless efficiency. We get one quick scene with them at the start to give Mario some pathos, because I guess Save the Cat said he's gotta have some pathos. And then Mario gets his dad's approval amidst the action of the final battle in Brooklyn to resolve his arc, just so the movie can end as quickly as possible once Bowser is defeated. (Despite now having the approval of their family and their community back in Brooklyn, Mario and Luigi move to the Mushroom Kingdom off-screen without a single word dedicated to this decision, because that's where they live in the games.)

Look. I am not comparing it to The Godfather. Don't give me that shit. I am not asking for an extra half hour to explore Mario and Luigi's childhood trauma. I am not asking for the complex inner workings of the Mushroom Kingdom monarchy. I know this is gonna be a basic Hero's Journey adventure for kids. It just feels like it's turning down so many opportunities to have a little fun with the characters, to let them interact and play off of each other, to let there be some adventure on this adventure. This is the first time we've gotten to see these characters interact with fully voiced dialogue in a very, very long time! "Yeah, it's not High Art, but it's FUN!" Stories are fun! Character interactions are fun! The script could be having so much more fun!! It is adamantly against making the Story parts of this story-driven movie any more Fun than they functionally need to be!!!

Mario, Peach, and Toad's journey to find the Kongs is shorter than the training montage that precedes it. After the opening, Bowser mostly just sits in his castle and waits for the third act to start. Luigi's there, too, but he only gets one scene with Bowser and then the movie mostly forgets he exists until the climax. He doesn't even get to try and sneak out of Bowser's castle and get up to hijinx. He's just there to be a motivation for Mario, so he sits in a cage for half the movie. It's the bare outline of a script with action scenes added in.

Aside from the fact that it's Jack Black singing as Bowser, I feel like this overly-efficient script might be part of the reason why the "Peaches" scene stands out so much. It's a moment that didn't strictly need to be there to keep the plot moving or to provide an action setpiece. It's not even a reference to another Mario thing. It's just a fun and memorable little character moment that's there for its own sake. That's what the movie needed more of. To stop and smell the roses more often. To play in the space.

To be clear, this isn't a unique problem with this movie. Critics have been noting for years that second acts are disappearing from big Hollywood movies in favor of the Act I plot setup and the Act III action, even though Act II is supposed to be where you get to explore your actual premise. And lots of animated movies give me this exact same vibe of being too "screenwriterly," or feeling like they had an executive breathing down their necks and demanding changes based on focus testing. But these common issues are why I come away mostly feeling like the movie is on the better end of "average," rather than totally blowing my mind. You have seen this movie many times before, just not with Mario in it.

And, of course, there's the music. The score by Brian Tyler based on various classic Mario and Donkey Kong tunes (frustratingly all attributed to Koji Kondo) is absolutely beautiful, but it's unfortunately frequently overshadowed by the licensed music. Everyone already complained about things like the use of Take On Me in place of a lovingly arranged DKC medley, but it feels illustrative of the tug of war the movie is caught in the middle of, between wanting to be a lavishly faithful Mario movie and wanting to be a generic tentpole animated adventure movie. Every single licensed song used is the most obvious, overused song they could have picked for the scene. It reeks of cynical executive meddling and it took me out of the movie every time.

But there really was a lot of care and love put into this movie - more than probably any other video game movie ever made, not that that's a high bar. I don't want to underplay that too much amidst all my complaints spurred by the absolutely insane response to the reviews.

Aside from the countless background references that people will be picking apart for years, touches like the Captain Toad tune playing in the background of Toad's introduction or the Mario Kart 8 menu music playing in the kart garage really help bring it to another level of authenticity. I also enjoyed seeing some more obscure Mario enemies that felt like they were picked more for being fun to animate than for being nostalgic and marketable. No matter how many times I sarcastically pointed to the screen and deadpanned "reference. reference." I am not immune to noticing these things and smiling. I am not immune to the DK Rap. These alone don't make the movie good, but it's nice to have a video game movie that feels like it was made by people who like video games.

Most importantly, the animation is great throughout. It's leaps and bounds ahead of other Illumination work, and it's the best the Mario cast has ever looked. They even made Donkey Kong handsome, somehow. They're all so squishy and expressive, and they move so fluidly - especially in the action scenes. I particularly liked the more kinetic ones like the aerial Banzai Bill chase and the Mario Kart sequence. Truly, the Mad Max-inspired car battle on Rainbow Road where Mario literally does the speedrun shortcut is this movie firing on all cylinders.

Other, more hand-to-hand fights nail the Popeye-esque vibe Mario should be going for. He's an underdog who gets the shit kicked out of him by bigger, stronger opponents until he gets his signature powerup and turns the tables on them. My favorite animation of all probably came from the use of Cat Mario to turn the tide in the DK fight. They had so much fun making Mario move like a cat. Again, it feels like a choice made because it'd be fun to animate rather than just a nostalgia move.

It's that animation and that attention to detail that carry the film, really. They elevate it from mediocrity into being a fun watch for a fan like me, albeit one I couldn't help but pick apart with Anthony as we watched it at home. I'm glad I saw it, but there's a lot of room to improve with the inevitable sequel. I hope they do. I can't deny that I had fun with the movie, but I hope next time that fun is partially because of the script instead of in spite of it.

Stray thoughts:

Overall, I would say I enjoyed the movie a lot more than Sonic 1, but probably not as much as Sonic 2. Not that these movies need to be pitted against each other.

I hated the Luma. I hated how hilarious they clearly thought the Luma was. They have the fucking Luma break the fourth wall to end the movie and start the credits. This is going to be a deep cut for fans of bad animated films, but the whole time I was just thinking of the little fish from Romeo & Juliet: Sealed With A Kiss who's just the director's kid saying random nonsense. You know I'm right

I rolled my eyes at the "our princess is in another castle" joke and several other jokes that would have been dated in a gamer webcomic 20 years ago but I guess they had to be there

How much of Brooklyn did Bowser's giant floating castle take out? We know 9/11 happened in this universe because the Freedom Tower is there, hasn't New York been through enough

I can't believe there's a Diskun easter egg

The dog is the most Illumination character design in the movie. It felt like it wandered on set from The Secret Life of Pets

Mario being a gamer and playing Kid Icarus of all things just made me remember this tweet:

Yes Anthony did get mad at me for being thirsty for Bowser

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abiiors · 5 months

Note

VEEEEEEE, i messaged you a few days ago that i was at work and thinking many thoughts of ross and i am once again at work and thinking many thoughts of our big beautiful man…

IN PARTICULAR idk why this is the scenario on my mind but ROSS HAVING A CRUSH ON YOU 🤭🤭🤭 and being sosoooooo smitten and soft for you…. (gnawing at my enclosure) like in this scenario i keep thinking about, it’s ross waiting for you to show up to like an intimate gathering of friends and you’ve met the boys and everyone before through charli cause that’s bestie (need her expeditiously) and you and ross really hit it off!! his head is full of nothing but thoughts of you!! so he’s clearly distracted until you get there then he’s all smiles and laughs and gentle touches (need to be institutionalized) but ALSO until you get there he’s all impatient and antsy asking charli if you let her know what time you’d be there but he asks it more than once so everyone starts teasing him for having a crush and then they tease him even more once you get there cause his whole demeanor changes i’m thinking many normal thoughts 😍😍😍

OH MY GODDDDDDD ANON YOU'RE IN MY HEAD BECAUSE THIS IS LITERALLY A SLEEP SCENARIO FOR ME!!!! i love the whole dynamic of having a crush so much, it's just SO. SOFT. 😭😭

yes, absolutely, you've been introduced to their friend group through charli because she is the fucking coolest and makes an offhanded comment like "hmmm you know what now that you're single, there's someone i wanna introduce you to" (that someone being ross obv) and you do absolutely hit it off but maybe you're both a bit shy at first to ask each other out immediately. like you like each other a lot and worry that the other might not feel the same but oh lordddd he is so down bad.

he's quite good at hiding it though, or maybe he thinks he's quite good at hiding it 🤭 like he won't go up to charli and directly ask her when you're coming. he'd instead just casually be like "oh, thought your friend was coming too, isn't she?" all cool and aloof as if he doesn't care, he's just 'curious' but charli instantly clocks it and smirks at him like "well, aren't you curious!!! she's running a bit late don't worry. she'll be here in 15, i just got a text from her."

and he spends the next 15 minutes trying not to hover near the door so he can be the one to open it once the doorbell rings. anyway, he isn't the one to open it--george is. and you go around saying hello to people and hugging both george and charli before you shyly wave at ross and fix your hair a bit (self conscious, it was kinda windy outside and ross finds it so adorable that your hair is all unruly and messy in a very effortlessly sexy way)

charli immediately hooks her arm with yours and pulls you towards ross and goes "so ross is really good at making cocktails and you were saying how you were gasping for a good martini!" and then she sorta pushes you both together towards her home bar and says "go ahead, use whatever you like"

while your back is turned she also throws a wink at ross who rolls his eyes and mouths a silent thank you (she really is a good wingwoman) and well turns out he is really good at making cocktails. you even comment on it and he's like "come on i'll teach you." so you hold the shaker in your hands a bit unsure until you feel him right behind you and so close that you can almost feel the heat radiating off him. his cologne is mouth-wateringly good and you fucking want to turn around and pull him into a kiss.

he is no better tho--his heart is fucking hammering in his chest because he really does fancy you so much and you're so fucking close to him. so he does the second best thing which is wrapping his hand over yours under the guise of teaching you how to make a martini.

your hand is so small and soft in his and it's like the first time he's ever properly touched you so he feels like he's fucking sixteen again. no one is paying attention to the martini, you're both just busy blushing and being idiots in general. <3

#✉️#i said no blurbs but this one was so fucking adorable i couldn't resist 😭#i love crushes #ross macdonald #♡: ross blurbs

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donaweasley · 1 year

Text

Everything is Fair in Love and War

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Plot:

You had met the twins at Hogwarts; you’re a year junior to them. Although you are best friends with both of them, you cannot help your heart’s inclination towards the younger one. During one of your stays at the Burrow, some feelings threaten to spill out but…will they?

Warnings: None, really. Just some high school mischief and fluff.

Read time: ~11 mins

Note: I've assumed that the reader is 14 years of age here but you're free to put in any number you like! And you can put the reader in any house you wish to!

Next Chapter: A Walk in the Dark

The three of them - Fred, George and (Y/N) - were hanging out in the twins' room. Ron and Ginny were confined to the kitchen by their mother, courtesy of the fight they had earlier in the morning.

"Freeedd!" Mrs. Weasley's sharp voice shot through the house.

Fred groaned while the other two chuckled, knowing very well that he was only one step away from being pushed into a chore.

"What is it, mum?" He asked in an almost equally loud voice.

"Come down here, I need you to put these dishes on the shelves."

"But Ron and Gin are already there!"

"They already have enough to do. Just get down before I shout myself sore."

"I'm keeping (Y/N) company! She's our guest."

"One of you would be enough to keep her company for a while. Now get down here before I confiscate your broom!"

The last three words finally urged Fred to move towards the door. George and (Y/N) sniggered only to receive a death glare from him before he wearily walked out.

"See, told you I'm mum's favourite twin", George smirked, and plopped down on the vacant space that Fred had left beside her.

"Ha ha ha. Yes, I can see that everyday."

"Do I smell sarcasm?"

"Do you?" She sniffed the air. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Huh! Whatever you say, darling, I know I'm the favourite one. And not just for mum." With the last word he leaned in slightly, and playfully kicked her leg while giving a smug look.

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm up because no matter how much she denied, he was right. He was definitely her favourite twin, too. But the questions that clouded her mind were, "Does he know that I have a crush on him? Shit!! How? Am I that obvious?"

If he knew, there would have been nothing more embarrassing and painful to be teased by both brothers only to eventually face rejection.

No. Not happening!

She mustered her courage, gathered all her emotions that were scattered around George Weasley, and decided to play cool.

To push her rising discomfort away, she kicked him back. Lightly.

"In your dreams, Weasley!" (Y/N) tried to sound vain but facepalmed herself mentally when the words sounded pretty shy.

Idiot me!

George simply laughed and kicked her again. This went on to and fro for a while until he accidentally hit a little hard.

"Aah!" She shouted and tried to kick him harder but George had much quicker reflexes than she’d probably ever have. (Y/N) immediately found her legs wrapped in his, unable to move them at all.

"Leave me, Weasley!"

He simply laughed at his friend’s miserable state. Now, George has this infectious laugh that always left its effects on her.

And soon, through an avalanche of laughs cascading from both of them, she was hitting his arms and back.

There were rare, almost zero incidents, when (Y/N) had actually won a fight with either of the twins. The only way she could win was emotionally. Sometimes. Their tall and strong frames effortlessly dominated her on any given day.

And the same happened again.

She was already partially imprisoned by George. The remaining of her limbs were soon held tightly in his hand. In one hand.

Oh! Why am I so tiny before them!!

She tried to jerk herself free but in vain. Obviously.

"George!! Let go of me!"

"You should've thought before you started hitting me."

"I didn't start! You did! You kicked me first."

He made a face as though he received the biggest shock of his life.

"What?? That was just...just...a touch! I'm sure you barely felt it!"

"No, it was not! Now", She was grunting by then, trying to free herself, although she would never confess that she was rather enjoying it thoroughly, "leave me, buffoon!"

"I'd expect some respect, missy!"

"Okay, how about", she pretended to think, "baboon? You have the exact same kind of limbs. And face, too!"

"What? Are you blind? You call this handsome and charming man a baboon?"

"Hah! You are very delusional, I must say then!"

"M not! You're mental, I must say then."

"George", She drawled out his name, "you're so taallllll! Look at me. I'm so tinyyyy! Let me goooo." She tried to make puppy eyes and pout.

He sighed. "Alright. Say 'please'."

The girl pursed her lips and looked away. That, she wasn't going to say.

"I didn't hear anything yet!"

"Fine then. I won't say it. Keep me holding all day long. Your mum will come to my rescue", she shrugged.

"Okay!" And he wrapped his arms around her tightly, and started tickling.

"Not fair!" She squirmed and shouted, trying desperately to free herself but failing.

"Y’know it: everything's fair in love and war", he panted as he tried to keep a tight hold on his prey and continue his torture.

"Oh! So, we’re at war, are we?" (Y/N) was laughing like a maniac by then. Her cheeks and tummy were hurting.

"No, darling! I’m in love with yo-"

He almost mumbled the last few words. The most important words, at least to (Y/N). And then he stopped abruptly. Both in words and actions.

Her head shot up to face him.

What the hell was that? What did he just say? Did he mean it?

(Y/N)’s thoughts were screaming and running wild inside her head. She could feel her ears burn.

Thankfully, she wasn't the only one who went red in the face. George's face was as red as hers was.

They sat frozen, with her still locked in his grip.

"I... I...", George tried to say something. She wanted to hear something. That thing. But all they could do was stare into each other's eyes.

"Is this the moment then?" she thought. "Will he... Shall I... Does he..."

But alas! Before any of her wishes could come true, George snapped out his trance. He quickly released her from his grip, and looked at the floor, thus snapping her out of her trance as well. Suddenly they both found the floor pretty interesting.

There was an awkward silence looming in the room. (Y/N) felt thrilled, disappointed, hopeful, shy - all at the same time. It was like her mind was having an emotional indigestion.

Shoving all thoughts behind into the closet of her mind, she turned towards him.

"Let's go dow-", they both said together. Thankfully, the laughter that followed, although a nervous one, chased the heavy and uncomfortable silence away, making the air easy and breathable again. But the hint of pink that had settled on their cheeks wasn’t going anywhere easily.

He got up and offered her his hand. "Downstairs", he smiled.

"Downstairs", she agreed and took his hand.

---

Meanwhile, in the kitchen...

"Aah!"

"Leave me, Weasley!"

"You should've thought before you started hitting me."

"I didn't start! You did! You kicked me first."

"What?? That was just..."

Fred looked at his mother with an exaggeratedly helpless face, "See, mum. This is exactly why I didn't want to leave them alone. One of them is going to get hurt."

"Okay, how about...baboon?"

Molly sighed and shook her head while Ron and Ginny exchanged funny glances.

"Oh! So, we’re at war, are we?"

"No, darling! ..."

And then there was silence. An abrupt silence. All of them paused their work and looked up towards the twins' room.

"D'you think one of them is dead?" Ron asked with wide eyes.

"Oh! Shut up, Ron! George must have hit (Y/N) and now he's regretting it", Ginny justified. "He's going to regret it so much!!" Her eyes lit up with the idea of her friend taking revenge on her brother.

"Did they finally kiss?" Fred quipped.

Three pairs of wide eyes shot towards Fred.

"Bloody hell!"

"Already?"

Molly simply gasped.

Fred threw his hands up in the air. "Just guessing!"

All the Weasley's could clearly see what (Y/N) and George could not: that they fancied each other. A lot. So, it wasn't the idea of them being together that shocked them but the thought that they could finally see through their friendship and acknowledge their feelings was what left them speechless.

The more the silence lingered the higher their curiosity peaked until they heard footsteps descending the stairs.

All eyes were fixed on the stairs, waiting to find an answer and cool down the questions that were bubbling in the pits of their stomachs.

---

George and (Y/N) made their way downstairs rather quietly, hand-in-hand though. Holding hands was perfectly normal for them but the silence was unusual, unless they were on to some mischief. And it felt pretty weird. The unspoken tension between the two was still hanging in the air, and her stomach churned at the thought of the possibilities that might be going on in George's mind.

As they reached the final flight of stairs, (Y/N) realised that the rest of the family were staring up at them as though they were anticipating a dinosaur to descend into the living room. George, too, had evidently noticed it because he stopped in his tracks, trying to gauge the situation.

"You all okay?" He asked with furrowed brows.

(Y/N) was sure she noticed Molly's eyes flick between their faces and their interlocked hands. But before she could even think "why", she was knocked off her feet.

"Did you two kiss?" Ron blurted out.

"What??" They shouted in unison.

As if the existing tension wasn't enough, it felt like thunder had exploded between them, exactly where George and (Y/N) were standing. With a jolt, they released each other's hands and stepped away as much as the staircase would allow them to. The pink on their cheeks turned to deep red, and she found herself at an utter loss of words.

What a ridiculous question!! In front of Molly? In front of Molly?? In front of George? What would he be thinking? What if he's so embarrassed that he never speaks to me again?

Wait! Why did Ron say so in the first place?

Her train of thoughts got interrupted by a flustered George shouting at his little brother, "Have you gone bonkers?? Why the hell would you say so?"

"So, you did not?" Fred sounded sceptical.

(Y/N) stepped forward boldly, "Of course, not! Why are you all looking at us like this?" In contrast to her bold step, her words came out in a squeak.

"Oh! Nothing!" Molly looked as though she had suddenly returned to Earth. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the whole situation. "Carry on", she said, and went out of the house casually as if nothing that had happened was out of place.

George and his partner-in-crime, both utterly baffled, looked at each other, trying to make out what just happened. None of them had the slightest clue.

They went down the remaining steps very cautiously, as if the slightest action might trigger another weird question. All the siblings were pretending to work diligently but their faces gave away the knots in their minds. Gingerly, they made their way to Ron, knowing that he'd be a much softer target than either Ginny or Fred.

"Ronnie?" (Y/N) placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, (Y/N)?" His voice was absolutely cool as though nothing odd had happened.

"D'you mind explaining?" George stood facing his brother.

"What?"

"Ron", George almost growled which startled us all.

"Okay! Okay!"

Through a rush of words, he explained their ideas and speculations, ultimately leaving both George and (Y/N) red-faced again.

When he had finished, Ron received a good smack on the back of his head, the action instantly reminding them of Snape.

"I didn't say anything! He did!" Ron shouted, pointing towards Fred.

"Uuuhhh...I was just... guessing?" Fred raised his hands in the air in surrender.

"It isn't funny", a red-faced George warned him.

"Noted!" His twin nodded enthusiastically.

The guest in the Burrow didn't know what to say. Or how to react. A part of her was hopping like a little girl because they thought that she and George were a thing. But George here was furious about the whole situation. Her heart dropped. She tried to look annoyed and faked a scoff but probably her eyes gave the disappointment away because she noticed Fred looking at her in a rather odd way.

Little did she know then that George was reflecting her thoughts. That he was pulled into the same whirlpool of conflicts that had messed up her mind.

They sat down at the table to lend a hand to Ron and Ginny while exchanging awkward looks and smiles with each other.

***

Taglist!! Let me know if you wish to be added...or removed.

@scram1326 @ariaterum @persephone13 @gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley @nunanuggets @lolhelpimtired @madmadgirlperson @dontfallinlovelol @r4ttusr4ttus @emilykolchivans @queerponcho @loveforweasley @turvi @lovers-111 @waitforiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit @justafangir1 @the-holy-trinity-l @minatozsana @baddiebbarbietngz

#george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fluff #george weasley x fem #george weasley series #george weasley love #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fic

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reasonsmandy · 9 months

Text

It's just me, you and the sea.

Warren Rojas x Fem!Reader

✧.* requested by anon — Hey there love! I got this idea: The reader is a director, especially music videoclips, she is Billy and Graham's sister (or not, your choice). When she's working, she is very professional, very confident too, but outside of work, she's a little more insecure, shy, and quiet, and Warren just loses his mind for her. He loves to make her nervous, especially because when he tries to flirt with her on sets, she just doesn't play along, you know. BUT, she thinks he's only messing with her. I also got this "vision" in mind of them talking at a party while she writes (because of course she kind of wants to be a movie director one day too). You can use it if you like😊 You can choose how it ends (hopefully a happy ending...? 😂)

✧.* summary — Your work has always been something that made you proud and happy and when you joined to serve the most famous band of the moment it was no different. The difference was the look he made you have over everything in just one rainy afternoon.

✧.* warnings — none.

✧.* word count — 3.3k

✧.* 🥁 — warren's masterlist

✧.* mandy's notes — I promised I'd come back and here I am, how are you? So, I know you suggested a party but I wanted to change the scene a bit, I hope you like it. Good reading 🫶🏾

The red lights adorned you along with the heat, you would hang the still-soaked revealed images on the strings while you thought about the next projects to come and how you would do them. The bedroom door opens catching your attention, you turn to see the figure of a brunette woman with her own series of images to reveal, you greet her with a smile and she takes a stand by your side.

Despite being an implicit rule in those environments where the art of photography should be admired, and that's what she did by looking at your photos hanging there.

“They are really beautiful.” You can hear the sincerity in her voice and it brings you comfort that pushes away your shyness.

“Thanks…” You release the last clip, and look at all the pictures with pride. “I'm more into filming but…for the first time with photos it wasn't bad, was it?”

“Not bad at all, they are amazing.” She points out. “You said you work with filming?” She asks the question expecting you to craft a conversation with her.

“Yeah, yes I've been working with filming for a while now. I started with some short films but now I'm making video clips. But I want something bigger, maybe to be a movie director someday.” You explain and she looks genuinely interested, you deduce this is a gift from her just from the minutes you spend together.

“Oh that sounds amazing.” She says now putting her pictures next to yours. “My husband is in a band, you know?”

“Really? Is it him in this picture?”

Camila nods, you tap your forehead turning to her.

“I'm sorry for being rude, my name is Y/N and yours?”

“I'm Camila.” She says, opening a majestic smile. “You should stop by the house sometime, I'd love to see your work. I'm sure my husband's band would love to have you record something for them.”

…

Warren was the last to sit down at the table, which automatically made him take everyone's subject in half. He bites the chicken wing while watching each of his friends trying to understand, effortlessly he lets himself be carried away in the observation.

“Cami, you can’t make compromises for us like that.” Billy says through a sigh, leaning his body back against the chair. “And it's even more complicated now that Daisy has to agree to everything before we do anything as a band.”

Camila tries not to show how the comment had upset her.

“Look, I know it can be tricky, but I understand that. Her work is really cool, it suits you. And who better to know that than me?” She jokes, eliciting a genuine smile from Eddie and Karen.

“I think it's worth a try” Karen says.

“It won't hurt anyone if we give it a chance." Eddie shrugs, with a smile. “And I trust your gut.”

“Sorry if I'm too high, but what the fuck are we talking about?” Warren interrupts, capturing everyone's attention.

Camila explains to him how he met you and her idea to make a music video for the band with her ideas and her direction, he instantly gets excited with the thought and volunteers to help Camila with whatever she needed and to help Billy convince Daisy too.

It wasn't difficult to get Jones to agree with the idea, the label also thought it was wonderful and soon the idea of the clip being released along with the tour dates was their great marketing strategy. The chosen song was 'Let Me Down Easy' by everyone's vote and the final touch was to look for you again to adjust the creative ideas and the budget of the project.

You knock three times on the door of Billy and Camila's house and wait for someone to answer you. The things in your bag were hanging while you felt the cool breeze against your body. The door is opened and your gaze lifts to see Rojas' curls and his eyes that smile at you, you straighten your body looking professional waiting for him to say something.

“You must be Y/N” His warm voice says, opening the door for you to enter. “Make yourself at home, if you want a beer or a cigarette we have everything outside.” He approaches you, as if to tell you a secret. “We don't keep any of that around Jules.”

You laugh at how excited he was, following him out of the house where everyone was gathered. Everyone's eyes on you make you a little uncomfortable but the drummer's hand on your shoulder brings you minimal comfort.

“The little star has arrived.” Warren makes sure to announce you, You frown at the nickname but smile small at the same time.

“It's so good to see you.” Camila comes to hug you tight. “Guys, this is Y/N… Y/N, This is Graham, Karen, Daisy, Billy and of course Warren that you met already. I'll let you guys talk about the clip and stay with Jules inside, if you need me just call.”

She approaches Billy and kisses him before walking through the doors of the house.

“So, do you have requirements for this project?” You say opening your notepad, ready to write whatever they were going to suggest.

They look at each other, you can see out of the corner of their eyes that they're waiting for someone to say something.

“Would you rather it be a clip of you performing with a story told through the music?” You drop another question, seeing that no one has said anything.

“Us playing is a pretty cool idea.” Billy seemed inclined to this suggestion but at the same time as his agreement was said Daisy's expression is one of denial.

“You know this is a song full of history, it would be perfect for us to show a story to our audience in it. After all, to see us playing they go to the show. We should do something new.”

“I kinda agree.” Eddie says, leaning his body back. “We can innovate with some storytelling.”

Billy frowned, you could see he didn't like to be crossed.

“Maybe we can mix the two ideas?” Graham suggests, you write it down.

“Don't worry Cariño, you'll get used to it eventually.”

You turn to him smiling a little embarrassed by the nickname, you close your notebook, leaning in to observe the band better.

“Well, I think we could mix the two ideas but... If my opinion as a professional is relevant, Daisy has a point.” You looked more at Warren while he spoke, for some reason he gave you confidence. “Nobody watches a clip with just the band playing, not the whole clip at least, you know?”

“So what do you suggest?” Billy says grumpy.

“I think we can use you as characters, telling the story of the song, so the audience gets to know the band members and focus on the lyrics through that story.”

“You're awesome.” Warren whispers in your ear, you open a small smile.

“You want us to act?” Graham asks.

“If it's not difficult for you, we can leave it enigmatic too. Obviously there will be no lines, what do you think of us doing a script?”

“Mi Alma, Maybe I'm being a little dumb but why script it if we don't have lines?” Warren asks.

“It would be a script for us to align what we are going to do, who will be the role, what story we will tell. This kind of thing.”

“Got It, keep going hermosa.”

“I like you!" Daisy utters, giving you a captivating smile. “I think we can start working on that, everyone agrees?”

Everyone agrees, even Billy, which is surprising.

“I can start working then, amazing, call me in two days.” You pack your things in your bag, looking at them one more time as a second check. “Any other requirements?”

Nobody answers you, so you take your work there for granted. Getting up to leave.

“Wait, I'll walk you to the door.” Warren is quick to follow you.

Upon entering the house again, her body warms up more because it is abandoned by the breeze outside, Camila, who was in the living room playing with Julia, is quick to get up with the toddler in her arms to say goodbye.

“How was it? Everything worked out?” She asks, Julia playing with her hair.

“Yeah, I'm full of ideas.” You answer excitedly, unconsciously sticking your purse to your body.

“She is a genius, Cami.” Warren says.

“You haven’t even seen my ideas yet.” You laugh, watching him with a smirk on your face.

“Tell me then.” You are taken aback by his answer, you didn't expect his interest to be so lasting. “I really want to know.”

You don't know how to respond, you look at Camila as a question, a request for help perhaps. She opens a smirk, you regret your choice instantly.

“There's a quiet beach nearby, I think you might like it.” Camila suggests, you arch your eyebrows. The corner of your eye going to Warren. “Maybe Warren is free to…”

“I am, I'm totally free.” He responds so fast that you can't help but laugh a little. “Are you up for it, tesoro?”

Camila nods, as if asking you to trust her.

“Okay, take me there.”

…

Warren's van stops a little away from the sand, on a cloudy day you knew the beach would be empty or at least with few people. You open the passenger seat window on the way in, aiming to feel the breeze on your face as a way to let go of the anxiety of the moment. Warren drove there, watching your movements in detail, just amazed by you.

The engine cuts off and then he turns to you, waiting for what you were going to do next. You after a while turn from the window to observe the curly haired man.

“So, tell me more about yourself, nena.” He says, you lean closer to him but not too much.

“Well, it's been a while since I moved here.I'm passionate about filming and directing, I've been producing my own thing but.” You give up talking, ashamed, few were the people who saw that potential in you.

“Really?” His eyes sparkle with excitement, you feel your heart race. “Damn it mami, is there anything you don’t do?”

“Lots of things actually Rojas, what's up with the nicknames, uh?” Your body leaning back against the bench was what he admired.

“They suit you.” He shrugs, adjusting his curls. “Now come on, let's go for a swim.”

He expected you to deny the suggestion, but you just open the van door and run across the sand. He flashes a gigantic smile and is quick to chase after you.

The closer you got to the sand, the more adrenaline was the essential boost to give you the courage to enter the icy waters. But that didn't seem to bother you at the time, you take your shirt off and leave it on the nearest rock before letting the water wet your skin.

“Come on, did you give up?” You yell at him, and he hurries to meet you there.

“Never, princesa.”

After a while in the water, you return to the sand, walking together to the most comfortable rocks to sit together. He helps you up, and you sit watching the clouds darken as the wind picks up, you hug your body trying to avoid the cold but the idea is without purpose and conclusion.

“That was so fun.” He says a little breathless.

“Yeah it was.” You agree, smiling at him. “But it's getting so cold…” Her voice came out shaky from the weather.

“Let's go to the van.” He helps you get up and guides you to the vehicle, and as the weather is waiting for you to leave, the rain starts to fall.

When you get into the van the adrenaline is still in you, Warren closes the windows so he can make the environment warmer for you, while the silence was comfort for both of you. He turns to you.

“I can drop you home now if you want.” he says, wishing your response was the opposite.

“I actually don't.” You say, taking your notebook off your bag. “I had so many ideas for your clip.”

“Meaning?” He asks, feeling happy to witness your explosion of creativity.

“Meaning I'll stay in your car until I finish my script.” You say poking the tip of his nose with the pencil. “I'm sorry… I don't want to take up your whole night.”

“Are you kidding me?” He speaks excitedly, turning completely towards you to see you better. “I'm so ready for this!”

“You want to participate?” Surprised, you question, unable to contain your smile.

“Of course I want, tell me, what do you need?” He says, ready to start the van engine.

“I mean, I could eat” You shrug, very happy to have more time with him.

“So that's it cariño, We're getting food and then spending the rest of the necessary time in this van working together!”

He drives for as long as he can on the road near the waterfront, a request from you, that you keep your creativity. The rain was still falling, making a steady pattern against the window, which strangely helped you to concentrate which he quickly notes, finding it adorable. After getting your food he brings you back to the same beach, you can't stop thinking about how much gas he was wasting, which made you laugh.

“You know, now I can say with absolute certainty that you are amazing.” Warren says after a long silence, the water droplets are now falling unevenly. You turn to him, closing the notebook.

“Again Rojas, you haven't seen anything yet.” You sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. “I don't know if I'm doing a good job anyway.”

“Can I see what you have ready?” He asks gently, reaching out to take his notebook.

Every second he read it was more torturous for you, so you focus on the water for a bit hoping his calmness will help your heart to do the same.

“This is amazing, really, you are a volcano of creativity.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “No need to exaggerate, but that was the funniest compliment I've ever received.”

“I'm not exaggerating, I'm great with it. They will love it, trust me.” He strokes her hair, kissing the top of her head. “I've known them forever, and I know this is going to turn out spectacular.

“I don't know why I'm being insecure about this job…” You whisper, still lying on his shoulder.

“I don't want to screw this up or let Cami down

...”

You don't finish the sentence, you leave what you were thinking in the air

“Look mi cielo, the sun is rising... How about we walk along the shore together? While we think about the end of this script?”

You break into a huge smile “Did you by any chance come out of a romantic comedy?”

“That's where you go wrong, I'm a mix of all kinds of movies.” He takes turns when he notices that the rain was now just more water in the distant sea. He opens the door going to the beach again, you notice that this time he leaves his shoes in the van, his vest still wet was there too.

You shake your head at the person he is, how he made everything seem simple and light, you see him waiting for you on the sand and open the door without hesitation. Going towards him little by little, for Rojas it was like watching a work in motion, beauty and calm was what you meant to him every minute more together with you.

He brings his hands to your waist, and you automatically tuck yours around his neck, closely watching his every expression.He smiles, pulling you close in a hug, you feel welcomed like you haven't felt in a long time, he pulls away to guide you along the shore as promised.

“Hermosa…” He calls you, and you notice only now that you got so used to all the nicknames he gave you. “I would like to know more about that project of yours that you mentioned earlier.”

Your body freezes, you turn to him looking for any hint of irony or joke, there is none. He just smiled, happy and curious about everything that his person was involved in.

“I don't have a lot ready, but I wanted something more thought out before starting any recordings.” You talk by walking with your feet dragging instead of lifting them when you step. “But basically it's the story of an incomplete romance, which never worked out in the past, but due to a certain event they meet again.But there's a reason why this romance didn't work out, and I want to show that as my story goes on, making my audience figure it out at the climax and ultimately resolve the conflict. Of course it's not just about the romance, there are supporting characters and other characters I want to elaborate on, but this is what I have ready.”

“I would watch this for sure.” You knew that Golden retriever impersonation wasn't lying to you. “I would love to see everything you're doing, like, see the things you have ready and maybe inspire you to put a beautiful drummer character in it.”

“Do you want to be my muse Rojas?” You speak with a smirk on your face, he licks his lips and then smiles at you, the tension between you two growing.

“Maybe I want to cariño.” He whisper, getting closer to you, the light was still weak because the sun was rising slowly, your clothes were still relatively cold due to the adventure they had in diving the waters earlier, when his hands slowly go to your waist over the shorts you were wearing, your body shivers visibly.

Warren notices, and pulls away a little afraid he's crossed a line with you. You take his hands as he pulls away, placing them back on your waist. Slowly you lift your hands from his neck to the nape of his neck, stroking the wet curls tenderly.

“I want you to be, but not only that…” You say shyly, your gaze momentarily going to waves. “Whatever this is here, this connection, I want us to continue. Like, seeing each other even after the clip is done.”

“You can be sure this will happen.” He reassures you, kissing your forehead.

You pull back after the cuddle to look him in the eyes, and stare at the drummer's lips. You take a deep breath and pull him close to you, kissing his lips gently and slowly. Feeling the fireworks in his stomach explode with each touch, he pulls you closer to feel his body more, caressing your waist as he feels your fingers play with his locks. You've never had such an incredible work experience.

He wraps his arms around your waist tighter and lifts you up, you start laughing as you ask him over and over again what he was doing, he guides you once again to the waters where you watch together as the sun takes over the sun and gradually warms your skin, you play and have fun for a time that you don't see go by and you didn't want to.

“Won’t the others be worried about your disappearance?” You ask, hugging him like the waters hugged you. The crystal clear water showed you how beautiful your bodies were together.

“I don't care, I want to stay with you a little longer." He confesses, making you roll your eyes with a smile. He kisses you one more time, not caring about anything around her. “Don't worry about anything else, it's just me, you and the sea.”

...

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