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#(i am once again thirsting for this man)

butterfluffy · 11 months

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hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins hawkins

#basil hawkins #one piece #ੈ♡˳· fluff's corner #(i am once again thirsting for this man)

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ravenousgoblin · 4 months

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UNHOLY ZOMBIE THOUGHTS

normally I would call zombie my pretty princess or wife or pretty boy

But I was about to go to sleep again and for some reason, the words “good girl” popped into my head and just the thought like his body on mine and him calling me that like HELLO especially bc his hands are so 👀👀👀 and i want them on me or around my throat

Now WHOLESOME ZOMBIE THOUGHTS

I’m fucking screaming bc the idea of like sleepy mornings and cuddling and then him just like with an arm around my waist and pulling me closer bc it’s cold so we’re snuggling even more and him pressing a kiss the tip of my head or my cheek and just the soft coziness of it. Mmmm. This came to thought because I was so emotional last night and we messaged a lil last night just bein sillies and even this morning the same and it’s cold so.

#this is once again about zombie #this man does not live in the same state as me I’ve never met in him in person why do I yearn this way #no this ain’t even yearning this is narsty thirst I am ravenous

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dxstopiaa · 10 months

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hello! >u< how are you? if it's okay, may i request the sumeru men with a s/o who loooooves sitting on their lap? i hope you have a great day/night!

characters: alhaitham, kaveh, cyno, tighnari and dottore x gn! reader

warnings: sfw! may be suggestive! otherwise fluff [hii anon! i hope you are doing well too! i tried to post something even though it’s been a month, i’m so sorry <3]

alhaitham

“Haitham, can i sit on your lap again?”

“…You may.” The Acting Grand Sage looked down at you, who had unknowingly sat on the desk infront, eyes gleaming so enthusiastically it’d be a shame to deny you of what you so kindly requested.

If anyone didn’t know the scribe as personally as you did, they’d say he was a cold-hearted man with a thirst only knowledge could quench— that he was incapable of demonstrating love. He’d overheard such earlier, watching the two students indulging in some pointless (and incorrect, mind you) gossip.

He wasn’t one to care of other’s perception of him, but with you in his life and his lap, he had to show at least some regard for his reputation. Seems like all you cared about at the moment was adjusting against his chest so you could snuggle your face into the corner of his neck. Firmly muscular, but comfortable.

He smelt pleasant— hints of fresh citrus and old books radiated off of him like an aura. You suppose the scent of a person really said a lot about them. Al Haitham, that once bitterly cold man had been reduced like a squeezed lemon, sour at first but you’ve drained that attitude from him. As for the other, well, the books were self-explanatory. He was a needed comfort either way.

“Can you read to me too please?”

“You ask for too much, darling...”

kaveh

“Kaveh, you wouldn’t mind me sitting on your lap, right?”

The architect’s breath hitched, pencil hovering over the unfinished blueprint. Did he just hear you right? He sighed, wondering why he felt the need to express hesitance when you’re his beloved. That’s new, and awfully endearing too.

His lack of an answer left thoughts swarming your head within seconds. Did i make him uncomfortable? Why though? You’ve done much more intimate things with him than this. You spun around on your heel, a mediocre attempt at fleeing the flustering scene. The creak of a chair accompanied with a tight grasp of a hand around your wrist had settled you onto Kaveh’s thighs.

“Don’t run away, sweetheart, i was a little taken aback, that’s all.” Your boyfriend massaged circular motions into your tense shoulders, apprehensively stiff to the touch. You melted into his gentle ministrations, finally lowering yourself into his lap securely.

“Am i not bothering your soon to be due planning?” You quizzed, turning your head to glance at the messily organised desk, fragments of graphite smeared over it and numerous pencils scattered across the surface. A professional procrastinator is what he was, he never accepted such a name from your mouth, poorly persuading you to keep quiet so he could de-stress.

“I needed a break anyway, my love, just rest with me a little while longer.”

cyno

“I know you’re busy Cyno, but can i sit with you please?”

Such innocently vague phrasing truly disguised your intentions. When you said it like that, Cyno didn’t think much of it and simply agreed. That was until you positioned yourself comfortably on his lap, legs either side of his thighs.

He gasped softly— watching you loop your arms around his neck and snuggle your face into his chest. Bold behaviour like this wasn’t normal for you but he supposed this didn’t have any deeper meaning other than wanting to be close to him.

“Dear…you don’t have anything up your sleeve, do you?” Cyno quizzed, squinting slightly to search for any reaction from you. Your light giggle and the abrupt shaking of your head suggested you didn’t have any ulterior motives.

The general grinned briefly, setting down his report to embrace you with his arms and began to kiss your forehead delicately, leaning into his gentle touch as if you were a cat starved of attention.

“Why don’t i change that, darling?”

tighnari

“Nari, sitting on your lap won’t interfere with your work, yes?”

Your boyfriend froze, the abrupt request felt unfamiliar to fall from your tongue, yet he couldn’t find it within him to decline such an offer. He placed the pen down, turning so slightly as to not let you see the hint of rose over his face.

“Well, i suppose it wouldn’t.” The forest ranger mumbled, trying his hardest not to show a trace of embarrassment. So much for the composed, knowledgeable chief everyone knew. You, on the other hand, smiled cheekily, walking over to see what mess you’ve made.

Just as you were about to tease him, Tighnari seized your waist and spun you around to sit facing the other way. Of course, you facepalmed yourself mentally, how could you limit your lover’s sharp mind?

Tighnari was not about to let you make fun of him with your little tricks— like how you did numerous times before.

“Not so fast darling. I think i deserve an apology for that, physical or verbal, it’s up to you.”

dottore

“My husband, can i sit here with you?”

Dottore trailed his scarlet eyes over your torso, following your outstretched arm until he witnessed your own finger directed to his very lap. You… wanted to sit on him? How flatteringly bold of you. He shifted his legs to let you move in between, patting his situationally vacant legs.

“As you wish, my love, don’t keep me waiting.”Your lover chuckled as your sudden expression adapted into a more coy smile, whether this was from hesitance or excitement, he didn’t know. Your gentle hands reached for his shoulders, so lightly as if you were afraid.

His thighs were firm yet soft enough to rest your own on top, allowing the harbinger to run his fingers along your back whilst he admired the way in which you’d relax against him without a care in the world. He only mattered to you in this moment— the unexpectedly soft, caring husband no one knew of but yourself.

Dottore hasn’t meant to become so attached to the feeling of your thighs encasing him, now it was the only way he was fond of, with you right where you’re safe.

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sinizade · 4 months

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Izveta Noquar

Class: Rogue

Dark Urge (Evil but "redeemed")

Romance: Astarion (Ascended)

Besties: Why does she need friends if she has her own company? (Shadowheart is her bestie)

Being the youngest adopted daughter of the prestigious Noquar family in Menzoberranzan, Izveta was able to surpass the matriarch's biological daughters in any aspect, battles or manipulations. The drow had a natural talent for killing ever since she first held a weapon, the family's only concern about the girl was her constant conversations with a butler who seemed like only she could see, but often some other drow could see a small shadow next to her, almost as if whispering in her ear.

Her first love was the first person Izveta killed, a handsome young elf with beautiful green eyes almost the same age as her who was given to her as a gift by her mother. The young drow really thought he loved her the way she loved him, but she discovered the hard way that it was all just cruel manipulation for him to try to kill her and escape... What he didn't expect was that it would be a trigger for something cruel and bloodthirsty to awaken in Izveta who hunted him like an animal and slit his throat completely, leaving him unrecognizable...

Izveta ended up finding out from her butler that her sisters planned to kill her to reduce the matriarch's chances of choosing Izveta to replace her as head of the family. The young drow, possessed by anger and a feeling of betrayal, slew her sisters, showing them both to her mother like a trophy, but she didn't react as Izveta expected... The woman who raised her all her life tried to kill her and was once again overcome by hatred, Izveta killed her own mother, afraid of the reaction of the other drow, she fled to the surface where her butler constantly talks about a place she could actually consider a real home, where she would be accepted and loved for who she truly is

Getting used to the surface culture was one of the biggest difficulties for Izveta, not having males to satisfy her whims or soldies to do as she commanded was a reality check. The males on the surface were not as submissive and obedient as those who served her in Menzoberranzan and this ended up involving her in several fights in the places where she managed to stay, but it wasn't long until she finally found that place her butler talked about, her home, The Temple of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder... Her father. She didn't like her father's temple, it wasn't quite what she imagined as she thought it would be something grand like a castle or a fortress, but it fit with the cliche "I am a homicidal God"

Baldur's Gate was truly a lovely city, so full of light and life, Izveta simply loved walking through the dark alleys looking for some clueless person who would follow her wherever she took them, so that was when she met that dark-haired human man who He wasn't looking at her with fear, but curiosity and even perhaps admiration? Izveta didn't know for sure, but receiving that look after so long made her interested in knowing more about this human, knowing more about this "Enver Gortash"

The years after meeting Enver seemed to improve her mood. Izveta might have loved killing, feeling the hot blood on her hands, but she loved even more being pampered, receiving gifts, ordering and having her carpices supplied whenever she wanted and Enver made a point of doing all of this for her, giving some small gifts like rings, necklaces, masks... Izveta LOVES masks. Even though vanity is not something much used either in the Bhaal temple or by his followers, Izveta always loved simply beautifying herself, makeup, big jewelry, hairstyles for her long white hair, she loved spending minutes and even hours just beautifying herself with makeup or the blood of someone she killed. Enver managed to make her see him as an equal, not just an equal, a potential partner both with this strange plan with a "brain" and in bed, he had a thirst in his eyes, a thirst for her and she would quench that thirst every time he begged for her...

For some reason, losing her memories, even if it caused a certain frustration, at the same time caused relief... Being able to recreate her story without memories of the past to worry about

Some may think that Izveta redeemed herself by denying her "family heritage" by denying Bhaal, but her wave of chaos was just beginning. Astarion may think he controls her, that she is his beautiful spawn waiting only to receive orders from her lord, but something he doesn't even suspect is that he is right in the palm of her hand... A little flattery, a few whispers in his ear, a few touches on his chest and he does exactly what she wants and when she wants, he may not feel anything anymore or maybe feel, but the memories of the love he once felt for her are what give her power. Being a Bhaalspawn may have its advantages, but having the control of an ascended vampire lord was much better and as a vampire spawn everything is even more delicious, an eternity delighting in the death of whoever she wants and without any consequences... No There's nothing more she wants

Some extra information about Izveta

She loves white, she loves seeing the white of her clothes stained with blood, she loves seeing how her skin is highlighted while wearing white, she simply loves the color white.

She felt a little sorry for Orin, her little blood kin might be a kinda crazy, but she wasn't a bad person... At least not before her mother tried to kill her.

The only bad thing about denying her "father" was losing Sceleritas... Her butler, her true father... one of the few creatures she truly felt affection for

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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 i. to forget

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

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 car accident. mention of blood and physical wounds. depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 14.8k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me.

a.n: she's here, she's yours, i hope you'll enjoy reading one of the most challenging things I've ever wrote :') your feedback is highly appreciated <3

special thanks to @forlix for going through this journey with me, i love you thank you, seriously, you mean the world to me. and to @dorisnumber1fan for listening to my initial rants about this fic, and all the ones i ever write. i love you and appreciate you so much, more than i could explain <3

quotes series masterlist. next chapter.

Day 1.

You're floating in a dark void, save for the specks of light swirling around you. A peculiar serenity fills your being, a tranquility unlike any you’ve ever known. It’s as though your body isn’t your own; but rather an otherworldly vessel, calmly traversing the cosmos, dancing in constellations with the stars that encircle you.

A sudden electrifying warmth surges from your hand, traveling down the contours of your knuckles, melting into the lines of your palm. It pulsates within your being as if you’re holding the Earth's very core between your fingers. You stir from your ethereal orbit, longing to break apart from the celestial lights, to reunite with your body once again.

The warmth intensifies, causing your fingers to involuntarily clench. A deluge of radiance enfolds you, drawing you into a luminous hole. You squint your eyes, drinking in the light- your first breath.

Your eyes flutter open in a daze, your throat parched, rasping like sandpaper against your vocal cords. White encompasses you yet again, from the high ceilings to the pristine bed you’re lying on. It takes you a few blinks to grasp your new environment- an unfamiliar hospital room. You wearily close your eyes, hoping for the stillness to return, aching for the peace you felt within your bones mere moments ago.

But to no avail; only the tingling sensation remains.

You tilt your head, eyebrows shooting upwards as you notice a hand clasping yours. A figure lies their forehead beside your body, black disheveled locks tickling your palm.

The warmth, you understand where it comes from now.

You attempt to slip your hand out of theirs, prompting the man to awaken with a jolt, surprise dancing across his features as his gaze meets yours. Dark circles adorn his face- testimonies to days of fatigue imprinted upon every feature of his. Yet, all of it dissipates as he gazes at you, lips slightly parted, bunny teeth peeking out. His face transforms into a radiant smile, stirring a mysterious longing within your soul- it brushes against your fingertips before slipping beyond your reach.

"You're awake," he whispers in awe, and your tiredness renders you mute. You point to your throat, hoping that he'll understand what you need. "Water? Is- Is that what you want?" he asks, a touch too eager, fingers running through his hair in sheer disbelief. You nod and he rises swiftly, pouring you a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

You sip diligently as his hand caresses the crown of your hair, the warmth now traveling to the top of your head. You feel lightheaded as if the blood in your veins has thickened, the very life in you slowed to a faint whisper. Yet, a timid relief emerges as your thirst is finally quenched.

"I'll- I'll go call the doctor," he tells you, his beaming smile unwavering. It’s too bright, everything around you is, and you feel a throbbing headache growing at your temple’s base.

It's a mere minute before the man returns, a doctor and two nurses on his trail. You float within a haze as the nurse shines a beam of light in your eyes. The response of your pupils seems to please her.

"Do you remember what happened?" the doctor inquires and you frown. You've been racking your brain for an explanation as to why you're here, but to no avail. You shake your head.

"What's your name," he proceeds, lips growing into a thin line.

"Y/n, Y/l/n," you respond, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, as though it hasn’t left the confines of your throat for ages. You miss the darkness; you want to sleep again.

"What date are we?"

Your eyebrows knit together as you try to think of an answer. "The 20th or maybe the 21st September."

"What year?"

"2022."

An eerie silence falls upon the room, a stillness resembling the one of your dreams; but it isn’t comforting, on the contrary, it fills your being with an unsettling dread, one that trickles inside you with each second spent in silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You close your eyes to avoid the sorry ones of the nurse.

"We need to run you an MRI scan," the doctor finally speaks up, tone somber. "It appears you're suffering from retrograde amnesia. But we have to make sure."

It takes time for the words to permeate your consciousness, for the syllables to settle in and start to make sense. Amnesia.

What have you forgotten?

“What…” you chuckle warily, fingers reaching up to soothe your throbbing forehead. “What year is it?”

"It's the 24th of September 2023. You were in a severe car accident two days ago, a drunk truck driver rammed into your car on your way home. You have a fractured rib and extensive leg injury, but no broken bones thankfully. We'll get you to the scan shortly, okay?" he speaks easily as if announcing that you've missed the rain while asleep. As if it’s not a year’s worth of memories you’ve seemingly forgotten, erased in the span of a blink, akin to footprints on sand washed away by the waves. Nothing of importance.

"So, you don't... remember me?" a soft voice quivers, barely above a whisper, and your eyes meet those of the man who’s been at your side, temporarily forgotten in the conversation.

His question is laced with a grave fear, evident in his dilated pupils and trembling hands. A lump blooms in your throat, its thorns pricking at your voice. You aren’t sure you want to answer that question.

"I- I don't."

"Oh."

You’ve never known that a human could crumble in silence, in an imperceptible gasp, so small you almost did not hear it. A crestfallen expression materializes on his face in the span of a heartbeat, features coming together in the rawest expression of anguish you’ve ever seen. You bite your lip.

"Who- Who are you?" you implore, urgency inflecting your tone, hoping that he's no one of importance. Someone who helped you when you got into a car accident. Someone minor who you wouldn't fault your brain for forgetting.

"I was... I-I am your boyfriend. Minho," he utters his name like a broken plea, eyes slightly widening to gauge your reaction. As though those two syllables hold within them a myriad of memories, ones you simply cannot forget.

You don't remember.

The doctor was right in his diagnosis. The scan showed unusual activity within your brain, characteristic of post-traumatic amnesia. You listened numbly as he cited the precautions you should take to heal your physical wounds- to rest, not carry anything heavy, ice your lungs, and go on walks. But you did not care for the state of your body, you’ve bruised it before and it has healed in its own time. It will do it again; it is a familiar path you’ve already undergone. But what about your memory? Your mind that robbed you of a year of your life? How do you get it back?

“There is no guarantee you’d remember. There is also no treatment for amnesia. We advise that you focus on healing first. Do not strain your mind,” your doctor smiled, before leaving the room. His silver wedding band shined mockingly underneath your eye. He doesn’t know what it’s like to forget the lover awaiting you at home.

Minho dutifully sat by your side, nodding along to the doctor’s words. He signed your discharge papers and settled your bills before you could protest, and he was now pushing your wheelchair through the hospital's corridors. You didn’t know what to say to him- how do you talk to a stranger who uttered your name with love dripping between its letters?

In the hospital’s parking lot, Minho pauses, squatting before you. His eyes are puffy, red veins contrasting against the pristine whites, betraying the tears he must have shed when he excused himself to the toilet.

You suddenly want to beg for a reprieve; it is too much pain for one day, too much for one soul to bear. But it is only six p.m. and Minho's gaze holds you captive, a new emotion dancing in his brown irises- grief. He's looking at you as though you're a phantom, gone when you are still very much breathing.

“We've been together for eleven months, and we moved in together two months ago,” he licks his lips nervously. “You have a two-month medical leave, and I- I don’t want to leave you alone, while you recover. So, you can think of us as… as roommates.” The word felt heavy on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears brimming in his waterline. He swiftly blinks them away.

Your parents are in a faraway city, so is your best friend. You were the one who decided to move somewhere so far, to flee from the skeletons threatening to spill out of your closet. You don't want to burden anyone. You just want to rest.

You nod in agreement and Minho attempts to smile. It is a useless effort; one he quickly gives up. There was nothing to be joyous about.

Minho takes your hand, gently helping you to your feet. He opens the door to his car, and you settle into the passenger seat. It smells pleasant, an apple-scented diffuser dangling from the rearview mirror. Yet, as Minho closes the door, the scent suddenly suffocates you. Your lungs ignite, consuming your oxygen to douse their rising flames. You can no longer breathe inside, panic rippling in your heart violently, pushing at your ribs, begging for an escape. You open the door, collapsing to your knees as a violent coughing fit overtakes you. You blindly clutch at Minho’s arm and he tumbles to the ground with you.

The ugly sob that had been trapped within your throat finally escapes, and passersby pay you no mind. It must be usual to hear gut-wrenching cries in a hospital parking lot. But Minho seems to care, as his hands soothingly rub your back, undergoing a steadfast path from the nape of your neck down the base of your spine. He’s not panicking and his touch appears to instinctively know how to speak to your sadness, how to soothe your sorrow with unheard words.

You imagine it's not his first time comforting you, and the thought only forces another sob from the depths of your soul, as Minho pulls you up once again. He sits your shaky figure on the wheelchair, closing the car doors.

“We can walk,” he tells you gently, and despite the quietness of his voice, it manages to break through your raging storm. A singular sun ray parting the gloomy clouds.

“It’s okay, I’ll... I’ll suck it up”

"You've been through a terrible car accident, and I won't let you sit here and panic, especially when your wounds are still fresh and your mind is trying to protect you."

His tone is resolute, eyes blazing with determination as he looks at you. You can only nod in response. So, Minho pushes your wheelchair to his house. He doesn’t huff, nor complain about the autumn sun scorching his skin, the effort to push you for the entirety of the road, and then inside his building. He only smiles when his eyes meet yours in the elevator mirror.

He’s tentative as he opens the door to his apartment, hand tightly gripping the keys before turning them, as if preparing himself for a bigger heartbreak, one that lies within what was once his sanctuary- yours too, you suppose.

Minho pushes you inside, pausing near the entrance as your eyes drink in the interior. He seems to await something, perhaps for you to remember the place you’ve called home for the past months. A few seconds pass, and he clears his throat, holding your arm to guide you forward. He avoids your gaze as you both venture in.

“This is the kitchen,” he points to a small kitchenette, where a flower bouquet seems to have wilted, much like the man near you- his emotions now diluted, eyes dimmed as they glaze over the walls. You spot your favorite mug on the racks, one that resembles a fairy mushroom. The sight of it makes your heart clench in your chest. So, this is your home, after all.

You leave the kitchen and walk down a narrow hallway when you stumble on your feet. “Easy, honey,” Minho cautions, and your hold on his forearm falters. He blinks at you before gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” you reply in a small voice.

Minho leads you to the living room, cream-colored sofas with a navy blanket on top, multiple fuzzy pillows scattered all around. A tulip field painting graces the accent blue wall- your favorite flower, two matching slippers rest by the couch, racks of your novels adjacent to his collection of cookbooks, you assume.

It is all the more evident to you that you’ve both lived here, lives intertwining so seamlessly into one another. The place radiates comfort and warmth, but it refuses to penetrate your being, as if you’re harboring a shield of oblivion, ricocheting off any touch of remembrance. You’re an intruder, standing in stark contrast to the inviting coziness that envelops you.

“I like that wall,” you say in an attempt to lighten the stuffy atmosphere.

“We painted it together,” Minho smiles sadly, and your remorse seems to liquify, blending in with the blood running through your veins.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot three furry masses bolting towards you, small paws clawing at your feet. You feel another dent add to your heart, so much you are sure it would blow away at the tiniest gust of wind. Just how much have you forgotten?

“We… We had cats?” you ask breathlessly, eyes widening as you take in the two orange felines, and the gray, much smaller one.

“These are mine, but you also adopted them, in a way,” he explains, crouching down to pet his cats, scratching the sensitive spot behind their ears. He is tender with them and they appear at ease in his presence. You realize you’ve felt the same since you’ve woken up.

“Hey, my babies,” he coos softly. “Mom- I mean y/n- is tired so let’s give her some space, okay?” he quickly corrects, before gently pushing the cats away from your feet.

Minho shows you the bathroom before leading you to the bedroom- it's a bit untidy, worn clothes thrown on the ground, some of your accessories tossed on top of the vanity. As if the room was also frozen in time, awaiting your return to resume its familiar course.

“You'll sleep here and I'll just take the couch,” Minho interrupts your thoughts as he gently sits you atop the bed.

"But-"

"I’ll make you dinner so you can take your medication, okay?” he ignores your objections, adjusting two pillows behind your back to help you sit up straight, just like the doctor cautioned. His necklace, adorned with your initial, brushes against your cheek. “Try to sleep meanwhile. You need to rest.”

“Minho this is too much-"

“It’s not. If you need anything just call me over, I’ll leave the door open,” he says, tucking you in beneath the blanket.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finally admit, voice slightly raised so he’d finally listen.

“Y/n, I love you.” He speaks so suddenly, fists balled on either side of your body. “And this is what I do for the person I love. I… I don’t know how to not care for you, don’t take that away from me, please. Please,” he repeats, voice faltering under the weight of his plea.

"Okay," you concede.

You can't quite remember that first night, the morphine injected into your veins made you ebb and flow out of consciousness, only recollecting small fragments of the hours flowing by.

But you remember the dull pain settling into your bones, one you knew would accompany you for the following weeks. You remember the thoughts swirling in your mind like a tempest- your near brush with death, how she almost trapped you into her icy hold; the year of memories gone with the wind, as if they were never yours to begin with; and the stranger whose home you are in now, the very one who took care of you throughout the night.

And you can't perfectly recall it, but you swear Minho stayed by your side until the early hours of the morning, warm hand pressed to your forehead to check your temperature, cold tears falling on your arm as he laid his head next to your sleeping body.

Day 2.

You miss being asleep the second you wake up in.

Every fiber of your being aches, as though pain has latched itself into every muscle, its grip unrelenting now that the morphine's comforting veil has lifted. You drag a hand tiredly across your face, tears of frustration welling like dewdrops in your eyes. It's only 10 a.m. Far too early for one's spirit to crumble.

A bright post-it note on the bedside table catches your weary gaze. "I went to drop your medical leave at your work. I've made you breakfast it's in the kitchen. Don't forget to drink your medicine, I'll be home soon"

What home was Minho referring to, exactly? Because this one wasn’t yours, and neither was the one back in your hometown. Were you destined to be a passerby in temporary places, always lingering near the door, ready to put your shoes back on and leave at any moment?

10:03. Still too early.

You find solace in having two months off of your work. You couldn’t bear being somewhere where everybody knew you for months, while your memories of them span but mere weeks. The expectations they would have, the pressure to conform, to mirror the footsteps of your past self was an unbearable burden. What if she was better than you? Made better choices, spoke more eloquently? What if you couldn't live up to the image they had conjured? What if you couldn't face the repercussions of your past actions?

10:07. You need to shower.

You slowly ease yourself off the bed, careful not to put pressure on your injured leg, avoiding even the slightest exhalation. You pretend as if nothing’s happening as you pick up a pair of pajamas that you recognize from the closet – a familiar relic from the life you’ve always known.

It's a charade, you’re aware of it. You're but treading on fragile ice, your pain threatening to shatter the frozen façade beneath your feet, plunging you into the frigid truth at any given moment.

You walk into the shower, attempting to rinse the day's tiredness away. But moving your limbs is a strenuous task, and you can't reach over your head to wash your hair. You let out a dry chuckle as the water runs over your back, splattering across the white tiles.

Your heart swells in your chest, an uncomfortable weight pressing against your fractured ribs. Still, it beats, and you cling with all your might to this one silver lining.

Minho has made you pancakes, not the most nutritious meal but the only one you can stomach on your sick days. He's also brewed you tea, a singular sugar cube resting at the bottom of your cup, just the way you like it. Your grip on your fork tightens, knuckles paling. You wish he had put three sugar cubes, or that he made you anything but pancakes, something to reassure you that he didn’t know you so intimately. That your mind hasn’t stolen a love where every detail of you was known.

The door opens, keys clinking on a solid surface. The sound of it tugs at your heart ever so faintly, a distant bell ringing somewhere far- it quiets down before you even realize it is there.

“Good morning,” Minho greets, the corners of his mouth curving upward although his eyes remain downcast, redness tinging its outlines. You look down at your cup, unable to hold his wounded stare.

“Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast and for going to my work. I really appreciate it,” you say.

“It's nothing. Your coworkers wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Mm,” you murmur. “That's nice of them."

“Here,” he slides a phone across the table. “I bought you a new one since your phone’s screen was smashed in the car accident, but I took it to a repair shop. Maybe they’d manage to fix it.”

You go to protest when he shakes his head, silencing you. “Don’t say It’s too much.”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips at his accurate prediction, momentarily halting Minho in his tracks. You swallow the sound down as Minho clears his throat, dissipating your laughter into thin air. “I put my phone number there. Also, the ones of your family that I have. Always call me if you need anything, okay?” he pauses, locking your eyes with his. “Anything.”

“It's okay, I really don't want to bother you. You might be busy."

“I’ll still answer,” he quickly responds. “I’ll always answer you.”

There is a certain sincerity that coats Minho's words, one that softens the edges of his letters, making them easier to permeate your being, to sink into the seas of your soul.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Yes, hon- " He inhales deeply, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Yes, Yn?”

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course.”

The ensuing hours blur into a hazy dance, in which you’re only awakened by Minho’s warm hand on your shoulder, as he brings you lunch, then dinner to your room, paired with the medicine you need to take. He doesn’t talk to you, only carrying out the tray outside when he deems you asleep- as if tiptoeing near your existence, afraid he’d slip into you again, knowing you won’t be there to catch him.

It's nearly midnight when you leave your room to use the bathroom. You pause near the door when you spot Minho petting his cats. You don’t even know their names, you haven’t dared to ask, still foolishly holding on to the hopes that this is but a horrible nightmare, one clawing at your tender skin even after you rose.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?” he coos softly, and the cats respond with plaintive mewls as if understanding his words. “Mm. I’m really sad too,” his voice is barely above a whisper, as though it’s a confession he isn’t ready to speak out loud. The pain in your ribs intensifies.

“But it’s okay, she’ll remember us. We are her family, she can’t forget us forever, right?” your breathing hitches. “Right,” he adds softly, as if to reassure himself; to inflate hope in a heart deserted by you.

Day 3.

Minho threw away the wilted flowers, leaving the vase bare at the center of the kitchen table.

You almost wish he hadn't- those lifeless blooms were the sole reflection of your faded spirit within this home. Now everything in the house seemed alive, grand windows ushering in daylight to cascade upon the living space, causing the ivory walls to glisten. Everything, except for you and Minho, two ghosts skirting along the existence of one another.

There is, was, love imprinted in this house. You could sense it though you couldn’t feel it anymore. By the two cat mugs that connect through their tails, your products intermingling with Minho's in the bathroom sink, the notes you found hung on the fridge- some with his handwriting, most with yours, reminding Minho how much you loved him.

Where did all that love go? Did it dissipate into thin air, gone as if it had never existed? Has it turned into something else, lurking beneath the surface of your skin, waiting for you to remember?

You can’t find the answers, and as Minho finishes up his breakfast, you find yourself longing to ask him about the past year. Who you were and what you’ve lived. But you know it’ll feel like salt on a wound, akin to bringing a mirror before his face, reminding him of all that's been lost.

So instead, you offer to wash the dishes. He refuses, not that you expected anything else given his attentiveness to you.

“It’s only two plates and two cups, I can do it,” you insist, but he just stares blankly at you, before motioning to your ribs, and your swollen ankle. “It’ll be quick, please. I-I want to do it.”

“Fine,” he concedes, gaze softening. “But if you feel pain you'll stop.”

“Okay,” you smile tentatively, eager for the sense of normalcy that this mundane act would bring. You haven't forgotten how to wash a cup, at least.

Five minutes pass, and you suddenly freeze, plates drying in your hands. You have no idea where the dishes go.

This was your home, yet you can't even remember which cupboard holds the plates.

Silent tears flow down your cheeks and you wipe them away angrily. You clutch the plate in your hands so tightly you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. You selfishly wish it did- you were tired of being the sole broken entity in this house.

A small whimper escapes your lips, startling Minho who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He rushes to your side, brows furrowed, concern woven into his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” he questions; eyes raking through your figure anxiously.

You shake your head as your tears double over. You can feel your heart constricting in your chest, longing for comfort, for a missing piece that was snatched from you, the void it left behind pulsating achingly within your being.

“I-I don’t know where the dishes go, and yesterday I tried to w-wash my hair and I c-couldn’t do it,” you admit through hiccups, plate still in your hands. Minho gently takes it from your tight hold, and your pinky brushes against his palm. He flexes his hand at the touch.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault. I should've shown you,” his voice is gentle, reminding you of how one soothes a child during a tantrum. You're embarrassing yourself but you can't find it in you to care.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t p-put them back in their place,” you choke out, head turned down, tears ricocheting off sage tiles. You’ve always wanted a green kitchen. You’ve gotten it and you can’t remember.

“It’s okay, I’ll put them back. Shh, yn, please don’t cry.” He’s slightly panicking, hands tightly fisted near his body as if he’s afraid they’d act on their own accord, reaching out to touch you the way they’ve done the past few months. He sighs softly before taking a cautious step toward you.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” he offers, smiling tenderly at you, knuckles brushing ever so gently against your cheeks. “Hm? You can sit in front of the sink and I’ll wash it.”

“You’d do it?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

There is a softness that emanates from every atom of Minho, flowing from his fingertips, molding everything he touches. You were sure of it as he stood beside you, pouring shampoo over your hair with you sitting on a stool, head tilted back to the sink, your favorite song playing in the background. As he dried your hair with a warm towel, and then settled behind you on the bed, gently lathering your hair with your familiar serum, brushing your strands with care, avoiding any tugs that might pain you.

Everything Minho does is not to hurt you.

You went to sleep with the ghost of his fingers lingering on your scalp, his warm breath still caressing the back of your neck. You found slumber came much easier to you that night. You account it to your hair finally being clean.

Day 4.

“Yn?” Minho calls out gently, his head peering through the bedroom door. “Should we go on a walk? Just around the block, the doctor said it’d be good.”

“Sure,” you nod, glancing at the bedside clock. 9:43 p.m. it reads.

“Dress warmly, it’s cold outside,” he advises softly before leaving.

A few minutes later, you're clad in a gray university hoodie that drapes slightly past your thighs and a pair of matching sweatpants. Minho halts in his tracks upon seeing you, his eyes racking furiously over your figure. He shakes his head, swallowing a growing lump of despair.

“Wait here,” he whispers, vanishing into his room, leaving you fidgeting in place. An orange cat sidles up to your feet and you slowly bend down to scratch its ears. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” you smile sadly and he purrs in response, as if forgiving you for forgetting.

You wished you could forgive yourself too, one day.

Minho comes back, a red scarf in his hands. He steps forward until only a few inches are separating your bodies. With attentive care, he wraps the scarf around your neck, securing it in place. His brows furrow as he loops the fabric through and you release a small, shaky exhale.

There is a fog dissipating before your eyes, a misty veil lifted off your irises. In the four days you've known Minho, you always willed yourself to not look at him for too long, afraid of the pain you'd discern brewing over his figure, the shadows cast across his face.

But now, he stands so near that you cannot help but look at him. Wispy black bangs fall on top of his forehead, framing his rich honey eyes. His long eyelashes flutter with each blink, pupils dilated like a constellation-laden night sky. The smooth bridge of his high nose, dotted with the smallest mole; a well-defined cupid's bow outlining rosy, plump lips. He’s beautiful, even in his sadness; with sunken cheekbones and darkened eye circles, the hunch of his back, and the shake in his hands as he gently frees your hair from underneath the scarf.

Was it wrong of you to find beauty in his pain?

His gaze softens when it finally meets yours, his hand still holding your scarf tightly, as if it's a lifeline tethering him to you, one with which he verifies your existence, suddenly so elusive now that it no longer entwines with his.

It must be strange, surely, to grieve the loss of someone who’s still alive, breathing in the room next to yours.

Minho smiles at you, his fingers hovering above your head, as though he wished to smooth down your hair. He retracts his hand back, burying it deep inside the pocket of his black sweatpants, physically trapping it, stopping it from reaching it out to you once again.

You’ve noticed his reticence to touch you, even when he wakes you in the morning to drink your medicine. His hand never fully rests upon your shoulder, it is only his fingertips that delicately graze your skin. It's as though he’s convinced you're but a figment of his imagination, and he fears that once he touches you, his hand will pass right through your body, shattering the illusion he foolishly held onto.

You blink and Minho’s already three steps away, grabbing his keys and opening the door.

Despite cautioning you against the cold, Minho doesn't say no when you ask for ice cream, paying for it before you can reach the counter. It's an unfamiliar brand, one that he advised you to try, and you don't regret following his choice. It’s a sweet mixture of vanilla and caramelized almonds, coated in rich milk chocolate- you can't stop the happy smile that graces your lips upon tasting it.

You glance at Minho to find an unprecedented softness coloring his expression, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. It isn't a smile directed at you, but rather an uncontrollable display of his feelings, splashing across his face like paint on a canvas.

You expect him to swallow this mark of affection down, to conceal it with a placid expression, but he doesn't. He only tilts his chin forward, gesturing to the ice cream.

"Do you like it?"

You hum in agreement, a grin stretching wider on your lips. "I do."

"You did too, back then, when I showed it to you," he says, almost casually, as if referring to a childhood memory that turned out to be more important to him than to you.

"You have good taste," you reply, scrunching your nose playfully at him. The smile slips away from his face, his voice somber when he speaks again. "I really do, don't I?"

Walking with Minho isn't as awkward as you had imagined it might be. He shows you the neighborhood- the nearby playground, the hidden flower shop tucked away in a corner and you make a mental note to visit it later. You point at closed shops inquiring about them- he answers each of your questions diligently.

Your accident is never brought up, and you both tiptoe around the topic, skirting the edge of a dark forest where the light no longer seeps through and dark vines cover the sun.

You both refuse to venture into the unknown.

"Just down the road, there is a bookstore. They have really great deals and I bought most-" Shouts erupt from somewhere nearby, loud slurred voices of two men under the influence. Your hand instinctively wraps around Minho's forearm, while his hand moves in front of your body, acting as a shield.

You freeze, letting out a shaky breath. "I- I hate yelling."

"I know," he responds simply, lowering his hand.

He knows you- it is a comforting thought, to realize that you exist beyond the confines of your own mind.

Day 5.

Minho’s staring blankly at his phone, your conversation shining dimly before his eyes. You’ve just sent him a text reassuring him that you indeed took your medicine since he wasn’t home today with you- his three days off work passing by in the blink of an eye.

In his mind, the past week felt like a mirage, a nightmare woven with intricate threads of his deepest fears- losing you, never getting to see the glimmer in your eyes again, and then looking at it and realizing it is no longer directed at him.

He exhales softly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his navy trousers. The salty breeze from the nearby lake grazes his senses, and he closes his eyes, yearning for a fleeting respite.

He purposely avoids watching the sun's descent into the water, which paints the sky in hues of yellow and orange. He no longer finds the sunset unfolding before him captivating, or any other scenery, for that matter, even those he once deemed beautiful. The world, in his eyes, has become lackluster and devoid of vibrancy, overshadowed by a profound sadness he never fathomed would reside in his heart.

He still doesn’t know how he managed to remain strong until now, tending to you, holding your gaze, and breathing near you when you don’t even remember him.

You’ve survived, he reminds himself, you were lucky enough to be able to draw these breaths. The thought of any other outcome sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine. You’re alive and you’ll be home, he clings to this truth as he starts making his way back to his apartment.

For how long will this knowledge offer him solace? How long will it push him to face a new day? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he wants to.

It is much deeper into the night, the sound of the TV playing softly in the background. Minho has given up on slumber since the day of your accident. He was used to the feel of your fingers playing with his hair, your goodnight kisses planted on his forehead, then his on yours.

He doesn't know how to sleep without burying his head in your neck, your chest, your stomach, wherever he saw fit that day. And he was used to your warmth- the warmth of your body as he pressed it tightly to his, the warmth of your love as you whispered goodnight to him. And the living room feels immensely cold in your absence.

He fixates his gaze on the ceiling, resolute in his effort to avoid scanning the room. Since every corner he dares to inspect serves as a poignant reminder of the life you both once shared, a life whose echoes still reverberate in the air around him. The sound of your laughter, the memory of your annoyed whines when he teased you a bit too fervently. Vivid recollections unfold before his eyes- your tender kisses exchanged under the fridge's light, warm hugs by the front door after a particularly long day, none of you willing to let go first.

He remembers your delighted giggles the first time you entered the house. It was still unfurnished, save for a floatable mattress and two empty cups of ramen beside it. But you were happy, immensely so, and your joy seemed to fill every room, painting it with shades of your love. Now the house feels empty- you're here and yet you aren't, and he is still on the sidewalk where he received that fateful call from your hospital.

The moonlight filters through the window, and Minho looks at the light without truly seeing it. It's as if darkness surrounds him entirely- a bottomless sky where the stars of your affection have fizzled out, so suddenly, leaving him alone to wander blind. He can't help but feel guilty- had he not given you a love worth remembering?

Minho sighs loudly once again, trying to coax the reluctant breaths to escape his body. He pulls himself to his feet to check on you, knowing that you had to sleep upright for the first few days so your ribs would heal properly, which is why he often found himself readjusting your body at night.

He peeks through the door, the light from the hallway casting an ethereal glow on your body. He frowns when he notices you fidgeting in your sleep, eyebrows knitted together. A soft gasp escapes your lips and Minho hurries to your side. He's witnessed your nightmares before and he knows that this one must be particularly terrifying to elicit such startled sounds from you.

“Y/n,” Minho coaxes gently, but you don’t respond. He presses his palm to your shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Y/n, wake up.” You writhe in your place, fear evident in your features, and Minho grabs both your shoulders, growing more urgent in his attempts to wake you. “Y/n, come on wake up!” he speaks louder, and you startle awake, pushing his arms away.

“I’m... Where am I?” you ask frantically, hand running through your hair. A sharp pain seems to surge through your ribs as you clutch your chest, slightly doubling over.

“Take it easy, Y/n. Deep breaths,” he wills gently and you raise your head, meeting his eyes. Recognition shines in them, but not love, not anymore. He never knew affection could alter someone’s gaze this much.

“Minho… I- I remember,” you gasp, tears trailing down your face at an alarming rate. He freezes in place, tongue thickening in his mouth, unable to move it.

“What... what do you remember?” he asks carefully, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“The accident. I remember driving and I… I was going in my lane, I- I didn’t… I wasn’t driving fast, but a truck came out of nowhere and its lights blinded me, and then… it rammed into the passenger seat side of the car and-" Your hands shake as you bring them to your face. “The blood, there was so much blood coming out of me, that’s- that’s the last thing I remember, it was in my hands and my arms and-" You’re wiping frantically at your skin as if erasing remnants of the red liquid only you can see. “I bled so much but I was… I- I don’t-"

“Can I hold your hands?” Minho cuts you off, needing the panic to dissipate from your being.

“Please,” you stutter, and he promptly grabs your hands in his warm ones, intertwining your fingers together, rubbing his thumb soothingly across your palm.

“You are safe now. You are alive and you are breathing and you are safe.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I drove safely, why… why was I hit?” you ask in a small, broken voice, overwhelmed by the unjust reality of the world. Minho swallows his own tears, throwing them down the pits of his pain. The one thing he wished you’d never remember was your accident, the sight of your unconscious body for those three days nearly driving him insane.

“He was drunk. And he’s in jail now. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t have prevented it."

You remain silent, gaze lost on the wall. “Hm? It wasn’t your fault, right?" he presses, squeezing your hand lightly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, unconvinced. Minho reluctantly drops your hand to pour you a glass of water, and you diligently drink it, before curling around yourself in a ball.

“No, you can’t sit like this,” he gently reprimands and you pout.

"My heart hurts. The pressure helps."

“I know it does,” he smiles in understanding, “but we have to make sure your ribs won’t hurt more, alright?” he explains as he pulls you upright, tucking pillows beneath your arms. He grabs a hoodie from the closet and rolls it into a ball, placing it gently on your chest.

“Here, you can hug this instead.” You giggle quietly at the makeshift plushie, but your laughter suddenly morphs into fresh tears, catching him off-guard.

“I’m so tired, Minho. And I’m so frustrated and mad and sad. Is it possible to f-feel all these things at once?" You hiccup, burying your face into his hoodie, soaking it in tears.

“It is,” he hums gently, “Do you think it’d help if you talked to a therapist?” He feels you tense up beneath the comforter. “Only if you want to, on your own terms.”

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper.

“Of course,” he says. “Try to sleep again, mm?”

“I don’t think I can,” you chuckle quietly, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your cardigan. “Do you have work tomorrow?” you ask.

“I do.”

“What do you work as?”

“Computer programming. I’m also a dance teacher on the side,” he adds quietly, feeling a bit vulnerable at revealing this bit about himself again.

“How do you manage both?” you ask in awe and he shrugs.

“My IT job leaves me a lot of free time. And I’ve always loved dance, so it doesn’t really feel like a job, you know?”

“Mm, you must work very hard at it. That’s why your body’s so toned,” you say almost absentmindedly, as Minho lets out a surprised chuckle at your words.

“You think my body is toned?”

“I mean- I didn’t ogle you I just… you know, you wear these fitted shirts it’s hard not to notice your muscles and-"

"You are sick and yet you’re staring at my body?” he tsks. “I feel used.”

“Hey,” you hit him with the hoodie he gave you. “Forget I said anything,” you pout.

“It’s okay, I work very hard for these, thank you very much,” he flexes slightly, and genuine laughter bubbles up from you both. This might be the one thing he misses the most.

You both quiet down, silence filling the room once again, but it isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, almost as if you're the same person he's always known.

“What’s your favorite color?” you suddenly ask.

“Purple.”

“Did my favorite color change over this past year?”

“No,” he chuckles, “it’s still that obnoxious orange.”

“It’s not obnoxious, it’s peculiar.”

“it’s weird and it hurts my poor eyes,” he whines, covering his face as if wounded by the mere thought of it.

“Hey, what if it can hear us and now you just hurt its feelings?”

“Colors have feelings now?” he asks, amused.

“Everything has feelings,” you nod matter-of-factly.

“Okay then think of the feelings of this bed we are both squishing with our weights.”

“Don’t say that. Now I’m sad for it,” you pat the comforter gently, a slight pout tugging at your lips.

“I think you should sleep,” he smiles and you fake a gasp. “Is my convo boring you?”

“Yes. Now sleep, Yn,” he brings the comforter up your body, sliding away from the bed. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Can you… can you sleep here too? I saw the inflatable mattress in the storage room. If that’s not… too much to ask for.”

"Of course not. I'll be back."

"Thank you, Minho" you smile, lower lip slightly quivering. "Thank you for not being mad at me."

Just how many cracks can one heart bear before breaking beyond repair? Minho thinks he's close to finding out.

Day 6.

The lights of your dreams have returned, but they are no longer comforting, nor warm, they glare harshly, searing your eyes as they announce your impending doom. Each second draws out in slow-motion and you find yourself counting the breaths you inhale, fearing they may be your last. One in, one out, one in, one out. The moment you dreaded unfolds- the truck collides with your car, flipping it upside down.

However, this time, flames rage within. You know that your car wasn't burned, but they feel terrifyingly tangible as they latch onto your skin. The heat becomes unbearable, you are no longer sure that this is just a mere dream. You try to scream but smokey air fills your lungs instead, robbing you of your ability to speak.

You need to wake up. You need someone to rouse you from this nightmare. Minho. You try to utter his name, but it escapes your lips in a strangled whisper. The lights won.

A cool hand clasps your own, yanking you from the fiery dream, dissolving it like sugar in a hot cup of tea. You startle awake to find Minho hovering over you, brows knitted in concern, his hand tenderly cradling yours.

“Are you okay? Another bad dream?” he inquires and you sigh in response, nodding as your head falls back onto the pillow.

He brushes your hair back, some damp strands still clinging to your sweaty forehead. "You screamed my name. Was I in your nightmare?” he ventures carefully, afraid he was one of the sources of your fear.

“No, I… I thought of you, in my dream,” you reassure, although your words seem to have the opposing effect, making Minho pause in his tracks. You’ve noticed his habit of freezing around you as if needing time to process what you just said. You wonder if you’ve ever came to learn the meaning behind each of his silences, what his blinks convey in ways his tongue fails to.

“You are heating up,” he clears his throat, pressing his hand against your forehead. “Do you wanna shower? I’ll make you tea meanwhile.”

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that,” you nod, glancing at your phone- 3.47 a.m.

Twenty minutes later, you find Minho sitting on the inflatable bed, legs crossed, two steaming mugs of tea before him. He appears drowsy, eyes shutting and reopening as if fending off slumber. It’s almost an endearing sight- the way his bangs fall before his eyes, obstructing his vision, the sleeves of his pullover dangling over his hands, hiding them from your view. He brought the mattress without you asking him to. The attention brings a smile to your face.

“Hi,” you greet softly and Minho looks up, a tender smile on his face. “Hey. Here is your tea.”

“Thank you,” you beam at him, settling on the edge of your bed, legs crisscrossed to mirror his. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Isn't that what sleep is?” you snort and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“I was still conscious, you know. I can’t really sleep these days.”

“Is the couch uncomfortable?” you ask, worried, fidgeting with your lower lip.

“It’s not the couch,” he says as his eyes lock on yours, a stare so intense it forces you to look down at your cup. ‘it’s you’, you read in his gaze. You have no answer for that.

“What's your favorite food?” you suddenly wonder.

“Pudding.”

“But that’s dessert?”

“I really like the one you used to make me.”

“I cooked for you? and you liked it?” you giggle. “I’m not really good at it, usually.”

“I taught you some basic skills,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows proudly at you.

“Too bad your effort is now wasted.”

“It’s not a waste if it was done with love,” he pauses, licking his lips. “And I remember it.”

A bittersweet fog shrouds the air- he remembers that memory, but you don’t. Perhaps you will never bridge that gap, no matter how much you want to. The room in your heart may remain forever locked, the gateway to that chamber brimming with your stolen memories. Maybe you're condemned to merely stand before the closed door, straining to hear the echoes of the love that resonates behind, forever just out of reach.

You don’t fall asleep again that night. And as Minho’s quiet snores fill the room, you rummage your mind in search of a pudding recipe, hoping to retrieve the memory he spoke of so tenderly, shaky hands holding his mug tightly. Silent tears trail down your cheeks and you try your best to stifle the sound of your cries.

You want to make pudding. You want to make him pudding so badly.

Day 7.

It’s been a week since you woke up anew. Seven days adrift in a vast sea where waves of your memories lap at the shores of your mind, unable to breach the walls guarding your recollections of the past year.

Minho took you to the hospital for your weekly check-up. He sat by your side as the doctor reassured you that your ribs were healing relatively well, but you still needed time to recover, time for your body to mend, time for your memories to return. You loathed the waiting, the wasted days slipping through your fingers. You wanted a now.

But you kept all these thoughts to yourself, thanking the doctor as he exited the room.

Minho rented a bicycle to drive you around since the thought of being in a car made your anxiety spike. He installed a little seat for you, in that bright, obnoxious orange color you love very dearly. The sight of it nearly brought tears to your eyes this morning.

Minho idly pedaled around, choosing a scenic route, one he knew by heart from the looks of it. You closed your eyes, savoring the last sun rays of the year. Autumn was fading, winter clawing its way into the seasons slowly. You weren’t sure you could handle both the cold and the grief.

Miho took time off work for your doctor's appointment, and you both spent the day around one another, side by side on the couch, a new book in your hands, and an anime playing on the TV for Minho.

You could see him casting occasional, nervous glances in your direction, as you flipped the pages of the book. You didn’t understand why at first.

But then you did.

You only brought it up at night, when it was past 2 a.m. and you knew that Minho wasn’t sleeping either, the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He left the inflatable mattress in the room, no longer waiting for a nightmare to occur. You weren’t complaining. You desperately needed company.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Mm?”

“How did we meet?”

You can hear Minho suck in a deep breath at your question, before placing his phone down, the only light source in the room fizzling out. It made talking easier that way, when only your voices were heard, carried around, as if emitting from two entities that weren’t you both.

“We met… near your old apartment block. I was going to the kimbap place near yours, you remember that one, right?”

You hum in response.

“And I saw you crying, crouching near an injured cat. Some car had run over her leg, and she couldn’t walk anymore. And you didn’t know what to do, so I helped you. You insisted on coming with me to the vet where I take my cats. So, we caught a cab. And you were so worried, you didn’t stop crying, so the cab driver thought I did something to you,” he chuckles faintly.

“Then, the vet put a cast on her leg and reassured us that she’d be okay. And I told him I’d take her home and bring her for check-ups. But you were so worried, you begged me to send you updates about the cat. So, you gave me your number. And we talked.”

“What happened to the cat?”

“I took her to a rescue store I trusted since I couldn’t take her in. and we still visited her from time to time. And then, she found a good family.”

“And what happened to us?” you inquire softly, hoping that if your voice was quiet enough then your question wouldn't hurt Minho as much.

“We kept in touch," he said. "And it was… easy to talk to you, I felt as if I had known you for my entire life. When you found out I had three cats, we Facetimed a lot so you’d see them, but then we just kept on calling, every day, for nearly two weeks. Being with you felt natural, you know? I didn’t overthink it. I never did."

“And then three weeks later you came over to see Soonie, Dori, and Doongie. We ended up watching three movies in a row, and you were so tired you slept on my couch.”

“That’s embarrassing,” you chuckle.

"Yes," he laughs and you reach over to swat his shoulder playfully. "But it was also cute, and endearing. Then you came over a lot, and we just cooked together. Well, I cooked and you watched.”

“Right, that sounds more like me," you instantly agree.

“We hung outside too, whenever one of us had free time. We had a lot of common hobbies and interests so we never ran out of things to talk about. We made time for each other too.”

“How did we start dating?”

“You made the first move.”

“I did?” you shoot up from your place, hissing when the abrupt movement causes a twinge of pain in your ribs.

“Take it easy,” he giggles, as he illuminates your face with his flashlight. “You did.”

“Did you put a spell on me? I swore I’d never make a first move again after I was rejected in third grade. That was my most sacred oath."

“Well… you were ranting about this book. The one you were reading today,” he adds, and your excitement fizzles out, as the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. “You were sad because you had no one to talk to about it. So, I bought the book and read it. I gave you my copy, complete with highlighted passages and notes. And when I did… you kissed me, without warning,” his voice is softer now, as he fiddles with the tip of his blushing ears. "You said it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you.”

“It was. It is,” you whisper, heart caught in your throat. “I saw the photograph of us both lodged between the pages of the book. Did we take it that day?”

“Yes, we weren’t dating, not yet. Because I told you I wanted to take you out on a proper date. But you wanted us to take a picture holding the book… So you’d remember.”

“So I'd remember,” you repeat, voice quivering. What good was it for in the end?

“I looked so happy in the photograph,” you whisper, tears welling up your eyes. “I looked so happy with you,” your voice breaks as you utter that last part. "Did I love you, Minho?"

"You did," he nods softly, blinking away his own tears.

“And did you love me?”

“I did. I still do, very much.”

“Thank you, for loving me. It sounds like I’ve lived a happy year with you.”

Minho's pain is akin to a polite guest; it lingers by the corner, speaking in whispers, hardly ever raising its voice. You'd never really notice it, unless you strain your ears, as you're doing now. Only then would you discern the tremors of his quiet sobs- broken, stifled, determined not to make themselves known, only escaping his lips when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

Day 8.

Whenever an overwhelming emotion ran freely along the corridors of your soul, you'd often find yourself curled in a fetal position, knees drawn to your chest, like a fragile leaf.

Your teacher once explained that it reminds us of safer times in the wombs of our mothers, when the cruelty of life hasn’t yet reached us.

It is the way you’re resting now, upon the cold, hardwood floor, dozens of books surrounding you. You decided to go through each book in Minho’s library, the need to satiate your curiosity overtaking you. You didn’t know what you were looking for, exactly. Other photographs, surely, in the hopes that one of them would spark up your memory, ignite the flame of remembrance.

What you didn’t expect was to find Minho talking to you through books. Within the pages, amid the words, scribbled in small, dainty handwriting, threads of his thoughts all relating to you. Quotes he thought you’d appreciate, highlighted segments that reminded him of you. And dedications, so many dedicated lines you felt like you could drown in them. It felt as if Minho was on a quest to find love within every line, only to inscribe your name beside it.

Putting down the last book, you were left with a huge void, akin to a black hole eating away at your heart. So, you laid on the floor, one arm underneath your head, knees held tightly to your chest- as if trying to create borders for your sadness, to stop it from spilling out of your body, drowning the house in even more sorrow. Those four walls have had enough, more than they could contain. And so did you.

You suddenly longed for the very beginning of your life, when time was but a tranquil stream, when you were unaware of the hurtful years it would carve into your existence. Back to when your spine was still curled around itself; for it was never meant to be straightened. Your spine was never strong enough to bear your pain.

You wanted to talk to someone, but you didn’t know who you could turn to. You didn’t know how to articulate these emotions into words, tangible enough for someone to understand them. And you couldn’t talk to Minho about it, not when he was hurting on his own.

Because he smiled down at his cats, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. His laughter echoed around the room when he talked to his friends on the phone. And sometimes, he even hummed under his breath while making you breakfast. But this happiness never reached his eyes, behind his pupils the sadness seared itself into his veins, casting a gloomy shadow that followed him everywhere he went. It was a palpable ache, one that filled the very atmosphere with the metallic taste of grief. Making it almost impossible for you to breathe in. Even more so when you remember it was all your fault.

These are the thoughts that haunted you all day, as they have been doing for the past week. Minho must have noticed that you were feeling gloomier than usual, a silent storm raging by his side, since he put up a romcom for you. “It made you laugh a lot when you watched it months ago.”

“How do you remember all of these things about me?” you ponder, scratching the fragile skin near your nails, easily torn, just like you.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Should I stop?” he asks quietly, deflecting your question.

“No,” you say the truth. “It'd be weird if you were an actual stranger, but… you knew me. And I knew you. and I still feel safe around you.”

He nods silently, but something in his gaze compels you to keep talking.

“I mean, I never felt uncomfortable around you these days, which surprised me too. I just… I suppose that even if my mind doesn’t remember, my heart does, in a way?”

“My heart will always remember you,” he whispers, gaze adrift in a faraway memory.

A gear shifts in your mind, a sudden light flooding your vision. You find yourself within a grand canopy bed, its pure white curtains swaying to the rhythm of a whimsical breeze, their delicate fabric brushing lightly against your cheek. It’s slightly cold from the wide-open windows, but then it’s warm, as a gentle hand finds its place on your thigh, kindling an ember deep within, setting your very soul ablaze.

The curtains sway with the wind, obscuring your view, but you can still discern the sound of your laughter, echoing like distant chimes. And a tenderness, so delicate it seemed almost otherworldly, trailing along your skin, as warmth caresses your cheek and gently traverses the curve of your collarbones, peppering it with the softest kisses. You can't quite behold it, but it is unmistakably there, an ineffable presence that threatens to burst your heart at the seams—a memory of your love for Minho.

It is a blurry sight, like peering into a worn-out photograph, its details softened by the sands of time. But you clutch to it- to your fading laughter and hushed conversation, and then your voice ringing clearly in your mind, the promise you made to Minho.

'My heart will always remember you'.

You startle back in a jolt; the light and warmth have extinguished. They are now dull, withered down, sitting next to you with their head hung low.

It takes you an inhumane effort to swallow down the lump in your throat.

Day 16.

This week has been particularly cold. Not temperature-wise, October has always harbored these same frigid temperatures and you've gotten used to them, to the relentless winds brushing against your skin. Only this time they pierced right through your soul instead.

You knew what had changed. You had felt the sadness, the frustration, the guilt- all blending into one sorrowful symphony, pulling at your heartstrings the way one does to a harp. Yet, amid these familiar emotions, a new feeling loomed large this past week- anxiety.

It arrived in sudden, icy bursts, cold beads of perspiration cascading down your spine, feet suddenly freezing no matter how fuzzy your socks were- the physical telltales, then came the emotional ones. The shadows of dread, for we fear the unseen more than that which we can touch. The growing panic gnawing at your heart, hinting that something profoundly disastrous lurked on the horizon.

Anxiety held you suspended in the air, bound by invisible ropes that compelled you to watch from above as the days drifted past you. You were a ghost haunting an empty shell, hollow and resonant with anxiety's clang, akin to an empty can's descent to the ground.

Your appetite had fled, leaving you alone to grapple with the chore of feeding yourself, mechanically ingesting food only to pacify Minho’s concerned gaze. The TV’s volume blared, since you desperately needed the voices of other people to invade your mind, to render your thoughts merciless, forcing them to put their sword-like tongues down.

And the exhaustion, not accounted to your broken ribs, for Minho had meticulously overseen their recovery. It was an emotional fatigue, a weariness that clung to your every breath, trapping them within your ribcage, far beyond their time, until they tethered on the brink of exploding in your lungs- a supernova of darkness devouring your essence. Only then did the breaths release their hold on you.

So, you patiently awaited the inevitable unraveling, because you knew this wasn’t an ordinary anxiety. Your soul whispered to you in a language your mind could no longer translate, throbbing with a message you couldn’t quite recollect, striving urgently to jog your memory of a monumental truth.

But you didn’t remember– you should have.

You should've known it was Minho’s birthday.

It is near midnight when you venture out of your room, the inflatable bed by your side unusually vacant. A dim glow draws you to the kitchen, and as you stand by its entrance, an intensified cold grips you. It chills the blood in your veins, transforming it into splintered shards that prick uncomfortably beneath your skin.

Minho is sitting by the table, a small, muted cake before him, a shoebox by his side. A solitary candle flickers in front of his face, casting elongating shadows on his chiseled features. The flame is about to fizzle out- you feel like your heart will closely follow suit.

"Minho..." you call out gently, careful not to startle him from the trance ensnaring him. He doesn't react to the sound of your voice.

"Minho, I…"

"Today was my birthday."

His tone is cold, like the darkening clouds before a stormy night. His words feel like lightning bolts piercing your core.

"It would be stupid to blow this candle out, wouldn't it? Because you and I both know my wish won't come true. Maybe it never will. And it's killing me, yn." His voice quivers as it utters your name, a slight shake taking over his lips. His cheeks are tear stained- glimmering reflections under the golden flame. You've never seen him this sad. You don't know how to comfort him in his sadness.

A rush of nausea overwhelms your being, a yearning to expel every emotion, methodically, until your heart transforms into a tranquil organ, solely pulsing life's crimson essence through your frame. Nothing more, nothing less.

"This shoe box is yours. You kept it under the bed, filled it with everything that reminded you of me. You told me..." he pauses, taking in a deep breath. "You told me that you wanted to remember everything about us, every single detail. But I... I don't care if you don't remember every date we went to. I just-" his forehead rests on his palm, as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I just want you to remember that you love me."

Hot tears are rolling across his cheeks, splattering across the table like a broken mosaic. He doesn't try to hide them or wipe them away. He's had enough.

"Minho, I’m-"

"I mean- that's not too much to ask for, right?" he finally lifts his head, locking his eyes with yours. A black abyss, a dark void. You are the one who sucked out all the light.

"You- you said you loved me. And I- I felt it, y/n, when you looked at me, when you touched me. I felt it, it wasn't- it wasn't just words, I-" he pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at his black locks furiously. "You loved me," his voice breaks. "Why- why can't you remember that you loved me?"

Your tongue bursts to flame in your mouth, its grey ashes choking you from within. What could you even say? How do you stop the bleeding of a heart when you carry knives for fingers?

Minho abruptly stands up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "We talked about marriage, a-about kids, you said- you said you'd choose me to be the father of your children, you said you wanted a big house w-with me and you-” he points at you, chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. “You said you wanted us to sit at the patio when we're eighty and you wanted us to hold hands still," he chuckles bitterly, his arms falling limp by his side incredulously. "And now you don't even remember me."

He grabs the box, rummaging through its contents furiously. "You see this?" he waves dried flowers before your eyes, their petals falling to the floor from the force of his agitation. "These are the flowers I got you for our first date. You dried them and put them here because you- you said you wanted to preserve it, to remember."

"And this, the cinema tickets from our first movie date. You were so tired you just slept on my shoulder all the time and then I- I carried you home and you kissed me." He's growing more frantic, rifling through the shoe box in a frenzy. You remain rooted by the kitchen's entrance, a sense of powerlessness holding you captive, an unbreakable vice around your being.

"This is the napkin from our favorite cat café, and look," he grabs your hand, clammy palm pressed to yours, pulling you toward the table." This is the receipt of the first time we went grocery shopping together and-" he waves it in the air, before slamming it onto the table. "And, you e-even kept this stupid rock I gave you right before I told you I love you for the first time, because you said it was the happiest day of your life, my god Yn how can you not remember?"

A broken, sob-laden chuckle escapes his lips, a sound so heart wrenchingly human, so painfully poignant that for an instant, it fills you with a bitter aversion to your own humanity- it was never meant to inflict this much pain upon someone else.

Your thoughts shatter as Minho tenderly cups your face, urging you to confront his turbulent gaze. He seeks something within your eyes, and you desperately hope he'd find it, whatever it may be, anything to stop the tremor in his hands as they anchor you in place.

"Why did you- why did you keep all of this if not to remember me.” He asks, unblinking, lip quivering. “Please, please, remember me, just- just try, okay?"

"I’m so sorry-"

"No. No. Don't- don't apologize like it's final like you could never love me again," his hands glide to your shoulders, shaking you slightly in place. "Don't you understand? I-I don't want an apology I want you to remember me."

"Minho..."

"Just look through this, it's our happiest memories y/n, okay?" he let goes of you, circling the table before shoving the box into your hands. He smiles- attempts to, it is an unnatural presence amidst his tears, so out of place it sends shivers down your spine. "Look at it, yn, please," he pleads as your hold on the box falters. "I can’t remember us alone. I’m crushing under the weight of everything we lived it’s exhausting me!"

His voice ascends pitch, the end of his words hanging into the air, searing themselves into the particles you breathe. His voice leaves a painful echo on his trail. You’re exhausting him.

You put the box down, taking three cautious step forwards.

And then you hug Minho.

He can't even hold you back, body trembling with the sobs rippling through him as soon as your chest presses to his. He sinks to the floor and you follow suit, arms enfolding his concaved shoulders tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Im sorry, I'm so sorry Minho. I- I wish I could remember."

You want the kitchen to collapse upon itself. There is too much grief in such a small room- it stains the walls like blood droplets, absorbs his cries like a saturated sponge.

You don’t think you could ever sit at this table again.

He finally clasps your back, drawing you even nearer to him. "Can- can you pretend, just today, please? For my birthday. Pretend you still love me."

"Of course. It's okay, I’m here, honey. I'm here."

"I love you. I love you so much," he whispers, lips pressed against your neck. "And it hurts to love you, so much." He brings your hand to his heart. "It hurts so much right here."

He doesn't let go of your hand, softly caressing your knuckles. His breath hitches as his thumb hovers over your ring finger. "I... I was going to propose, you know? I even bought the ring, stored it away for when the time is right. Do you think you would have remembered if you woke up wearing it?"

He knows your answer would've been yes. You know that too, in the matching cat mugs and the book annotations and the way Minho gently held your face, even in the depths of his despair. Everywhere you look, your answer echoes back- yes, the home chants in unison, that's what you would've said. Yes, yes, yes.

Day 17.

In the cracks of concrete sidewalks, tenacious flowers manage to sprout. Just how in the depths of Minho’s pain, small joys bloomed, nestled in the vacant spaces between you and him.

You'd greet him each time he opened the door, your voice resonating through the apartment like the sweetest sonnet. And he would always pause by the doorknob, basking in the sound of your voice that hadn’t changed in the slightest. Your tone still held that same dulcet timber, a golden honey that once dripped freely upon his soul.

But today, Minho swung open the door and an eerie hush greeted him instead. He ventured in, calling after you, only to be met with utter silence. He anxiously checked the rooms, opening the doors hastily one by one. But you weren't there. You weren't home.

Minho felt the familiar tendrils of worry coiling around his heart, constricting it with each passing moment. He quickly grabbed his phone, dialing your number, only to fall into your voicemail, the robotic voice chilling him to the core.

In the past two weeks, you had made sure to text Minho each time you went outside- a precaution you took due to your fractured ribs which came with frequent fits of dizziness. It was a safety measure for one person, at least, to know where you are.

But you didn't text him today. And he had no idea where you might’ve gone to.

Minho tried to suck in a deep breath, willing the fear to relinquish its icy grip on his body so he could think properly. Maybe you had simply forgotten, he reasoned. Yet, he knew that you never back out on your promises. They were sacred for you since they were once senselessly broken.

For the second time in a mere three weeks, Minho’s deepest fears unfurl like a nightmare before him, ensnaring him in a tapestry woven with the bloody threads of everything that went wrong yesterday.

He carried his shame akin to heavy bricks on his shoulders, causing them to hunch forward- a coward, leaving the house before you even rose, and on his trail, your breakfast and a hastily written note. He couldn’t fathom eating at that kitchen table with you, not when his sobs still echoed around those sage walls, as did your quiet voice as you tried to soothe his cries, holding him between your tender arms.

Minho was scared. He was terrified you’d never come back home after everything that had happened, the words he said and the way he pleaded, nearly at your feet, consumed by a sadness grander than anything he’s ever known.

So, he storms out of the apartment in a hurry, scouring the nearby playground. But you aren’t there. The grocery store is next, the library, the flower shop, the cat café tucked in a corner that you may have stumbled on.

You were still nowhere to be found.

A dreadful sense of foreboding overcame him, akin to how he felt when his phone rang two weeks prior- the unfamiliar number of the hospital shining before his eyes. What if something happened to you, a fit of dizziness but no one was around to help? Life doesn’t grant you a second chance. No one has ever brushed against death’s shoulder twice and lived to tell the tale. What if he receives another call?

He couldn’t survive another call.

Minho stands in the midst of the road, clutching his head with a tight grip, desperately searching his memory for the places that once brought you solace during the months he spent knowing you. However, he quickly remembers that you no longer know of those places.

So where could you have gone?

An epiphany dawns upon Minho- the bridge you had pointed out to him from a distance on one of your walks, the first place you claimed as your own in the city. It towered above the ocean, suspended several meters in the air. He couldn't accompany you there that day, bound by a paralyzing fear of heights.

He prays with all his might that he's right.

He dashes towards the bridge akin to a madman, the desperate rhythm of his pounding feet mirroring the urgency in his heart. It looms tantalizingly close, a mere 15 minutes away, and Minho, in a state of disarray, knows he's not fit to drive right now. He was never fond of running, he didn't enjoy the searing ache in his lungs, robbing him of his ability to breathe. But he welcomes the pain today- it means that he's running fast enough to reach you. He hopes, he prays.

Minho spots you from a distance, a mere silhouette standing at the bridge's edge, your figure unmistakable with the red scarf tightly wound around your neck. Relief nearly brings him to his knees - you're alive.

Minho doesn't think as he sprints to you, eyes solely focused on you and not the void beneath his feet.

"Yn!" he calls out from afar, and you startle, snapping your head back to look at him. He wonders what he must look at you, disheveled hair, the wind knocking down his jean jacket. But he doesn't care.

Minho stands before you without pause, instantly pulling you into the shelter of his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of your shampoo, a constant through the months of knowing you. He clings to it, to the familiarity of your scent and the way your heartbeat seems to pour from your body to his, speaking in a language only your souls can comprehend. His arms clutch at you tightly, rugged breaths escaping his body, dew tears gathering in his eyes and dropping down your shoulders.

Your arms hang limp by your side, confusion etched across your face at the urgency, the frenzy in which he pulled you to his chest, an emotion you hadn’t known in him in these past weeks.

You tentatively raise your hands, patting his back slowly. "Minho, what’s wrong?" you whisper, and he shakes his head.

"You weren't home. I- I thought something happened to you."

"No, I just went on a walk and lost track of time," you reassure him and he pulls away, warm hands cradling your cheeks.

"You're okay, right? Tell me you're okay," he pleads and you smile, nodding your head. “I'm okay, don’t worry.”

Minho drops your face, embarrassment flooding his being at his outburst. It morphs to panic as he realizes the expanse beneath—nothing but the vast ocean, the wind slamming into his body, making him lose his footing.

"Are... you okay?" you ask cautiously. "Minho, you're shaking," you point out, a frown tugging at your lips. "Are you cold?"

He stays silent, unable to place a word beyond the stutter of his lips.

"Here," you hurriedly unwrap your red scarf, enclosing it around his neck. "You're shivering, Minho," you grab his hands, rubbing his fingers, blowing warmth into them, an attempt to kindle fire into him.

"I'm not- not cold. I- I’m scared of heights," he admits through a stutter, eyes tightly closed.

"Then why are you here?" You ask, surprised.

"Because you are."

His confession comes out quietly, softened by the blow of his fear. His eyes remain closed, missing the tears gathering in your eyes, the ones you swiftly try to blink away.

"Let's go, just keep your eyes closed. Hold my hand," you entwine your fingers with his, squeezing it lightly to signal you're there, as you walk across the bridge.

You don't let go until you finally regain solid ground.

"You're safe. you can open your eyes," you say quietly.

"You're okay, right?" he inquires again, stepping closer.

"Why are you asking me this when you're the one shaking?" you chuckle, almost exasperated, nothing funny in the sound.

"I was worried about you, and I thought you left… after yesterday."

"Why would you- My god Minho why would you even come running across this bridge? Why would you do something like that when you're afraid?"

"Because I love you," his voice is resolute, soft as a whisper, as he states a simple truth. It only makes yours reach new heights.

"But why- why do you love me? Why would you still love me after everything I put you through?"

"You didn't put me through anything," he shakes his head, and you take a step back, facing away from him. He can see your body heaving up and down, the weight of unspoken words making your heartbeat race. And then you snap.

"You broke down yesterday," you pivot back, pointing at his chest. "You broke down in my arms because of me. Why would you still love me after all this Minho I don't- I don't understand."

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know I probably made you uncomfortable and I shouldn't have asked something like that out of you-"

"No, no, Minho, you don't understand, you shouldn't apologize, I should. I’m the one who hurt you-"

"You didn't hurt me. It's something out of your control, you didn't choose this."

“Stop- just stop being so nice and understanding for a minute. I don’t deserve it!" you shout exasperated, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. "You can't look me in the eyes half of the time you can't even fucking breathe in your own home. It's now a- a cemetery for our memories and it'll soon become yours too because I suck the life out of you, can't you see that?"

"I'm not asking you to remember me,” he holds his hands up, in surrender, “I was wrong yesterday, you don't have to remember us."

"There is no us!” you yell, hands thrown in the air, “Not anymore, Minho, maybe never."

You suck in a deep breath, shutting your eyes, willing your voice to ebb and flow into calmness.

"I thought about it. It'll hurt less if you don't see me, time will pass and you'll get used to it, I'm not worth this."

"You are,” he interjects. “You don't get to pick for me, Yn."

"Stop- stop talking like this is normal, stop being so complacent with your pain, Minho you shouldn't love someone who hurts you!"

"Then make me stop loving you. Spare me. Tear open my heart and bleed it dry at your feet or else it won't stop beating for you. Don't you understand? If you are near or if you are far, I will still love you. The only difference is that I'd worry more about you. I'd worry if you're eating, I'd worry if you're taking your medicine, I'd worry if you're drinking out of your favorite cup or if you have a spare shampoo in your drawer because you hate running out of it. I'd worry out of my fucking mind, Yn don't leave."

It had been an encompassing sadness that made his true feelings surge yesterday, breaching the myriad of cracks in his heart. But today, it was fear that cast a revealing light upon his feelings, hidden in the recesses of his being. They surged forth in a transparency you were still not used to, the way the ocean throws on its shores the debris of sunken ships, allowing the grieving families of sailors to finally discover the terrible truth.

Still, his honesty, his soul bare at your mercy isn’t enough to make you stay.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just... I can't- I'm sorry."

You take three steps back, before turning your back to him and walking away. A numbness, like icy talons, seizes his limbs, his gaze fixated on your diminishing figure—carrying away everything he's ever loved. Paralysis envelopes his very essence, a haunting realization that the distance between you is more than a mere physical space. You're vanishing beyond the horizon of his reach, slipping through his desperate grasp. The fear of never seeing you again fractures the stillness, snapping Minho out of his trance.

"To love someone is firstly to confess, I'm prepared to be devastated by you." He shouts, making you pause in your tracks. "Isn't that your favorite quote, Yn? You told me this is what love is about. To place your heart in the palm of the person you love. And your hands are soft, Yn. I don't mind if I'm bruised by them."

"I lied then!” You yell back, tears cascading down your cheeks akin to a waterfall, “Belcourt lied and I lied when I told you this and when I promised that I'd always remember you in that canopy bed-"

"What did you just say?” Minho quickly walks to you, chest heaving. “What canopy bed?"

“It doesn't matter now,” you speak in a small voice, avoiding his eyes, seeking refuge in the ground beneath. Yet, Minho, gentle and determined, cups your face, guiding your gaze to meet his.

“It matters to me, Yn, please. What do you mean?"

“We were in that white canopy bed, when I told you that my heart would always remember you.”

“We were,” he whispers, eyes glazed over as the memory washes over him too. “Did you remember?”

“Not clearly, it was really hazy in my mind. But I remember that the windows were open, I was supposed to feel cold but… your hands on me, and they were warm. And I…” you suck in a deep breath and Minho smiles encouragingly, running his thumb in a tender caress across your cheek.

“I remember feeling that I loved you,” you finally confess. “Even though I couldn’t see you. That's why I said that I'd always remember you. Because you filled every chamber in my heart, so much that it'd still hold your name even if you left it…that's how I felt.” You pause, as Minho forcibly swallows the lump down his throat.

“But it didn't unlock any new memories and I-”

“It's okay, it’s okay. You still remembered,” he smiles and the gesture brings you to his lips, rosy, plump. Were they still as warm? Still as soft?

“I did…” you trail off. “You also kissed me, in my memory. Your lips were everywhere and… they were soft.” You add quietly, eyes fixated on his mouth, the smile that once adorned it slipping away.

A tentative warmth courses through your being, a subtle blaze that ignites your cheeks in a shade of crimson. In this moment, a need unfurls within you, a yearning that eclipses the delicate boundaries of restraint. The memory of his lips on your skin becomes a beacon, standing tall amidst the tumultuous winds of uncertainty. You want to taste the warmth again. You want to kiss Minho.

“I kissed you.” His hands, once gentle on your cheeks, now slip down with purpose, cradling your jaw in a gesture that speaks of both reassurance and longing.

“You did.”

“And my lips were soft,” he repeats, his red scarf brushing against your throat.

"They were," you respond, breathless. His mouth stands electrifyingly close, a mere hairbreadth away, as you contemplate the simple act of tilting your head, closing the tantalizing gap. All that stands between you and the echoes of the love that was is the lift of your head, a movement that could breathe life into the dormant embers of your heart.

"Yn," Minho speaks softly, his words a gentle brush against the canvas of your shared vulnerability. His minty breath tickles your nose, as you hum, a wordless acknowledgment that hangs in the air. Your eyes remain closed, your heart beating loudly in your ears, drowning out the sound of the waves nearby.

“Use me. Use me to remember.”

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bunniekittiee · 6 months

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Shattered Ice- Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

This is my first Bi-Han fic (besides headcanons) I promised you all, and I tried to get his characterization correct in the way I wanted it to be. Credits to @magic-schoolbusdropout ‘s post and their ideas! I did not base it solely on their idea but I incorporated it into the fic. I wanted to give it a shot.

It is not exactly proof-read so there may be errors!

CW: a lot of angst, bi-han going crazy, yea this is not the usual fluff stuff guys im sorry :(, also this is extremely long so like beware.

“Where are your brothers, Bi-Han?” she asked so quietly, her voice barely reaching his ears. Like a little mouse squeaking.

“They have forsaken our clan.” He rasped back. “They do not want the Lin Kuei to succeed. They want us to be at the hands of Liu Kang.”

Her heart dropped. Memories of the faces of the two brothers echoed in her head. Never to be seen again. “You have… abandoned them?”

Jaw clenched, Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed at his wife. “Abandoned them? They have abandoned our clan. They made that decision when they did not follow me.”

“Bi-Han, they are your brothers-”

“They believe we should be shackled by Liu Kang’s rule.” He interrupted her. “The Lin Kuei deserve much more than we receive, and the only way to accomplish that is by removing ourselves as Earthrealm’s protectors. Kuai Liang and Tomas have departed from us, they are banned from coming into our land.”

Her eyes watered. “Bi-Han… this is not right. You have forsaken your brothers.”

“Do not talk back to me in that tone.” He said harshly. “You are my wife. Know your place.”

“Abandoned your brothers for complete rule? Your father would be so devastated Bi-Han!” She fought back against him. “The Lin Kuei are supposed to be Earthrealm’s protectors.”

He rolled his eyes. “My father was a foolish old man, he did not know how to truly rule the clan. Sektor has been advising the development of the Cyber Initiative with me. We will flourish.” He was certainly proud of his decision, which made her feel worse.

“I do not know who you are anymore, Bi-Han.” She said, tears falling from her eyes as her wide (e/c) locking with his brown eyes. Eyes that were once soft to look at now held frigidness and irritation.

“I am still your husband.”

“Hardly.” She choked out as she got up from her seat. “You are someone else, a stranger.” She stormed away from him, his eyes still stuck onto her figure. His heart ached. In the worst ways possible. But he could not waste his time on making her understand. He had a lot to do, and he needed to work.

The couple’s home was silent for many months. She avoided him at what chance she could, hardly interacting with Bi-Han when he came into their room. He did not make an effort to talk to her either. Bi-Han felt lonely in their large bed as her body was on the opposite side of him. She stopped cuddling with him like she used to. She stopped giving him her sleepy kisses that warmed his cold heart. It was as if she hated him. It hurt in ways Bi-Han thought it would not hurt, but he could not let his pain show. It was weak, and he was angry at himself for being so bothered.

She struggled sleeping. It was difficult to rest when her husband, an entirely different man, was so cruel. Leaving his brothers behind. The faces she loved like her own brothers, now gone due to Bi-Han’s thirst for something more for the Lin Kuei that costed him his family. How much was it all worth? That, she did not know.

Dearly missing the brothers, she conspired. She loved Bi-Han very much. It was obvious as many commented on her look of infatuation and adoration when looking at him, but she was lonely. And deep inside of her, there was an intense feeling of terror building up as Bi-Han’s personality began to change drastically. He was much more agitated and withdrawn. When their eyes met, he would quickly turn away from her. Sometimes, if he stared at her for too long, his once comforting brown eyes would shift to a blue hue. It ached deeply. She wanted the old Bi-Han to return back to her once more, but she was not so sure if that would ever be possible.

Bi-Han was always busy with Lin Kuei matters that he never discussed with her. Before, he would make time to come back and rest with her, or at least sleep with her during the nights. However, he was slowly stopping that. So she decided that it was the perfect time to try and find Bi-Han’s brothers. It was a matter of slinking past the guards and others that roamed the grounds, but it was something she could manage.

She quickly packed a few things just in case she decided to stay with them for a few days. As much as she did not want to be with a tyrannical clan, she could not leave forever. And she could not leave Bi-Han, for he was her husband. They were tied together for the rest of their lives.

Bi-Han was not in bed by the time she decided to leave, so she carefully descended down the stairs of the palace and avoided the guards. He had taught her a few tricks to not be seen by others and she never thought she would need it, but here she was now. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as her adrenaline rushed. She was terrified of being found by Bi-Han or even Sektor. Bi-Han had never raised a hand to her, but with his personality changes, she was not too sure anymore.

It was incredibly dark outside, the wind swaying the trees to a slight rustling. This enhanced her paranoia as she snuck in the shadows, hiding from more guards. The Lin Kuei were much more guarded now due to Bi-Han breaking away from Liu Kang. Whether it was due to the fact the Shirai Ryu were beginning to rise up or Bi-Han was trying to increase numbers, the areas were guarded heavily. It made her escape difficult.

After some time of slinking past the darkest parts of the Arctika, she let out a small breath as she quickly padded in the direction of the horses’ stable. She knew that her journey would hardly be accomplished on foot, so having a way of transportation would grant her enough time to get away before Bi-Han realized she was missing. Whether it was the Gods’ way of helping her, the stables were not guarded. Luck must have been on her side tonight.

Quickly getting the gear on her horse, she frantically looked around to make sure no one would walk in on her. She could not be found out now. As she led her horse out of the stable, she looked around once more before lifting herself up onto her horse. She tried her best at being silent as she left, and the stables were on the outskirts of the Arctika. Once she hit the main pathway out, she looked down at the map she had stolen from Bi-Han of where the Shirai Ryu could possibly be at. It was in preparation for her trip. Her anxieties lessened as she increased her distance from the Lin Kuei, but guilt chewed her insides up. Bi-Han was going to be ravenous with revenge and fury.

Exhaustion hounded him like a starving stray dog. He had hardly slept for a while, the dark circles under his eyes darkening as he continued his bad habits. He craved the touch of his wife and her voice. Bi-Han missed her dearly. She had not taken the news of his new ruling well, and Bi-Han suspected that she was beginning to loathe him. But he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Firefly,” he whispered as he creaked their bedroom door open. “I have missed you so.” He entered the room, eyebrows scrunching at the sight of an empty bed. His mind wracked where she could possibly be at during this hour of the night. Jaw clenched, he turned away from the room and began to stomp around their home, asking his soldiers if they had seen her. They had not.

Panic ensued within him, however he did the best he could to compose himself in front of his clan. If they had not seen her, maybe Sektor had. He hunted him down rather quickly.

“No, I have not seen her.” He replied back to the Grandmaster as he studied one of the cybers on the table. He looked up at Bi-Han. “You don’t think she left, do you?”

“I do not know.” Bi-Han snapped. He was extremely worried. His brain was running a million miles per hour thinking about where she could have went.

Sektor ignored his tone and thought over what could possibly be the reason why the Grandmaster’s wife had disappeared.

“Unless… you don’t think the Shirai Ryu could have possibly taken her?” Sektor suggested.

Bi-Han’s blood froze. He felt the room spin as his eyes widened and he thought deeply about Sektor’s suggestion. It made sense. But how did they sneak inside so easily? Bi-Han had it heavily overseen with troops. They were on lock down practically, but he did not put it past them to kidnap his one and only weakness.

His brown eyes began to slightly shift in color, beginning to turn blue as energy surged through him. “We have to infiltrate their base immediately.” He said gruffly. “We cannot let them hurt her.”

She studied the map more as her horse carried her further away from her home. It had been at least eight hours with a few breaks in between for her horse and herself. At a galloping speed, she was able to get across more distance. She was cold, shivering from the wind. It reminded her of Bi-Han’s cold body when he changed his body temperature. Sometimes if she had hot flashes or extreme high temperatures, he would simmer his own in order to give her relief. He would cuddle her close to him as he did so, making sure to not overdo it. Her heart hurt as she thought about their memories together. After his betrayal, he was not the same.

Glancing around at her surroundings, she heard rustling in the trees around her. Her paranoia had risen once more and her horse had heard the noises as well, ears standing on end. She swiveled her head to see if it was an animal or a person. The rustling quickened, and she dug her heels into the side of her companion to run. But she was not so lucky, as they were both caught in a net. Her horse stopped dead in his tracks, squealing angrily as they were both thrown to the ground by the force of the net. Surrounded by unknown soldiers who had wrapped rope around her horse, she screamed. Adrenaline coursed through her body as her fear made her nauseated. Bi-Han was not around to save her, and she had led herself straight into the jaws of death.

As she attempted to get up, she was tackled back down to the ground once more. Her forehead was painfully wounded as she struggled against her captor who was much stronger than she was. Blood blurring her vision, she could not see very well. The soldiers had tied her extremities and picked her off the ground, silently making their way back to where they came from before. She continued to scream and thrash her body around, until another solider roughly tied a gag around her mouth to shut her up. Tears ran down her face and she could not help but sob. Her heart felt like it was going to come out of her throat as she knew she was meeting her demise. Without ever saying good-bye to Bi-Han.

She saw the dirt ground turn into a pathway, but soon after she had seen a glimpse of it, her head was obscured by a burlap sack by the same soldier that gagged her. They must not want prisoners to know the layout of their land. That made sense to her, she had seen the Lin Kuei practice the same method. For a moment, a fleeting thought passed through her brain. Maybe this was the Shirai Ryu clan. That meant she was near Tomas and Kuai Liang.

But then again, she was not so sure. That made the anxiety in her stomach twist. If she was wrong, it meant it would cost her her life. After some time of walking, she assumed she was where she needed to be when she was tossed to the ground like a rag doll. Her body ached tremendously from the cold, as well as the rough state her body was in.

“Unmask her.” A familiar voice rang out, but it was muffled by the burlap sack and her stinging head wound that made her lightheaded and dizzy. The sack was violently torn off of her head as her eyes adjusted to the light that the torches gave off.

Looking up, her vision was blurry as she could barely make out the two figures that sat near her. “By the Gods! Untie her immediately!” said one as he approached her fast. “Now now!”

“Y/N…” said the other who came near her form. “Is it really you?”

Kuai Liang and Tomas engulfed her in a hug as she began to cry. From pain and relief. She found them…

“I have been searching for you both.” she said, her words wavering. “I am so grateful to have found you.”

“We need to take you to the medics, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as Tomas gently picked her up off the ground. “That is a nasty head wound they gave you.”

“My horse…”

“They will take care of him.” Tomas said as Kuai ordered them to free her horse and put him in the stables. That was if they could avoid getting kicked in the face.

Reaching the medics, Tomas set her down on the bed as they began to work on her scrapes and wound. “If we had known it was you, we would have not allowed them to hurt you like that.”

She sighed quietly. “It is okay, Tomas. I was in your territory, a stranger. They were only doing what they were ordered to do.”

“How did you escape the Arctika?” Kuai asked. “I thought Bi-Han would have everything guarded heavily.”

“Well, he does. I was able to sneak past the guards and get to the stables. They do not exactly have soldiers patrolling the stables, and since it is on the outskirts of the Arctika, it is easy to escape.” She explained.

Tomas grabbed your hand gently. “If you have escaped, Bi-Han will not be that far behind you. He will go to the ends of the earth to find you.”

Looking down, she frowned. “I just… missed you both very much. Bi-Han is not the man he once was. He is much more aggressive and distant. He is searching for the Shirai Ryu. I have barely interacted with him since his betrayal, and I cannot bring myself to stay in a place that does not bring me joy.”

“Do not twist my words, I still love Bi-Han very much, but what he is doing is not what your father would have wanted. He has corrupted the Lin Kuei.”

Kuai Liang furrowed his eyebrows. “I heard that he was following through with the Cyber Initiative. That is what Shang Tsung had promised him. I cannot believe that he is doing all of this.”

“Neither can I. I wish he was easier to reason with, but he is very relentless on this matter. He believes you both have betrayed him, not the other way around.” She explained while gripping Tomas’ hand. “He is blinded by his own anger.”

“Bi-Han was never one to master his own anger, that was always an issue he has struggled with.” Kuai Liang replied. “I do not see him having mercy, especially now that you are with us.”

“But do not fret,” Tomas interjected. “We are happy to have you here until you recover. That is, if Bi-Han does not find you until then.” He exchanged a worried look with Kuai Liang who only nodded his head. “He will not take it lightly that we have his wife.”

She understood. She knew how much they were risking letting her stay with them. Bi-Han’s rage was not one to be in the crossfire of. She had hoped he would not find her just yet, she had barely reunited with the brothers and wanted to spend more time with them.

After cleaning her wounds up and bandaging her, the brothers led her out of the infirmary to walk to the temple. They talked about old memories of being together, the adventures they would go on. Tomas had asked how Jia was, which Jia was a little sad since the brothers were exiled. They were a part of her life since she was a kitten, it was not a surprise she carried melancholy since they had left. Many of their conversations were reminiscing as they did not want to talk about the present. It was saddening to know that they would never have the same bond they once did with Bi-Han, he would always crave for bloodshed. He already spilled Kuai Liang’s blood when he gave him that scar on his eye, he would continue his journey to spill more. Bi-Han did not see them as brothers anymore, they were enemies. Kuai Liang and Tomas understood that.

The brothers made sure she was fed and had a comfortable space to sleep. She was exhausted. She quickly fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, forgetting the events of her day in the dream state she entered.

However, Kuai Liang and Tomas were not so easily able to do the same as her. They stayed up, their anxieties chewing away at them.

“If Bi-Han finds her here, he will assume we took her.” Kuai Liang said while he brushed his hair. “He is not one for reasoning while he is angry.”

“Believe me,” Tomas replied. “I know he will be wrathful. There will be no way of explaining anything to him. He will ignore it.”

Kuai sighed. “As much as I am happy she is here, it also created a disaster in the long run. I just hope that Bi-Han will not be able to find her, at least for some time.”

“But if he already had a map developed of where we are at, then he will not take long.” said Tomas. “Once he is on a mission, he will never get side tracked.”

“You are right, brother.”

The glaring sun bore through the window near her bed, making her shift her body and scrunch her face up. She was not used to this as the Arctika did not have much sunlight coming through in the mornings. But where the Shirai Ryu were, there were lots of lighting. Eventually, it woke her up.

Blinking slowly, she remembered her journey that she had taken to get here. Her breathing increased when she remembered Bi-Han, and how he was going to eventually find her. It scared her. She did not know what he would do once he found her with his brothers. Maybe he would kill her? Keep her prisoner? Leave her to stay with the Shirai Ryu? The possibilities were endless, and Bi-Han was not exactly predictable like he used to be.

She crawled out of bed and made her way outside to enjoy the sunshine. The Arctika did not have sunshine with this amount of intensity, so she decided to embrace it as much as she could before she would have to leave. She sat down in a spot with direct sunlight, sighing with such peace as she closed her eyes. The sun felt good on her skin as the morning dew created a refreshing feeling.

Hearing the crunching of footsteps, she opened her eyes and saw the brothers approaching her. She smiled at them. “Good morning, brothers.”

They nodded their heads. “Good morning, sister.” They both said as they sat down next to her.

“It is a beautiful morning.” She said with a small smile on her lips. “Much better than the ones at home.”

Kuai Liang chuckled. “Definitely. The sun feels great out here.”

“I can see why Syzoth enjoys it, although he is a reptile, so it makes sense.” Tomas said. “It makes you feel good.”

They sat in a comfortable silence. However, they all had the same thoughts in the back of their mind. It always lead back up to Bi-Han no matter what. The worries of him arriving soon had nagged at Tomas and Kuai Liang. They could not abandon Bi-Han’s wife, as she was like a sister to them, and they knew they had to take care of her. But they knew they had to prepare for war. Bi-Han could arrive at any time, and they knew that.

“We came to greet you, but we must be on our way. Sorry, little sister.” Kuai Liang said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “We have to prepare for war as a precaution. I hope you understand.”

Smiling sadly, she nodded solemnly. “I understand. I am very sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry, we are glad we found you. We hate to let you go so soon.” Tomas frowned. “We wish you could stay here forever, but your life is with Bi-Han. He…”

“He would not know what to do without you. It is better if you are with him, even if he is corrupt.” Kuai Liang finished Tomas’ thought. “But we will not throw you out, of course.”

Nodding once again, she said her goodbyes to the brothers so they could tend to their duties and prepare for Bi-Han’s arrival. She felt her eyes water, but she blinked her tears away. She could not allow herself to cry, not yet. She had nothing to cry over, until it was time.

Eyes ablaze with rage and distress, Bi-Han lead his army to where he speculated the Shirai Ryu were at. He did take notice of the map missing from his study, he had almost believed that his wife may have taken it, but he did not think so. Why would she scheme against him? His trustworthiness for her was beginning to diminish, but he could not let it go too far. He could be wrong.

After planning with Sektor and Cyrax, they gathered what they had of the cyber Lin Kuei and combined it with their human counterparts. They could overpower the Shirai Ryu. At least, that is what Sektor had promised him. All three of them were riding their horses in front of their army, the only sounds echoing around them being synchronized footsteps and the click-clack of the horses’ hooves.

It was now sometime in the late afternoon to evening, and they had hardly taken any breaks. Cyrax was looking down at the map they had, thankful that Bi-Han had more than one map of the possible location of the Shirai Ryu. As he did this, Sektor was beginning to converse with Bi-Han.

“Grandmaster, I do not want to worry you, but-” he started.

“What is it, Sektor?” Bi-Han snapped as he was led out of his own thoughts.

Sektor raised his head a little higher and bit back his retaliation. “When I went to get our horses from their stables, your wife’s horse was gone.”

Bi-Han glowered. “There is no way of her horse walking out on its own, were any of the stable doors open.”

Sektor shook his head. “Not at all, Grandmaster. In fact, some of the gear was missing as well. I do not want to assume she may have left on her own, but it would explain why her horse was missing.” He carefully chose his words.

Bi-Han tightened his grip on his horse’s reins. “Why would she leave me like that? She has nowhere else to go. Besides the Shirai Ryu.”

“Either way, it is still a positive sign to continue our journey.” Sektor replied.

Sektor’s information did not ease Bi-Han’s heart. He felt like it was going to shatter. Why would she betray him like this? It was bad enough that his own brothers did the same, but she? His own wife, the love of his life? His heart was beginning to harden after everything he had known. Why show her mercy if she was disloyal to him and the Lin Kuei?

“Halt!” Cyrax called out loud. “There is something on the ground.”

Bi-Han rolled his eyes. “Why are we stopping over something that pathetic?”

Cyrax hopped down from his horse as he approached the spot on the ground, studying it carefully. “Grandmaster, it is blood.”

Narrowing his eyes, he let himself down from his horse as he approached him. “Blood you say? Is there a chance it could be hers?”

Sektor had decided to leave his horse as well and study different parts of the area to find more clues.

“I am not too sure, Grandmaster. It could be an animal’s but there is also a chance it could be hers. But this is not near the assumed location on the map.”

Sektor was studying some sharp branches closely. There was something off about them. Almost as if-

“Grandmaster. Cyrax. I have found another clue!” He said as he pointed at the clothing. Bi-Han quickly approached him. “Look at the branches. There is clothing caught on them.”

“That is the colors of the Lin Kuei.” Cyrax said in slight awe. “You have great eyesight, Sektor.” Bi-Han reached forward and grabbed the cloth. He rubbed it between his fingers. It felt just like the clothing she wore. His eyes darkened as he glanced back at the blood and the clothing that was now pointing them into the right direction.

“They hurt her. They are where the cloth will take us, in that direction.” Bi-Han said as he pointed. “We must act fast before they cause more harm again.”

Kuai Liang was meditating, taking a small break from the large amounts of preparing he and Tomas were doing. They had to get their soldiers ready for any threat, as well as their land guarded at every point possible. They had to stay on high alert of the Lin Kuei showing up. Kuai Liang knew it was coming no matter what.

His eyes widened as the hair on his arms stood on end. He had a sense of impending doom, a feeling all too familiar to him. From experience, his senses were hardly ever wrong. Getting up rather fast, he had to warn Tomas. Bi-Han was here and he was ready for warfare.

Bi-Han’s lovely wife was resting due to her head wound causing her to feel dizzy. Tomas and Kuai Liang did not pressure her to leave her bed. They were already busy as it was due to her staying with them. It was only a matter of time before Bi-Han arrived like a bat out of hell. Eyes closed, she drifted off to an in between state of sleep and alertness. That was, until a solider of theirs stormed into her room. “Grandmaster Bi-Han’s wife,” he said. “We need to put you into hiding, they are here.”

Her heart sank. She nodded, getting up from the bed and following the soldier to a spot underneath the floor where should could possibly be safe at. That was if Bi-Han did not find her. He was a very thorough man, there was a good chance he would.

Encased in mostly darkness, she sat on the dirt floor and pulled her knees to her chest. She could hear the footsteps of the Shirai Ryu overhead, and the approaching sounds of their rivals. It was only a matter of time before they were murdering each other. All because she left. She realized how much trouble she had caused for Kuai Liang and Tomas just by arriving at their home. She shouldn’t be hiding underneath the floor, she should be trying to reason with Bi-Han.

“Where is she, Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han spat while placing a hand on the handle of his sword. “Give me back my wife that you took from me!”

“Brother, I did not do such a thing.” Kuai Liang said, eyebrows scrunched. “She came here looking for us. We did not tread on your land.”

Bi-Han did not want to believe them. Why would his own wife betray him like that? “You defile her name, you speak lies, snake. Why have you hurt her? There is blood on the ground.”

Tomas internally cursed and looked sullen. “Bi-Han, it was an accident. They did not know who wandered into our territory.”

Gritting his teeth, Bi-Han’s eyes glimmered with anger as he began to pull his sword out of its sheath. “Incompetent. I do not expect anything less from either of you. Give her back to me, now. Before I rip apart your home.”

Tomas and Kuai exchanged a look before averting their eyes back to Bi-Han. “Only if you stop your mission to kill us. And you will leave her alone.”

Bi-Han signaled his soldiers to attack, not wanting to hear more out of his enemies. Kuai and Tomas knew it was going to come to this, so they wasted no time in lunging at Bi-Han to calm him down. Despite all he had done, they did not want to hurt their brother. But he was starting a war that neither side could not afford.

Curling into a ball, she felt terrified and lonely. She wondered when it would all be over, but then, their faces appeared in her head. Bi-Han had the chance to kill his brothers if he wanted to, all because she made the choice to leave. To find them. It was unfair, and she knew that. As she gained courage, she rummaged around the small space, trying to find anything she could to break out of the confinements. She had to reason with Bi-Han. It was the only way to get him to stop this.

She wrapped her hands around the handle of what she assumed was a broom and began to slam it into the trapdoor. Over and over. Continuously, until the floor began to somewhat break. She used her hands to strike at it as it was weak, and it eventually gave away. Pulling herself up, she squinted her eyes as she adjusted to the lighting. She could hear the yells of the soldiers much more clearer. With adrenaline rushing, she sprinted out one of the doors and whipped her head around. In her attempts to find Kuai Liang and Bi-Han. Back farther into the forest, she saw glimpses of smoke, fire, and ice. They must have taken their fight away from the Shirai Ryu Temple.

Avoiding as much as the bloodshed as possible, as well as the soldiers fighting to the death, she ran in the general direction she had seen the men’s powers. The soldiers were too occupied with one another to see her. Otherwise, the Lin Kuei would have immediately attacked her. The sight of the cybers increased her fear. That is what Bi-Han and Sektor were developing. It was horrifying.

As she got closer to where the brothers and her husband were at, the smell of blood stung her nostrils. Her worries almost came out of her mouth as bile, but she could not let herself be so weak in this moment. She needed to help them.

“Surrender, and I will call off the Lin Kuei.” Bi-Han rasped as he stared down Kuai Liang.

“Now you lie, brother.” Kuai replied as they paced around. “You will never call them off.”

Bi-Han’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Obey your Grandmaster and heed my orders!”

“You are not my Grandmaster no longer, brother.” said Kuai as his emotions were written on his face. Sadness, betrayal, and grief. “You are not who you once were.”

“And you are not my brother, a mere stranger to me.” Bi-Han lunged forward at Kuai as their swords clashed together. Bi-Han stepped back once again.

“Bi-Han,” said that sweet voice, one that brought him comfort, love, and warmth. “Bi-Han, you need to stop this!”

“Little sister!” Tomas said as he went to her side. “You are not supposed to be here!”

“Get away from her you fool!” Bi-Han yelled at Tomas as he began to walk forward. Kuai pointed his sword out at Bi-Han to stop.

“You will not touch her,” Kuai growled. “You leave her out of this, Bi-Han.”

“I want my wife back, the one that was wrongfully taken from me!”

“Bi-Han, I made the decision to leave.” She blurted. “I left to find them. They did not take me away from you.”

Another blow to his heart. His beloved, his most cherished human being in his life, left him. To find the Shirai Ryu. Sektor was correct in his theory. “You betrayed me!”

“You betrayed them first, Bi-Han.” She argued back. “You made that mistake.”

“You have forsaken all the Lin Kuei principles!” His voice increased in loudness and raspiness. “What have you done to me? You were supposed to rule beside me!”

“I missed them, Bi-Han! You cannot blame me for my sadness, you brought it upon me and I had no other option but to accept it. You are not the same man you once were, and it shows. I wanted to see them again, Bi-Han.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes moved from his wife, to Kuai, to Tomas, and back to her again. “All three of you have abandoned the Lin Kuei. For your own selfish purposes. You all could have ruled beside me and witnessed us flourishing. Instead, you have betrayed me.” His eyes began to shift in color, his arms beginning to turn icy and the nature around them as well. His feet created ice underneath them.

Kuai Liang took a step back as Bi-Han’s rage was focused on him, his now blue eyes staring into his soul. Raising his hands, Bi-Han shot ice out of his hands, enough to give Kuai injuries and more. But, it did not hit Kuai Liang.

Body thudding the ground, her face paled quickly as the ice began to seep into her body and penetrate her blood. Bi-Han’s eyes slowly moved down to her small form laying on the ground. It did not register in him that he hurt his own wife. The woman he promised to never hurt and always protect. Yet here she was, lying on the ground as her limbs encapsulated themselves in ice.

“Bi-Han…”

“What have you done?” Tomas said as he kneeled down next to her. “Kuai, we need your fire now.”

“Unhand her now!” Bi-Han said as he ripped her body away from Tomas. “You… will not touch her again.”

“Bi-Han, she needs immediate attention! She is going to die.” Kuai said as he stepped towards Bi-Han.

His eyes began to glow which did not settle right with Tomas and Kuai. They had never seen him do this before. “I do not need your help. Leave it to me, now.”

“Brother-”

“Silence!” He screamed, breathing unevenly and placing his hands gently on her pale face.

"Bi-Han, she will die if she does not-"

Their vision was immediately obscured by white, ears ringing as the whistling of the winds began to pick up. They were surrounded by snow and snowflakes. They squinted their eyes at attempts to find Bi-Han and his wife, but they could not see very much.

"Kuai Liang!" Tomas yelled over the whistling wind. "I think he created a blizzard!"

"I did not know he was capable of doing so!" he replied as he grabbed onto Tomas. "He will be easily angered in this form, I do not see him reasoning with us."

"We need to help her! If she does not get the help she needs, she will die!" Tomas yelled again. The look of defeat crossed their faces. They were not going to have much power to reason with Bi-Han to accept their help.

Bi-Han felt his word shatter as he stared at her limp form. Her heart beat was still there but it was rather faint. Her lips were beginning to turn blue from being surrounded by cold and ice. Bi-Han's eyes were still glowing as the winds increased more, as well as the snow fall. Picking them both off the ground, Bi-Han began to walk in the general direction he assumed where the Shirai Ryu were at. He had to leave now. They had to make it back to the Arctika before she gave up on them. He could not rely on the Shirai Ryu to help, as they would only use it as leverage. And Bi-Han knew that he could not bite his pride back and let them help her.

The blizzard Bi-Han created followed the Lin Kuei all the way back home to the Arctika. They had difficulty navigating back because of how heavy the snowfall and winds were. It only seemed to get worse as they approached their home. Bi-Han attempted to keep his wife warm with many blankets as possible as Sektor kept track of her heart rate, but her condition did not improve much. Bi-Han felt hopeless, his moods taking a turn for the worst. He was distraught as he felt many emotions he did not think he could feel. He was hurt. His heart hurt so much. How could she do this to him? How much did she tell Kuai and Tomas? He was not sure, and he almost did not want to ask. He felt like he could not trust the only person who he loved so much, for she had taken his trust and ran with it.

But Bi-Han loved her. He loved her so much and he knew he could not stop loving her no matter what. Could he stop trusting her? Yes, yes he could, but stop loving her? That was impossible as much as he wished he did not turn soft. For many hours of their trip, Bi-Han continued to monitor her closely as they were far from their home. Any moment Sektor's facial expression somewhat changed when he listened to her heart rate was another stab into his heart.

After many grueling hours, the Lin Kuei and their Grandmaster made it home. The blizzard was at its peak, but the soldiers hurried inside the confinements of their home. Sektor and Cyrax instantly began to prepare the infirmary for the Grandmaster's wife. Bi-Han was relieved to be home, but his anxiety was not at ease. It made him nauseated. He felt out of control, it was not normal for Bi-Han.

He waited impatiently, pacing and rubbing his face constantly as Cyrax and Sektor began to work on her hypothermia. No matter how much warmth they used, she did not improve. They knew it would take time, but telling the Grandmaster that was as if they were telling him she was going to die. Cyrax and Sektor exchanged small, concerned glances as they continued their work. Bi-Han was not acting normal, in fact, it seemed as if his defenses were down.

"Grandmaster, we can give you a moment alone if you want." Cyrax said to him, noticing how pained he looked. Bi-Han did not reply as he got up which signaled to them to leave. Closing the door on the way out, Bi-Han sat next to his wife, gently cradling her freezing hand between his own. If anyone had seen Bi-Han, it would look as if he was in mourning. His dark circles were extremely dark, his eyes bloodshot and containing no glimmer of hope. His lips were pulled into a tight line, whether it was to prevent himself from showing any other emotions or another reason, it was unknown.

"Firefly," he said softly. "Never underestimate how much I love you. You have to be strong, you are Lin Kuei. Lin Kuei fight their battles well, no matter if it is in physical battle or in health. Do not give up." He did not know if she could hear him, but a small part of him wished she did. His eyes scanned her face while his grip began to slowly increase. She was alive, a fact that put his certain worries at ease, but she was lying on her death bed. That he put her on. It was his fault, he had lost control and was not disciplined enough to master his own powers apparently. That was evident to Bi-Han.

Lowering his head, he continued to hold her hand as he closed his eyes. All the fighting and long nights were beginning to hit him all at once. He could not help but feel himself drift off to sleep. It was not peaceful, that was something he could not argue against.

Drowsily opening her eyes, her teeth chattered immensely at the freezing cold that pricked at her body. She was covered in multiple blankets and had some sort of heaters around her, but it was not able to fight against the cold that made her body convulse. She looked over and her mouth opened agape. Bi-Han was sitting next to her with his eyes closed, holding her hand in his large one. She felt her fear consume her, as she began to move away from Bi-Han’s figure. She could hardly move her limbs, it was as if they were frozen.

Bi-Han heard her struggles and awoke fast. He got up on his feet, now awake and registering his own wife moving away from him. He placed a hand onto her. “Firefly-”

“Get away from me!” She croaked. Bi-Han retreated his hand, as if he had touched a red, hot knife. “Stay away from me, Bi-Han.”

“You should know I never meant to hurt you.” He replied solemnly. “It was meant for Kuai Liang.”

She felt herself tear up. “Hurting me or your brothers will not help your cause. Get away from me, Bi-Han.” She tried to say this sternly but she could not help the few cracks in her voice. “You frighten me.”

It anguished him to hear her sharp words. The pit of his stomach fizzled with nausea and bile, his chest felt that broken, horrifyingly warm feeling as his vision blurred and his ears began to ring. His breathing increased. “My beloved, you do not understand.”

“Understand what? That you are a monster?”

He gritted his teeth. “It was you that left me. Had you not left me, this would have never happened.”

“Well, it happened, didn’t it? All for what? So you could get the upper hand against the Shirai Ryu?” She spat back, bringing her knees to her chest as she cuddled against the blankets. “You were going to hurt your brothers.”

“They are not my brothers no more. You of all people should know that.” His irritation was beginning to increase. “You have betrayed me. I cannot trust you.”

“I can’t trust you either. Now I am going to be fearful if you will hurt me again or cover me in ice.” She replied with venom dripping off her words. “You are a cruel man, Bi-Han. Leave me alone. I cannot bear to be around you.”

With her last words, Bi-Han stormed out of the room. He did not spare her a passing glance. She let herself cry, sobs wracking her body as she pulled the blankets closer to her and tried to warm herself up. But she could not. She craved Bi-Han’s warmth and touch, but she could not be held by him. He was corrupted.

Sektor and Cyrax recommended lots of bed rest, warm foods, and extra warmth to help her condition. She was eventually moved from the infirmary to the comfort of her and Bi-Han’s bedroom. Servants gave her what she needed, and they gave her warm baths in order to ease the aching cold. But it was hardly improving much. It was as if Bi-Han had given her a deadly frost bite.

Ever since their last argument, Bi-Han had avoided her like she was an illness. She had not seen him since. But little did she know, Bi-Han did see her. He was check in on her when she was asleep to see if she was still breathing. She was just as beautiful as the day he married her. He wanted to crawl into bed with her and hold her close to him. Give her warmth. But he had to listen to her orders to stay away. It was for her own good. He could not bear to hurt her again like he did. She was even lucky to still be alive.

He occupied himself with work and overworked himself in large amounts. He had to oversee the production of the Cyber Initiative as he had taken some to battle the Shirai Ryu. They found out their weaknesses and made the cybers stronger. Soon, they would be unstoppable.

Yet his achievements did not make him feel any better. He missed his wife dearly. He wanted to hear from her how proud she was of him, and how the Lin Kuei would never have to be servants again. Instead, he felt like a monster living within human flesh. The blizzards hardly faltered since that day she had gotten hurt. The weather conditions were horrible on the Arctika due to this. Bi-Han did not know he was capable of such a powerful weapon, but he had concluded that he could only do so when he was agonized.

In dire need of seeing his wife once again, Bi-Han had risen from his chair and decided to take a stroll and find her in their room. That was where she mainly stayed at due to medical orders. Cyrax made sure she did not disobey these orders, as she had already broken Bi-Han’s trust.

His feet carried him to their room while he was deep in thought. It felt as if he had teleported his way to their sanctuary. His hand turning the door knob quietly, he peered inside and was taken aback. She was not asleep like usual, she was awake. Her head swiveled to him, their eyes locking together as they stared at one another. Bi-Han entered the room and she began to flinch away from him. She moved her body further away, and it tugged at Bi-Han’s heartstrings. She was afraid.

“What do you want?” She asked him, still looking at him.

“I came to see you.” He breathed quietly. “I always do when you are asleep.”

She felt her heart beat faster at his words. Despite how much they were hurting, he still came to see her. It warmed her heart, but she could not bring herself to forgive him just yet.

“I know I hurt you.” He said with his arms crossed. “I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It is hard to believe you. With your behavior changes and what you have done.” She frowned at him and felt herself begin to tear up.

Bi-Han started to approach her but she scooted back quickly. “Please stay away, Bi-Han.”

He stopped where he stood and put his arms behind his back. “I am sorry, my beloved. I never wanted this to happen.”

As much as she craved his touch, she could not trust him. Just as he could not trust her. “We both need time, Bi-Han. It is too soon.”

He nodded his head. “Understood. We both do.”

Many months had passed since her accident. Bi-Han tried to keep his distance away from her, but here and there she warmed up to his advances. They had not made love for almost a year, although Bi-Han was not a fiend for such an act, he still wished they could divulge in it with her. He missed being so close to her and her body. But he knew she needed time to trust him, just as he needed time to trust her once again.

“Bi-Han,” she spoke softly.

He raised his head up. “Yes, my firefly?”

She stepped closer to him. “Please hold me, Bi-Han.”

This was a huge step for them, but Bi-Han did not want this opportunity to slip from his hands. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist as he brought her closer to him. He felt her arms wrap around his body. He breathed in her scent deeply. She smelled wonderful. It was comforting to Bi-Han.

He wondered if their relationship would recover fully from what had happened. It felt that these wounds were partially healed, but Bi-Han did not want them to re-open. His brown eyes started to tear up as he held her close to him, but he blinked them away. He wanted to stay like this forever.

“I love you, Bi-Han.” She said as she closed her eyes.

“I love you much more, my sweet firefly.”

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk sub zero #mk smoke #mk scorpion #mk bi han #mk kuai liang #mk tomas vrbada #bi han #kuai liang #tomas vrbada #sub zero #sub zero x reader #bi han x reader #bi han sub zero

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yuujispinkhair · 3 months

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Hello Winter!! Love you and your writing! Here’s a thirst for you on thirsty Thursday: beautiful strong man Kuna comes home after a long day of dealing with his twin Yuji and he just wants to relax but you’re just overly excited and just keep talking and talking and he doesn’t have the heart to tell you to shut up so he just kisses you and tells you to drop to your knees so he can get his annoyance out and then he’ll listen to your sweet voice once he’s done.

Don’t KNOW WHERE THIS CAME FROM BUT NEED SUKUNA TO JUST SHUT ME UP 🥴

Aww that's so sweet of you!! I am sending you lots of love!! 💗💗 And omggg I love that thirst!!! Thank you for sharing it with me! I need him to shut me up like that, too 💗💗 I had to write a little drabble because this was too delicious ;)

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: smut + fluff Word Count: 600 Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (Sukuna + Reader receiving). All characters are of age. Divider by @/benkeibear

Sukuna is a gentleman when it comes to you. He is much softer with you than he ever thought he could be. So, no, Sukuna chooses not to outright tell you to shut up. But he still knows exactly what to do to get what he wants.

Large, strong hands land on your waist and pull you onto Sukuna's lap,

"Come here, princess."

That sexy grin is on his face as he leans closer. And then his lips are on yours, moving slowly but firmly against yours while his muscular arms wrap around your body and keep you in place.

Sukuna smiles into the kiss when he feels you practically melt against him, sighing so sweetly when his tongue pushes between your lips and licks teasingly into your mouth. He knows how to kiss you right, knows exactly what to do to make you shut up.

Soon, your fingers are dancing over his undercut and running through his pink hair as you lick eagerly against his tongue, opening your sweet mouth even further for him, letting him kiss you deep and slow just like you love it.

Sukuna kisses you until you are all putty in his strong hands, moaning softly into his mouth and tugging on his hair while unconsciously grinding against the growing bulge in Sukuna's pants.

You groan when he pulls away from the kiss with one last teasing flick of his tongue. But Sukuna puts a long finger on your lips before you can complain, maroon eyes looking deeply into yours, lips lifted in an amused smirk,

"You'll get more kisses, I promise. But first, I want you to get on your knees and make out with my cock just like you made out with my tongue right now."

His cock twitches when you slip off his lap and push his muscular thighs apart to kneel between them. Yes, this is what he needs after a day like that: Your sweet lips wrapped around his cock, the only noises you make loud slurps and cute moans, your spit drooling all over his hard length, your velvety tongue tracing every throbbing vein on his dick, your soft lips making out with his swollen tip until loud groans fall from his lips and he feels his balls tightening.

Sukuna pushes your head down onto his twitching cock, soft praise falling from his lips as he busts his whole milky load into your mouth, giving you a copious amount of cum to swallow before you can talk again.

He feels so much lighter afterward, sighing contentedly as his spent cock slips out of your mouth. A smile spreads over his tattooed face as you lift your head and lick your swollen lips, getting every last drop of his cum, like the good girl that you are. Just like Sukuna makes sure to get every last drop of your cum when he pulls you back on the couch and eats your sweet pussy until you cream on his tongue and squeal his name.

It's the first thing you say since the moment he effectively shut you up with his kisses.

But now everything is perfect again. The stress has left Sukuna's body, his mind is clear again, and the headache that was threatening to take over is gone. And you look happy, too, as Sukuna pulls you into his arms, wrapping them around you and pulling you against his body so the two of you are cuddled up tightly on the couch, legs intertwined and the whole length of your bodies touching.

Sukuna presses a tender kiss to your forehead and finally asks,

"So, how was your day, princess? Tell me everything."

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #ryomen sukuna

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nkogneatho · 1 year

Note

Ex-husband gojo that was just released from the prison box needs to get off. *I can't get it put of my head*

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄

#mlist #liawot jjk #taglist #whoreclub

—cw: fem!reader, clit stimulation, mutual orgasm, a little angsty, spoilers ofc.

—a/n: It was supposed to be a thirst but I was in my feels so it's a drabble now. Sorry.

Tumblr works on reblogs so it's appreciated.

Ex-husband!Gojo who should've been minding his own business, prioritizing the crisis that has befallen. Instead, he found himself longing for something that wasn't his. Wanting to touch something he had no more right to. But wait. Is that entirely true? Because you both did share a connection. A marriage for fucks sake. Even if it was over because you couldn't take his ignorance towards the relationship, deep down, you too longed for his touch.

Heaven knows how many cold nights you hugged the pillow he used to lay his head on, compelling yourself in this vague imagination of the material being him. And what about the times when you felt so horny, that you could only get off to the thought of him. No one else.

There was a loud thud on your door. You walked curiouslyx and opened it. Although before your eyes could absorb the view, your feelings could sink in, the man pressed his lips against your, almost so harsh that you could fall. But his calloused hands rested on your lowers spine, keeping you right where you are.

When you realised who it actually is, you should move right. You should shove him away, yell at him, scream. Then why your shivering hands wrap around his neck, pulling him further in the kiss, till both your feet are away from the threshold. The kiss is so heated, you don't even realize you have almost reached your couch until you feel something hit your heels. Satoru grabs your shoulder and pushed you further.

"Toru," you call, tears threatening your eyes.

"Fuck, I miss you. I am so sorry. Please," there's so much regret in his voice, yet so much love. "Please let me stay, baby."

You feel so furious. Not for the fact that he had the nerve to appear suddenly, wanting to stay, but for the fact that he thought you had enough courage to deny him. Even after knowing what had happened to him. When you got the news of your ex husband being sealed, you felt like almost a part of you died.

And now with his touch, it came alive once again.

Satoru's hands run all over your—now naked—body. It's almost like when a sculptor touches his figures, tracing the outlines to remember the nostalgic feeling of how it felt to make it what it is. He knows. Toru still remembers how quickly you get wet. It turns him on. He wants to shove his dick in you. But he doesn't. Not yet. He wants to feel in a new way. Gojo quickly gives his boner a few pumps, before lining it up your slick. Your pussy is so wet, it can fill up an empty tube of lube.

"Miss me that much?"

"Mhm. Need you," you mewl. He spits on your cunt, then uses the tip of his cock to mix the saliva and your wetness. As much as your pussy is calling him in, he doesn't push it past your hole. What he does is put a pillow under your back, so now you are angled a little upwards, perfect for him to do what he is about to.

Gojo moves both your legs, holding it so it's straight in the air, so now what he has is your pussy lips folded perfectly, as the juices flow out of you. He aligns his veined cock parallel to your cunt, and starts moving. You don't feel the sweet pain of him filling up your hole. What you feel is past it. The veins on his cock so erect, they are stimulating your clit. The wetness causing no friction but just smooth moving of both your sex.

Your legs shut tight helped him squeeze your lips so he can feel the tightness. God the noises erupting from this act are so lewd. Gojo squints to see you biting your lips in pleasure. The little "ngh"s you've been whimpering. He loves it. Squeezing you even tighter, he uses his finger to manipulate his tip into perfectly rubbing your clit, stimulating your orgasm. To chase your high, you squeeze your legs even tighter. He fastens his pace chasing his own. Surprisingly, you both cum at the same time. His warm semen spurting on your stomach, you can see the top of his cock from the position. What gojo sees—feels is your juices flowing so much, it is dripping down his balls, pooling the couch.

He parts your legs, leaning in to land a kiss on your lips. "Missed you."

"Was that damn cube better than this apartment?" you ask.

"Not sure what kind of question is that but no."

"Then why the fuck did you stay in it for so long?" He almost chuckles when you are tearing up. It humors him to acknowledge that even after you were the one who left him, he wasn't the only one missing everything he had.

"It hasn't been that long, ya know?" he grins. You hit him gently on the chest. "Just a few weeks."

"Felt like three years." You wrap your hands around his neck. "Don't leave."

"Don't worry. I plan on bothering you for the rest of your life." He says with a smug look around his face, before kissing your forehead, reminding you of the warmth of his love.

#gojo x female reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo smut #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo drabbles

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wettvagina · 5 months

Text

F MY BABY DADDY!

desc: eren, the father of your daughter, and your cock-blocking baby daddy, pays you a visit after he heard what you said about him on your instagram live a.n: shoutout to my DECEASED bd eren edot yeager, gone too soon , miss u everyday bae ://

TURNT UP TO THE MAX, I'M THE TRENDIN' TOPIC!

You looked at yourself in your pink vanity mirror, sitting on the pink, fuzzy-cushioned stool behind your vanity table, you smacked your lips after applying some pink, sparkly lipgloss, setting up your phone against the mirror, swiping on Instagram aimlessly as you awaited a message from your friend.

Seeing her name pop up on your notifications, you quickly tapped it, replying to her 'im gonna be there in 20' message with a thumbs up emoji. You sighed as you swiped on Instagram, tapping on the 'Go Live' icon, seeing your reflection on your phone screen.

You smiled slightly as you watched your views slowly increase, "Hey everybody." you greeted, you propped your phone on the mirror so everyone could see a better view of your outfit, you smiled and posed before coming closer to your phone screen to open the comments.

"Yes, I am going out." you chatted, "Just hoppin' on here for fun, I'm waiting on somebody." you smirked, "D'ya have a new man?" you read a comment, "Huh? No, that's why I'm goin' out." you snickered, "My dating life has been, so dry." you sighed to yourself, reading more comments.

"No, I swear, ever since- you know what, lemme stop." you playfully rolled your eyes as you skimmed through the comments, "You still with that guy." you read, the comment had originally wrote Eren, but you liked being petty so you chose not to say his name.

"No, I'm not with that guy, and I never was to begin with." you falsely clarified with a sigh, "I've been single." you smirked, "Y'know I see a lot of you in the comments, my dm's are open." you smiled to yourself, scrolling through the men thirsting for you in your comments.

"Okay, I'm gonna head out now. Probably gonna post later, bye y'all." you concluded, quickly ending the Instagram live, checking the time, only to find out that ten minutes had passed. You sighed to yourself, grabbing your purse and heels in your hand, you walked barefeet down the flight of stairs in your house, reaching near the enterance door, sitting on the floor as you strapped on your heels.

Once both of your heels were strapped on, you admired your fresh pedicure, you opened your phone once again to check the time, "Hm, might as well wait outside." you murmured to yourself, upon opening the door, you flinched and jumped back, almost screaming.

"What the- Oh!" you sighed, "Its you." you said as you looked up, seeing Eren standing with his hands in the pockets of his grey colored jeans, looking down at you with a serious face. "Damn, you scared me." you giggled, noticing his tense stare, "Can I help yo-", "Where are you going?" his deep voice questioned, "Out." you plainly state, Erens gaze looked up and down your body, smiling almost amusingly.

"Hm." he nods, "Where's my-" he begins, "Your daughter is at my friends house." you inform him, "Which friend, I need a name." he says immediately after, "Ymir." you state, rolling your eyes. "Just making sure." he clarifies, "Where else would she be?" you squint at him. "Well anyways, nice meeting ya'." you say as you attempt to walk past him.

"You're not going anywhere." you hear him say while his hand grips onto your wrist, "Boy, move!" you groan, Eren pulls you back inside your house, shutting the door behind him. "You must think that I don't care or something, but I watch your Instragram, I check your posts, your lives." he exclaimed, his grip loosening from your wrist.

"You're not single, so stop lying to people." he declares, "Are you out of your mind?" you ask him, a smirk tugging on your lips, "You're with me." he clarifies, sliding his feet out of his slides before entering the living room of your house.

"Eren, I broke up with you two weeks ago." you ranted, "Really? I don't recall." he beamed, throwing himself onto your sofa as he lazily sat on the cushion with his legs spread. "Why are you just standing there? Go change." he scoffed, "Bae, do you wanna watch a movie?" he asked while picking up the remote, "You got any snacks?" he went on.

You wanted to say you were amused, but you were used to this, you walked up to the coffee table in the middle of your living room, standing in front of Eren as he scrolled on Netflix using the remote, "Babe, you're blocking." you looked him dead in the eye as he spoke, you shook your head before sitting next to him on the couch, cursing at yourself mentally.

"You need help changing?" he asked, fingers tracing against the cloth that hugged your waist, his fingers traveled to the zipper at the back, slowly tugging on it, watching as the fabric become loose on you, "Hm, looks like you forgot to wear a bra." Eren smirks as your dress falls from your chest, "Good thing you're not going out anymore." he smiles, his face was close to yours, and you could smell the spearmint gum he was chewing on, paired with the scent of his cologne that had your panties dampening.

You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him feverishly, you propped yourself onto his lap, your chest pressing onto his and you could feel your nipples hardening as it jammed onto his plain black compression shirt. You instantly felt his hand around your waist, grabbing on your ass as he pulled you closer to him, his other hand rubbed soothing circles onto your spine, causing you to moan into his mouth.

His hands slipped your dress off of you, and his lips instantly latched onto yours once again, after one long, suffocating kiss, he pulled away, kissing on your neck as he whispered, "You know I love you, right?"

Eren's strong arm held onto your back as he placed your head on the cushion, moving on top of you, he kissing down from your neck, to in between your breasts, all the way down your stomach, stopping at your navel. You watched as he slowly pulled your panties off, smiling before hovering over you to kiss you, as he kissed you, you felt him lining the tip of his cock to your wet entrance, "Shit." you cursed as you felt his tip prodding at your entrance, Eren stroked your clit with his thumb while his hand wrapped around his shaft, slowly pushing himself into you.

You moaned when you felt him completely inside of you, his hand cradled the side of your face, as his finger stroked your cheek, kissing the corners of your lips as he slowly moved in and out of you, he watched as your face contorted to match the pleasure you were feeling, eyebrows pointed upwards, eyes wide and your lips parted. He smiled slightly, biting his lower lip as he increased his pace, "Oh shittt." his words leaving his mouth slowly as he looked down at his dick leaving and re-entering your pussy.

"Fuck, baby. 'M gonna get you pregnant, again." he whined, hooking your leg over his shoulder, his thrusts stayed at a steady pace, and his gaze was on you at all times, watching the faces you were making as he stared into your eyes.

His head turned away from your face, to kiss on your calves as he continued to slowly fuck you, savouring the way your pussy wrapped around his length, "Fuck, Eren. I'm gonna come." you moaned, feeling a sudden tightness in your lower stomach, Eren felt your walls clamp down on his dick, causing his dick to tensen inside of you, "S-Shit, me too.." he groans, soon you came all over his cock, feeling the warmness of his come paint your walls as you both slowly panted.

"Fuck." you sighed, Eren panted before smirking, laughing lightly. "I'm gonna move in." he exclaims.

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yeollie-plz · 5 months

Text

The Other Woman

Synopsis: After breaking up with her shit boyfriend, Y/N seeks refuge in a new sport and a new man.

Genre: smau

Faceclaim: Allissa Shin @allissashin on ig

All other pics from Pinterest or driver’s personal igs

yourusername

Liked by charles_leclerc and 47,479 others

yourusername lately ive been dressing for revenge

user 🔥🔥🔥

y/nswife what did he do….this time

pleasantlyy/n I want to be in the same room as you just so I can breathe the same air

f1fan did no one else see the Charles like?

- user I was curious too

- iheartf1 mans is thirsting on main

- landox2 you don’t think?

yourbsf ladies always rise above

- yourusername ladies know what people want

- hearteyesy/n we love our swifties

yourusername posted a story

Liked by 787

y/nswife since when did she like f1???

dramapage

Liked by 1,340 people

dramapage Looks like model Y/N and producer boyfriend are broken up once again. What is your opinion on their on-and-off relationship? Let us know!

y/nfan my thoughts are you should leave her alone :))

y/nswife I just wish she would break up with him already she deserves better

f1girlie I bet Charles is just waiting for her to be single

- user he’s drafting his dm as we speak

hater she’s always the other woman

wishingiwasher I just want her to be happy again

yourusername posted a story

Liked by 1,267

y/nismine unbothered queen

user whelp there’s our confirmation

f1forever charles about to shoot his shot

yourbsf I’m so sorry babes!

- yourbsf but also get his ass!!!

yourusername

Liked by yourbsf and 43,917 others

yourusername dont give men second chances

Tagged yourbsf

y/nstan girl you have him like 50 chances…

- user you called her out 🫢

y/nswife finally we can be together!

charles_leclerc what about a first chance?

Liked by yourusername and others

- user Charles?

- user does he know this is his main account

- yourusername maybeee…

- user Y/N NO! HE GOES IN CIRCLES FOR A LIVING

- user uh oh this is not going to end well

Zendaya Gorgeous!

yourbsf you only need the girls!

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yourusername

Liked by charles_leclerc and 79,377 others

yourusername race weekend 🏎️ 🤫

user oh so she’s rooting for Ferrari then

user don’t tell me Charles is behind this

y/nswife you better not leave me again! I thought we had something

- user for a man that goes vroom vroom too

charles_leclerc can’t wait to see you, you’ll be my good luck charm

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- user oh ok he’s whipped whipped then

- user damn

- user Charles has rizz?

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc Podium this weekend 👊 We were lucky 🍀

user ok we all know he is talking about Y/N right

- f1girls yep

- carlosstan yes

- charlesitaly 100%

- landoismylover no question

yourusername 🤩 great race Charlie!

- y/nslove the nickname??????

yourusername

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yourusername show me off

Tagged charles_leclerc

y/nslove rue when was this?

user the way my jaw dropped

charlesloveclerc 🫡 weve lost him to the simp side

yourbsf I love when my baby is happy

- yourusername love you!!

- charles_leclerc am I the other woman?

- yourbsf yes

- yourusername yes

bewitchedy/n I’m not crying you’re crying

A/N: ok ok!! My first attempt at a social media au!!!! I personally love these and so I wanted to mix my page up and write one of my own! I also recently got into f1 and thought I’d take a stab into that universe as well! New things all around! Give me suggestions for more 👀❤️

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arachine · 1 year

Note

as a warm welcome for us becoming mutual now (yayy) I’D REALLY LIKE TO SPILL WHATS IN MY HEADD FOR THIRST HUAHAUA please i am a HUGE fan of size difference concept and??? that one oldest sully boy??? pretty sure when he’s in 20s he’ll have the same toned buff body like his daddy so yerrr imagine that soft big boy in heat— they mated! so it does not rule out they possibly can be in heat. just, how cute it is for his eyes to see his beloved one under him, overstimulated and all after handling his needy self, and he will just, peppers kisses there and here and saying something like, “you can do it one more time again for me, right? please, baby. just one more.”

— ngl i’m not that knowledgeable about heat cycles or anything like that so i didn’t wanna get too detailed…but this is how i would imagine this happening (if he were to ever go into heat).

anyway, the idea of neteyam going into heat and needing to fuck something real bad has me salivating. like…? your body is raging with hormones and you want little ol’ me? :((

i can just imagine him being so much more vocal, more whiny—and he’s not one to whine—you know, because he’s usually too preoccupied being the brooding older brother. whining was lo’ak’s job.

but once he’s got you under him, man, he doesn’t let up. just keeps rutting into to you like he’s got something to prove, laying stroke after stroke, plugging you up with all of his seed.

you’re so overstimulated that half of the time, you don’t even know what position’s he’s got you in. suddenly, you can’t tell up from down, left from right, right from left—you’re just pliant. a piece of clay for him to mold and bend into his vision.

“you are always so good for me,” he pants, “sosososo good.”followed after, “gonna f-fill you up real nice—give you a future olo’eyktan, hm?”

#neteyam x reader smut #neteyam sully x reader smut #neteyam smut #neteyam sully smut #‹ ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭*♡‧₊˚𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐝𝐬 ᥫ᭡ .ᐟ ›#avatar.thirsts

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dameronology · 1 year

Text

liar (bucky barnes)

based on the paramore song of the same name lol a.k.a the one where bucky barnes is scared of his own feelings a.k.a jazz is back in her bucky era

warnings; language

enjoy!!

-jazz

Bucky Barnes had never considered himself a liar.

If anything, he had a hard time not telling the truth. It escaped from his mouth before he even had the chance to think about; no, Steve, I think your new hair cut sucks and sorry Sam, she wasn’t actually checking you out, she was waving at the guy behind you. Call it a product of his years as an assassin - because he couldn’t recall being this truthful back in the war - but it was part of who he was now. Sometimes he thought it meant he should come with a warning; something to say don’t pull the pin on this grenade, because he won’t lie to your mum about liking her food. Would that have been the worst Tinder bio ever? Yeah, no doubt.

Bucky had a hard time even lying to himself. That had become clear as soon as you whirl-whinded into his life. That day was still as crystal clear in his head six months later. It had been an early morning at the SHIELD HQ - the F-train had been delayed an hour and he’d come sprinting into a national security meeting, Starbucks in one hand (he was already late, he figured five minutes more for a frappuccino wouldn’t hurt) and a jumbled apology ready to offer. Then, not two seconds later, you’d come sprinting through the door, smacking into the back of him and launching the iced coffee from his hand, into the air, and straight into the lap of the British prime minister.

Bucky was late, but you’d been even later. He liked that about you.

You were a whirl-wind in his life; his best friend from that day forward and the reason he could let go of the breath he’d been holding for so many years. Meetings were never boring with you, nor was the paperwork after long missions or the early starts. Every time he was late, he knew you’d take even longer because maybe his commute from Brooklyn was long but you lived three blocks away from work and managed to sleep through every goddamn alarm you’d set.

It was clear about exactly three seconds after you met that you and Bucky were not destined to just be friends. You knew it and he knew it but neither of you wanted to talk about it. Avoiding the truth wasn’t necessarily lying - Bucky was thankful for that, because he knew that if you asked, everything would come out. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for love.

So, you both left it to rest (and maybe to rot).

“I hate meetings,” you grumbled. It was eight o’clock on a Monday morning and thanks to a national security threat, you once again found yourself in the SHIELD meeting room earlier than you felt to be natural. “Can’t they just put this in an email?”

“Probably,” Bucky replied. “Hi guys, there’s a terrorist threat. If you see something, say something. Lots of love, the security council.”

You snorted. “Did you know I have all of their emails sent straight to my spam?”

“I would do the same but I can’t work out how the Facebook app works,” he muttered. “Why are there so many buttons? What are cookies?”

“Buck, why would you have the security council on Facebook?”

“Isn’t that…” he paused, scratching the back of his head. “Isn’t that where emails go?”

You dropped your head in your hands and let out a groan. “I only just got you used to Twitter. I’ll leave it a few weeks before I overwhelm you with any more social media apps.”

“What about TikTok?”

“I am never letting you download TikTok,” you said.

“Sam said that I should make thirst traps-”

“- please no!” you cut him off. “Never take life advice from Sam.”

Sam was sat across the table from you, a scowl on his face. He was a morning person - hell, the man had already been for a run that morning - but the combination of you and Bucky at any point in the day was enough to drive him up the wall. He glanced between you both, brown eyes calculating for a second, before a grin spread across his face.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t,” Sam chirped. “Remember last week when I told you to do that thing, Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Shut up, Sam.”

“What thing?” you frowned.

“It’s not mine to share,” Sam shrugged. “But based on the last five minutes’ worth of interactions alone? I think it would be best to listen to me-”

“- I swear to god if you don’t stop talking!” Bucky cut him off; then he glanced at you, blue eyes wavering for a second. “Don’t listen to him.”

Sam knew that he was doing; playing devil’s advocate because a) it meant he could piss off Bucky and b) hopefully get two of his best friends to finally get together after months of pining. It had gotten to the point where him and Steve had literal bets on it. Not necessarily on if you would get together, but more on when.

“I’m not, but you’re acting weird,” you said. “Want to share with the class?”

“No,” Bucky firmly said.

“Buck,” you warned; it was clear by your voice that you weren’t fucking around. “I don’t know what immature high school bullshit is going on right now but I don’t appreciate it.”

“I’ll talk to you about it later, okay?” he said.

“You’re an ass,” you replied.

Picking up your bag and coffee, you shuffled over to the other side of the meeting table where Steve was sat. He hadn’t said a word in any of this; you quite often cursed the lack of boundaries amongst the four of you, but you couldn’t fault Steve that morning. He’d kept to himself, simply watching in awe at the chaos that had just unfolded.

You stopped in the seat beside him, glancing over at him. “If you say a word, I’ll hit you.”

“I’m not saying anything,” he held up his hands in defense.

The meeting was quick, thankfully. Even worse, it definitely could have been put in an email. You also couldn’t help but notice the British diplomats watching your coffee carefully every time you moved - that was a joke you could have made to Bucky, had he not managed to get himself into your bad books.

You’d barely been out the board room five minutes before you were practically wrestling him by the ear into a quiet corner. The meeting had been quick, thankfully. It hadn’t felt that way for Bucky, who’d been sat opposite you the entire time, barely avoiding your dagger-y gaze. If looks could kill, his vibranium arm would have had a fair few dents in it.

“So?” you asked. “What was that all about?”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky quickly replied. “I promise-”

“- bullshit!” you cut him off. “Why are you keeping things from me, Buck?”

“I’m not.”

“You are!” you exclaimed. “Look, I don’t even want to know what you and Sam were talking about but at least have the common decency not to keep me out of a conversation that’s about me!”

“Why aren’t you mad at Sam too?!”

“Believe me, I have it out for Sam too but it’s worse when this stuff comes from you!”

Bucky thinned his eyes at you. “Why?”

“You know why.”

He sighed, shifting from one foot to another. Eyes to the ceiling for a second, he took a deep breath.

“Sam told me last week that I should ask you out,” he said. “Said something about how everyone around us can see what we don’t, and that we’re kidding ourselves, and…”

You sniffed, trying to stay composed. It had been a long time coming, there was no denying that. Bucky had been avoiding the conversation because he wasn’t ready but you’d been avoiding it because you were terrified of the answer. Rejection from literally anyone else in the world would have been fine, but from him? There was no metaphor for that pain, or that fear.

“And what?” you asked. “What do you think of that?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s…”

You both waited for a second, the tension in the air almost suffocating.

“...dumb.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Dumb?!”

“Yeah?” Bucky sounded unsure. “We’re best friends, and-”

“- that’s bullshit!” you snapped. “Buck, I know you can be confusing but…if there’s one thing I am certain of, it’s that we are not just best friends and you know it!”

“Do I?”

You took a step back, sniffing. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

“Wait, don’t be like that-”

“- it’s fine, James,” you sniffed. “I’ll see you around.”

“Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

(You weren’t good.)

“Okay, I’m glad. Call me later, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” you forced a smile.

(You weren’t going to call him.)

–

Five days.

That’s the longest Bucky had gone without talking to you since he’d met you and also the exact amount of time you’d been ignoring him for. He’d given in calling you after three days, and considered coming around your apartment after four, but then he got a last minute call onto a mission where your name was at the top of the call sheet. Fab.

Bucky liked to consider himself a good flier, but it certainly would have been easier to co-pilot a jet with someone who was actually willing to talk to him. It was quite amazing, actually, to see the lengths that you were willing to go to all in pursuit of icing him out.

“This is Barnes to air traffic control on QJ564. We’ll be approaching our destination in about five minutes, currently at 10,000 feet, over.”

“This is ATC to QJ564, you’re cleared for landing in Munich, runway four. Over.”

“This is Barnes to ATC on QJ564. Runway four confirmed, thank you. Could you also tell my co-pilot that I’m sorry and that I miss them? Over.”

“Uh…this is ATC to QJ564. Barnes says he’s sorry and that he misses you. Over.”

“This is Barnes’ co-pilot on QJ564, tell him that I think he’s a cun-”

“- this is Captain Rogers monitoring the channels for suspicious activity from the headquarters. May I remind the pilots aboard QJ564 of the appropriate workplace manners over professional channels? Over.”

After Steve’s voice, the lines went silent. Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrows raised.

“That was rude.”

You continued to ignore him, attention turned to landing the jet safety. It wasn’t hard - Tony Stark had built a jet that practically landed itself, but it was still a good enough excuse to blank out your best friend for the next five minutes. Still, none of that conversation was worth the absolute castigating you were about to receive from Captain America as soon as you were back in New York. He was no fun sometimes.

With the jet safely on the runway, you parked up at the airport and made your way down to the tarmac where the agents were waiting. All you had to do now was await instructions from headquarters on what to do next. That gave you more empty time with Bucky, who was stood next to you. So, you moved away and leant against the wheels of the plane, pulling out your phone to play Doodle Jump.

The call came through eventually, but it was to Bucky’s radio instead of yours.

“Right, agents,” he began, though it was more a sigh than anything. “Coulson is currently ten minutes out on another quinjet to lead the mission. Agent (Name) and I have been removed from this operation for the foreseeable future so that we can sit in the jet, man the communications systems and re-take the online seminar about appropriate workplace language.”

“What?!” you exclaimed. “Nice one, Barnes!”

Bucky forced a smile, trying not to crack up in front of the fifteen junior agents stood in front of you. “Why we have to retake it is a mystery to me.”

“Good luck out there, guys,” you huffed. With that, you spun around and stormed back on board the jet.

Bucky was hot on your heels, closing up the door behind him as he went. He didn’t really know what to say - somehow he’d made you angrier, now - but apolgoising profusely felt like a pretty good place to start.

“So you’re talking to me now?” he asked, following you through the fuselage.

“No!”

“You just did!”

“Fuck off, Bucky!”

“And again!”

“Leave me alone!”

He grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it,” you huffed.

Taking a seat, you curled your legs up in front of you. You didn’t try and swat (or hit) Bucky when he leant down in front of you, which he took as a good sign. It was time to pull out the big guns.

“Can I talk for just…maybe five seconds, possibly ten, without you interrupting?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you because you’re the last person in the world I’d ever want to upset but I was put on the spot by what Sam said, and then by what you said, and it freaked me out a little,” he began. “You and I both know that he’s right - but never tell him I said that - and honestly, the silence you’ve given me over the last five days made me realise that more than ever.”

You smiled. “What are you saying, Buck?”

“I love you,” he said. It was plain and simple, completely without hesitation and entirely with conviction. “I’ve known that for a while but I just didn’t want to admit it to myself, but like I said…five days without you made me realise I don’t even want to go five seconds without you.”

“That’s how you apologise,” you gave him a watery grin, poking him in the chest.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Anything you want to say to that?”

“Oh, yeah!” you exclaimed. “I love you too.”

Bucky pulled you into a kiss; he held you flush against him, one hand holding the back of your neck, metal one gripping the back of your tac-vest. Despite everything, he was warm and you were certain then that you were never going to let him - if not a little ecstatic that you’d found a new way to shut him up.

You both jumped back when you heard the doors to the jet go, only to turn around and see Phil Coulson on the phone, a glare on his face.

“What is it with you two and inappropriate work place behaviour?”

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elusive---ivory · 11 months

Text

Yandere!Vampire x Reader

Hey!! Howdy!! fics have been a little slow, but!! I am still getting used to writing again, so please bear with me. My requests are still open!! Please help me with ideas!!!

Warnings: mentions of blood, nsfw mentions, violence, yandere tendencies, kidnapping, murder.

A vampire's life is filled with solitude. He is distraught with grief. After living in the human world for over a thousand years, he found life on this Earth monotonous and dreary. He's experienced the world, but his heart is still empty. His thirst for blood lives on. He yearns for a companion.

However, he has yet to find the right one. Until you came along. You were walking with your friends late at night. He was looking for a new host to feed on. His thirst led him to follow you, closely. You were interesting to watch. Usually, he didn't find mortals interesting, but when you were out with your friends, you got up to all kinds of mischief. Your friends were pranking people's houses, while you were looking for cats to pick up from the street and pet them.

He smirked. Frankly, human life was meaningless to him. But, why does a small human like you interest him so?

He couldn't bring himself to drink from you, so he took another victim instead. He trapped himself in his mansion. You didn't leave his thoughts. His servant was worried about their dear vampire master. His chambers weren't disturbed. His cold heart started to beat again in his chest. You were the person that he wanted to spend eternity with.

His servant was the first person to catch onto their master's lovesick expression. On the cover of the night, they went to your home and abducted you while you were deeply asleep. You woke up in unfamiliar surroundings. The mansion was huge with spiraling staircases, and a large portrait of the Vampire sitting in the living room.

You were confused as to how you got into some goth dude's mansion. The servant was making human food in the kitchen. You walked in, surprised at the little man at the stove.

"Oh good, you're awake." The servant muttered sarcastically. "The master requests that you eat this human slop." It was a beautifully made plate of waffles, pancakes, and fruit all laid out on a plate.

"Wow! I don't know if I can eat all that." You said, smiling gently. You sit down at the table and began to take as much as you would like. "Thank you so much."

The servant scoffed, stepping down from their stepping stool. "Don't thank me. You should thank the master. He's the one that didn't kill you."

"The 'master'? Is he the guy that owns this place?" You asked, looking around the kitchen. Curtains wrapped in tin foil decorated the kitchen, as well as most of the giant home. You began to piece together what kind of person who might live here.

"Yes, of course. You should get dressed. There are clothes for you on the table." The servant sipped their tea. "Hurry up!" They scolded.

You looked at the outfit. It was a gorgeous Victorian gown with a deep red color and it was velvet to the touch. You smiled, running back up to your bedroom. Putting on this dress was like a dream. The corset fit nicely and wasn't as suffocating as most corsets of the era were. The dress hung snugly around your waist.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. It was very rare that you'd find yourself enjoying your appearance. You smiled to yourself while fixing your hair. You felt something like a ghost touch your neck gently. When you whipped your head around, you found no one there.

You could hear an airy laugh as you opened your bedroom door. A chill ran down your spine. You didn't want to think the house was haunted, but with vampires existing, ghosts aren't a farfetched idea.

You helped Servant for hours on end. You were getting ready for the arrival of the Master. You looked at the portrait of the Vampire again, and you heard that laugh once again. This time it was right inside your ear.

"Enjoying my masterpiece, kitten?" The Vampire purred deeply.

You jumped, turning your head, looking directly at the master of the household. You blush immensely, trying to maintain eye contact. You find yourself stuck on words. Before you go to say something, the vampire interrupts.

"Did a cat cut your tongue, dear girl? Please, speak. Tell me your name, darling." He pulled you close, placing his slender hand on your hip. "Could I call you 'Kitty'?"

You were taken aback by all of this sudden affection. While you were very flattered, the Vampire could tell that you didn't trust him with your heart.

He smiled softly. "I don't mean to frighten you, dear. I simply want to have a meal with you."

You gulped, nodding slowly. "Alright, but afterwards, you have to let me go."

The Vampire chuckled darkly. "Of course, my love. I promise you'll be able to leave immediately after."

He looked over at the Servant, who simply pushed their glasses up.

You sat across the vampire with a long wooden table divided them. You looked at your meal, it was a combination of all your favorite meals. You were frankly shocked.

The Vampire watched you with a smile. A tall grin appeared on his lips. He watched you eat like a wolf watching his prey. You were oblivious.

When you were finished, his eyes were glued to the plate. You got up from your chair, wiping your mouth off with a napkin. "Thank you for the meal, dear sir. But, I must be going."

The Vampire grinned sinisterly. "Oh? Aren't you going to stay for dessert?" The Vampire used his powers to pull you towards him from across the table.

He pulled you into his arms. His pupils glowed a bright red. His pointed teeth grazed your skin, then he bite into you, drinking you slowly.

The feeling of being drained slowly was a wonderful feeling. For a moment, the sharp pain in your neck didn't matter compared to the euphoria. You fall to your knees, half-drunk, while the pain in your neck starts to bulge.

The Vampire handed you a tiny vile. "Drink, my love. Drink and spend eternity with me."

#yandere #yandere boyfriend #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere vampire #yandere vampire x reader #yandere x darling #vampire boyfriend #vampire boyfriend x reader #vampire aesthetic #yandere boyfriend x reader #yandere boy #yancore

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annikin-annotates · 5 months

Text

Family Ties

Hi hello, good morning friends. I’m giving you a steaming serving of Ascended!Astarion x Spawn!Tav to soothe (or anger?) your souls. I hope you enjoy this one shot as much as I did writing it. With that being said, I’m not paying for ya’lls therapy bills. I don’t think this one is too traumatic, if anything, it’s tame.

TW: Gore, Recapping of the ritual, Ascended Astarion being his bastard self, brief mentions of birth and pregnancy, having to give up a child (for their own safety).

Word Count: 2.6K

‘I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we are both safe, forever.’

She watched on in silent horror as the scene played out before her. “No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” Astarion hissed, as he ripped Cazador out of his coffin, his body splaying out awkwardly on the floor.

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spat indignantly as he pushed himself from the floor to a kneeling position, still reeling from the force of being thrown.

Astarion laughed heartily. “Hah! I’m not the one in the dirt,” his eyes darkened, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth, for the first time in two hundred years he held all the cards, he had the upper hand; and it felt good. He stared Cazador down, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. “I am so much more than what you made me,” he looks to her, a silent plea in his eyes, “I can do this, but I need your help.”

There was no question that she would help him, she would have done whatever he had asked her to do, “All right, what do you need me to do?” she asked him, her fists clenched at her sides. Gods, she would have set the world ablaze if only to see him smile.

“I need your eyes,” he paused for a moment, the air was so still around them that it was almost suffocating. “Use the parasite - link your mind to mine so I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his.”

“You would not dare!” Cazador seethed, though his voice betrayed him - that self-righteous air he had traded for something more human, fear.

“I would, and I will,” his voice was laced with fury. Two hundred years of suffering surfacing, she could see it in the way his hands shook as they held the knife. His eyes softened as they found hers again. “Help me do this, please.” Astarion looked to her pleadingly, crimson eyes glassy and full of desperation - he needed this. He needed her.

They recoiled slightly as their minds melded together, becoming one as the pain subsided and the world came back into focus once more. The weight of the dagger felt heavy in his hand, she could feel his fingers shifting nervously along the hilt. She could see Cazador from his perspective, cowering on the floor before Astarion, his hands raised in front of him; as if a pleading look would put the pain of the past to rest.

She could feel how Astarion hungered for power, and it was all within his reach, wealth, power, freedom - it was intoxicating. She trusted him, trusting him was the right thing to do - helping him achieve the only thing he wanted was the right thing; if it was the right thing to do, then why did it feel so wrong? Why did standing idly by and watching a man be carved apart to feel the pain that he inflicted upon so many feel so wrong?

And so the cycle would continue.

—

He was not hers anymore, that much was clear; Astarion had changed beyond recognition. While yes, he looked like Astarion and most certainly sounded like Astarion, he was not him, not in the way that mattered. Loving gazes now traded for looks filled with hunger and thirst, for both more power and blood. The man she had fallen for on her unexpected journey was as good as dead, a colder - crueller thing having taken his place. No, the Astarion she loved was nothing if not merciful.

For a time she had lulled herself with a false sense of hope that once the power became less novel, he would return to her. That his softness would begin to peek through again, he would smile again, that’s all she wanted. He had become a monster disguised as a dashing prince, but he was the very thing that mothers warn their misbehaving children about. The dark shadow that stalked pretty maidens and handsome young men down dark alleys, draining them of all they are - of all they could be.

With the same hands that gave him freedom, he sentenced her to a fate worse than death, an eternity of servitude. The worst of it all was that she did it, she helped him with her own two hands, she allowed him to ascend. And when his greed came again, all hungry eyes and jagged teeth; she gave herself to him, and he took from her, hungrily and without mercy, the choices she could have made, ripped away.

He hid her true position with flowered words, ‘My Dark Consort,’ his honeyed voice would whisper to her in the cover of darkness. The words sounded as wrong now as they did back then. Though she supposed it didn’t matter now, the die was cast and she had no choice but to lay in the grave she had dug.

And what a grave she had chosen.

She was glad she could not see herself in the mirror, what would she see? The sadness that clung to her eyes, or the bloodthirsty beast that now wore the skin of a woman long gone. She wasn’t sure she would even recognise the person staring back at her, a hollow husk of what she once was. She had sharper reflexes, eternal life and beauty, all the jewels and dresses she could want, and yet there was an ever growing emptiness that made home in her.

What good was eternal life if you couldn’t live for yourself?

—

Silence usually blanketed the palace, a quiet so thick it felt as though no creature could break it. The sort of quiet that told you to run and never look back, that made your ears ring, a bone chilling, deafening silence. A blood curdling scream tore through the stillness of the palace, the usual quiet that the night brings becoming forfeit.

Her hair clung to her forehead as she hissed and groaned through the pain, bringing life into the world felt as painful as taking it. It felt as though a wild animal was fighting to stay within her, its claws digging into her, like it knew the type of environment it was being brought into. She couldn’t blame it, though it did not have a choice. She gasped as relief washed over her, chest still heaving from exertion.

That eerie stillness came crashing back down on the palace, hanging in the corners of the room like an unwanted voyeur. With the quiet came a familiar feeling that wrapped its claws into her heart and squeezed, dread. There was no noise coming from her child, why was it not crying? Her baby should be crying, there should be an ear splitting wailing filling the room; her eyes began to water, a lump forming in her throat.

She could not bear to put another loved one in the ground.

A shrill cry tore through the room, forcing the silence back into exile once more, as if the small thing now in her arms had heard her prayers. It was a little girl, a daughter, and she was perfect in every single way that mattered: ten fingers, ten toes and a beating heart she could feel thrumming beneath her fingers.

Had she always been this cold? Is this what she used to feel like to Astarion? Warm and soft, and so fragile.

She held the babe close to her chest, taking in every inch of her; her sweet, sweet little girl. Her finger shakily stroked the softness of her cheek, her breath hitched in her throat as her little eyes opened - two green irises stared back at her. Her long, dead heart fluttered in her chest, tears pricking the corners of her eyes; those green eyes were his, a little piece of the man she loved. From that moment on she vowed that no harm would befall her little girl, her sunlight.

It was hours before Astarion entered their shared chambers to meet his daughter, the bed sinking slightly the only thing that pulled her from her loving trance. She angled her body slowly towards him leaning into his form, she felt him go rigid at the contact - she did not care. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeping child in her arms, this tiny thing gave her eternal life new meaning. “Meet our daughter, my love,” she whispered, softly brushing the edges of the soft blanket she was swaddled in away from her face.

She tore her gaze away from her world to look at Astarion, whose eyes had softened a small bit; before turning steely once more. “A daughter? Does she have a name?” he asked with raised brows, his voice too loud, too cocksure. He reached for the child, taking the babe from her arms before she could protest. Little brows furrowed and she let out a small whine of disapproval before settling into her fathers arms; she could have ripped his throat out for disturbing their child’s rest.

She shook her head. “No, but I think the name Juniper suits her,” she paused for a moment, imagining what her life would have been like if none of this had happened. Would she have returned to the grove where she grew up? She cleared her throat softly, “It reminds me of the berries that grew by my home as a child.”

Astarion scoffed at the suggestion, it made her blood boil with contempt for him - a feeling that had become all too familiar over the last two decades. “My dear, my - I mean our daughter needs to be named something strong, fearsome, something like…” he paused for a moment, looking deeply into the eyes of their daughter. She hoped that when he looked at her that he saw the ghost of himself, she prayed it would make him rethink the person he had become. “Maitenirr. Now that’s a name fit for an Ancunin, isn’t it my darling?”

A scoff threatened to fall from her lips, she swallowed both the anger and vitriol that rises in her throat. How dare he? How dare he snatch her child from her arms and name her. How could he not see that he held the sun in the crook of his elbow? Did he not understand that the small bundle was hers and hers alone? She nodded in agreement, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes tugging at her lips. She knew better than to go against his judgement. “Of course my love, what a lovely choice.”

Astarion had taken the privilege to name their daughter, it made her heart twist to hear a name with such a dark meaning put to a child. Bringer of Death, he told her that she needed a name that was as strong and as fearsome as the family she was born into, the throne she was now heir to. But her child was the embodiment of the sun, if holding her was as close as she would get to feeling the sun's rays on her skin, then that was okay with her.

With each passing day, she wondered how someone like Astarion managed to have a hand in creating something as perfect as their daughter. She could see so much of him in her already, they had the same noses, they shared pointed ears, she smiled in her sleep like he does; like he used to. The more she grew, the more she realised they had the same mannerisms too, always quick to fuss and even harder to soothe.

The more Maitenirr grew, the more things became apparent about her; she loved the darkness and it seemed to like her too. She would reach out to shadowy corners while in her mothers arms, babbling away to them like they could hear her - like they were sentient. It was a secret best kept between herself and the shadows, for as long as possible.

She couldn’t keep Maitenirr’s ability away from her husband for much longer, she had begun to conjure things - beings not of this world, from the shadows. She needed to devise a plan to get her daughter to safety; she would never forgive herself if her guiding light was dimmed by her fathers hands. She would protect her child if it was the last thing she did, from everyone; including Astarion - especially Astarion.

If she was to expedite her daughter somewhere safe, she would need to be cunning about it, she would need to outfox a fox. It consumed her every waking moment, numerous plans scrapped; she almost thought about calling in a favour with Raphael of all people. There was one person in Baldur’s gate that she could trust to get her Juniper to safety, she prayed that they would do this act of kindness for her.

—

"Please, take her. Take her to safety, do not tell me where. If he comes to me I will have no choice but to tell him. Please, he will ruin her if he finds her gift," she pleaded, pushing the bundle into his arms. Giving Juniper away felt like ripping her heart from her chest, exposing the softness of a person long dead, Juniper was a weakness she couldn’t afford to have exploited.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,” he told her, taking a step back, his hands coming to gently push the child away. She could smell the fear that came off him in waves; she could see it in his eyes.

She looked at him, her eyes full of terror and sadness. “I do, Wyll. Of course I do, but it needs to be you. If he looks for her, which he will; I cannot know where she is. I will be the first person he comes to,” her voice shakes. “I know I ask a lot of you, but please, protect my daughter. Give her a fighting chance, Wyll.”

He sighed, taking the child into his arms. “I will make sure she gets to safety, you have my word,” he swore, his voice solemn. The moment he took Juniper into his arms, she had to fight the urge to snatch her back from him, it took everything in her not to scream: she is the only good I have found in this world, please don’t take it from me. She blinked back her tears, no, this was better. She would not sit idly by and watch another innocent suffer at the hands of a monster that she created.

“Thank you, Wyll. you have no idea what this means.” Her child would have a fighting chance at a life untainted by cruel hands. She turned away slightly, drying the tears that had begun to spill. Now was not the time for tears, she would have eternity to shed them, now was the time to dig deep - to be strong, one last time.

“Her name is Juniper, if there is one thing from this life that I can give her - it's her name,” she added, backing away from the both of them. Small hands reached out towards her, a dissatisfied grunt tumbling from tiny lips. She looked around nervously, she didn’t have much time, she rushed to the child one final time, pressing a kiss to the patch of white amongst the rest of her dark hair. A small piece of him.

“Your mother loves you, more than you will ever know. Giving you up is my greatest sacrifice, I love you, my Sunlight,” she whispered into her hairline before stepping back several paces, she looked to Wyll once more. “Get her out of here, Wyll.” She made her way up the main staircase, away from the door, she dared not look back.

The vipers fangs have bared, she must protect her brood.

Thank you for reading, Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it really brightens my day and gives me the boost to keep creating!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

#astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion my beloved #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion x reader #f!reader x astarion #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin

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onlymingyus · 9 months

Text

Juice (Patreon Exclusive)

pairing; kim mingyu x choi seungcheol x f reader

genre; smut (minors dni)

warnings; unprotected sex, some dom/sub dynamics, dom!seungcheol, dom!mingyu, sub!reader, brat!reader, impact play, hand on the throat, fingering, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie, cum eating/cumplay, some mlm (depending on how you feel about what happens adding the warning just in case), strength kink, manhandling, reader is smaller than mingyu and seungcheol, reader works out, mingyu carries the reader, pinning down/against wall, bulge kink, big dick!mingyu and seungcheol, pet names/degrading names, teasing, aftercare, talks about polyamory

w/c; 533 (this teaser) -- 7k and some change (full fic on Patreon)

requested; no

a/n; this one is a lot -- as you can see from the warnings -- but I had a lot of fun writing it. if you need someone to blame, you can put that blame on one choi seungcheol and his gym thirst traps. man doesn't even have to post actual pictures, just has to say im lifting 100 kg and my brain goes brrrr. also I am posting a day early this week due to my work schedule -- working overtime due to people being out, so I have no other choice.

this fic is a Patreon Exclusive subscribe to my Patreon and click here

“So, you do pay attention to us?”

Looking down you feel the warmth rush over your cheeks at the man’s question and his friend’s lingering gaze. Seungcheol laughs, his fingers drumming against the bench under him for a moment before he sits up and leans forward like Mingyu to look at you more closely.

“Why are you being all shy? We aren’t going to bite you, sweetheart.”

When you take a deep breath, your eyes lifting to meet his eyes at his words, Seungcheol laughs once more with a tilt of his head. He could see the look in your eye. You were turned on. He had seen the look before when you were watching them work out. They had been watching you just as much as you had watched them. You weren’t nearly as inconspicuous as you thought you were.

“Mm, not unless you want us to.”

Mingyu sucks in a breath as his eyes drop to your thighs, watching you press them together. This was going better than he had expected it to. He had hoped that this would be the opening conversation that could lead to another conversation at a later date but now you were acting like a cat in heat, rubbing your thighs together. Mingyu couldn’t help the way his mind wandered to how you were probably wet right now.

Taking a deep breath, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes almost defiantly in an attempt to play it cool. You weren’t some cheap whore that could be so easily seduced, at least that was what you were trying to convince yourself of. It was just too bad that your body was betraying every sensible thought that was going through your brain as the men in front of you undressed you in their minds.

“Are you going to climb back on that silly machine or would you rather leave and work on your cardio in another way?”

Scoffing at Seungcheol’s words, you open your water bottle to take another sip only to miss your mouth because of how flustered you actually are. Mingyu groans under his breath, watching the water trickle down your chin to your throat and finally your chest towards the top of your tank top. Seungcheol on the other hand just smirks before leaning forward to swipe his thumb under your bottom lip to wipe away some of the water before speaking again.

“Messy baby, answer me.”

Leaning into his touch, you find yourself nodding before you even realize it. Seungcheol smiles, nodding along with you, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip briefly before he pulls his hand away. Watching the interaction, Mingyu takes a breath and lets it out slowly. It was his turn to play it cool as he glanced around the gym thankful that the section you three were in was less crowded.

“Our place or yours, babe?”

Turning your head towards Mingyu, you finally take in a deep breath as you feel Seungcheol take your water bottle out of your hand. The question seems to confuse you for a moment, but a flash of his pretty smile, his sharp canines on display for you seems to bring you back into the moment.

“Mine.”

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