#nor have i cared enough to draw them more

[skunkes]

General oc talkkkk

I feel like i have to Do something with al once i take him off the shelf again (when my brain lets go of talon for another few months), ive been motivated to draw talon because he sits in my brain and i imagine interactions but it's much harder with al since al has been around for 10 years or more...and Al has like. Less conflict? In the sense of him just being a nice kind guy with regular human issues in a normal human world (or cow with regular individual issues in a normal furry world lol) ykwim?

Like. Talon is exaggerated he's a caricature of feelings to play with he's got lots of internal contradictions... and outside of that the whole Setting is easy to play with too, like, he's a vampire and those elements are more fun to think about and incorporate and build up in a way that requires a bit more brainpower of the fun variety (can make shit up) than Just a Regular Guy (has to be nore realistic, less fun to research), but less brainpower than, say, my abandoned Space Ocs where it was way harder for me to just make shit up, and way more to make shit up about (not as fun for me)

Idk! Its easy to imagine Talon in interactions, including ones with Al, or just self exploring dialogue....

Other than cute interactions between al and smunker its a lot harder to find stuff with him...he's a guy living in our regular world... his life has been fairly normal and he's good and nice. And i wouldnt change any of those things just to change em but there's less conflict other than the usual internal stuff all humans experience. I think if he wasnt my imaginary bf I would have shelved him more permanently like the oc group he came with...

There's something about how i very rarely make ocs, he's technically my oldest oc and talon is my newest oc, talon is what i Feel making ocs should feel like. And he's only over a year old. And he's still not even what I would call a well written character in any capacity. And yet i dont think i could very easily replicate this again ykwim. Im so bad at writing, and ..... creating....! Idk how people do any of it....i just wanna extend my ocs lives and my interest in them forever...

#talkys #long post #thinking also about how my friend said maybe id fare better if i didnt wait for my ocs to sort of fester in my brain to write them #bc thats how i do it...ive only been getting talon ideas because i talk to him all day in different scenarios i havent been able to exhaust #bc he's brand new #al's like. set in stone theres not much to draw because i just replay scenarios now. stagnated #i fear talon will get to a point like that too #like my brain will Fix Him and Therapize him and it wont be able to go back to the conflict he had Before that #so i wont play with him anymore...ykwim? #but i dont KNOW how to just make a character without having them show themself around in my brain #i barely even know how to make one in the way i do it now #bc i dont make ocs...bc i dont understand how to do Good Concept‚ Conflict‚ AND flesh em out #cause i got concepts for my space ocs. not complete ones but they have blurbs #ive never been able to get them to interact with me or each other in my brain though so idk anything about them #nor have i cared enough to draw them more #nor would i be able to think of scenarios #ykwim...? #its weird #ugh. maybe i am meant to just be a commission artist‚ im no good at any other niche #i got the worst Roll.... #wish i had a brain...okay well im going to sleep neow goodnite

[astraystayyh]

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

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

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

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

word count : 20k

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

part two

You have always been first in your class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

"I have an idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

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

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

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

"And right now, how do you feel?"

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

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

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

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

"I do too."

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

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

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

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

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

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

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

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

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

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

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

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

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

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

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

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

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

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

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

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

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

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

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

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

"What's there to miss?"

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

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

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

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

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

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

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

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

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

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll ask her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only tell my friends."

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

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

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

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

"You'll catch a cold."

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

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

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

"Yn, I don’t-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something friends think about, right? 

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

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

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

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

"I’ll still cut it."

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

He didn't cut his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

2 months later

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

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

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

"What are you doing?"

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

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

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

"Nope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not like that you look scary."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

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

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

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

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

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

"I will." 

"Okay." 

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

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

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

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

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She deleted your number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yn-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, let me make it better." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It will take time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz oneshots #skz recs #skz reactions #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #minho fluff #minho fanfic #minho angst #skz au #skz x you #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #lee know scenarios #stray kids fic #skz soft hours

[avtrbee]

safe

✢ summary: just like everyone else, sometimes megumi just wants his mom.

✢ tags: mentions of the death of a pet, implied satoru x reader

✢ a/n: my friend has psychoanalyzed me with a diagnosis of mommy issues and i have always denied them. then i caught myself reflecting on what type of fanfics i write. especially this one.

Ever since Megumi had started school in Tokyo, he was barely home. Of course, he comes home every now and then, and living within the school's dormitories is part of the high school experience- hell, even you stayed in the school when you were a student- but the house is quiet without him, too quiet, which is probably why he does not go home as often as you'd like- that, among other things.

Everyone in your household knew that Tsumiki was what made your house into a home. Your girl always greeted you with a smile and volunteered to make hot meals for the family when you and Satoru didn't feel like cooking. She was warmth, she was energy, she was life. Until she wasn't.

The house became cold without its fire. You couldn't blame Megumi for wanting an escape from the halls that still echo her memory. Which was why you were surprised to see him sitting on the couch with his arms resting on his thighs, hands buried in his face.

"Megumi?" You call. "I didn't hear you come in."

His head lifts up and looks at you. "Liar," he accuses. "You can sense my cursed energy miles away. You knew I was coming home as soon as you felt it ."

His words were harsh but his tone was not off of his usual deadpan manner of speaking. You can't help but smile. He is still the same child who refused to sleep unless he clung to his divine dogs, Tsumiki, you, or Satoru (reluctantly, of course) in some way. He claimed it was for "warmth."

But he knows you as much as you know him. As he made his way to the house, you noticed something- his cursed energy was off. It was more powerful than usual. Of course, it could be a good thing- perhaps he was doing really well in school, but his downcast eyes and even broodier vibe are telling you otherwise. "What's wrong?"

Megumi leans back on the couch, sighs, and contemplates. He stares at your wall that is decorated with framed pictures and pictures you memories from his childhood. You've even framed pictures of his drawings- usually doodles of his shikigami.

He stands abruptly. "Never mind," he dismisses. "I don't wanna- I don't want to talk about it. It's childish and stupid-"

"Stupid enough to make you retreat back home?" You ask. You watch as your question sinks in through Megumi. Slowly, he sits back down. You sit on the other end of the couch.

"What's wrong, 'Gumi?" You ask again. "Tell me." I can fix it. Whatever it is, if I can fix it, I will shouts your inner thoughts.

"I lost one of them," Megumi whispers.

“Oh, Megumi, I-” you say, racking your brain for something to say. Deaths in the jujutsu world is so common that when you’re within the industry for too long you get used to it. “Losing a colleague- this won’t be the first time, baby. Nor will it be the last.”

“No,” Megumi groans out frustrated. There are tears streaming down his cheeks that he angrily wipes away. “My dogs. I lost one. I- Yuki died.”

Your heart breaks at Megumi’s childhood name for his white demon dog. “‘Gumi, I’m so sorry-”

You move to his side of the couch, wide arms open. Megumi falls in, just like he did when he was small. Megumi feels himself melt in your hold, his walls and defenses crumbling away like ash.

Megumi refuses to cry at all times but when you have his arms wrapped around him he finds himself not caring at all. It was like his heart recognized you too.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you pretend not to feel his tears.

You hold him until he lets you. Megumi is the one to pull away, and you never do. This boy js fickle with touch, and you always leave the duration of your hugs to his discretion.

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs swiping away the tear tracks. You’ve never seen Megumi this heartbroken before.

“I told him to scout the area and I just left him for a second- and he-” Megumi hiccups. “His head was on the wall. The curse threw his head so hard it made the pavement crack.”

You do not pretend to know his pain for you will never feel it. Megumi’s divine dogs were his first achievement. He smiled the first time he summoned them, even as Satoru threw him in the air in joy. Those dogs would trail after him in the house, obeying his command. You would turn a blind eye to the spare pieces of meat Megumi throws under the table just so they could taste cooked beef.

Megumi would refuse to let them go even when he slept, and was upset that they would disappear when he rested or lowered his guard. As a present, Satoru gifted him customized stuffed animals of the dogs that he never slept without. You were sure he packed those toys with him in the dorm.

When Tsumiki volunteers to run errands, Megumi would summon a dog and follow her. Just in case. They both always came back safe.

“He just did what I commanded, he was good, he was a good boy.” Megumi said, in a quieter voice.

“The best,” you agreed. “But didn’t Yuki merge with the other one? Isn’t that how your technique works when one of them dies?”

“It’s stupid-” A glare from you was all it took. “It’s not the same,” he admits. “I just want my dogs back.”

You give him a sad smile. You pull him close for another hug, and he melts in your arms once again but this time, he does not pull away. You hold him until his tears have dried, until his breaths slowed down, and until his eyes closed for a well deserved rest.

extra note: yuki apparently means snow in japanese. get it? snow=white demon dog (im not creative at all yall)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #jjk #parental megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro

[glossgojo]

farleigh start oxford bf brainrot is real

18+ under the cut! (manhandling, hand kink idk i’m sorry, afab reader, fingering, dirty talk, service top far)

or in which farleigh distracts his stressed girlfriend the way he knows best

you were in your room at oxford working on your laptop, deep in the throes of your thesis paper. you were so focused that you didn’t even hear the door unlock nor your boyfriend huffing at the sight of your narrowed eyes. he always thought you looked so hot in your glasses, he wished you wore them more often. he knew you had been stewing away, your responses sporadic over the phone and with it being near the end of term you were rushing to perfect your work.

he could tell you that it was already perfect and you didn’t need to reread it for the sixth time. farleigh, despite his academic record, was incredibly smart. he just never applied himself, until you slightly forced him to. you had goaded him into caring about his studies the only way you knew would work, by making it a competition.

“hey baby,” you jumped in the spot where you sat on your bed. your back was leaning against the bedframe and it hardly looked comfortable as you craned your neck to look at your laptop. your glasses slightly slipped down your nose from your jerking and farleigh cooed at the sight, pushing them back in place as he climbed onto the bed. your cheeks were warming from his attention already and your lips pouted at the scare he’d given you, you looked fucking delectable.

due to the state of accommodations at oxford, your bed was never big enough to fit both of you comfortably and you let him move you to his lap as he did dozens of times before. your back rested against his chest while your legs lay over his own, outstretched with your laptop on your lap.

“hey far, i’m almost done just reading it again.” you pressed a kiss to his cheek as you turned to look at him, he nodded at your words, hand splayed on your hips as he looked over your head at the words on your screen.

“read it out to me.” he could easily read the words but you didn’t bother questioning him, you’d read to him before and he liked hearing your voice. you began from the beginning of the section hoping that would be enough context for him to understand. you didn’t know that farleigh had practically memorized your paper and could see the words flashing in his head before you even said them. yet you kept reading.

his legs slowly spread, taking yours with him and you stuttered in your reading as you felt the laptop slip off your lap, you picked it up quickly so you could still read. you didn’t let farleigh’s motions distract you, he was just getting comfortable and you clasped your legs together again. farleigh regrettably realized you had no idea what his intentions were, he’d have to be clearer. you were still reading constantly, the words all familiar to him as he pressed a open mouthed kiss to your neck, drawing a gasp from you. and then he bit at your neck, curling his head around the side of it to leave a mark where others could see. you stuttered again and farleigh could see your grip tighten on the laptop.

“far you’re not listening.” it was a whisper, a departure from your reading and he hummed at your words, one hand snaking down your front to part your thighs. you shuddered in his hold as his cold signet ring grazed your bare skin, his fingers splayed on your thigh looking gigantic. you willed away images of all the times he’d put those large hands to use on you.

“i am, your voice is enough to drive me crazy baby.” you scoffed at his words, he was always so needy for you, you imagined if you wore a cardboard box and ski mask he’d have popped a boner from your eyes alone. you weren’t looking especially sexy in your oversized hoodie and loose shorts.

“you’re sick.” he huffed a laugh at your words, you both knew this was the least unsavory turn-on both of you had expressed. he hadn’t missed how you stiffened as his hands roamed your body.

“just let me make you feel good, keep reading it helps to spot errors.” he knew you wouldn’t find any, but it served his purpose. if he could hear you stutter and gasp while reading in that stern academic voice he might just see god.

“o-okay.” you conceded, and he deftly stripped you of the shorts you’d likely stole from his closet. he groaned at the sight of your pussy, he’d have to steal his shorts back if he knew you were wearing them without underwear. you hissed as cool air hit your sensitivity, goosebumps rising on your skin.

“so pretty, always so pretty.” he murmured and the vibrations rumbled your chest, you barely had time to continue reading before he was licking his own fingers and spreading the saliva on your folds. your legs were spread wide and his own were caging them. you started reading again, long fingers sliding saliva and cool air making it feel all the more sharp. you hissed as his thumb found your clit, grinding slowly as a finger teased your hole.

you knuckles were turning white as you continued to read, a gasp breaking your vocation as the thick finger pressed into you. his thumb combined with the feeling of his now hard cock pressed against you, made you get slick easily. his finger slid into your wet heat, curling up to where he knew you wanted him.

“one must wonder if Kant-fuck Farleigh!” you moaned as he fucked into you fast and hard, the obscene sound of your pussy filled the room, you clenched around his finger sucking him in. farleigh was losing his mind on how tight you were just around one of his fingers, you could take him to the knuckle, but your warm walls hugged his finger tightly. he slipped another into you, earning another moan from you.

“so fucking tight, you can’t even take my fingers how will you ever take my cock?” he punctuated his question with another harsh thrust, you were grinding down on his knuckles as your slick slipped down his hands. you whined at his words, one hand gripping his hand now as the other continued to hold your laptop for dear life. you steeled yourself as best as you could and kept reading, the background noise of your wetness making your cheeks burn. you were so wet farleigh was fighting every urge to flip you around and devour you. if you ever put down your laptop maybe he would’ve.

his fingers curled against the front of your walls, his thumb resumed his ministrations and fucked you deep and intentional. you were sure you had never been so fucked out from just his fingers and you were now stuttering through every sentence.

“oh shut the fuck up.” farleigh had had enough, prying the laptop from your hold quite easily with his free hand sticking his fingers into your mouth. you groaned at the intrusion of three large indexes pressing against your tongue, you began to grind against his hand as a third finger teased your entrance. it was your last straw finally giving in and you sucked on his fingers like it was his dick, sloppy and desperate. farleigh twitched against your back at feeling of you grabbing his hand with both of yours and forcing him further down your throat.

his stupid large fingers bullied your cervix as his thumb rubbed vicious circles along your clit, your mind was numb as his third finger slipped inside and stretched you deliciously. you would definitely have to change your sheets after this, a steady stream of slick had been dripping down your ass. the overstimulation became too much, you were so close and farleigh knew it he was keeping you on the edge as he moved away from the spot you needed him most.

your legs threatened to clamp and he slipped his hand from your hold, to pin one of your thighs open. you had properly drenched them and it made his hold a little difficult but he managed. “stupid girl, so eager to come. i thought you wanted to work?” he muttered harshly into your ear and you groaned, you could tell he was enjoying this from how rock solid he felt against your back. your drool had fallen out of your lips and the emptiness made your tears prick so you craned your neck to kiss him. he gave you what you wanted instantly, letting you suck his tongue and you bounced fervently on his fingers.

finally when he could feel your tears wetting his own cheek, he hammered against the fleshy spot against your sopping walls and a string snapped inside of you. you jolted in his hold, gasping against his mouth as you jerked away and you squirted onto the sheets in front of you. the sheets definitely would be changed now. you had never done it before and it felt like a pressure lifted off your shoulders as heat flooded your system. you squirmed as he continued to fuck you through it, pulling as much as he could from you until a puddle formed on your sheets. you were twitching and whining for him to stop. releasing his grasp on your legs and removing his fingers he let you curl in on yourself.

“that was so fucking hot, we’re doing it again.” he licked his fingers clean, humming at the sweet taste of you and you stiffened at the sound. farleigh might as well have been sucking a lollipop if you didn’t know any better.

“farleigh i have to-“you started to pick up your laptop, it had fallen to off the bed and he pulled you back into his lap as if you’d tried to walk out the door.

“i love you baby but you are going to lose your mind if you try to improve upon perfection.” he cut you off, tapping yourcheek to draw your gaze to him and you could smell your ichor on him. you found his eyes were sincere and it only added to your confusion. he could see the cogs turning in your head, his eyes flashed in amusement from how unaware you were. you were the smartest person he’d ever met and you had no idea. “you were about to cite Foucault right? i know your paper as well as i know her,” he patted your pussy making you wince, “trust me when i say no amount of time will make you find a flaw. let me distract you.” your eyes glazed over from his compliments, it was rare for him to so genuinely praise your intelligence since you were always competing.

“you mean it?” you let him pull you over him by your waist, his warm hands eased your hoodie off your frame as you looked into his eyes from above. you were lying on top of him, naked save for your bra and still talking about your paper. you would be the death of him.

“i’m serious baby, you’re overthinking it.” one of his hands cupped your cheek, swirling patterns of comfort into your skin as you found adoration in his warm brown eyes. you loved when he called you that, when he called you his in any way really. you both loved each other endlessly but farleigh was still so private and enigmatic you wondered if you would ever know him like he knew you. you could feel him against you, painfully hard and fully clothed. you were again overthinking, a new victim for your mind.

“i love you, please distract me” you resigned, resting your forehead against his as he unclasped your bra and finally gave in to the desire burning through him all day.

#farleigh start #farleigh catton #farleigh saltburn #farleigh x reader #farleigh x you #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start x you #farleigh start smut #farleigh start imagine

[justrustandstardust]

i've seen a lot of discourse about this juju stroll going around and i wanted to pitch in my two cents, because i think it's saying something different than what people are taking away at face value.

so everyone's being asked their type and they either answer immediately or refuse to answer— with the exception of gojo. he's distinct because when he's asked his type, he neither answers nor refuses; he waffles and says this:

this is VERY unlike him; he's always got something to say or a quippy remark at the ready. he's drawing out his answer, clearly wasting time. it's made even more clear that his answer is supposed to be perceived as different because everyone else either answers at length or not at all.

he then does something CRAZY and basically eggs on utahime to tell him his type. he's not providing an answer; he's waffling and then making utahime give him an answer to get out of answering in a straightforward way.

he continues to prompt her when she can't think of anything because he's that damn intent on not providing a real answer. "that girl who seemed nice" is generic enough and could apply to anyone, but the point i want to highlight here is that he says bangs. he draws out providing his answer and makes utahime provide one for him; the only concrete thing we know about gojo's type (the nice girl thing is intentionally generic and a nondescript, blasé non-answer) is that he's into bangs.

by process of elimination, not because she meets the criteria, utahime comes to the conclusion that the only person who fits "nice" with bangs is miwa. this is problematic for two reasons: one, miwa is seventeen and a student. gojo is a grown ass man and a teacher, there's no way he'd out his type as a student. two, as you'll see in the next pic, he never actually says miwa's name. he just agrees with utahime— he agrees with the answer he made her provide, selecting the choice that he pigeonholed her into making.

he's too enthusiastic about the sell here, especially because he's never once said miwa's name. he doesn't actually confirm it's miwa specifically, he only confirms that he agrees with utahime's choice in selecting the person that best fits his type. (once again: the choice that HE forced her to make).

so now we go back to the other part, the only concrete thing that gojo reveals about his type: bangs. sure, plenty of people have bangs in this series, but who's known for them? whose bangs are repeatedly mentioned by tertiary characters?

he's even referred to by his bangs; they're that notable and a key characteristic of his appearance.

we have a character known for his bangs. the only thing we know for real about gojo's type is that it's a person with bangs. and then we have this:

he’s also notably NICE; his character is specifically denoted by his manners and his open expression of care towards others. he’s not a girl but two major components of his character are that he’s openly nice and that he has bangs.

so there you have it. gojo's type is not miwa— that was merely an intentional misdirect. when you look deeper, this whole sequence confirms that, murderous cult leader or not, gojo's type hasn't changed in over a decade.

#my jjk meta #gojo is down BAD fr but who wouldnt be like i get it gojo #jjk #jjk meta #satosugu #satosugu analysis #stsg brainrot #stsg #satosugu brainrot #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo x geto #satoru x suguru #jjk gojo #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen analysis #jujutsu kaisen meta #gojo analysis #gojo #geto #satoru #suguru #goge #gego #sugusato #jjk satoru #jjk suguru #utahime iori

[feyascorner]

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it. 

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back.  Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot. 

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.” 

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3 #angst

[heartfullofleeches]

Fratbro Darling is too good for this world (and their yans). Beefy thembo who literally loses sleep if they ignore someone in need. Their yans abuse their caring ways to their advantage for scraps of time out of their busy schedule. Asking them for directions, to carry their books, walk them home. Reader doesn't have the heart to say no unless they've already promised their help elsewhere, but they still try to make sure everyone's cared for because that's just the type of person they are

-

Yan Classmate: Thanks for walking me home- I hope it's not too much trouble...

Fratbro Reader: Nah, it's all good. Having a stalker is no joke and I'm glad you have enough trust in me to ask

Yan Classmate: You're the only one I feel the safest around... I'm really sorry, but this whole thing's making it hard for me to be on my own.. Can you stay the night?

Fratbro Reader: Of course!

Yan Classmate: ...and sleep in my bed?

Fratbro Reader: whatever makes you comfortable

Yan Classmate: I'd feel really comfortable if you took your shirt off....

Fratbro Reader: Just gonna pretend I didn't hear that and get you to bed now-

-

They make sure nobody is left behind, gaining them favor with the outcast on campus. They show genuine interest in their quirky little hobbies and interests how could they not absolutely adore them.

Fratbro Reader: Hey, dude!

[Creep Yan screams out of reflex]

Fratbro Reader: Whoa, didn't mean to scare you. I just really liked those drawings you did of me so I asked around for your socials and found some of your comics

Creep Yan, pale as a sheet: y....you did?

Fratbro Reader: Yea! You got some real talent, man. Your anatomy skills are insane. For a while I thought I was looking at pictures of a real crime scene. The relationship between the murder and their crush is kinda cute to. I personally like the crush because we have the same initials. What a coincidence, right?

[Creep Yan - unsure if they should cry tears for joy or weep from the anxiety instead dry heaves as they pull out their notebook]

Creep Yan: t-there's more in here.. Just give me a minute to rip out a few pages

-

Fratbro Reader catches people checking them out at the gym and thinks they're just curious about their routine, and nor staring at their ass like it's a full course meal-

Nerd Yan: I'm gonna get stronger and be just like them! [Goes to the gym and almost lifts a weight only to lose the strength in their arms as Fratbro walks by in skin tight shorys

[Fratbro Reader - post work out, sweaty, and their shirt rolled up to their abdomen lifts the bar off them with no problem]

Fratbro Reader: Need some help, bud?

Nerd Yan, delirious from all their blood rushing elsewhere: ...God?

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere oc #Fratbro Reader #yandere text

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Them with a reader that worships another Archon

characters: Venti / Zhongli / Ei / Furina x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: none

a/n: Didn't write for Ei in a long time... not to mention Zhongli and Venti, so if I got some of their personality traits wrong, I'm sorry.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Venti 

“Let’s hope you’re not made out of sugar, or else we’re gonna have a tiny problem”, the Bard joked once he took a glance out of the window, the heavy rain and thunder that had come seemingly out of nowhere difficult to notice, even for the drunken inhabitants of Angel’s Share.

“Rain’s a nuisance at best, I’ll be fine”, your response lacked any signs of the usual annoyance people would feel in this situation, whether it was the alcohol or your attitude towards rain that made you seem almost relaxed was up for debate however.

Just as the words had left your mouth, a giant lightning caused the room to light up, soon followed by a deafening thunder, earning you a grin that spoke more than a thousand words. “Still only a nuisance?”

“Sure, the Raiden Shogun will protect me from the lightning”, came your dry response, causing the bard’s ears to perk up. Truth be told, he couldn’t care less about whatever god you were worshiping, forcing people’s hands or getting grumpy over their decisions was hardly the God of Freedom’s modus operandi. Although this did open up a whole new conversation topic.

“Want me to pass your mighty Raiden Shogun a message the next time I see her?”, Venti offered with a smirk, drawing a laugh out of you almost instantly.

“Yeah, sure Venti. I have no doubt you’d be able to play your way into an audience with her, especially since the last time you stepped foot into Inazuma went so swimmingly”, you jokingly responded, waving goodbye before readying yourself to run back home through the rain.

Zhongli

There was neither law nor contract that obliged the citizens of Liyue to worship Rex Lapis. Sure, the Archon might have been the city's patron god and had descended each year to give instructions and advice, but who’s name spilled out of its citizens' lips during their prayer was none of Zhongli’s business. 

And yet, when he heard a particular name slip out of your mouth, the Archon couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows for the briefest of moments.

“Thank Barbatos, I was starting to think I’d never find it”, you let out a relieved sigh once your eyes finally spotted the pin on the floor, glistening as if it was calling out for its owner before quickly finding itself stuck onto your coat once again, your lips forming a small smile.

“Hmm? Is something the matter?”, you once again turned towards Zhongli, not missing the conflicted expression that had since long been replaced by his usual smile.

“Not at all. I was simply surprised for a moment, Barbatos Worshippers in Liyue are pretty scarce after all, although there’s certainly nothing wrong with having another Archon as one’s Deity.” His explanation was enough to satisfy you, as your conversation quickly shifted back to the previous topic. And yet the scene remained on his mind for quite a while.

Let’s hope you and your god’s paths never converged… for your faith’s sake.

Ei

Hearing you mumble another Archon’s name in your brief prayer before eating caused Ei’s hand to freeze just close to her mouth, leaving the small sweet hovering in front of her face as her eyes remained fixed on you, the silence gradually causing your face to turn all shades of red as you tried to hide your tenseness behind a polite smile.

“I didn’t know you worshiped Rex Lapis”, Ei stated, her tone coming out more accusatory than she ever intended, causing a small apology to follow shortly after, bringing the tension of the room down significantly. 

Humans were entitled to their own decisions, and yet hearing you worship another god left a… bitter taste in her mouth. Especially since she wasn’t sure whether or not it had to do with her or was totally unrelated, the thought that you liked another Archon more than her filling her with jealousy, no matter how ridiculous she knew the whole situation to be.

“My family originally came from Liyue, so praying to Rex Lapis before meals is somewhat of a tradition for me… even if I don’t worship him on many other occasions”, you explained sincerely, remembering scenes of sharing meals with your family as a small smile made its way onto your face.

Whether it was because of your explanation or the gentle expression on your face, but whatever semblance of jealousy Ei felt within her swiftly melted away, her shoulders relaxing before she finally took a bite of the food in front of her, the corners of her lips rising when you did the same.

Furina

Truth be told, when Furina heard another Archon’s name come out of your mouth she felt a wave of relief wash over her. The last thing she wanted was for you to put her on a pedestal, no matter how attention-seeking she could be from time to time. And while she couldn’t blame those still seeing her as their Archon, considering how she had played the role for generations, she wished for your relationship to be one of equals instead of a god and her worshiper.

“Ah, I guess praying to another Archon in front of a former one is a bit rude. I’m sorry-”, you rushed to form an apology once you noticed Furina’s silence, your face growing red in embarrassment and shame before being cut off by her.

“It’s fine, I’m not as vain as to feel slighted by such a non-issue”, she lifted her hand before waving you off, a smirk on her lips as she thought of what to say next. “I am no longer an Archon after all, so having people worship the grass the Archon ‘Focalors’ walks on would only serve as a distraction from how mesmerizing the great Furina is.”

A chuckle from you was all it took to bring her back down from her ego-trip, your smile quickly spreading over to her, and before she knew it, she was snickering herself.

“Alright, let’s get the great Furina a dessert as reward for her inexhaustible modesty.”

#venti x reader #zhongli x reader #raiden shogun x reader #raiden shogun x you #raiden shogun x y/n #raiden shogun #furina #furina x reader #furina x y/n #furina x you #ei x reader #focalors x reader

[luveline]

hey! sorry if you’ve done this already, please ignore. pls could i request hotch with reader who’s recovering from a (major) surgery? thank you 🫶

“Is it hideous?” 

“Yes,” Hotch says, though he doesn’t look at the bandage nor the wound. “You’ll be marred forever, likely.” His hand cups your cheek, and his thumb draws teeny lines across the apple of it. “Unsightly.” 

You laugh into yourself and let your eyes close under the pleasure of his small touch. The hospital room is quiet, private even, though that’s soon to change. You’ve been informed of another visitor who will need to share your room in an hour. Visiting hours will be over shortly afterwards. 

“Are they sure I can’t come home?” you ask. 

“They need to do so much,” he says unhappily. 

“I don’t want to be alone when it gets worse again.” 

Hotch speaks softly. “It might not get worse again. But if the pain is too much, I’ll stay. They won’t be able to force me out.” 

“You’ll abuse your power.”

“Only for you,” he says sincerely. His kiss says as much, so gentle and slow to your chapped lips. It’s as chaste as they come but you’d needed it. Your shoulders relax as he sits up again. “I know you feel off kilter, you’re going to, because this isn’t a small thing to recover from, but I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach me if you need me.” He tucks your blanket back over your chest, but he’s sitting on it, and it doesn’t have much give. “Will this be enough? I’ll bring the nurses a fleece tonight after I’ve gone to give to you. This isn’t going to be warm enough.” 

“I feel too hot.” 

He feels along your forehead softly. “You feel perfectly normal. Don’t worry.” 

Your chance of infection is high. Surgical infection especially. You won’t know you’re sick until your vitals tank, and then it gets dangerous. 

Hotch frowns at you. He, as always, how tiresome, looks handsome. His hair has grown unkempt to his standards but perfect to yours, dark strands falling down over his forehead. His eyes are darker, shadowed by the lack of light, shades down and the privacy curtain still drawn. You can’t tell his pupil from the iris, not where his gaze is pointed. 

“Don’t forget,” he says. “Drinks in the drawer so you can reach them. Your chapstick is in with your glasses. There are face wipes if you start to feel the need for them–”

“I won’t forget.”

His hand smooths down to your neck. “The chocolate is in the top drawer too.” His fingertips draw lazy circles into your neck, brushing against the rumpled neck of your pyjama top with every revolution. “Your phone is charged, and there’s a charging bank–”

“In the top drawer,” you finish for him. “Thank you, Aaron, I promise I know.” 

He folds when you call him by his first name. His frown falls away, his eyes softer and lighter as he lifts his head to the frail shaft of light coming in through the curtain. He’d take your breath away if you weren’t feeling as shockingly frail as you are. 

“You’re doing so well.” He clasps your shoulder. “A few more days and you’ll be home. We’ll both be feeling better, and Jack will fall to pieces in sympathy and keep you company in bed all day.” 

“What about you?” 

“Me too, obviously,” he says quietly. “Move over, honey. I’ll start now.” 

You shuffle over one centimetre at a time and he doesn’t rush you. Eventually, there’s room for the two of you to squeeze in shoulder to shoulder, where he takes your arm into a careful hold and hugs it to his chest, his lips to your cheek. 

“You okay?” he asks. “Out of ten.” 

“Five. And a half.” He kisses your eyebrow. “Seven,” you correct. 

He kisses you again, but you’re feeling shitty from the surgery and seven is as high as you can go.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[nocturnalstarlet]

thinking abt bf!felix catton today!!

bf!felix who takes you to your favourite boutiques and sits in the little seat in the changing room watching you try things on because he’d miss you too much if he was standing outside the changing room.

bf!felix who loves watching you try on your little outfits that he knows wouldn’t be appropriate to wear to dinner with his family but he likes the way your eyes light up and you twirl for him in front of the mirror to show him all the angles of an outfit you love.

bf!felix who literally doesn’t let you do anything by yourself even if you tell him that you can because you’re his and he wants to show that he can take care of you. you have not held a single one of your library books nor your own bags if you ever take one out with you.

bf!felix who loves to take you out to clubs and parties so that he can show you off to all of his friends and pull you closer when you dance under the multicoloured strobe lights.

bf!felix who holds your shoes in one hand while holding your hand in the other when your feet get tired of dancing in them and making sure to give you the best massage when you get back from a night out.

bf!felix who showers you in kisses day in and day out. kisses on your forehead, kisses on the palm of your hand, kisses on your cheeks, kisses on your lips that linger but it never feels like long enough for him.

bf!felix who walks up to you when you’re having a conversation with someone else in the courtyard and announces his presence by wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest and kissing the crown of your head.

bf!felix who pouts whenever you call him anything other than a nickname. “it’s literally your name, felix” “i know but please stop calling me that.” :(((

bf!felix who loves to say “my” before calling you his wide array of pet names. my love. my baby. my darling.

bf!felix who needs your attention every second and who fully pouts if he doesn’t get it.

bf!felix who likes to lay his head on your lap while you run your fingers through his hair, especially when it’s getting longer and he knows he needs a haircut but you always tell him how much you like it longer.

bf!felix who leaves you embarrassingly bad but adorable little love letters and cute drawings on the corners of your papers with your favourite pens that you have to hide in your dorm (because he steals them from you).

bf!felix who is the sweetest, kindest, most generous bf you could ever ask for. who you understand more than anyone else ever will. and he knows that you have always seen all of him and loved him unconditionally which quite frankly he’s just not used to.

ur honour i love him such a normal amount-

#felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton imagine #felix catton drabble #felix catton fluff #felix x reader #felix x you #felix x y/n #felix drabble #jacob elordi #saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you #x reader #୨୧ ›› read my mind. #୨୧ ›› felix catton.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Exchanged clothes [S. R] Bolinus brandaris part. 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k

part 1

summary: a small act of kindness leads to a rather peculiar confession

A/N: Okaay, some people showed interest in a sequel to this and I thought I'd do it, I hope you like it enough. Oh and we are still with baby Spencer, later I will write about the second and third seasons (and as I progress in the series, lol)

taglist: @the-ginger-draws @skievers @c-m-stuff

The days passed, the cases continued, and the level of trust in the friendship between you and Reid only grew. Working at The Behavioral Analysis Unit was complicated and exhausting in many ways, which sometimes made you wonder how he managed to put up with all that, because, although you weren’t an old woman, you did have two years more experience compared to him. It's also not like it was your fault that he was a genius and he went to work for the FBI at an extraordinary age. So every time something happened, you were there for him and he was there for you. The whole team really cared about the two of you (and JJ, the third youngest) while still trusting in your abilities to face challenges. And just like in a family, everyone could also notice the existing tension between you and the doctor, because although, at least on your part, the feelings had been there for a long time, they had become more obvious to the rest since of the trip to Miami.

"Good morning" you had greeted part of the team that day, a few weeks after the trip, more energetic than the others would have expected. Neither Hotch nor Gideon were around, for obvious reasons, so it was only when you passed Reid's desk that you stopped, running your hand affectionately through his hair “Hey, Doc.”

"Hello," he responded immediately. Spencer didn't like it when his hair got messy, but he could take it if it was you, just as he could take your constant hugs or the drawings you sometimes made on his hand when you were bored during meetings. Of everything that happened between you, little managed to bother him, almost as if the interactions he avoided with others were something natural with you around.

Although he had stopped wearing his scarf daily, he still wore it at least once a week as a reminder of how special it was to him, and fortunately that day was the chosen one.

“Do we have a case? Or do I just bury my nose in these reports?” you muttered to the others, but they denied "What of that do you say no to?"

"Today they will be documents" JJ spoke kindly.

"Why do I have so many?"

“Because I passed you some of mine,” Morgan sneered and you gasped, completely offended. You whispered something accusatory in his direction that made Spencer laugh from the next desk, and then he reached over to take just under half the folders.

"I will help you"

"Oh no, no, Reid. It's okay,” you said, your voice softening noticeably, as you placed your hands over his to try to stop him.

"It's nothing, I'll finish them in a jiffy"

"Why don't you ever offer to help me, huh?"

“You manage pretty well on your own,” Spencer teased at your friend, now making you laugh. You still had your hands on his under the excuse of collecting your reports and, perhaps unconsciously, both of you postponed the moment for another few seconds, looking into your eyes with a small smile until he finally managed to keep the material that he had stolen from your desk.

"Thank you," you said, so softly that only he could hear you.

Looking at your coworker had already become something of an obsession. You liked his gestures, how he looked away when he spoke, his nervous ramblings, and the straight hair that he apparently was letting grow, but what you liked the most were his hands. When he was explaining a profile, he always communicated a lot with his body language and honestly, the swaying of his hands, combined with the tranquility in his tone of voice, was very hypnotic to you, as if keeping the attention of others was something inescapable for him, although it was probably easier to keep your attention specifically. Right now, while everyone was minding their own business, you were watching sideways as he ran his middle finger over the printed lines. It made you nervous to see the delicacy with which he moved across the sheet of paper and inevitably your mind traveled to inappropriate corners related to that movement, which embarrassed you to the point of blushing. Thank heavens he was too focused to notice you, so you forced yourself to work on the few reports Reid had let you keep.

The days were very rare when no cases appeared, but you were grateful that they existed because sometimes it was necessary to take a breather. Seeing so many bodies, so much blood and so much inhumanity was something you never quite got used to, although having good teammates in your unit made it more bearable. So that night nothing stopped you from finishing right on time, with a little back pain from sitting all day, but also quite calm.

"I'll see you tomorrow, rest"

"Are you going to your apartment?" Spencer asked, rushing towards you with his coat in hand and the briefcase slung over his shoulder, and you nodded Can you wait for me to go together?”

You looked at him, more confused than you wanted, but you said yes. It's not that you were upset or that you didn't want company, but that you were curious as to why he might have offered to do it.

"Thanks again, for earlier," you said, once both of you were outside. You lived a few streets from the office and you could get there in less than 20 minutes by taking a subway station, which fortunately was the same one he took.

“Okay, they were too many for you. I mean, it's not that I think you can't do the job, you're very capable, it's just that I thought it was too much workload for just you and I… well, I could help you so I did it” with that Reid held up a hand to downplay the matter and smiled at you.

“Why have we never thought about walking to the subway together?”

"I don't know either," he said. You felt a gust of wind hit the both of you so you hugged yourself to try and get some warmth and even though Spencer wasn't the best at reading social cues he managed to figure out what you had and what he needed to do 

“Here” he murmured, as he spread the coat and put it on your shoulders.

“Oh no, no, no, Reid. I'm fine"

"In fact, if you don't use it you can catch a cold and although there are very few cases in which there are complications that lead to death, the symptoms last about a week and you can infect several people during the first days, so you not only you would be taking care of yourself but also the rest of the team” he informed you. That made you smile, and you found that behind all his scientific mumbo jumbo, he was trying to take care of you.

"It's a little big on me," you laughed, reaching into the sleeves with some help from him.

“You look pretty” he blurted out from his lips, completely entranced by you “Well, the… the coat. It looks good” he tried to fix, but you laughed at the compliment that you definitely wouldn't pass up.

"Aren't you cold?"

“No, my shirt and vest help,” Spencer replied, showing you the long sleeve of her white shirt. “I also have my scarf, did you forget it?”

"The best choice in all your outfits" you joked, reaching out a hand to feel the soft fabric of the garment and looking at him, with that cute shy smile "What will you do when you get to your apartment?"

“Huh, probably get some sleep. I haven't been resting properly in the past few days."

"Nightmares again?" you sadly asked. Spencer had talked to you superficially about it a few days ago, although you thought that he had suffered from this disease for much longer than he wanted to admit. He didn't answer verbally, he just nodded his head and you thought he didn't want to delve into it “I think I'll spend a while in the bathtub and then I'll sleep. I'm exhausted"

“You close doors and windows before you sleep, right?”

"I do," you assured him.

“Do you also take your cell phone with you to call in case of emergencies?”

"Huh, yeah"

"Good. Take care of yourself” he insisted. Those didn't sound like random recommendations and that puzzled you a bit.

"I do, Reid," you replied softly. When you noticed that the concern in his features did not leave him, you thought it would be prudent to ask him why that was "Are you worried about something?"

"No, it's not that" he hastened to answer. You still had a few blocks to go to get to the subway and only a few passers-by walked the streets, besides you.

“Are they unsub then? Anything in particular that worries you?"

"It's nothing like that. It's just…” he gasped, still unsure to continue, “if I tell you, you'll think it's silly”

"Of course not. Tell me, what is it?" you asked. He was internally debating if he should tell you what he was thinking and he was convinced a little when he felt your hand on his arm, as if prompting him to speak.

“Yesterday I…” he started to say “I had a nightmare. I dreamed when I arrived at the office I found out that something bad had happened to you. And… I don't know, it felt very real and I couldn't get it out of my head” he admitted. You understood that perhaps it was the reason he had wanted to accompany you, as if he feared that someone might stalk you on the way.

“Spence” you murmured gently, as you pulled him a little in your direction to place one hand on his bicep and the other on his forearm “Don't worry, nothing's going to happen to me. My apartment complex has a good security system and I always carry my gun, if something happens on the street, I will know how to deal with it. They're just bad dreams, I have them sometimes too” you said to reassure him. You felt quite comfortable walking in that position and you continued a couple of steps holding him like this, looking for some negative sign from him, but it never came. With the closeness he managed to feel a little less fear, reminding himself that what tormented him were fantasies of his own mind, that if they were analyzed with a little more detail they were an unconscious reflection of how much he feared losing you.

"I told you it would be silly"

"It is not. It's quite sweet, actually,” you smiled, moving your thumb up and down as you smiled at him. In that position your face was at the height of the boy's shoulder and it was enough for him to turn his head to reach your forehead, so he wondered how much you would bother if he left you a kiss there. He wanted to, but held back.

“I just thought I should tell you. For you to be careful"

“Same to you, Reid. You have a rather peculiar ability to get into trouble” you exclaimed accusingly, because in a couple of cases the man had already managed to get on your nerves.

The position turned out to be cozier than you expected and you continued walking the rest of the streets towards the subway in silence. He concentrated on the feeling of your body so close to him and your hands gently holding him, while you lost yourself in thought wondering what you really felt about your coworker and what he felt for you. Spencer would look at you from time to time, analyzing your gestures and enjoying the sight of you wearing his clothes, something he didn't think would affect him the way he did.

“Did you know that railway suicides have a very small percentage in the country's suicide rate?” he told you, while the two of you looked at the subway tracks that you were waiting for. You had had to distance yourself to be able to pay the pennies for the ticket and you had decided to place your hands in the pockets of your borrowed coat, caressing the lining fabric with your fingers.

"I had no idea" you muttered. You were a little surprised that he always had an interesting fact about literally anywhere you were and you loved hearing him tell you “It must be horrible. And very sad"

"Even the government allocates certain resources to pay for psychological therapy for drivers who witness these suicides"

"Well, at least it comforts me to know that part of my taxes ends there," you joked bitterly and the train stopped just as you finished saying it. Reid let you first into the nearly empty car that would take you home, and along the way you continued to talk about less unfortunate things, like the dinner choices you were planning or the TV shows that were likely to be airing when you arrived.

Having those little quiet moments with him made you feel lucky and the laughs he managed to get filled your chest with joy, making you completely forget everything related to work. The voice in the wagon warned that your stop was next and an anticipated sadness invaded you.

“Be…”

"Be careful, I know" you smiled. Since you were already on your feet, so as not to miss your stop, you crouched down to give him a quick goodbye hug “See you tomorrow. Try to sleep and if you have nightmares you can call me, okay?" you muttered. He nodded from his place as he watched you leave towards the platform and leaned out the window to see your figure disappear into the distance.

Neither of you two realized that you had kept his coat until you got home.

As of that night, that coat returned to see the doctor's closet on very few occasions and the purple scarf went on to have joint custody. He had found out that if he loved anything more than wearing the clothes you gave him, it was seeing you wearing them, causing him to come up with totally pathetic excuses to accomplish that. 

"It's a bit cold" "Purple matches your clothes" or simply "keep it, it looks better on you than on me"

It soon became a habit. During the cases, when you two were apart, it was a little comforting to have something of him with you and when he came home, he would enjoy breathing in the smell of your perfume impregnated on the fabric.

After a few weeks you realized that, without a doubt, you were so in love with him. And when he realized the same thing, he was completely terrified.

“Reid” you greeted him one morning, catching up with him as he poured himself a coffee and analyzed a piece of bread that had surely been sitting there since the day before. Hugs when seeing him had also become a habit, quite nice from the man’s point of view "I have something for you"

"Again?"

"Oh yeah," you smiled. Lately you had been filling him with small gifts and most of them quite rare, but which he kept suspiciously in his desk drawer. And it's not that he didn't appreciate it, but that he was beginning to feel guilty for receiving so many and not having given you any yet. "Give me your keys," you asked and he obeyed without even questioning you. Once you had them in your hand, you took a strip of colored beads from your pocket that you added as a key ring, while he looked at you with some confusion.

"What's that?"

“My friend asked me to babysit her daughter this weekend and we went crazy with crafts. So I thought I'd do this to you” you muttered. He took a closer look at the keyring and noted that you had included his favorite colors, purple and green, as well as a heart-shaped bead at the end. "I know it looks like a preschool kid's creation and if you're embarrassed to wear it you can throw it away”

"No, I like it. It's pretty,” he smiled, running his long fingers over the beads. Satisfied with the answer, you took out your own keys and proudly showed them to him.

"I have one just like it," you said happily. That was true, only yours was made of pink and blue, and the way you said it completely touched the man.

"You make me think that there is still goodness in this world, you know?" he exclaimed, so sincere and without thinking that he surprised you "I loved it, thank you very much"

"Now that I think about it, it's like one of those friendship bracelets you make at summer camp”

“I never went to a summer camp”

"I don't know why I'm not surprised" you laughed and would have continued the conversation if it hadn't been for Hotch's interruption.

“We've got a case. Conference room in 5”

Sometimes you forgot that the real reason you were there was the criminal profiles and not seeing Spencer Reid every day.

You just woke up one morning and knew you had to tell Spencer how you felt about him. As you said before, Spencer seemed to have a special magnet for trouble and proof of this were the cases in which he had to perform dangerous tasks that you knew no one else could do. When he had to get on that train with Ted Bryar you'd gone crazy and last week when he'd watched that cult boy on Massanutten Mountain threaten Reid with a gun you decided you'd had enough.

He had expressed concern for your well-being on multiple occasions, but what about his? Didn't you have the right to care about him just as much? every time he came back you wanted to throw yourself into his arms and whisper in his ear if he was okay, to maybe leave a kiss or two on his cheeks. But every time he came back you just cheered with the rest of the team and barely had contact with him beyond a squeeze on the shoulder and a sincere: I'm glad you're okay.

So you thought that if you wanted to have that kind of privilege over others the only alternative was to profess your love to him in the hope that he would feel the same way and you could work something out.

Spencer, for his own part, also had his epiphany and as much as he tried to avoid it he ended up asking Morgan for advice, who was the only person he thought would be suitable to talk about this kind of subject. Surprisingly, Derek behaved discreetly and really gave the doctor valuable elements to understand one of the few sciences in which science was almost obsolete: love.

Going back to recently acquired habits, walking together to the subway was another one of them. Sometimes this was interrupted because he or you stayed longer than the other, but except for those cases it was a regular activity.

So that night, when you two were walking to the station, your mind was immersed in remembering the speech with which you planned to tell your friend.

"You're very quiet today," Reid observed, taking you by surprise. In a few months he had already learned very well some traits that indicated that something was wrong with you.

“Sorry, I… I have a few things on my mind,” you apologized, but Spencer didn't know what to say because he also had his own things on his mind. He was desperately searching for a way to put into words what he felt, but he kept wondering, could that be explained? All attempts at reasoning became useless with you near him, maybe that's why he couldn't think of how to tell you "Reid, I don't think I've ever asked you, but have you ever had a partner?"

"Like… couple?" he asked, trying to make sure you were referring to the same thing he thought.

“I know it sounds weird, but it just… made me curious,” you exclaimed, shrugging and then crossing your arms in an attempt to comfort yourself. Reid fondly watched how your arms were on that purple scarf and felt a little motivated to speak.

“Huh, in that case, yes, something like that. I dated two people when I was in school, but it wasn't anything serious, just a few kisses” he explained to you and you failed to contain your laughter, maybe because of the way he had explained it. Spencer blushed to his ears and smiled reflexively at your smile. "Don't tease!"

"I don't" you defended yourself. Another person walked down the sidewalk and he reached out his arm to move you protectively in front of him, so when you came back to his side you took advantage of the distance between you, to the point where your shoulder brushed against his arm.

"And you?" he asked after a while of silence "Have you had many boyfriends?"

"The truth? not so many. With most of them I lost interest after the first date and the others left me when they found out I was in the academy. Apparently armed women aren't very attractive” you smiled. You had asked about his romantic history, and incidentally talked a bit about yours, only to open the topic and somehow feel that your confession would not be so out of place.

“There are studies that indicate that women take longer to fall in love than men, perhaps that is why you lost interest quickly. For you it takes about 6 or 8 dates to decide if you want something with a person, because you are more selective and better analyze personality traits in men. But they only care that the girls are… well, pretty” he murmured, with a smirk “On average it takes women 134 days to fall in love while men only 88”

“How long have you and I known each other?”

"It must be like... a year and a half now" he exclaimed, mentally doing the math "Why?" he continued legitimately confused. For the genius that he was, Reid was naive at times.

You looked down at him and for a second thought that even with those bags under his eyes and the stubble he hadn't shaved, Spencer was the most handsome man you'd ever met. Not receiving an answer, he looked at you and was surprised to see the sparkle in your eyes.

"Okay, can we stop here for a moment?" you asked. You knew you were probably going to chicken out if you didn't say it right then, even if that closed beauty salon you were standing in front of was an unromantic place. "I need to tell you something”

You had said it with determination, but once you were face to face, your mind went blank. You panicked: how were you going to tell him? What was the right thing to say? What reaction did you expect?

But Spencer, noticing the silence, decided to be the first to speak.

“Noradrenaline is a neurotransmitter that produces excitement and effusivity, increases heartbeat, blood pressure, causing sweating of hands and flushing. High dopamine levels generate a need to be with the person that releases it and is related to serotonin, which generates well-being, optimism, social closeness, and reduces discomfort and anger. Phenylethylamine makes everything more intense, makes us feel more motivated and optimistic and finally, oxytocin is the love hormone par excellence, it occurs when we have a bond of trust with people or when we feel a strong attraction. Sometimes it is also released when we embrace the reason for our affection” he had said that so hastily and waving his hands, that he could only show how nervous he was. He inhaled to catch his lost breath, then finally made eye contact with you, taking a moment before continuing, “What I'm trying to say is…you make me feel all of that. You alter my chemistry in ways I've never thought of and… and I… go all goofy and don't know what to say…”

"Spencer" you interrupted him "You mean you like me?" you asked gently, because you knew that when he started to wander sometimes you needed to bring him back down to earth. Reid looked at you tight-lipped and nodded slowly.

You were silent for a second, trying to process what he had just told you, and he got even more nervous than he was.

“But I think that after all this what I care to know is… if you feel the same way. Or in the worst case, if you think you might feel something like this”

“A total chemical mess for you?” you exclaimed amused. One of your hands went to his and you gently held it, taking a step closer to him. “I'm sorry, Reid. I feel it every time I look at you, that you hug me, every time I give you those silly gifts and see the smile on your face. Everything in you causes me that"

"Are you serious?" he asked, wanting to be completely sure what he was hearing. You laughed and wrapped your free arm around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

“Of course I do. Before you said all that I was racking my brain trying to find a way to tell you how I felt."

“Did you know that this is a phenomenon? There are those who call it the tuning fork effect, which is when two people connect the same idea at the same time, almost as if they had been thinking at the same frequency.”

You chuckled and buried your head in his neck, letting go of his hand so you could hug him properly. He wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his head in your hair, willing to say nothing more for fear of ruining the moment. All the fears you had had were being buried with that contact, because now you had the certainty that what you felt was mutual.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours, just listening to the gentle beating of his heart and enjoying the sense of security that being in the man's arms made you feel.

"I really like you" you broke the silence, with a whisper, making him smile.

"I think the most logical step from here would be to ask you out on a date, no?" he muttered. You pulled away enough to look at him, but still leaving your arms around his shoulders.

“I don't want to have to wait. Let's go for a burger"

"Don't you prefer somewhere more... formal?"

"Leave formal places for proposals, handsome," you said in a playful voice, caressing his cheeks with your extended palm and he made a mental note that this Italian restaurant he was thinking of inviting you to would be the ideal place to ask you to take the next step, when the time was right. 

“I still have to take you on at least 6 dates, to be sure”

"Fuck the statistics, I don't need that burger to know I'm in love with you," you said and he grinned from ear to ear.

“I know a place with an excellent health label and organic food, it is a few streets from here”

"I follow you" you answered cheerfully "On one condition"

"Which?"

"Let me hold your hand," you asked softly and Reid wasted no time in fulfilling your wish, leading you to the restaurant that way.

And at the end of the night, when you stole a kiss from him, he couldn't have felt luckier.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía

[rzyraffek]

Hii! I’d love to see some slasher possessive tendencies (nothing dramatic, just small things that show how obsessed they are with their s/o). And I’d love to see Brahms included please and thank you! 👀💕

Ello! Most of slashers are incredibly possessive😭 good luck with that.

Gender neutral s/o!

Slashers being obsessive and possessive of their s/o

Brahms

Physical touch. His hands are always on them. ESPECIALLY around when yall are around other people. Others have to know that they are together!!!

Goes with s/o EVERYTHERE. They must go to shop with them! Wanna go outside and walk in peace and silence in garden? Uhh nah he wanna go with you! Even if s/o asks nicley to leave tjem be he might spy on them :[

Will share everything with s/o! His clothes? Our clothes you mean! Please wear his shirts! Its also vice versa, s/o's jewellery and clothes are also his. They gonna catch him using their favourite cologne or wearing their jewellery!

Wants to hold hands 24/7, doesnt care if s/o sweats! He loves them too much~

Sometimes s/o can wake up and this guy will be glued to them! Im taking wrapped arms and legs around them and s/o can feel his chest moving up cuz its so close😭

Asa Emory

Bro is not letting them leave his warehouse. Yeah sweetie he loves you but you are just too too perfect for him to let you go :[

Bonds by watching animal documentaries about bugs btw

Picks clothes for s/o. He takes your style and preferences in his mind but usually forgets and just buys what would look good on you (at least what he finds cute)

Not very clingy

Lets them paint his nails if they are nice enough

EXTREMELY jelous. S/o mentioned that some guy smiled to them when they were buying groceries? He will get offended😭

The hush

8 years later and I still have no clue what his name was??? Let's call him John because people seem to call him that

John will keep his hand AND eyes on them. Hands on their legs, shoulder, or just holding their hand (thats rare, normal affection with this Goober? Nahh)

Constantly staring at them, looming around and looking what they lover is up to (up to no good surely)

Makes them play video games with him or watch them play

Checks their phone when they are asleep cuz he gotta know everything

Micheal Myers

👁👁

No touching, no verbal nor physical affecion

Dude will hit them with 👍 on daily basis

He seems like he doesnt care, like he has them around for no reason. But of God, this guy knows everything about them. He watches them daily. You can't find Micheal? Oh dont worry sweetie he is keeping you safe, just dont look thrue window :3

Extreme jelousy, s/o can bearly talk to people😭

Okay okay I lied with no touching, its just rare! Sometimes he rests his head on top of theirs or puts his hands on their shoulders or hips

If s/o makes something from him (like drawing, peace of jewellery. Hell, even if they gift him random rock or something) that dude if gonna wear it till the end of the world, even if it breaks off? He has pockets or tape. Even if s/o skill improved and they made better? The more the marrier, he wants all!

Billy Lenz

Gets jelous when s/o gives too much affection and love to their pet

Lays on top of them

Bites, licks, woofs? As a sign of affection and love

He wants the bite marks or Hickeys to be visable so s/o friends know that they are taken!

Not as extreme as Micheal or Asa. S/o could have 2week trip to Egypt and as far as he gets to call them whenever he wants, he is fine

I still remember one time that someone requested Billy Lenz fic, asking for 'sloppy toppy' and it was 4 am and I didnt know what it was so I googled it and I kinda laughed very loudly and my mom woke up and took my pc away for month :( I wrote the fic btw

Anyways, barks at people when he gets jelous

Some of their behaviours might sound toxic or are literal red flag, but POOKIE THOSE ARE MURDERS😭🙏😱 idk if I still got the skill to write, it was a wild 8month break

#slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #micheal myers #brahms heelsire #brahms x reader #micheal myers x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader

[doromoni]

I hate you , right? | GR63

George Russell x Red Bull Driver! y/n

warnings : swearing

Summary : George was a little too attractive after the summer break.

“Oh fuck off Russell! Are you blind? Side mirrors are there for a reason! Learn to fucking use it! You almost cost me my race, dickhead!”

Y/N L/N the first ever female driver for the Red Bull racing team, only through sheer determination and hardheadedness was she able to achieve such an amazing feat.

Being the only female on the grid was hard enough as it is with misogyny and sexism biting at her rear , but adding a British asshole really did put the cherry on top on the cake of ass-hattery that Formula 1 offered.

“Not my fault you drive like a fucking lunatic, that turn was mine and you know it L/N! maybe next time learn how to actually drive rather than depending on your car”

The two drivers are at each other’s faces yet again . This had been a normal event, that even the teams have grown accustomed to the shouts and curses of each driver — whether its swearing at each other in the Red Bull garage or nearly pouncing and succumbing to physicalities at Mercedes. Y/N L/N and George Russell are sworn enemies in and off the racing track.

They used to be friends, best friends even. Both driving for the Mercedes driver academy with George racing in F2 while Y/N in F3. When George won the F2 championship, earning himself a seat at Williams ; Y/N then was promoted to a seat in F2 . A year later Y/N had won her own F2 championship, but no F1 seat was offered in Williams nor in Mercedes to the female driver. Another year had passed, George was offered a seat at Mercedes while Mercedes had no news for Y/N L/N. That was until a seat was offered by Red Bull — giving a shock to the whole motorsport world. As Y/N raced for the Red and Blue team , she had flourished and proved everyone who doubted her wrong.

No one knew how George and Y/N’s rivalry exactly started , but all hell broke loose when George collided with Y/N during the 1st lap and both had DNFed the race.

Y/N was furious and snapped , storming into the Mercedes garage straight to where the English driver was standing still holding onto his racing helmet— shoving him with all her strength into the garage wall. Their faces almost touching as unpleasant words were exchanged ; rendering both teams speechless and leaving them with a horrendous PR mess to clean up.

This time was no different. Y/N and George were at each other’s throat, only this time it was Y/N pinned to the wall inside George’s driver room . George tightening his grip on the Red Bull driver’s waist, leaning his full body weight on the girl who was squirming for release.

“What even is the problem Y/N? We’re both on the podium and you’re team got a 1-2. Stop being a child, it’s racing! What do you expect”

“My problem is you Russell! You’re so careless and aggressive, we could’ve crashed again. You never changed, George , you’re still the fucking same!”

George’s eyes darken as his face drew even closer to the female driver— his voice like honey, dripping as it lowered an octave.

“Yeah?!And you changed so fucking much, I don’t even recognize you anymore Y/N! Now all I see is a bitch obsessed with winning. Tough luck! You’re Verstappen’s teammate, you will always be second.”

Not backing down , Y/n drew herself closer to the english driver ,enough that their noses where touching. A teasing yet derisive smirk formed on her lip, tongue darting out wetting her lips. Catching George’s eyes , as it glanced down towards y/n lips.

“Oh how rich! Coming from the guy who’s living in Lewis Hamilton’s bloody shadow. Like I care what you see me as , you were blind from the very beginning.“

A deep chuckle vibrated in George’s chest , drawing shivers up Y/N’s back , as he said

“ I hate you”

“No, duh Sherlock. I hate you more”

His eyes quickly darting from her eyes to her lips , as if contemplating something. Having enough of his antics and taking matters into her own hands, Y/N fisted his Fireproofs as she brought him down to her level. As their Lips almost touched , rapid knocks on the door distracted them from their daze.

Suddenly realizing their positions , Y/n pushed George away from her. Fuming, the female driver parted ways and left the Mercedes garage with a huff ; wrapping up the first race of the seond half of the season with glares and silent threats. Not realizing what was on each other’s mind

“ Such a rude mouth, what i’d do to shut that up and get a taste”

“I need to control myself. I was ready to pounce on George and have my way with him. Damn him and his perfect hair and golden skin”

The Red Bull and Mercedes driver starting the other half season with pent up anger and sexual tension thick enough to suffocate.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #george russel x reader #mercedes #george russel imagine #george russell #gr63 #red bull formula 1 #red bull racing #f1 imagine #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #george russell x reader #george russell imagine

[five-rivers]

wandering heart

For @phantomphangphucker for phic phight!

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.

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The needle was bronze.  

The copper alloy stood out better against ectoplasmic flesh than it would have against red blood.  It dipped in and out of Danny's skin with machine-like precision, drawing a slender purple string in its wake.  Appropriate.  Clockwork was at least partly mechanical.

“You're getting close to my liver,” said Danny.  “Careful.”

“You are aware that these facsimile organs are not at all essential to the function of your body.”

“Sure they are,” said Danny.  He leaned his head back on the cushion Clockwork had provided him.  “That's why you're sewing me up.”

Clockwork's tower wasn't Danny's usual post-battle stop, but the fight had been nasty and it had been close. His other choices had been flying an hour to reach the Far Frozen and leaving an ectoplasm trail through the mad science lab dedicated to dissecting ghosts.  The decision had been easy.  

Clockwork had complained, of course.  Ninety percent of the time spent stitching had doubled as time spent snarking.  It was fun.  

“You have more than fake human organs in here, and losing that much ectoplasm is unhealthy for a ghost regardless.  You are friends with the doctors of the Far Frozen.  Perhaps you should avail yourself of their knowledge more frequently.”

“I already have one health class I'm failing.  Don't need another.”

“You are not failing your health class.”

Danny peeled back an eyelid that had fallen shut at some point during the exchange.  “Are you using your time powers to spy on my grades?”

“Hardly.”  Clockwork picked up a pair of ornate scissors and snipped the string he'd been stitching Danny up with.  “But even so, I doubt you would notice if I removed one of your so-called organs.” 

“You could try,” said Danny.  He closed his eyes again and leaned to the side until he was slumped over on Clockwork, who made an offended noise.  “You’re trapped now.  Stuck.”

“I am a shapeshifter,” said Clockwork.  “You cannot ‘trap’ me simply by leaning on me.”

“Can too.”

Danny was tired.  Sometimes, he could shrug off both fights and injuries like they were nothing, but unicorns were vicious and Technus was mean.  Electricity always took a lot out of him.  

Clockwork sighed heavily.  Danny smiled.  

“You aren’t nearly as charming as you think,” said Clockwork.  

“And yet, you are neither kicking me out nor stealing my pancreas or lower intestine or anything like that.”

“I could.”

“But you haven’t.”  Danny tucked his feet underneath him and snuggled more heavily into Clockwork’s side.  

The ghost groaned, but obligingly made room for Danny.  Yes, yes, exactly according to plan.  The evil one, where he made friends with Clockwork.  He figured he was already halfway there, if Clockwork was willing to sew him up, but with this it was definitely closer to three quarters.  

Having thought this, Danny promptly fell asleep.  

.

The front doors of Clockwork’s tower were not made to slam open, but Danny, fingers of one hand clenched over his chest and still wearing a Far Frozen medical gown, managed anyway.  He was resourceful like that.  

“Clockwork?” he called.  “Clockwork!”  He flew from room to room, only sticking his head in long enough to assess them for Clockwork's presence.  

Finally, he found him.  

“Clockwork!” he shouted, re-energized by the sight.  “Did you steal my heart?  My heart?  My actual heart from my actual chest?”

Clockwork stared blankly at Danny for long enough that his panicked doubled and doubled again.  This was, quite literally, his only lead.

“No,” said Clockwork, finally.  “I stole the replica of your actual heart.  From your chest.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“Is it?” asked Clockwork, smugly.  “After all, you didn’t even notice this one was gone.”

“Oh my god, I cannot believe you did this.”  Friendship plan canceled.  Or something.

“I cannot imagine why,” said Clockwork.  “After all, I told you exactly what I was going to do.  You even gave me permission.”

“I thought you were joking.  Who’s going to think that you’re serious about stealing a friend’s organs?  That’s a joke.  A joke.  Banter, if you would.  Not an invitation to steal my literal heart.”

“Even so, it has been done.”

“Well, can you undo it?  Put it back in?  You didn’t, I don’t know, toss it out with last week’s eggshells or something?  Stick it in the back of the kitchen junk drawer.”

“No, I know exactly where I put it,” said Clockwork.  

“And you can undo it, right?  It’s not, like, expired?”

“It is difficult to get more expired than a ghost’s heart.”  

Danny stared at Clockwork expectantly.  

“Yes, I can undo it.  It will be the work of a moment to return it to its proper place.”  

“Great, so…  Lead on.”  Danny made a forward sweeping motion with both hands.  

Clockwork’s eyes slid back towards his time screen.  “Can it wait?”

“No!”

“You haven’t had it for weeks.  You won’t miss it for a few more minutes.”

“Uh, yes, I will!  You can time travel.  Whatever you’re doing, you can do it later.”

“I suppose,” said Clockwork.  “Very well.  Follow me.”

Clockwork led him back, through narrow halls, into a towering closet with spiral shelves.  It was full of what could only be collectively referred to as stuff.  

“Wow, I wasn’t serious about the junk drawer thing.”

“Oh, please,” said Clockwork.  “This is hardly junk.”

“You’re a hoarder.”

“I resent that appellation,” said Clockwork, flying up and rotating slightly.  Danny kept his feet on the ground, slightly intimidated.

“The only reason you aren’t drowning in all this is because your house doesn’t have to exist in Euclidean space.”

“And yet, I am not drowning in it.” Clockwork continued to float upwards, a faint frown on his face.  

“You do remember where you put it, right?”

“Yes, Daniel,” said Clockwork, visibly rolling his eyes.  “I put it right– Ah.  Interesting.”

“Interesting?  What do you mean interesting?” demanded Danny.  He flew up to hover near Clockwork's shoulder.  “Did something happen to it?  Is it– It's not there?  You said you knew where it was!”

“I said I knew where I put it, which is rather a different thing altogether.”

“No, it isn't!  It's not like it has legs!  It couldn't have wandered off on its oooohhhhhhhh my God, it could have wandered off on its own.  That thing had more ectoplasm in it than a Christmas turkey.”

“It is, in fact,” said Clockwork, “entirely made out of ectoplasm.”

“If it’s moving around like that, can we put it back in?  Would it– Would it try to escape?  Like, escape my chest?  Is that a thing?”

“Unlikely.”

“As unlikely as it starting to move around in the first place?”

“Unlikely,” repeated Clockwork.  

“Where even is it?  Do you know?  Can you tell?  Obviously, your whole ‘I know everything’ shtick is a lie, but can you, like, rewind things so that it’s here?”

“No,” said Clockwork.  “We will just have to look for it.”

“In your hoarder cave?”

“It is not a cave.”

“Ah, but you don't dispute the hoarder part?”  He spun, head over heels, trying and failing to see the entirety of the not-really-a-closet.  “What if there are things in here?  Like, living things?  Could it have been eaten?  By, like… Clockroaches?  Do you have clockroaches here?”

“Media tends to grossly exaggerate both the aggression and size of temporal boggles–”

“They’re real?”

“Why would you ask about them if you didn’t think they were real?”

“I don’t know.  It turns out I don’t think through the things I say to you very well.”

“Clearly.” 

Danny arrested his motion.  “Where do we even start?  This place is huge!”

“That statement assumes that it is still in this particular room.”

“Oh my God.”

“Although, if we are to search this room, it would make the most sense to start from either end and work towards the middle.”

Danny flipped over.  “I can’t even see the other end.”  This was only barely an exaggeration.

“Then we had best get started soon.”

Danny rubbed his face.  “Am I even going to recognize it?  What will it look like?”

“Like the organ it was imitating, of course,” said Clockwork.  “Oh, and don’t touch anything.”

Danny groaned.

.

There was something quivering and green huddled behind a bank of jars.  Was that… it couldn’t be…  He formed a stick out of ice and went to poke it.  

“What are you doing to that poor frog?” asked Clockwork.  

“Holy– It’s a frog?”

“Yes.” 

Danny stared.  Clockwork was covered in splatters and streaks of ectoplasm from head to tail.  

“Why do you– I don’t even want to know.  Did you find it?”

“Yes,” said Clockwork, holding up a jar.  There was…  Well.  It was a heart.  “Are you sure you want it back?  Surely, the sentimental value cannot be that great.”

“Wh– It’s not about the sentimental value.  Open it up, put it back in!”

Clockwork’s sigh was incredibly put-upon.  “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He unscrewed the lid of the jar, and the heart, which had up until that point, laid quiescent on the bottom of the jar, flew out, smacking Danny in the face.  

“Augh!”

“Grab it!” 

Danny managed to get a hand around a ventricle, but ectoplasm and ectoplasmic muscle was slippery.  It escaped his grip.  It flopped-flew its way down to the bottom of the genuinely-not-a-closet and made for the door.  Danny dove at it, only to get a faceful of ectoplasm from an artery for his trouble.  

Danny wondered if this was what Skulker felt like.  He let ectoplasm dribble out of his mouth.  

“That, bleh, that tastes like my ectoplasm,” he said.

“That’s because it is,” said Clockwork, tiredly.  “I will refrain from asking you to elaborate on your ectoplasm-tasting experiences.”

“Look, when nature gives you a weapon, and afterlife gives you enemies, you use the weapon.”  He peered cautiously out of the door, wary of being sprayed with what was essentially his own blood once again.  “Where do you think it–”

He got another mouthful of ectoplasm.  

“Bleh,” he said.  

“I don’t suppose you saw it?” asked Clockwork.  “Which way it went, etcetera, etcetera?”

“No,” said Danny.  

“Then this will be a long night.”

“Can’t you just, like, stop time or something?  So it won’t move around while we look”

Clockwork gave him a look.  

“I’ll take that as a no.”

.

“I think,” said Danny, from where he was dangling from the ceiling, a tangle of clock chains wrapped around his ankle, “that we need help.”

“Unfortunately, I must concur,” said Clockwork, who was underneath a pair of couches even he’d been surprised at owning.

“Unless you want to use your totally awesome time powers to find it.”

“No.”

.

“I’m sorry,” said Sam.  “What did you lose?”

“My heart,” said Danny.  “And I didn’t lose it.  Clockwork stole it.”

“Is this some kind of Ice Queen situation here?” asked Sam.  “Are you going to lose all empathy and care for other people?”

“No,” said Danny.  “It’s just the, um, physical thing.  And only my ghost half’s physical thing.  Apparently.  Apparently, the ‘human organs’ I have in my ghost form aren’t functional, unless the functionality is, like, the functionality of being incredibly annoying and spraying ectoplasm everywhere.”

“So, what should we bring for this thing?” asked Tucker.  “Butterfly nets?  Bow and arrow?  Guns?  What’s the endgame?”

“You want to shoot my heart?”

“I don’t know what you want here, dude.  I’m still kind of reeling over the fact that the guy you were hanging out with literally stole your heart.  Do you need someone to give him a stern talking to, make sure he gets you home before curfew?”

“That’s disgusting.  He could probably be my great-great-great-great-great-great–”

In ghost form, Danny didn’t have to breathe all that much, so he was able to go on like that until Sam and Tucker joined forces to stuff socks in his mouth.  

.

“How in the world did things escalate to Clockwork stealing your literal heart?” asked Jazz.  

“Okay, yeah, I see how that’d seem bad, out of context, but you see, it isn’t actually my literal heart–”

.

Danny glared at Clockwork’s idea of ‘help.’ “I bring three completely reasonable and competent people, and you bring them?”

“From my point of view, I am the one with the reasonable and competent people,” said Clockwork, gesturing at the combined forces of Nocturne, Ghost Writer, and Skulker.  “You, meanwhile, have brought three teenagers.”

“Are you really calling Skulker competent?”

“If not, he at least has experience in being outsmarted by you.”

“Hey!”

.

“Alas,” said Tucker, “the heart wants what the heart wants, and what it wants is freedom.”

“Where,” said Sam, kicking at a puddle, “is all this ectoplasm even coming from?”

“Around,” said Danny.  

“Ooh,” said Jazz, “it’s condensing it from the atmosphere?”  She paused.  “What are you all looking at me like that for?  I can have scientific curiosity!”

“I think it’s more because of what’s happened to your hair,” said Ghost Writer.

“What’s happened to my hair?”

“You don’t want to know.”

.

“Danny, I think I hate you,” said Sam.  They were sitting on one of Clockwork’s couches.  Clockwork had a lot of couches.  A fact that Clockwork seemed both bemused and distressed by.  

“Oh, trust me, the feeling is mutual.  As in, I hate me too.”

Clockwork sat down on the couch next to Danny.  “Daniel, I must tell you that while hate is beneath me, I am seriously regretting my earlier decisions.”

“Does that mean that you’re going to time travel back to–”

“Absolutely not.”

Tucker ran past them with a butterfly net, chasing down a green blur.  

“That’s a blob ghost, isn’t it?” asked Sam.  

“I do believe so,” said Clockwork.

“Well,” said Danny.  “At least this all makes us friends, yeah?  Can’t go through something like this without being friends.”  At least he’d get something accomplished with all this insanity.  

“I wouldn’t call myself friends with Skulker.  Or Nocturne.  Acquaintances, more like.”

“I notice you didn’t say anything about Ghost Writer.”

Clockwork shrugged.  “He’s somewhat more tolerable.”

“And me?”

“I suppose.”

The heart fell straight down, into Danny’s lap.

“Are you serious–”

#danny phantom #phic phight #fic

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 22 - "Who takes care of you?"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: -

A/N: Originally Cass was supposed to be the one picking up Danny... but I was not confident enough in that deleted part and so Dick's part ended up getting changed and being the last one instead.

Damian blinked at the child sitting at the playpen of the rescued kittens. He was sure there hadn't been anyone before besides this was a restricted area. Only volunteers and the actual workers of the animal shelter were allowed here. He looked around the area, hoping to see someone that could identify as the child's guardian but he was alone in the room with the child and kittens.

"How did you get in here?" He bluntly asked but the child was apparently ignoring him. The boy's back was turned to him and Damian's eyes narrowed. The child was wearing a slightly oversized NASA shirt as well as ratty looking shorts. He had black hair that appeared to be slightly unkempt with a length just enough to prevent Damian from seeing the child's eyes. He stepped over the knee high kitten fence towards the child but then stopped.

The boy was holding one of their smallest kittens they had rescued two days ago. The kitten had refused any milk or food they had offered it. Damian had planned to try and convince it to eat something before the workers would be forced to attempt force feeding. But the boy was holding it and one of the milk bottles was only used for the youngest of kittens. It was eating.

The small child was mumbling something to the kitten and Damian believed he picked up some of the words being: 'You're safe now.', 'I know it hurts but you gotta eat.', 'Being lost is always scary.', 'I am sure everyone is worried.'.

Under normal circumstances Damian would be suspicious of this boy but right now he was more relieved that the little one they all had been worried about was finally eating something. He would have to thank this little boy and his guardian. Maybe the boy even planned to give that little kitten a home with him.

With a small fond smile Damian decided to let the boy be and turned to feet the other kittens that were already excitingly climbing up his leg for their meal in his hands. He hadn't watched the child for less than five minutes but when he turned back to ask that child about his guardian.

The boy was gone. The feeding bottle was propped onto the fence in a way that allowed the little kittens to still feed off it. It was like the boy had never been there. Damian hadn't heard the door of the room open and close either. Nor the typical rustling of clothes when one stands up. He narrowed his eyes at the spot where the child had been.

Even when asking the other volunteers and workers. No one else appeared to have seen the child he had described to them.

—-

Tim blinked at the boy that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Or maybe Tim had been too tired to realize that he had sat down into a booth that was already taken when he had ordered his coffee. The child didn't appear to pay him any mind, to focus on a piece of paper they were drawing on with green crayons.

Tim looked around the coffee shop trying to spot who this child belonged to but found no one. Now the most responsible thing would probably be to alert one of the store workers about a possible abandoned child, get in contact with the authorities and make sure the child would be returned to his rightful guardians or parents.

The problem was, Tim was sleep deprived and had his own fair share of abandoned child issues as well as having seen enough corrupted authorities trafficking children like that.

"Hey there, what are you doing?" He asked the kid instead, black shaggy hair hung into the kids eyes and the head moved only so slightly indicating that the child had heard him.

"Drawing a blueprint." The boy mumbled and Tim arched an eyebrow.

"With crayons?"

"This is the only shop that gave me this for free so I wouldn't have to attempt to steal a pen and paper."

Tim hummed studying the boy more closely and his drawing more closely now. He arched an eyebrow when among the barely readable scribes he noticed something that looked a lot like a mathematical equation.

Letting his eyes wander around the store once more before resting them on the child Tim thought about it. A child seemingly alone in a coffee shop, the only place according to the kid that had willingly given him paper and crayons to draw with. The drawing being a 'blueprint' for something and among the scribbles were some actual calculations that might make sense. He would need to take a closer look to really judge that.

"Don't you have things like that at home?"

Before he could receive an answer Tim's number got called out, telling him that his order was ready. Glancing at the kid he got up to quickly retrieve it. But when he turned back to the table to continue questioning the child he found the booth empty with no indication that anyone had been there before.

Partially Tim thought his mind might have hallucinated the boy in his sleep deprived state but a broken piece of green crayon left on the floor by the place where the boy had sat was his indication that he hadn't. Strangely enough, when he tried to check for video evidence, Tim found that all surveillance videos were corrupted.

—-

Jason was just done dealing with this drug deal when he heard rustling behind some of the warehouse crates. Instinctively he pulled out his gun. It appeared like one of these goons tried to sneak away. Well not on his watch.

But once he had silently made his way over to the crates he did not find a left over underling like he expected. No when he kicked the crate and pointed his gun it was not a grown ass man trying to hide from Red Hoods wrath, no a goddamn child rolled out of the crate clutching some metal pieces and electric cables to his chest.

"Fuck!" His first thought was that these assholes he had just beat up were not only trafficking drugs but also children, it made him want to beat the ever living daylight out of them a second time. But then the child's head tilted ever so slightly, eyes covered by his shaggy looking hair but Jason thought he saw blue peeking out between the strands of hair.

"Shit." He cursed once more hurrying to put his gun away so as not to scare the kid, before he crouched in front of the boy. "Hey there, you okay?"

His hands hovered above the boy's shoulders, close enough to catch the kid should he fall over but not too close to make the boy feel threatened. Looking the kid up and down, Jason tried to see if there were any injuries on the boy.

"No! The circuit board I found is now cracked! What a waste!" The boy held up a clearly cracked and broken piece of electronics with one hand, his other arm was still clutching some cables and metal to his chest.

Not the reaction he was expecting but Jason could find a way to roll with it. "Bummer huh? Want me to show you a place where we could get a perfectly good one?"

The boy was grumbling something inaudible and threw the piece of broken electronics to the side, instead picking up something else that had rolled out with the boy from the crate. Jason watched how the boy, clearly ignoring his question, picked up what looked like a piece of surveillance equipment and inspected it.

"I guess that thing will do. No one will miss it if one of them is gone, right?"

"One of them?" Jason questioned looking at the little transmitter in the kids hands. The boy appeared to finally pay attention to him, turning his head ever so lightly up to look at Jasons. "Yea there are a bunch of these in all the boxes."

He narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder and shouted at his men. "HEY! Get someone to look at this stuff! They bugged the place!"

When he turned back towards the boy he found kid gone. Jason blinked in disbelief, his hands which had been hovering over the kids shoulder were now above an empty spot.

"Where the fuck…?!" He stood looking around the warehouse and around all the boxes and crates. But the kid was nowhere to be found. He cursed several times and had his men looking in the surrounding area but there was no trace of the child.

All that was left from his encounter with he child was that piece of broken electronic the kid had thrown to the side. Not even his helmet had retained any footage. The video one loaded onto his laptop to review it, turned out to be corrupted. So now he couldn't even print out a picture or something of the boy.

—

By now the meetings of his siblings with a small black haired boy had made the rounds in their family. While Damian, Tim and Jason appeared to have had the biggest meetings with the child they weren't the only ones. Once the topic has come up, Steph, Duke and even Cass shared small stories of having met a child with the same description.

Dick had then pouted a little, lamenting that he was the only one that hadn't gotten to meet this strange kid that appeared out of nowhere and then also disappeared like he never had been there. His siblings had only stared at him unimpressed.

Well either way it looked like Dick was getting his wish after all. If Damian hadn't mentioned what the kid was wearing and Jason hadn't added that the kid appeared to be collecting electronics Dick might have overlooked it when he had jumped from roof to roof.

But as it was he caught a little boy trying to drag an old washing machine tied with rope into an empty building. It had made Dick pause and stare at the situation long enough to realize that the kid fit the description his siblings had given him before perfectly.

On instinct he wanted to jump down and talk with the little bugger but he was also curious of what the boy was doing so he watched a little more and he was quite impressed. The child must possess some strength because after a while the kid had dragged the washing machine into the building.

Spotting an open window Dick decided to sneak in that way to continue to observe. Once in though he blinked at what he saw. The kid had built a lab out of scrap metal. There was also something that looked like an arch the boy was clearly working on but holy moly. Tim probably wasn't too far off with his boy genius on the run theory.

But looking around more Dick also noticed that the place did not look lived in. Sure there was this giant self made lab area but everything else looked very much abandoned. He glanced around and snuck into another area finding a mattress, bedding and a backpack with a thermos as well as a couple of packs of snacks but no actual food.

Dick frowned at this. Even if the boy was a child genius, this was no way to life for someone his age. He looked over his shoulder towards the entrance of the area he was in. In the distance he could hear metal clanging. Looks like the kid was already working on dismantling the washing machine he had dragged in.

He reached out to the backpack, looking into it carefully but found nothing but a second set of spare clothes and what looked like an old self made flip phone. He should feel guilty but he wanted to make sure of things, so Dick flipped the phone open, checking if it was on. What greeted him was the image of a teenage boy that held similarities to the child getting hugged by what appeared to be the teenager's friends with a red haired girl behind them.

Frowning more, dick decided enough was enough. He openly walked to the lap area where the child was currently sticking his head into the washing drum. "Hey there kid!"

He winced hearing how the boy apparently banged his head on something and let out a storm of curses that would probably make Jason proud or all of his siblings frown. Leaning over the washing machine he smiled at the kid as the boy glared up at him rubbing his forehead. Ouch there really was a bump forming. He will ice it later.

"You're one of Gotham's vigilantes, Nightwing." The kid muttered but Dick caught the hand sneaking to the side reaching for a heavy looking wrench.

"That I am and you're a little kid working in a self made lab. Where are your parents and or guardian?"

"Don't have any here." The kid was now full on glaring at him. Why was he getting the not as friendly treatment? Sure that's better than the way his siblings had described the boy ignoring them but he hadn't done anything bad to the kid yet.

"If you don't have any, who takes care of you?" He then asked, still all smiles and friendly despite internally being very worried about this child's wellbeing.

"I take care of myself. I am not doing anything illegally. Everything I got here was thrown away by other people! You can't arrest me!" The boy hissed and hadn't Jason and Cass said they saw the child's eyes being blue? Why did he just see green peek through the bangs of the kid?

"Hey, hey, hey! I am not here to arrest anyone! I promise!" He held his hands up but the boy still glared at him. "But if you are alone here, you know I can't just let you be right?"

"No, you can!" The boy sprang up holding the wrench like a weapon in front of him. "I am perfectly fine on my own and working on a way back home! You can just leave me alone and act like you never saw me!"

Dick shook his head. The boy appeared to be stubborn and set on not having anyone interfere with whatever he was building. But Dick, in good consciousness, couldn't just leave like nothing was going on. His siblings had also voiced worry for this child. So he was going to try to negotiate something with the kid, and if that didn't work… Well Dick could always pull a Bruce and bring the kid home and into his care anyway. "Sorry little guy. No can do, but if you tell me more about your situation maybe I can help you get home?"

#fictober23 #danny fenton #dp x dc #danny phantom #dpxdc #crossover #dcxdp #jason todd #damian wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #bat family #fanfic #de aged danny #Danny got stranded in the DC Universe #he got also deaged #after a phase of depression he cured with cats #he started to build a portal to get home #he unintentionally meet the Batfam while doing so #They got worried #a strange kid doing strange things appeared out of nowhere #Of course they would try to investigate and find the kid #danny just wants to get home #Batfam wants to help #or maybe keep the child #unedited #no beta we die like danny

[turbulentscrawl]

I need more shy s/o headcanons...

Could I ask for a shy s/o with two of your favorite idv characters? How would they react with someone shy?

Maybe sfw and nsfw? 👀

Can do eheh

I did keep these a bit shorter, since they're more specific. But I hope you enjoy ;)

Norton Campbell

SFW

-This relationship would take a good while to develop because neither Norton nor you are likely to initiate it. But once the acquaintance hurdle is jumped, you find out just how little Norton gives a damn about shyness. (In a good way.) He talks to you like he talks to anyone else, rarely reacting to or drawing special attention to your timidity. If you respond to him, great. If you don’t, you don’t.

-It’s both cute and hilarious when the pair of you interact with other survivors. You’re so shy, and Norton is so stoic, and inevitably you’ll end up flustered over something and just bury your face in his chest and he just does not care. If he needs to move while you’re occupied this way, he’ll ask you to stand on his boots, and just walks off like that.

-He’s also one of the tallest guys in the manor, so feel free to hide behind him. Again, he really doesn’t care. If you hide under or behind something else, he just nonchalantly pokes his head in when he needs to say something to you.

-The only time he ever gets frustrated by your shyness is if it causes problems while you’re in danger. If those situations ever do arise, Norton is quick to throw you over his shoulder and remove you from the situation himself, regardless of any protests. Safety and health come before comfort.

NS/FW

-Norton is a little different about your shyness here than in public; he’ll let you get away with it in the bedroom for all of five minutes. After that, the manhandling comes into play.

-Norton will respect a genuine boundary, but he thinks claiming ‘you’re shy’ is just another way of playing hard to get. And Norton is hard…that’s it, he’s got a hard-on. He’s ready to go.

-No he will not leave the room pitch dark just because you’re embarrassed about being naked. And no, he won’t let you hide under the covers the whole time either. And no, you will not hide your red face behind or muffle those pretty little sounds with your hands. Try it and he’ll rather effortlessly pin your wrists over your head with one hand.

-The one time he kind of lets you get away with any of this is when he’s got you face-down-ass-up on the bed. He’s a little preoccupied with pulling your hips back to meet his thrusts, so if you plant your face in a pillow or something he’s less likely to reach over and rip it away. He will however definitely take it as a challenge to make you scream loud enough to be heard through the block.

Luca Balsa

SFW

-Luca is good with shy people! He’s energetic and talkative enough for several people, and he doesn’t mind carrying the conversation so long as you don’t mind his rambling. Honestly if his s/o is shy, then between them, Andrew, and Victor, Luca starts to look like the trope of an extrovert collecting introverts.

-He’s not crazy with PDA, but Luca does like leaning close to talk, and holds your hand whenever his are free. He always checks with you before trying to initiate PDA in a new kind of situation, but after that he just trusts it to apply to all similar ones. No sense in calling attention to your shyness and possibly making it worse.

-Luca thinks your blushing face is the best thing ever, so he does occasionally go out of his way to draw it out of you. While he doesn’t exactly have a poetic disposition, he has earnestness on his side. Who wouldn’t be flustered when he gets down on one knee and kisses your fingers?

NS/FW

-He thinks it’s fun to make your shyness a game. Whenever you hide away, it’s clearly because he has to earn seeing your best expressions.

-Cue Luca doing his damnedest to suck your very soul out, only pulling away periodically to ask through gulps of air if he’d “earned it yet?” No? Well, he’s not done yet. At some point you’ll be driven wild enough to choose pulling his hair over shielding your face.

-He’ll hold both of your hands with his own too. or, better yet, put your arms around him? He can deal with some angry red marks on his back for a while. Just expect a few revenge hickies.

-If you’re really so shy…he can be out of the room for your pleasure time. How? Oh, just this little remote-controlled thing he made for you. …Wanna try?

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #norton campbell x reader #luca balsa x reader #idv prospector #idv prisoner #spicy content