#i like it when i get to do parallel type things
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xxsquiddkiddxx Ā· 1 day ago
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Viktor x Reader Headcanons
Pronouns for reader: Gender neutral, AFAB undertones if you squint
Relationship type: Platonic to Romantic
General Idea: Some silly little headcanons I have for Viktor because he's still my silly little princess. Even after the whole glorious evolution thing.
Content Warnings: S1 Viktor, no S2 spoilers, But there as little bit of s2 viktor's mindset, I'm projecting a little bit (a lot) but it's fine.
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~ā˜†~
I honestly see Viktor as asexual with light aromantic undertones (kinda like demiromantic, I guess??). He rarely ever developes romantic feelings. Like its a once in a blue moon thing.
Like... he has to know you for YEARS before something in his head is like "Oh... hey they kinda cute?"
However, when he DOES develop feelings that go beyond friendship, Viktor HEAVILY struggles with coming to terms with them. Not in like a "I don't DO feelings" type way, but more in a "Well... no... it could be this" type of way.
Oh, his heart rate speeds up a little bit when you two accidently brush hands? It must just be his nerves.
When he does realize that he has feelings for someone, it's kind of like that scene in Gravity Falls where Dipper is like "It's not like I stay awake at night thinking about Wendy" and it cuts to him laying awake thinking about Wendy XD
If he likes someone romantically, he talks about them a lot. Like as if trying to bring them up as much as he can. Like "Oh (Y/N) mentioned something about that book, said they really liked it" Or "(Y/N) actually said something similar about that topic" If he could yap about you for hours, he probably would.
Even if you're being PAINFULLY obvious about your romantic feelings towards Viktor, he will firmly believe you're just being friendly.
Why he does it is a mix between two things: one is that he's just not awesome with people. And second is that he firmly believes someone like you could never love someone like him back.
One night, Viktor had been constantly working without break, so you practically dragged him to his room by his ear and forced him to get some rest.
Viktor has a strong habit of having his workspace FILLED with old mugs, sometimes days old. He doesn't really mean to, just too wrapped up in Hextech to really notice.
He also struggles with meals too. Just like above, because he literally just gets too wrapped up in his work.
If Viktor actually confesses feelings, it's such an interesting experience. Because he doesn't just flat out say "Hey I have feelings for you". He stumbles over his words and rambles about something random in the middle of it. So you gotta help him out a little bit.
Viktor's love language is quality time. He'll make sure his seat is next to you when it can, he always yaps about what he's uncovered about Hextech.
Speaking of Hextech, if you just sit there and watch him work? He'd about die of happiness on the spot. If you, someone he really loved, took an interest to something he truly loved DOING? Perfect.
He used to get really flustered about physical affection. Like you held his hand one time and he about combusted. He was red in the face for hours. He got better with it overtime, of course. But for the first few months, he was pretty much bright red the whole time.
Dates are rare, neither of you have the time for it. But when you two do have dates of some kind, they're mostly stay at home type things.
You know that thing kids do? Like playing their own separate things together? Parallel play, I think it's called? Yeah you two do that a lot.
Viktor will be reading some papers and you'll be reading a book, your feet in his lap.
Speaking of, Viktor is such a reader omg He doesn't read a lot anymore due to his constant workload, but when he does, he reads a lot of like... old books. The ones with yellowing pages and smell nice? Yeah... those ones!
If you two slept in the same bed, he'd be all like... giggly and nervous the first few times. Just like affection, he'd get used to it. But it's still cute.
When you two are cuddling, run your fingers in his hair. He'll melt right into you regardless of the situation. It's like an instant relax button for him.
Him laying his head on your chest, and you running your fingers through his hair? Something about it just... works. It calms him down a lot and makes him feel at peace.
His favorite place to kiss is the crook of your neck. Especially if you're around his height (he's like... between 5'7 and 5'10. I don't remember exactly).
Or your temples. It's simple, it doesn't attract a lot of attention. And let's be real, it's underrated as hell.
He's not big on PDA, but he'll hold your hand in public. He likes holding onto just one of your fingers, like your pinkie or something like that. It, just like temple kisses, is simple and discreet.
He doesn't often say "I love you". He feels bad about it, but you don't mind. He often says I love you without saying it. Things like holding you while you sleep, kissing your forehead as you two read in each other's arms, weaving your fingers with his while he works.
He gets self-conscious a lot. He thinks you could do a lot better than him and that he's not perfect.
Please kiss this poor boy all over and tell him he's perfect as is šŸ˜­šŸ˜­
~ā˜†~
A/N:The Arcane brainrot has gotten to me... This is how I'm coping with the finale. But I've wanted to write Viktor or Sevika stuff for a HOT minute now. I've been in the Arcane fandom for YEARS (a fanfic writer even longer) but this is my first Arcane fic... wild XD
For more fics: my masterlist!
~Squeed
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citrus-moonlight Ā· 2 days ago
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Tara, I love this chapter so much!!! The way that you manage to create such a tangible desire between the two of them even though she doesn't even know what he looks like (and as far as she knows hasn't met him yet šŸ˜) is incredible.
Reader being able to have a different type of release first when she blocks her mother's number was so satisfying. I love how she's finally able to let go of that part of her as she realizes that it isn't worth it anymore, that she is worth so much more than someone who didn't and doesn't want her, now that she knows what it's like to have someone who does.
"You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage? You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost."
I love how gone she already is, how everything is building so intensely and she doesn't even know what he looks like yet. And then when she finally lets herself go to the thought of him, and the realization that the relief barely lasts because now the floodgates are open and she only wants more?? LORD. The tension is so good, and I love how delicious it feels as he metes out little details in pictures and words and how they're all so precious to her as she tries to form a picture in her head to focus her desire on (and I am forever screaming at "I'm not going to describe my cock to you" šŸ˜‚).
"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin." >I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.
Good lord, that man is so smooth. And I am also enjoying that she picks out a maroon one (because now I am thinking about that silk robe, and how they would go so well together šŸ˜).
You're done hesitating. Of course you are. But when you take that step, it's going to be on your terms. You know, instinctively, that you should never give up too much power to him. Both because it would be so easy to lose yourself in himā€”which you don't want to do now that you've finally found yourselfā€”and because he would delight in never giving it back.
The duality that of him that you show is so good, how he swings from >I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I? to the vulnerability admitting that he wants her to touch his face, the "but I think I will if you do it." I love that contrast between the predatory part of him, the part that's truly so dangerous (and yet so intriguing), but then you continue to show how needy he is underneath that, something he's trying to hide under his own mask (he's so pathetic and touch starved, I need him).
And then of course the smut is always so incredible, the way he talks I am just šŸ„µšŸ« šŸ˜µā€šŸ’«. The >Only me. Only I can see you like this and >That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name. He's so possessive and demanding I'm going to lose it.
>It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore. >Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!
Ok, knowing it's speech to text makes this is so fucking hot, imagining how desperate his voice must sound, and then THE FUCKING PICTURE?? EXCUSE ME???? And her almost tipping and that feeling of freefall adding to everything when she comes, oh my god that was such a perfect parallel to this whole experience with him, LIKE JESUS CHRIST TARA THIS IS SO GOOD.
Seriously, I am always beside myself when I come back to this chapter, your dialogue and all of the interactions are always so dynamic even when their just talking and exploring. I am so excited to see where things are going to develop and evolve once she finally meets him! (truly I am gnawing on the walls, your slow burns are always so amazing, it drives me crazy and I love every minute of it!) šŸ’–
Seriously, I am always beside myself when I come back to this chapter, your dialogue and all of the interactions are always so dynamic even when they're just talking and exploring. I am so excited to see where things are going to develop and evolve once she finally meets him! Truly I am gnawing on the walls, the way you write and and slowly ratchet up the need and tension is always so mind meltingly good, that slow burn drives me crazy and I love every minute of it! šŸ’–šŸ’–šŸ’–
The Devil Makes Us Sin
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Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun
Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader
Chapter 4/? (12.8k words)
->start at chapter 1<-
<- Chapter 3
AO3 Link
Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.
At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.
Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, sexual harassment, workplace sexual harassment, alcohol consumption, religious trauma
A/N: To all of my fellow readers with mother issues, this chapter is for us šŸ’– Because those troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags hit real hard this chapter (I'm not projecting, you're projecting). But I eventually make it up to you, I promise. (As a reminder from my notes last chapter, David uses voice to text when they're chatting šŸ˜) Also, I changed the formatting for texting conversations because eventually there will be texting while there is external dialogue, and I don't want it to be confusing. So his texts continue to be in italics and Reader's are in italics AND quotes.
Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from Tanaka Mhishi's poem in Literary Sexts II. Text divider 1 is from Francisco de Goya's Witches Flight. Text divider 2 is from Caravaggio's Sacrifice of Isaac.
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Chapter 4 - I am fragile and unholy. Open. Ravage. Eat.
That night, after calming down from your conversation with David, you finally do the thing that you've been putting off for far too long. The thing that causes panic to swell in your chest and your mind to recoil whenever you start to examine it.Ā 
You think about your mother.
So you pour a glass of wine, set your phone off to the side, flop down on your couch, and you begin to metaphorically unpack.
You've always prided yourself on being an intelligent woman. You know, logically, this will help you feel better in the long run. It will help you heal. Help you grow. And right now that's what you yearn forā€”to know and embrace yourself as you truly are, not who you pretended to be for so long that you almost believed it. Not your mask.
The mask that you built because of her, you think. One crafted out of fear and shame. Other people may have honed it, but she laid the foundation.
You also know she's the reason you have so many hang ups and difficulties forming connections with people. You know it's part of the reason you've been miserable for so long. You know this needs to be done. You know that.
It stillā€¦well, it hurts.
You learned at a young age to be fiercely independent because you couldn't count on her for support. Or encouragement. Or warmth. Her answer was always the same: "Pray or go to confession." As if all of your problems were your own fault or stemmed from a lack of faith.
And the message was clearā€”The only love you'll ever get is God's love. Maybe he can fix you.
You wanted it, though. God, did you want her to gather you in her arms and tell you, just once, that she was proud of you. That she truly loved you. You did everything you could to please and placate and impress her, hoping if you were good enough or hid well enough, you might finally get all of that. You got good grades, you were well-behaved, and you went to church, even when you stopped believing. You gave up your dream of being an artist for her, for christsake!
Sure, a part of that was because she tainted the piece of yourself you turned to for expression and escape. But since you're already unpacking every horrible bit of this, you can finally admit to yourself that you also gave it up for her.
For nothing.
Because it didn't work. Getting a business degree and an office job didn't make her proud, it only created a new direction in which you were lacking. You lost a part of yourself and got nothing in return. The thought of it makes you so angry that hot tears prick your eyes.
You get up to pour yourself another glass of wine.
You don't even know why your mother treated you the way she did. You think that if you could at least know why it might be easier to stomach. Then you wouldn't feel so confused and lost. Sure, it would hurt, but it would be something solid you could sit with.
Perhaps she saw that you weren't what she would call normal, and she hated itā€”wanted to spurn you into changing and hiding. It's ironic, then, that her disgust just fueled that darkness within you. Gave it the sustenance it needed to grow, devoid of warmth, in the corners of your heart and mind.
Maybe all of this would have turned out differently, if only she had loved you.
Or perhaps that's just who she is, and, even if you had been everything she wanted, it still wouldn't have made a difference. Still wouldn't have been good enough. You got it from somewhere, after all.
You'll never know either way.
What you do know is this: If you couldn't count on your own mother, then why would you ever think you could count on or trust anyone else?
Why wouldn't they brush you aside eventually as well? Why bother getting close to anyoneā€”assuming they didn't bore you in the first place? Why wouldn't they see the real you and look just as disgusted as the one person that should have loved you unconditionally?Ā 
And people continuously proved you right by walking away when you didn't thaw under their attention or they caught a glimpse of that darknessā€”until David. Until he looked and saw the real you, and it only made him want you more.
Well, you're thawing now.
No.
You're melting.
You wonder what your mother would think of you if she could see you at this very moment. On one hand, you've laid waste to the life you built for yourself for a man that stalked you. She'd have a few choice words for you there, such as disappointment and embarrassment. "What will people think?" But on the other hand, you finally have someone and he's rich, which would go a long way towards forgiveness. Because, even though she prides herself on her piety, pride is her greatest sin. She would tell everyone she knew, as if it were her achievement, while conveniently leaving out the rest of it. Like the fact that you're happy.
As you're pouring your third glass of wine, you debate calling her. It's not too late. She should still be awake. You can finally ask her why. Why nothing you've done has ever been good enough. Why she cared about God and what everyone else thought more than her own daughter.Ā 
You can ask her why you can't remember the last time she hugged you or told you she loved you. Because a daughter should be able to recall that, shouldn't she? Oh, she said it plenty in front of other people. She gave you scraps with no meaning behind the words or warmth in her eyes. But in private, where no one else was watching her performance? You got nothing. You starved for affection. Maybe you can ask her why.
But you know that's the alcohol talking.
And it wouldn't do any good anyway. You won't get the answers you seek or the apology you need. You won't get promises to do better. You won't get a mom.
This was all for nothing.
Instead, you pick up your phone and block her number.
No contact. A clean cut. Never again.
You expect that to hurt, too, but for the first time since you started this, you feel lighter. Because you're finally done looking for hope where there isn't any to be found. You're also finally acknowledging that you deserved everything she never gave you. And that isn't a failing on your partā€”it never was. It's her failure. Another one of her sins. Now it's her loss.
Maybe you should have done that years ago, but you're doing it now. You're moving forward and letting go, and that's what's important.
While your phone is in your hand, you check your messages to confirm that David hasn't sent you anything. You aren't surprised. You hadn't expected him to. But that doesn't mean you didn't want him to.
You want it all the time now, you realize. It's only been a couple of hours since you ended the call, but you'd still love nothing more than to get back on and talk to him again until the early hours of the morning.
You may have been able to stop yourself from angrily calling your mother, but the combination of wine and your already weakening grasp on your self-control when it comes to him means you're typing before you even realize it.
"Thank you. For everything. I can never say it enough, David, because you've done more for me than any person in my life EVER has. I mean it. Truly. I'm so grateful."
"Also, for the record, I'm certain I could pick you out of a crowd now."
You're welcome. Always.
And I'll keep that in mind the next time I need coffee.
You smile at your phone. Your eyes are watery, your cheeks are warm, and your lips are lopsided and trembling. You can blame all of that on the wine, but the way your heart is battering against your ribcage?
You've got it bad for some words on a screen, a hand, a pair of shoes, and a ghost.
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The next morning, you sleep in until a gloriously late hour. Just because you can. And because last night was emotionally exhaustingā€”you're certain the wine didn't help either. Even when you're no longer tired, you lie in bed, wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, and bask in the knowledge that you never have to go back to that office ever again.
Or speak to your mother, you think with a contented sigh.
You feel untethered, but not adrift. No, you know exactly which direction you're headed, and now you have the freedom to do so.
Eventually you resume your search for a new bed on your phone as well because you start to think about how blissful this lounging would have been on a comfortable mattress. With silk sheets. And a new nightgown... Oh, now there's an interesting thought. You could get something new and sexy. Maybe something with lace. Or more silk. Or, even better, something sheer that barely covers your ass.
You also think about how much David would enjoy all of those things.
You start off looking at sleepwear that leans more sensible than sexy, but as you begin to wonder what he would think of each one, you quickly find yourself clicking on more and more revealing pieces.
It's when you're looking at a see through, drapey number that comes off with only a clasp between your breasts that your phone buzzes with a new text message.
You grin. You wondered how long it would be before he reached out to you. Now you're absolutely certain he's keeping tabs on you and saw how racy your searches were getting. Part of you was doing it on purposeā€”baiting him until he couldn't resist any longer. Even if it gave him away. You know better than to trust a coincidence.
Are you enjoying your first day of freedom?
"Immensely. I haven't even gotten out of bed yet." You're smug as you hit send because now you've added the thought of you in bed to his mental image of the lingerie.
Is that so? Sounds as though you're having a lovely morning.
Any other exciting plans for the day?
"Not unless you count a date with a book on my nightstand."
Depends on what kind of book.
"Well, there are two of them for me to choose from. One is a murder mystery. The other is a steamy romance novel." It's a lie. You have two art history books and an Amedeo Modigliani biography on your nightstand.
I see. Two very different types of thrilling.
"Exactly. On one hand, the murder mystery would stimulate my brain."
It takes a minute longer for you to get a response to that.
And what would the romance novel stimulate?
"My heart, David. What else?" You bite your lip in excitement as you continue to type.
"Now tell me which one you would like best."
If I had to choose between the two, I would prefer the murder mystery.
"Of course you would. But I meant which of the lingerie you would like best. Because I know you were watching me."
There's another pause.
All of them.
"All of them?! But there were so many!"
I'm certain. I liked all of them.
Especially since you'd be the one wearing them.
A pleasant heat unfurls in your chest and creeps up your neck at the thought of him sitting there, watching you browse, picturing you in every outfitā€¦and maybe even saving a few of the links for later.
"Well then. I'll keep that in mind. I really liked the maroon silk one, personally. I bet it would feel nice on my skin."
I agree, it would feel very nice on your skin.
Fuck.
The mental image of his hand trailing up your thighā€”pushing the hem of the nightgown higher and higher while the fabric and his palm slide over your quivering fleshā€”flashes vividly through your mind.
You had been enjoying a morning of relaxation and contentment just a few minutes ago. Even with a bit of light teasing about the lingerie, it had been peaceful. Now? Now that feeling has been reshaped and is nothing more than a memory. Now a slick heat has ignited in your core, and you're left nearly panting and writhing in your blankets from the intensity of it.
How quickly he can send you reeling.
God, you're definitely buying that one. Later. Right now, however, you finally have the chance to flirt with himā€”really flirtā€”and you're going to take it. Because you know where this is headed. You know where it could have resolved yesterday but didn't because you were at work.
And you're so glad you're not at work right now, stuck squirming and struggling at your desk as you try to ignore the swollen ache between your legs. Instead, you're squirming in the privacy of your bed, and you no longer have to ignore anything. Now you have no intention of stopping.
This is how you want to respond to him.
You're also really enjoying feigning innocence, and you're curious to see how much longer he'll play along. Because you have no illusions that he's buying a second of it.
"I don't think I'll be getting the black one with the sheer lace top, though. It didn't look very comfortable. I wouldn't be able to wear it for long."
Before he can reply, you quickly type out, "Wait. You're not busy, are you? I should have asked first before carrying on about my online shopping. That was rude of me."
I'm not anymore.
"Just get out of a meeting?"
I just canceled my last meeting because I've suddenly found something much better to do.
"Is helping me pick out pajamas really that thrilling?"
You can stop playing dumb now. You and I both know exactly what you're doing.
"What am I doing?" You straighten up and hold your breath in anticipation. You must be getting to him. You expected him to hold out just a little bit longer. Not that you're complaining. Not when you know you have his full attention.
You're trying to get me bothered as payback for yesterday.
"Is it working?"
You know it is.
"And just how bothered are you?"
Very.
You let out a shaky breath as you sink back into your pillows and begin to settle in. "Good. But that's not the only reason I'm doing this, David."
Is that so? What other reason do you have?
"Because I want to. Because I'm enjoying having the freedom to respond to you the way that I want."
Intriguing. And how are you doing that?
"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." You shift your phone to your dominant hand to keep it steady. Then your other hand disappears beneath your covers and continues traveling down to the waistband of your panties.
Will I?
"You will. As long as you continue to please me." You nudge the fabric out of the way to give yourself the access you need and eagerly slip your hand inside. When your fingers finally brush over your arousal, you groan with relief.
There's nothing I want more than to please you.
"Is that so? How are you going to do that?" You repeat his words back to him as you rub a little harder along your damp folds. The added pressure makes your eyelids go heavy with lust. You spread your legs wider, seeking even more of that friction.
By giving you what you need.
God, you want that. From him. The thought of it makes you ache. Your fingers move to circle over your clit, dragging some of your wetness with them, and you moan into your empty bedroom. You shakily type out, "And what do I need?"
Me.
Shit. You had planned to go slow and tease yourself. You wanted to draw out the banter so you could savor your first time touching yourself to him. Because, despite the fact that he's turned you into a horny wreck several times already, you've held off until now. But as you read his textā€”that single wordā€”it's as if your body has been doused in kerosene and lit on fire. Your hand speeds up.
"You seem awfully sure of that."
I'm very sure.
Are you going to tell me that I'm wrong? Or are you going to be honest?
You quickly debate finding a way to deny it. To get him to push harder because his arrogant confidence is stoking the flame in your belly and you want more. But every response you come up with sounds so flimsy. You know it won't work. He'll just call out the lie. He knows exactly how you're responding to him now, and he won't let it go, like a shark sensing blood in the water.
Well, if he wants to circle, then you'll give him prey insteadā€”something he can't resist.
"Honest."
There's a good girl. Then be honest for me. Tell me what you need.
You cry out and your hips roll to meet the rhythm of your fingers. Your other hand is still gripping your cell phone, holding onto it for dear life so you don't drop it and miss a single word. "You."
That's right. And are you thinking about me right now?
"Yes." You are. You're thinking about his hands all over you, driving you wild and breathless and working needy little whimpers from your throat.
Very good. I hope you're thinking about all of the things I plan to do to you when I finally get my hands on you.
"Tell me. Please." More, you think. God, you need more.
And spoil the surprise? You'll have to use your imagination for now.
You grunt in frustration. "That's a little difficult when I don't know what you look like."
That is unfortunate, isn't it?
He's so god-damned smug! Jesus, it's infuriating!
There's a responding surge of wetness beneath your fingers, and the slick sound becomes obscene in your quiet bedroom.
"I've told you, it's unfair."
Nothing about this is supposed to be fair.
Your grip weakens and your phone nearly slips from your grasp, but you frantically right it. You're getting so closeā€¦ "David, please!"
I promise when we move forward, you'll find out for yourself. But only when you're ready.
Unless you're done hesitating?
You know he's dangling that in front of you, tempting you with what you want so you'll say yes. You want to say yes. You want to call him right now and let him hear you say it as you moan and beg into the phone.
But that's giving him too much.
You're done hesitating. Of course you are. But when you take that step, it's going to be on your terms. You know, instinctively, that you should never give up too much power to him. Both because it would be so easy to lose yourself in himā€”which you don't want to do now that you've finally found yourselfā€”and because he would delight in never giving it back.
"I suppose we'll see, won't we? I would hate to ruin the surprise."
Now who's being unfair?
"I'm only playing by your rules."
Clever.
My clever, beautiful girl. I can't wait to see you like this. I bet you look so good for me right now. Don't you?
"Yes!"
That's right. So fucking good and needy for me. God, I want you so much.
Your grip goes slack again, and this time you do drop your phone onto the bed. But you don't stop to pick it up. You're too far gone now, and you couldn't type even if you wanted to. Instead, you redouble your effort and greedily chase your orgasm, your hand moving in rapid strokes against your clit.
It's fast and messy and desperate. You haven't masturbated like this in years, but the tension has been building inside of you. It's grown under all of his teasing, his suggestive comments, his perceptive observations, and his unrevealing photos until you couldn't ignore it any longer. Now you need to release it at lastā€”to immolate yourself in your desire.
For him.
"David," you moan. His name rolls off your tongue for the first time in ecstasy. It happens so naturally, as if you've said it that way a hundred times before. As if your mouth knows the way to give shape to your longing.
Hearing his name, when you're already poised on that edge, is your undoing.
You throw your head back into the pillow and arch off the bed with a cry as that tension finally snaps, sending a white hot fission through your veins in its place. Your toes curl and your newly freed hand bunches a fistful of your sheets, pulling them taut while your whole body shudders with every violent swell of pleasure.
As you come, all you can think about is him. "Fuck!" The movement of your fingers over your clit becomes jerky, but never slows. You're determined to make every second of this feel so fucking good. "David!" It rolls and rolls and rolls through you, weakening and yet seemingly without end as you work every last bit of rapture from your sensitive fleshā€”
Until, finally, you collapse against the bed with a whimper, and your hand flops weakly down onto the mattress next to you. You lay there, gasping for breath, your eyes closed, and your limbs and your brain and your belly humming in the heady afterglow of your release.
By all accounts, this should bring you a bone deep satisfaction. It should have quelled the fire that burns for him, even if only temporarily.
But as your mind clears, you feel quite the opposite. As if something has awakened inside of you, stirring from a deep slumber in that same way he roused your darkness.
And it's ravenous.
You grope along the bedspread for your phone.
When you pick it back up, your hands are still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.
"I think I'm rather enjoying my new freedom."
So am I.
A groan is wrenched from your chest as you glance up at his previous messages and wonder just how much he was enjoying it. You have a pretty good guess.
"God, David. I miss you."
I miss you, too. But not for much longer.
"Would you like to chat now?" There's a renewed flutter of interest from your swollen sex as you think about doing this again, but for him.
There's nothing I want more. Unfortunately, I have some important personal matters to take care of this afternoon, but I promise the evening is yours. How does 6 o'clock sound?
There's a pang of disappointment in your chest. That's hours from now! But before you can pout, you remind yourself that you're an adult. You can control and entertain yourself until then, for christsake. Besides, he said the evening was yours. You'll have plenty of time to talk to him later.
You also really want to ask what sort of personal matters because you're curious about what they could be, and about him in general, but he would have elaborated if he wanted you to know. The word personal also denotes a certain level of privacy. So you leave it be. For now.
"That sounds lovely. I'm looking forward to it."
Me too. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your date with the book on your nightstand.
"I've changed my mind there, actually. I have a lot more shopping to do instead." You give your phone a little grin.
Oh?
"Yes. It's been so productive and satisfying thus far. Who knows what other wonderful things might result from it?"
I see.
"I hope you enjoy your afternoon."
I'm certain I will. Enjoy your shopping.
You end up purchasing some of the lingerie that gets you particularly worked up whenever you think about himā€”especially the maroon one. Then you spend the rest of your day purging your wardrobe of your boring work clothes and whatever else reminds you too much of your old life. The result is a sparse apartment and an even barer closet, but you like it. It's a reflection of where you are in life and of all the room you have to grow and rebuild the way you want.
You may occasionally take breaks from downsizing to browse for new outfits and dresses, but it's to figure out what you like so you can eventually replace what you're getting rid of. It's definitely not to keep David intrigued throughout the day and looking forward to talking to you again. Not when he's so busy. That would be cruel.
You can't remember ever smiling this much.
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You log on several minutes early. You don't care that it's probably a little pathetic. You don't even care if it lets him know exactly how eager you are for this. You've been checking the clock since five and you were getting impatient. You can only pace so many circles in your living room before you lose your mind. Not that sitting there and staring at your own face is any better, but at least it gets you closer to him.
To your relief, he logs on a few minutes early, too. Possibly because he knows you're already here, but you hope itā€™s because he was impatient as well. The electronic chime makes your heart swell in your chest.
"Hello, David."
Hello, darling.
The image of you on the screen practically swoons at his greeting. There's no other way to describe the gentle tilting of your head, your dreamy smile, or how your eyes soften with affection.
You barely recognize this woman.
You're not sure you've ever made that face before now. Or if you have, it was when the National Gallery rotated Cornelius van Haarlem's Two Followers of Cadmus devoured by a Dragon back into display after you hadn't seen it in a while. Never for another person. Certainly not for a black square not even three centimeters wide.
This man is dangerous.
Getting impatient, were you?
"I knew you were going to say something," you grumble as you fight off a sudden wave of embarrassment.
How could I not? You have no idea how lovely this feeling is. It's gratifying to have such a beautiful woman wanting to talk to you.
You lean in close and lower your voice. "In that case, I was very impatient."
Hmm. I'm so very pleased to hear it.
Did you have a productive afternoon?
"I did, actually. I accomplished quite a bit."
Good. And did you have fun shopping?
"You know I did." You give the camera a heated smile. While it wasn't as risque as the lingerie, the clothes you were looking atā€”low cut silky blouses, high slit skirts, backless tops, skin tight pantsā€”were still sexy, just in a more subtle way.
Do I?
You roll your eyes and ignore the obvious baitā€”something that would have irritated a response from you just a few days ago. "How was your afternoon?"
Also productive, despite the circumstances.
"Circumstances?" You cock an eyebrow, no longer able to ignore it. He really does know how to push your buttons, after all, much to your chagrin. "Do you mean with your personal matters or do you mean spying on me?"
Both, but I wouldn't call it spying.
"Well, I would! So it serves you right." Despite your fake outrage, you're thrilled he was still paying attention, even when he was busy.
Do you want me to stop?
You pause to consider your answer. You think you should probably be unsettled that he's monitoring all of your activity. If any other man did that, you would be furious and horrified, but he's not any other man. He's also not holding it over you, making you feel bad, or controlling what you're doing. So farā€”your answer would change if he were. He's simply looking.
And you enjoy knowing that he's looking. In a strange way, it makes you feel connected to him, even when you aren't chatting, as if it's just another aspect of your relationship. It also makes you feel like you're the most important and interesting thing in his lifeā€”you'll admit that particular feeling has become quite addictive. You enjoy being able to take advantage of it as well, like you did this afternoon.
However, there may be times when you do want privacy for a specific reason. He certainly doesn't need to know every detail about your hygiene purchases or your embarrassing Google searches. Well, future embarrassing searches, anyway. It also makes it very difficult to surprise him if he can see what you're up to.
"No, I don't want you to stop." Your lips curl into a seductive smile. "I like it quite a bit, in fact. I just have one condition."
What's that?
"If I do ever ask for privacy, you give it to me. No questions asked and no looking."
Of course. Then you'll have it.
"I mean it," you say seriously. "I need to trust you'll respect my wishes."
You have my word that I will give you privacy whenever you request it. You only ever need to ask.
"Alright." You relax in your chair, mollified by his response. Because you believe him. "Thank you, David."
You're welcome.
Now tell me about your productivity.
"That's not a very exciting topic of conversation, I'm afraid. In fact, most of it was quite boring."
Tell me anyway.
"Well, I went through my flat and got rid of everything that felt like it belonged to the person I was pretending to be and not me."
I see. That doesn't sound boring. You shed another one of your layers.
I bet it felt good.
"It did! It felt freeing. I didn't realize before how much my place felt like a stage. As if the performance didn't stop, even when I was alone. And when I had a roommate? God, no wonder I was always so miserable."
It's also probably why you grew to resent every roommate you've ever had, no matter how much you didn't mind or tolerated them when they moved in. It didn't matter if they were quiet or cleaned up after themselves. Their presence meant the only place you could truly let your guard down was your bedroom. It was exhausting.
"But now the set dressings are gone. No more calf length pencil skirts or tacky lingerie. No more gifted kitchen gadgets and holiday candles. No more cheap art prints of pieces that I don't even like.ā€ Then you grumble, ā€œGod, I swear I had like, half a dozen versions of Irises.ā€
No more mask.
"No more mask," you repeat out loud with a sigh of relief. Even saying it feels incredible. "Speaking of, you'll be pleased to hear I've also been doing some reflecting since we talked yesterday." You can't help the smug grin that creeps onto your face.
Oh?
"Yes. I've figured out where my reflex to apologize when I think I've upset or inconvenienced someone comes from."
Have you? Does that mean you're ready to talk about your mother?
You huff out a laugh and shake your head. Of course. You should have seen that coming. "You're frighteningly good at that."
It's a gift.
You can feel his smirk through your screen. "So it is. And I'm glad to know that I'm predictable."
I never used that word.
"It's true, though." You shrug, unbothered by your own statement. "It's a behavior that's usually learned in childhood. In this instance, I'm not particularly unique."
I disagree.
"I just meant that a lot of people have troubled relationships with their parents." A lot of them developed the same issues from it as well, you think to yourself. Granted, the cliche is that women in the sex work industry have daddy issues, not mommy issues. So perhaps you're not entirely predictable.
And yet, they're not you. They didn't become what you are.
"And just what am I?" That's another thing you haven't looked at too closely. You've been so consumed with the "who," you haven't really considered the "what."
You're something entirely different. Something more like me.
"That's not an answer."
I assure you, it is.
"It's not, David," you insist. "I still don't fully know what that means!"
If you're expecting me to pathologize you instead, I'm not going to.
"Why not?" You tilt your head curiously. You weren't actually expecting him to, but now you're intrigued as to why he won't.
Because that's not an answer to your question either. Those terms and labels are just more costumes that don't suit you. You're far more than that.
Before you can object that you disagree and that it might actually help you understand yourself better, he continues on. As if he anticipated what you were going to say.
It would also imply there's something wrong with you. But there's nothing wrong with you, despite what anyone may have told you in the past.
"You really do have me all figured out, don't you?" There's more affection in your voice than you intended.
I told you. I see you.
"You do. And I'm guessing you see my text message history, too." You raise an eyebrow at the camera in challenge, daring him to deny it.
You thought a lot about what else he would have access to after he blindsided you with the knowledge of your side bank account. Reading your texts would be absurdly easy in comparison, so of course he knows about your relationship with your mother. It's also how he knew that threatening to tell her your secret would be so effective.
That as well.
"I think that's the first thing I know you've seen that I feel embarrassed about."
Why?
"Because it means you've seen the worst of my mask," you say quietly.
I wouldn't say that. I saw a daughter desperate for her mother's affection and approval.
"Oh, god," you groan as you rub a hand over your face, completely mortified by his phrasing, but unable to find fault in it. "That's exactly what I mean!"
You're not the one who should be embarrassed by those messages.
"I'm the only one that is. Or will be. Trust me, she thinks everything she's ever said to me was righteous and justified, and you can't get blood from a stone." You flop your hand back onto the deskā€”a little harder than you meant toā€”and it makes your webcam shake.
You can already feel that mixture of hurt and anger rising in your throat and threatening to spill out. You quickly swallow it down and take a deep breath to regain control over your emotions. You're not going to have a breakdown on camera because of her. You're done letting her hurt you.
It's not righteous or justified, but I'm guessing you know that already.
"I do, but I appreciate the reassurance anyway." You give him a soft, grateful smile. Then your face falls as you glance back down to your keyboard. "What else did you see?"
Most of your text conversations with her are arguments. I suspect your phone conversations are similar.
"They are," you confirm without hesitation. "I don't think we know how to communicate any other way."
But you're not the instigator, are you?
"No," you sigh heavily. "I do everything I can to avoid an argument because I'm just so tired of it, but it usually doesn't matter. She can always find fault with my tone or something I've said. And of course there's also the fact that I don't go to church, don't have an important career, haven't gotten married, and don't have or want children. You can imagine her disappointment."
I shudder to think.
What an exhausting, horrible woman.
"That she is," you can't help but laugh. Despite the heavy topic of conversation, his irritation on your behalf is endearing. "I hate calling her or answering the phone. And God forbid I need something! You'll note that when I needed money to keep my flat, I became a camgirl before I even thought about asking her for help."
I had noticed you never considered doing anything else. Then I read your messages and it wasn't difficult to understand why.
You try not to feel mortified once again at the reminder that he's seen those. Instead, you tell yourself that he saw them and he kept looking. They didn't disgust him or scare him offā€”from you anyway. Even after reading them, he still wanted you.
You truly understand now what he's always meant when he says he sees you. It's a very assuring, lovely thought.
"It turned out to be a wonderful decision, at least." You give the camera a coy smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.
I would have to agree. A very wonderful decision.
"She wouldn't have helped me anyway, so I knew it was pointless. The few times she did, she lorded it over me constantly. As if I should be forever in her debt because she paid for my university textbooks years ago."
Is that another reason you were so afraid to take my money? Or why you were worried about feeling as though you owed me?
"Huhā€¦" You lean back in your chair as you mull THAT one over. You hadn't quite connected those dots yet, but now that he's pointed it out, you have always been bad at accepting any help or gifts. Every single one felt like it came with an unspoken expectation or debt of some kind that would be called upon later. Now you know why.
You briefly wonder what other sort of connections you'll make in the future. Because you're starting to realize there are still plenty of them left to be uncovered.
"I think that was part of it, certainly, but you have to admit, the circumstances were also a very big factor as to why I didn't want your money."
Of course. You thought I was trying to buy you.
"I absolutely did! And in a way, you were," you tease. "It was just my attention you were paying for."
I made no attempt to hide that what I wanted was you, but it really was a gift. I knew the money would give you the freedom to think about everything I said, and once you did, you could no longer ignore your mask. Then maybe you would finally rid yourself of it. I wanted that for you.
And I wanted to see what would become of you when your strings were cut.
"Well, are you pleased with your handiwork?"
Quite pleased. I'm enjoying seeing the real you and how beautifully you've flourished in the light, now that you're no longer hiding.
"I have flourished, haven't I? I feel at home in my own skin for the first time in my life." You arch your shoulders, stretching lazily as if to savor the truth of your statement, before resting your forearms on the desk. You look quite pleased with yourself as well. "For so long I've been afraid to peel back all those layers and confront what's underneath, but now that I'm finally realizing who I am and what I want, I can't stop picking. I like what's underneath."
So do I.
You deserve to be proud. You've been working very hard to find your truth.
A warmth radiates through your chest at his praise.
"I have." Then you smile sadly. "Unfortunately, the truth hasn't always been painless."
No. It's never that.
"But every second has been worth it to have this." You glance up at the camera and let the double meaning hang in the air.
I'm glad. And I would have to agree. Wholeheartedly.
After a hesitation, you say, "One of those painful truths was realizing that my mother probably had a big hand in making me what I am."
Darling, NO.
The only thing she had a hand in was making you feel ashamed of yourself or like you had to hide what you are. She tried to destroy something exquisite and she failed. You are what you are despite her.
Do you know why? It's because you're better than her. You always have been and she knows it. Why do you think she treats you the way she does? That woman is a monster and she doesn't deserve any part of you.
Your eyes immediately fill with tears as you read the chat box. No one's ever told you that before. You may have come to the same conclusion last night, but you had no idea how much you needed to hear it from someone else, so to speak. Now hearing it from him?
"God, David. I've neverā€¦" you trail off, your voice choked with emotion. It takes you a second to get control over yourself enough to continue. "Thank you. And you're right." You sniffle and quickly try to blink away the tears. Then with more force, you say, "I've endured her for too long. Thankfully, I never have to again. I blocked her number last night and I'm cutting her out of my life."
You did?
"I did. Once I realized there was nothing good there to hold onto, even the idea of removing her from my life brought me more peace and happiness than having her in it ever did."
Good. I hope it does.
"So far, so good." You give him a teary smile.
I'm sure that couldn't have been easy.
"It wasn't. Or at least the process of coming to that conclusion wasn't, but it was all far more anticlimactic than I thought it would be."
Is that why you sent me that message?
"Oh, god." Your face begins to burn with embarrassment as you remember texting him while more than a little tipsy. "Yes," you finally answer sheepishly while you glance up at the ceiling.Ā 
Why are you embarrassed by that?
"Because, if I'm being honest, I was two and a half glasses of wine in when I sent that."
Were you now?
"I was. I knew it was the only way I would be able to cope with that whole process."
And did it help?
"I think it did. I got through it, anyway. I'm just glad that I didn't call or text her. God, that would have been a trainwreck." You glance suggestively up at the camera and lower your voice. "I have far less self-control when it comes to you, apparently."
You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing that.
"But we should both be grateful that I didn't send you anything messier than I already did."
I don't know, sounds intriguing.
"See, you're thinking about me sending you something sexy, but I'm worried about sending you something frantic and emotional," you laugh. "Which would have been far more likely given the circumstances."
Hmm. I see your point.
"So anticlimactic really was for the best all around. And it's done now."
Good riddance.
"Do you want to know the worst part, though?" This time there's a bitterness to your smile, and it doesn't meet your eyes. "Through all of this, I never stopped wanting her to love me. I tried so hard. I never stopped trying, but she did. A long time ago. She'll never be the mom that I want, just like I was never the daughter she wanted. I know that now and I've finally made peace with that reality. Plus, realizing I would never understand or get any sort of closure was another big catalyst for me to finally pull that trigger the way I did." Your face finally softens. "But I never would have confronted any of that if not for you."
You would have gotten there on your own. Eventually.
ā€œPossibly. I was getting exhausted from it. To the point that everytime my phone rang, I considered tossing it out the window rather than answer it.ā€
I could make her life miserable, you know.
If you asked it of me.
"Tempting." You let out a chuckle and wipe away the remnants of a tear drying on your cheek. "But I'd rather her not be in my life at all, even through you. I'm making a clean cut so she can no longer use me to build herself up, and for her that will be a worse punishment than anything you could think of."
I don't know. I have a very vivid imagination.
But I will leave it be unless you change your mind.
"I do appreciate the offer." You smile gratefully. "That's twice now you've given me the opportunity for vengeance."
It won't be the last, should you ever feel the need for it.
"Is it strange that I find the thought of you wanting to make someone miserable for hurting me sweet and endearing?"
No.
I would hurt anyone you asked me to, even if all they did was annoy you.
"You would?"
I would. Without hesitation. For you.
"Fuck," you gasp as you squirm in your seat, suddenly very turned on. "I really like the thought of that."
Do you?
"I do."Ā 
How much?
"This much." You bite your lip as you bring your hands to your top. Then you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. The heat that started between your thighs rises to your belly. This is finally happening.
There's a pause.
You're sure?
"Yes. I'm so sure you didn't even have to ask." Your fingers continue to methodically work each loop as you speak, driven on by determination. "I'm done hesitating. I want this, David. I wanted it last night before I got interrupted, and I wanted it this afternoon."
Youā€™ve found closure for so much of your pastā€”all the ties to your old life, your social media, your friends, your job, your motherā€”and you're done looking back. All you want now is to move forward. After all the emotional turmoil you went through to get to this point, all you want is to fall into him.
Once youā€™ve finished, your top spills open, revealing the cups of your bra and your bare stomach on the screen. The chat box sits, unmoving, and you realize he must be watching very carefully. So you slide the fabric down your arms, seductively arching your chest towards the camera to make a show of it, until it comes free. You toss it to the side without looking. Then you're left in nothing but your bra and skirt.
"I want you to see me. All of me. I want to show you what you're missing, hiding from me behind that screen. You could be here with your hands and your mouth on me, instead, you know. I want you to think about that, and I want you to touch yourself while you do." You look directly into the webcam with all of the desire, need, and heat that has been building up inside of you for the past week. "Because I plan to as well. Again."
You have no idea how much Iā€™ve resisted doing all of that. It's taken every ounce of my self-control to resist you.
"Why can't we just give in then?" You beg for the camera. "Why can't we just skip this part? Come here now. Tonight. Touch me instead."
You aren't ready for that yet.
"I strongly disagree!" You scoff, almost offended at the implication that you don't know what you want.
Besides, I get to see you like this first, remember? I get to see you in a way no one else ever has. I've earned it.
"You have," you sigh in acceptance. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try. "Don't worry, I'll give it to you. Not just because I'm too fucking horny to argue with you properly right now, but also because I said I would, and I'm still going to enjoy letting go for you. Just know that it's a poor substitute for you. Because what I really want is to hear your voice as you tell me how good it feels to fuck me. I want to hear the way you moan and gasp when you lose control of yourself inside of me. I want to know your face when you do. Because I want you, David."
It takes a moment for him to reply. You're aware you'll never get to know exactly how he responded to you. You'll never get to see the look on his face or hear the sounds he made as you said those things to him. But, you think with no small amount of smugness, you can take a very good guess.
Then you'll have me. Soon.
Until then, show me what I'll have.
Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to see you.
You stand up from your chair to do as he instructed. The angle of the camera means your face is no longer in view, and it reminds you so much of your streams that it's momentarily jarring. But once you unzip your skirt, you bend forward to push it down your hips, and the sight of your own face brings you back to the moment.
The one where you're stripping for your stalker slash blackmailer, and it's the sexiest, most romantic thing that's ever happened to you.
Your skirt hits the floor with a soft thump, and you step out of it as you nudge it to the side with your foot. If you remove one more thing, it will be the most he's ever seen of you. Now each step forward is not only new, but is one step closer to getting what you really want: Him.
The thought is thrilling.
So thrilling that you waste no time. You hook your thumbs into the thin elastic of your panties and slip themā€”slowly, inch by inch to continue teasing himā€”to your knees, baring your lower half to him.
You stand there for a few seconds, letting him take it all in. That's what he wanted, after all. To see all of you. For you to show him all of you. Every moment between you has been leading to this, and you won't deny him now.
When you sit back down, you slide your panties the rest of the way off. They get thoughtlessly added to the growing, scattered pile. Then you stay there on your repurposed dining room chair, bare skin on wood, and you wait.
As you do, you're very careful to keep your legs closed. It wouldn't do to rush this and give everything away all at once. Especially not when you currently hold all of the power. He may have earned this, but so have you. And youā€™re going to relish it for as long as you can.
Except there's still nothing new in the chat box. You tell yourself he's probably just settling in and enjoying the view, but the silence is unnerving. You have no way of knowing what he's thinking right now, if he's even enjoying it, and that makes you feel exposed. Youā€™ve gotten so comfortable with the back and forthā€”of getting some feedbackā€”that not getting it is a sobering reminder that you can't read his expressions or hear the tone of his voice. All he really is to you is text on a screen.
ā€œDavid?ā€ You call out hesitantly.
Another minute passes and you start to wonder if he's intentionally trying to make you squirm. He does enjoy it, after all. Or perhaps he recognizes how the balance of power has shifted, and he's trying to take some back for himself. It does seem like a very David thing to do.
Then, without warning, your mind offers up the possibility that he's disappointed. That you aren't what he was expecting and now heā€™sā€”
God, youā€™re beautiful. I knew you would be.
Relief courses through you, alleviating the weight that was settling in your chest.
Or maybe he was just taking his pants off, too.
I want to see the rest of you.
That's all the reassurance you need to banish that momentary doubt completely.
You reach behind yourself to undo the clasp of your bra. Rather than remove it, you hug the material loosely to your chest and give the camera a coy glance.
ā€œYou mean like this?ā€ You tease as your fingers play with the straps.
Yes.
Take it off.
You slowly lower your arms, letting it fall away from your breasts. And just like that, you're naked on screenā€”something you never thought would happen. Something you swore would never happen. But there you are, running the tips of your fingers enticingly up the tops of your thighs and over your bare hips. For him.
Seeing you like this was worth every second of waiting. You're stunning. Just perfect.
ā€œThank you, David,ā€ you say softly, touched by his compliments. Itā€™s sweet, but if he keeps this up, youā€™ll be feeling more affectionate than horny.
You have no idea how much I want to be the one touching you right now.
That's better.
"Oh, but I think I know exactly what it's like to want you to be the one touching me. Do you have any idea how much I've fantasized about your hands on me since you sent me that picture? God, if I hadn't been at work, I would have made myself come so many times."
That's why I didn't want you distracted.
"I wasn't distracted this afternoon," you say in a husky voice.
No you weren't.Ā 
Did it feel good to finally give in?
"Yes." You bite your lip as you remember the way that growing tension in your belly finally gave when you moaned his name. "It felt so good to respond to you."
Did you think about me touching you like you wanted?
"God, yes. In every way I could think of."
Where did you imagine me touching you? Show me where you like to be touched.
You run a finger from your jaw, down the column of your neck, and then trace along your collarbone. "If you kiss me here, I'll be weak in your arms. But if I feel your tongue here, you'll have me begging."
Then I'll have you weak and begging.
Is that all?
"I was getting there." You smile playfully. ā€œSo impatient.ā€
You continue to run your fingers down your sternum, letting your knuckles skim against the swell of your breasts. You stop and move to cup the soft flesh with your hands.
ā€œI want your lips and your hands here,ā€ you moan as you start to gently massage yourself. Your nipples harden under your palms as you rub over them, causing a pleasant shiver to snake its way through you. Then you arch into your own hands as you think about what it would be like to have his hands here instead. Whether his touch would be gentle like this, or harsh as he wrenches a shudder from the sensitive peaks.
I'm going to enjoy doing just that. Especially if you'll be this responsive for me.
ā€œMore so,ā€ you vow, breathlessly, "because it would be you. Are you touching yourself now?"
Yes.
ā€œFuck,ā€ you hiss. "Are you imagining that it's me instead?"
You know I am.
"Good because I want it to be me. I'm aching to put my hands on you, too.ā€ Your hands lower from your breasts to brush across your stomach. ā€œWhere do you like to be touched, David?"
By you? There's nowhere I wouldn't want your hands.
Intriguing, but you know he can give you more than that. "Then where should I start?"
Thereā€™s a brief pause that almost feels like hesitation.
My face.
"Your face?ā€ You blink in mild surprise. You weren't expecting that answer, but now you understand the hesitation. He was preparing to admit something vulnerable to you. ā€œThat's very intimate."
Is it? Maybe that's why I've never liked it before, but I think I will if you do it.
Despite how sexy all of this is, your heart flutters at the sweetness of that line. He wants intimacy with you, not just the sex. You're reminded of what he said to you yesterday: ā€˜I want you to be mine in every way it's possible to want someone.ā€™
ā€œI like the thought of that.ā€ You lean in towards the camera, letting your eyelids go heavy as you lower your voice to something both seductive and tender. "Do you want me to cup your cheeks and stroke my fingers over you as we kiss?"
Yes.
"Then maybe I couldā€¦ā€ You drop to a half whisper, ā€œkiss along your jaw as well."
It's like you read my mind.
There's a pleased flush in your chest that creeps onto your face as the hint of a smile. "Do you have facial hair?"
No.
"Good to know." You imagine your lips moving over smooth, tanned skin. You wonder if it will be soft, or a little rough with age.
Do you prefer beards?
"I don't have a preference. What looks good depends on the person." You tilt your head curiously. ā€œHave you ever tried growing a beard?ā€
Once. It didn't suit me.
ā€œThen I'd prefer you without one.ā€
You're assembling these new, small pieces together with your existing mental image of him. It's like staring at a magic eye puzzleā€”if you look hard enough, you can almost swear you see the shape of him. But then you blink and it's gone.
You need more.
ā€œWhere would I touch you next?ā€
My chest.
"Is that so?"
Yes.
"Please tell me you don't shave your chest, too. Promise me you have chest hair."
I promise I have chest hair.
"Oh, thank god,ā€ you sigh with relief. ā€œBecause you have hair on the backs of your hands and wrists and it's so fucking sexy. I can only imagine how sexy the rest of it is."
You like that, do you?
ā€œYes.ā€
Then I think youā€™ll be pleased.
"Christ, I like the sound of that.ā€ You squirm a bit in your seat. ā€œWhere else do you like to be touched?"
My cock.
You nearly choke on a whimper.Ā 
Up till now, this felt like an explorationā€”or as much as it could be with only you on the screen. You were expecting a buildup of teasing and touching and sharing before you both truly let go. Instead, he sent you reeling. Again. He must be getting impatient.
As you stare at that line, there's a painful ache of arousal between your legs. You unconsciously grind yourself down onto your chair to alleviate some of it. The seat is going to be a mess by the time you're done, you think.
"I plan to touch you there a lot."
Yes you will.
"Are you circumcised?" You can't help the curiosity that seeps into your voice.
I'm not going to describe my cock to you.
"David!" You pout at your screen. "I'm not asking for numbers, here. I just want to know what it would be like to stroke you."
And you'll find out eventually.
ā€œThat's not fair.ā€ You are completely naked, after all.
I already told you it's not supposed to be fair.
ā€œYes, yes, youā€™re very mysterious,ā€ you huff in disappointment.
Like I said, youā€™ll find out eventually.
ā€œSoon, I hope.ā€
Soon.
Now I want you to go back to showing me where you want my hands.
ā€œDo you?ā€ You lean back in your chair. ā€œYou want more to think about while you're touching yourself?ā€
That's exactly what I want.
ā€œHmm, how can I ever say no to that?ā€ Then you lean even further back so you can caress over the curve of your hips. ā€œYou can run your hands along here as you feel your way over my body. It will feel lovely, but I'll enjoy it even more if you grab me instead. Because I want to feel how much you need me.ā€
That's good because I want to grab you by the hips to hold you still as I slam my cock into you.
ā€œFuck, David!ā€ You cry out. Your hands reflexively grip and squeeze your own hips at the mental image, your fingers digging almost painfully into the bone. Your sex clenches in anticipation, hoping youā€™ll get what he said would come next.
If he was there with you and not still on the other end of the call. God, you wish he was there.
After that, you also know the teasing and buildup has come to an end. You can't hold back any longer, and he's made it very clear that neither can he.
"Do you know where else I liked to be touched?" Before he can reply, you finally tilt your hips and spread your legs wide, exposing your sex for the camera. You settle your knees on either side of the seat of the chair with your calves tucked against the wooden legs.
You like to think, if he were there in person, he would have been opening his mouth to answer as the words died on his lips. Instead, you imagine his fingers frozen over his keyboard as he gets to see the part of you he's been waiting for. You're certain he's been going slowā€”stroking himself enough for it to feel good, but not so much that he loses control. Not until he gets what he wants. Not until he's gotten this.
You end the exploration of your body by reaching between your thighs. Then you cup your mound and begin teasing your fingers along your folds. God, you're already so wet. "Right here. Especially by a hand that knows what I need."
Show me what you need.
You plunge a finger into your entrance and moan at the intrusion. You can't remember the last time you did this. Usually you focus on just your clit with your fingers or your vibrator, eager for the release and not caring much about indulging in the process. You didn't have a reason for it other than getting off to relieve some tension.
Now, as you slide your finger out and draw it over that sensitive nub, you want it back inside of you. You want to be full as you think of him. So you press two inside of you instead.
"I want to know what you look like so badly," you gasp as your fingers begin to work your cunt.
Do you?
"I do. And I want to know what you feel like."
You will, that I promise you.
"God," you whine and slip a third finger into your opening. "This feels so good. I haven't fingered myself in a while."
Why not?
"I haven't wanted to. I just wanted a quick orgasm."
Then I continue to keep my promise, don't I? I made you want to.
"Yes! Christ, I want to," you gasp and rock your hips up to meet your hand. "I want to touch myself like this for you. I love knowing that you're watching me, David, and that you're getting off to it. But more than that, I love pretending that it's you."
If you're pretending that it's me, you need to go deeper because I intend to fuck you properly.
You slam your fingers into yourself as far as they will go, and your head falls back with a cry. ā€œGod, I want you to fuck me. Please!ā€
While I grab your pretty hips and make you take every bit of me?
ā€œFuck! Yes, exactly like that!ā€ You whine. ā€œI can't believe you're going to make us wait for this! Because you don't have to. You could have me now."
I could.
I could have you however I wanted, couldn't I?
You glance down at the camera, your eyes heavy with lust. "Would you like that?"
You're not answering the question.
"That's because I know better than to say yes," you pant. Your fingers are still working inside of you, stretching you in a way that is both satisfying and not nearly enough. It's driving you crazy.
What does that mean?
"We both know that if I bare my throat to you, you won't be able to resist ripping it out."
I would never hurt you unless you wanted it.
"I believe that you would never want to, but I see you, too. You couldn't help it.ā€ Your hand slows, and you tilt your head as you consider your computer screen. ā€œCould you?"
There's a moment of stillness from the chat box, and you briefly wonder if you've upset him, even though you know you're right. You know there's something about him thatā€™s dangerous and predatory. He admitted as much himself. And itā€™s not like you feel the need to be overly careful or afraid of him. The thought doesn't bother you. You simply know that you can never tempt him by actually offering yourself up as helpless prey. Or he might just get a taste for it.Ā 
Because you can love a predator as long as you never forget, for even a second, that it's still a predatorā€”no matter how much it shows you its belly and loves you back.
You know all of that. Instinctively. Logically.
And yet.
You do so love being his favorite little prey.
"It doesn't scare me, David," you say quietly to break the silence.
No?
"No. Quite the opposite." You draw your fingers out of yourself to rub over your clit with a moan. "It intrigues me."
I know it does.
Why do you think Iā€™ve done all of this? I knew, from the moment I saw you, that you could want what I am.
ā€œAnd what are you, David?ā€
Darling, did you really think I would answer that question? Where's the fun in that?
ā€œBut I want to know.ā€ Your fingers speed back up against your bundle of nerves. ā€œI want to know everything about you.ā€
You will.
ā€œAnd I want to know every secret you keep from the rest of the world.ā€
Don't worry, youā€™ll know me completely.
Eventually.
His words feel like a promise and a threat. You shiver with pleasure.
You shift down far enough in your chair to get a better angle. Then you bring your knees up and plant your feet wide against the edge of your desk. You know this has the added bonus of giving him an even better view of your opening. It also gives him a hint of what it might look like when you finally lay back and spread your legs for him.
"Can you see how wet I am?" You drag your fingers over your clit with a gasp. ā€œCan you see how much I want you?ā€
Yes. I can see exactly how eager you are.
"Good. As you're stroking yourself, I want you to think about burying your cock right here.ā€ You move your other hand between your thighs. Without hesitation, you plunge your fingers into your entrance again. Now youā€™re pleasuring your clit while also getting that enticing fullness you ache for, and it feels fucking incredible. The sight of both of your hands moving on your screen only adds to the indulgence.
As if I could think about anything else.
"I wish I was watching you right now instead of myself."
You want to watch me stroke my cock to you?
Your whole body shudders, and you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. "Yes! I want to watch the way your hand slides over your cock and how it throbs and twitches in your fist. I want to see what I do to you."
What you do to meā€¦
You drive me insane. I've never needed to fuck someone like I need to fuck you.
"Jesus!" You wail as your hips jerk forward, and your knees start to shake. ā€œDavid!ā€
That's right. I'm going to make you sob my name.
"If you keep talking like that, I'm not going to last long,ā€ you pant.
Good. I want to see you let go for me.
ā€œBut I want you to enjoy this!ā€
You think I'm not enjoying this?
I finally got to see how responsive you are to my words and hear the sounds you make when you're like this. This is everything I wanted. Better, even. Now I can't imagine how much better it will be in person.
When you're full of my cock instead of your fingers.
ā€œFuck!ā€ Youā€™re driving those fingers in and out of your cunt with purpose now. You're no longer giving him a show. This is you feeling your orgasm closing in on you and scrambling for it, desperate and needy.
Fuck, that's good. Look at you. You're so god-damned beautiful as you fuck yourself for me.
"God, yes!" You gasp as you arch in your chair. "For you."
Only me. Only I can see you like this.
Say it.
"Only you, David."
That's my girl.
Now you're going to come for me.
ā€œI'm so close,ā€ you whine.
And I'm going to come as I imagine your tight little cunt.
ā€œDavid,ā€ you gasp, barely able to speak now through your ragged breathing. ā€œPlease.ā€
It's all I've been able to think about for months. It's going to feel so fucking good to finally get to fuck you and come with my cock buried inside of you. And I'm going to do it over and over again until I physically can't anymore.
Do you understand? I NEED you. Fuck!
ā€œYes,ā€ you barely whisper. You're not even sure the microphone picked it up, but you have nothing more to give. The tension building inside of you is becoming nearly suffocating as you read every word. You feel you might drown in it before you ever find release.
As you continue seeking your own satisfaction, a photo pops up in the chat.
At the top of the photo, thereā€™s the edge of a laptop keyboard, which is sat on top of a very ornate and expensive looking wooden desk. But that's not the point of the photo. No. That's not what strangles your breath in your throat or sets a flame in your chest that licks at your cheeks.
The polished surface of the desk is streaked and splattered with come. His come.
You imagine him standing in front of his computer, urgently stroking himself until he's shuddering out his orgasm and spending himself across the surface. All while his eyes never leave you on the screen.
You made him do that.
Your hand speeds upā€”the circles your fingers are rubbing over your clit are becoming almost brutal and painful, even as pleasure rakes up your belly and your whole body starts to tense. You're so close. So fucking close. You didn't know it was possible to balance on that edge for so long without falling in either direction.
You can't tear your eyes away from that ruined surface or get the thought of him fucking his own fist out of your head as you keep chasing oblivion andā€”
This is what you do to me.
Oh.
You bury your fingers into your cunt just as your walls clench down around them, and you come undone for the second time that day. To him.
You open your mouth to cry out, to wail his name as part of your release, but it gets choked to nothing more than a thought as your climax slams into you so hard that it knocks the wind out of you. You throw your head back from the force of it. As you try to ride each pulse of ecstasy out against your fingers, the muscles in your legs tense. Then you're involuntarily pushing against your desk with your feet.
The front two legs of the chair lift off the floor.
For a brief moment, your stomach lurches and you think you're going to topple backwards. Instead, you stay like that, hovering between stability and free fall, letting a wave of fear and adrenaline wash over you. Perhaps that should have ruined this, but the additional sensations only heighten and sharpen every breathless shudder until all of your nerve endings thrum. Youā€™ve never felt so painfully, blissfully, alive.
Once you're fully spent, you carefully let the chair fall forward, returning to its proper position on all four legs. Then you bring one of your own legs down to plant a foot onto the carpet to ground yourself and stop that feeling of weightlessness still lingering within you.
God, you're stunning. The most exquisite thing I've ever seen. You were wonderful for me.
You sit there, bonelessly draped back in your seat, sweaty, your arms hanging at your sides, with your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. And you try to smile for him anyway because, between his praise and your orgasm, you swear youā€™re glowing.
But you didn't scream my name.
You let out a breathless sound of protest. ā€œCouldn't. I tried. Seeing what I do to youā€¦it was too good, holy shit." You swallow hard and shift forward into a more comfortable position in the chair. "But I thought it, David. You were the only thing I knew while I came for you."
Mmmm, that's very good. But you're still going to do better next time. Iā€™ll make sure of it.
"With you?" You ask hopefully.
With me.
FOR me.
Your face burns, and there's a weak twinge of arousal between your legs. Even though it's a mere shadow of what youā€™ve already experienced today, youā€™re amazed it's even possible after that.
ā€¦You still don't even know what he looks like, you think.
God, he's dangerous.
Won't you?
"Yes," you moan. "I promise I will scream your name until my voice gives out, as long as you're the one coaxing it out of me."
Yes you will.
You whimper. "When?"
Soon.
There are some things I need to take care of first. Then I will send for you.
Your heart begins to pound with nerves and anticipation. This is really happening. "How long?"
Only a few days.
A grunt of shock is ripped from your throat. "Days?!"
Now who's eager?
"I can't help it," you purr, softening at his teasing as you run your hand along your still trembling inner thigh. "I want to see you. And I want you inside of me."
You'll have that.
I'LL have that.
"How many days?" You're almost afraid to ask.
I'll have a car pick you up Monday evening.
There's a heavy drop of disappointment in your stomach. "That's three daysā€¦"Ā 
Enough time to have all of my obligations done and taken care of. I want to be able to focus entirely on you once I have you. Like you deserve.
ā€œBut that's so long!ā€ It's taking everything in you not to pout. You realize now youā€™ve been interpreting ā€œsoonā€ to mean you might finally get to see him, say, tomorrow. Or maybe even still tonight. It never occurred to you that it might be longer and that youā€™d have to wait for him.
I know, darling. I don't like it anymore than you do. And I would never make you wait if it wasn't important, but I have promises to keep.
ā€œAlright,ā€ you sigh. You find that you're, once again, reminding yourself that you're an adult. You can be patient.
And now that you're thinking about it, this gives you plenty of time to prepare as well. You don't have promises to keep, but you can certainly think of a few appointments you should make. When the time comes, you want everything to be perfect.
Besides, after that youā€™ll never have to wait again. Will you?
ā€œNo, David.ā€ You lean forward as you stare into the camera. ā€œOnce I have you, I intend to never wait again. Because once I have you, youā€™re mine.ā€
That's my girl.
Later that night, when you go to sleep, you take your laptop with you and leave it open on your dresser, facing the bed. On your side table, you prop your phone up into its charging stand and make sure it's positioned just right as well. You want to give him two angles to enjoy this time. Then you sprawl out on top of your covers, still completely naked.
On your phone, you carefully type out, ā€œI hope you didn't think the show was over. Because I still have more I can give you, and it would be such a shame to waste it. Enjoy, David. Xā€
As you hit send, you reach into the top drawer of your nightstand and pull out your vibrator. Then you settle back, andā€”with a desire that feels nearly insatiable nowā€”you work several more orgasms from your clit while you gasp and moan and scream his name.
All while you know he's watching.
A/N: See? Who needs therapy when you have fanfiction?? šŸ˜Œ (Christine please ignore the šŸš©šŸ’•) I debated about whether or not to write a phone call with her mom, but I realized I don't actually want to give her a voice. Because this story isn't about her or even the reader's past. It's about healing from trauma, moving forward as the worst version of yourself, and falling in fucked up love with a stalker/serial killer. šŸ˜Œ
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thespacelizard Ā· 1 year ago
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im just idle meta posting bc my brain. has thoughts. but i think when i get in the weeds and actually write Viz/Rhylfein stuff, i want the big difference to be that Viz like. feels present? after/during hooking up with him?
specifically in a way that he doesn't w/Pharaun bc every time he's fucking Pharaun he's always like. thinking about what Pharaun wants, how this feels for Pharaun etc. all of it is about Pharaun and not him. he just happens to be there, and if it feels good well that's fun too.
but i wanna try and write him with Rhyl more you know. actually enjoying what's happening. because he doesn't want to be Rhylfein, and so he doesn't have that projection issue fucking his brain when they're together
... he still needs to figure out how to be a person unrelated to who he's fucking, but like. it's progress
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wonder-worker Ā· 4 months ago
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Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husbandā€™s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster ā€œin the queenā€™s nameā€ in 1483 ā€“ only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.
#lol I don't remember writing this - I found it when I was searching for something else in my drafts. But it's 100% true so I had to post it.#elizabeth woodville#my post#Imo this is mainly because Elizabeth's negative historiography has always involved both vilification and diminishment in equal measure.#and because her brand of vilification (femme fatale; intriguer) suggests more indirect/ā€œfeminineā€ than legitimate/forceful types of power#It's still bizarre though-you'd think these would be some of the most famous & defining aspects of Elizabeth's life. But apparently not#I guess she only matters when it comes to marrying Edward and Promoting Her Family and scheming against Richard#There is very lacking interest in her beyond those things even in her traditionally negative depictions#And most of her ā€œreassessmentsā€ tend to do diminish her so badly she's rendered utterly irrelevant and almost pathetic by the end of it#Even when some of these things *are* mentioned they're never truly emphasized as they should be.#See: her formal appointment in royal councils. It was highly unconventional + entirely unprecedented for queens in the 14th & 15th century#You'd think this would be incredibly important and highlighted when analyzing late medieval queenship in England but apparently not#Historians are more willing to straight-up INVENT positions & roles for so many other late medieval queens/king's mothers that didn't exist#(not getting into this right now it's too long...)#But somehow acknowledging and discussing Elizabeth's ACTUAL formally appointed role is too much for them I guess#She's either subsumed into the general vilification of her family (never mind that they were known as 'the queen's kin' to actual#contemporaries; they were defined by HER not the other way around) or she's rendered utterly insignificant by historians. Often both.#But at the end of the day her individual role and identity often overlooked or downplayed in both scenarios#and ofc I've said this before but - there has literally never been a proper reassessment of Elizabeth's role in 1483-85 TILL DATE#despite the fact that it's such a sensational and well-known time period in medieval England#This isn't even a Wars of the Roses thing. Both Margaret of Anjou and Margaret Beaufort have had multiple different reassessments#of their roles and positions during their respective crises/upheavals by now;#There is simply a distinct lack of interest in reassessing Elizabeth in a similar way and I think this needs to be acknowledged.#Speaking of which - there's also a persistent habit of analyzing her through the context of Margaret of Anjou or Elizabeth of York#(either as a parallel or a foil) rather than as a historical figure in HER OWN RIGHT#that's also too long to get into I just wanted to point it out because I hate it and I think it's utterly senseless#I've so much to say about how all of this affects her portrayal in historical fiction as well but that's going into a whole other tangent#ofc there are other things but these in particular *really* frustrate me#just felt like ranting a bit in the tags because these are all things that I want to individually discuss someday with proper posts...
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marcsnuffy Ā· 5 months ago
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as the tumblr's resident snuffy expert I have to ask you what you think snuffy and lorenzo's actual legal relationship is (like did he take on the role of his guardian or is he technically more of a sponsor) and furthermore what you think their dynamic is like behind the scenes. like even if you accept the idea that snuffy is more of a father figure to lorenzo than an employer there's no way that this guy who was a homeless orphan until he was a teenager and the man who took him in *on the basis that he be athletically successful* have like. a normal unremarkable parent-child dynamic
Thanks for the question, sorry about the yapping
I'm torn on how to answer the legal relationship question. To me, it depends on how old you think Lorenzo is during the flashback. I always thought he was around 15-16, so I rarely consider an option where Snuffy isn't his legal guardian. However I could see some PIFA fuckery involved to avoid any legal trouble in the case he didn't have a legal guardian involved before becoming an adult legally.
Even then the process for getting gold teeth takes more than one day (all the visits you need to get your teeth properly checked for the procedure, the healing process takes months and more visits, etc) and he was near death so I'd like to think he was taken care/supervised of by Snuffy during that time (which is why Lorenzo's so attached to him). (the amount of care is up to interpretation bc it's hc territory anyway)
After that, when Lorenzo started playing football, *then* it's more of a sponsor/employer/advisor?/mentor? situation that occasionally bleeds into guardian-adopteƩ territory but never completely. I think they had something similar to how Ray Dark ended up dropping Kaiser at the BM dorms, except I think Snuffy directly had a hand in training/teaching Lorenzo before and still kept somewhat in contact during. I also like to think he got him a tutor or something, but this is more so I can sleep well at night. Snuffy IS the "what will you do when football's no longer an option" guy anyway so it's not unrealistic.
I need to add somewhere in this post that I believe/know in my heart that Snuffy picking up Lorenzo happened a bit after Mick died (months, maybe a year max) and specifically because of it. Comparing dead Mick & almost dying Lorenzo was super common when ch. 229 came out so I won't elaborate much on it, I just wanted to mention it.
Dynamics wise... There's too much going on for them to be in a normal boss and employee situation, Snuffy isn't fazed by Lorenzo's antics at all, Lorenzo goes up to Barou* to convince him to succeed Snuffy while also bringing up Snuffy's promise to Mick and also just everything about Lorenzo's reaction to Snuffy going back on his retirement, he literally told Barou he loved him & offered him a gold tooth. I don't think he says that to anyone yknow
*and by the way this interaction always stands out to me, since the timeline of events is not clear at all. all bc the fucking blue lock building is built like a prison and idk what time it is. I think Snuffy&BarouĀ“s conversation happened at least some hours or a day after the Ubers introduction bit. During Lorenzo's backstory dump they're wearing pajamas but then Snuffy tells them it's time to train, so I assume it's the morning after that. Anyway I wonder if Snuffy just told him about it or if he directly asked him to talk to Barou. I feel like it's the former (given their reactions to Barou accepting Snuffy's deal) but the setup kinda makes it feel like the latter. whatever it was I think it's evidence for me to say that Snuffy trusts Lorenzo.
And I feel like there's nothing direct I can point to to say they're close enough to have a regular parent and child relationship. Still I feel like just by having Lorenzo be a NG11 and the fact that he enjoys football and doesn't scream cry and throw up when he loses or when he is inconvenienced (THE BAR IS ON HELL) makes me think Snuffy is mostly a positive influence on him. I like to think Snuffy does care a lot about him but he's the type of guy that shows it by meddling (kinda like Reo or younger Sae (who wasn't much of a meddler iirc. this makes sense in my mind)) and just isn't that visibly affectionate with anyone anymore.
More about the father and son thing. This is also headcanon territory I'm sorry. I don't think they, like, go out fishing as a bonding thing or anything like that. but I do think they don't go a week w/out talking bc I think Snuffy's a bit neurotic about how the people he cares about are doing because of reasons and Lorenzo loves talking people's ears off about everything and nothing. I think Lorenzo tried giving him an expensive gift with one of his first paychecks and mentioned "paying back his debt bit by bit" as a joke that wasn't really a joke and Snuffy's face twisted & he said something along the lines of Lorenzo not owing him anything and it was awkward between them for a while after that. I think its fucking WEIRD but they care abt each other and that's what matters
TL;DR: I think there had to be a point where Snuffy was his legal guardian or at least acted like it to some degree. In regards to their dynamic behind the scenes, that is not a father that is a grieving tutor-guardian-mentor-advisor-employer-professional football player and his renowned domesticated possum employee/adopteƩ who is soooooooo normal about worth.
#You said once that Barou is like Snuffy's cat who fucks up his furniture#& on that note Lorenzo's the weird mutt he rescued when he was a little too old to be taken adoption centre & now he's#really good at flyball (but it's kind of concerning given that he was picked up on the idea that he'd do flyball but I guess he likes#flyball now but also im kind of concerned about his thought process regarding worth and flyball scores and how it affects his interactions#with other dogs but he seems fine he's just kind of weird but its okay)#i dont want to overuse dog parallels but he literally barked. he also meowed but that was in one translation so idk#anddd i think echariie said something once abt lorenzo trying to pay back snuffy for all he did for him but i think he's no longer trying t#do so. but i do fully believe he used to and had his. in blue lock terms. awakening when he realized this is a sports for freaks#and brother. he is world class in freakery.#i just fucking say shit. one of u should take me out (kill)#lorenzos value thing is what makes me squint at snuffy a little honestly but its like. yeah sure#whatever i burnt all my braincells off typing this i literally havent eaten or blinked writing this.#commitment and a bit of mental illness methinks#txt#oh my fucking god this is so longgggggg#also . i thought abt this just now im an idiot but lorenzos def so happy bc now he's moving on to u25 probably and might get called for#the next world cup so was he excited abt playing on the same team as snuffy? fuck off#fuck offfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff#they make me ILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL#i dont want to look at this post anymore get out of my drafts
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shinigami-social Ā· 1 day ago
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Hi, big fan of this response overall, let me cover a quick thing before getting more in depth:
I think the biggest thing I need to specify is that I am not transfem and do not identify as transfem. I am a transsexual man, and I would consider myself FTM or ITM. I am not arguing that my experiences are transfeminine, and I actually think your response really helps clarify a number of my points on the nature of intersexism and misogyny that results in this experience so frequently related to transmisogyny.
Point 1 being said, people with my intersex variation get assigned male all the time. Itā€™s usually considered a ā€œfemaleā€ condition (because one has XX chromosomes usually), but it has a spectrum appearance and does not immediately result in someone being AFAB, nor does it immediately result in someone being CTF. These two things being different is also something your reply fails to really get into, but they do result in different life experiences. A person can be AFAB and CTM which results in a relationship with transfemininity due to the fact that every part of their life outside of a single moment at their birth assigns them to the role of male, and a person can be AMAB and CTF and therefore experience a relationship with transfemininity due to the fact that, regardless of any bioessentialist viewpoints, they have been socially put into the male category. And there will be people in both these categories who do not have a relationship to transfemininity because the intersex experience is deeply varied. While most perisex people and many intersex people are assigned a sex/gender once at birth, many intersex people are either/both
Medically/legally reassigned later in life (their variation is discovered, new information about it comes up, as they grow up an attempt is made to ā€œmatchā€ their sex to their appearance)
Socially reassigned. They may have been assigned a gender at birth, but the world doesnā€™t know what that is, and intersex people constantly move through the world being treated as different things in different contexts. There are, even if you have never considered it before, people who AFAB whose life experiences are otherwise the same as a perisex AMAB transfem, because being intersex simply doesnā€™t allow for absolutes.
All this being said, I generally agree with the bulk of your response. I feel that the experiences I talked about are, as I said, relation. There are similarities and parallels, but it also isnā€™t the same thing. I think that, as you mentioned, it can result in a type of solidarity, but at the same time, it leaves out the fact that transfeminine intersex people who have the actual same experiences do exist. AGAB cannot be the sole event used to define a personā€™s relationship to these constructs, especially when, and I am aware this isnā€™t common but it does happen, intersex people are not always even assigned a gender.
I didnā€™t share my experiences to prove I am transfem, but to provide context for the type of experiences I see many people use as evidence for what they think makes them transfem. It is, however, the entire point of my post to say that those experiences are classic intersexism and intermisogyny from, using the terminology you have taught me here, intersex people people who have always experienced misogyny from within womanhood. Not all intersex people have this experience, including not all intersex people with my condition.
So for all this, Iā€™d like to clarify once again that this post was ultimately meant to be about the ways in which intersex people with these experiences communicate their relationship to womanhood, because I donā€™t think transfeminine is the word for this specific relationship. I think intersex is the word, but for whichever reasons, people struggle to identify that as the answer.
I hope this all made sense, like I said in the original post, I really did want exactly this: a proper and healthy discussion.
This is probably going to be massively controversial, but I just feel like it needs to be said at this point. I desperately need people to read this very carefully and approach this in good faith. General blanket warning for intersexism, transphobia, and intersectional misogyny with both of these I just wonder how many people in the intersex community just likeā€¦ fundamentally donā€™t understand the way being intersex impacts your gender. I know that sounds fucking wild because obviously being intersex impacts your gender but likeā€¦ it feels like a lot of people reach for comparisons to the binary over just, like, the label intersex itself. The thing on my mind in particular is the stark difference in what transfemininity seems to mean inside and outside the intersex community. This isnā€™t to refer to AMAB and/or CTM intersex transfems, but in particular people who were AFAB and/or CTF.
I want to clarify before I get into the main body of this post that I fully believe people can be AFAB and/or CTF and be transfem. This post isnā€™t to say that this never happens, no one ever experiences the combination of these two* things, or that people who identify this way are wrong for it. I just want to open up a discussion about why people are identifying this way, I guess. Itā€™s not about invalidating anyone or their experiences, on the contrary, I really want to discuss the varied nature of the intersex experience.
I was AFAB, and I would generally consider myself CTF. I have simple virilizing classic CAH. I experienced many of the events which a lot of people talk about as why they relate to the transfem experience or consider themselves to be transfem. I grew up with a tenuous connection to girl/womanhood at best, I had the locker room harassment, I was widely rumored to be a hermaphrodite and transgender (no one could decide in which direction), I was put into situations specifically to attempt to uncover my ā€œrealā€ sex/gender. Even when I was seen as a girl/woman, I was Wrong about it. When I was seen as a boy/man, it was before I had ever come to terms with that identity for myself, and it was instead something thrust on me against my will for being a girl/woman Wrong. I was, for much of my life, locked out of womanhood in various ways.
I can very easily understand why people with experiences such as these would relate to transfemininity (and on a ā€œrelationā€ basis, yes, I would say I relate), and perhaps even identify with it based on how these sorts of things impacted them in particular. That being saidā€¦ I have never understood why people think this is somehow not just being intersex. Iā€™m not trying to say it canā€™t possibly be both, but sometimes it feels like people just refuse to acknowledge that this is a very common experience of the intersection of misogyny and intersexism. There are certainly transmisogynistic elements to it, I think transmisogyny and intersexism are deeply intertwined and always have been, but likeā€¦ to act like this is solely transmisogyny feels like a denial of the intersex experience. For intersex people who were AFAB, are CTF, and/or likely some other types of intersex people depending on their circumstances, this is entirely par for the course because they are intersex. The things I described are, above all else, intersexist in nature. They happen to people for being intersex. There are aspects reminiscent of transmisogyny and perhaps even motivated by transmisogyny in many cases, but this distinct experience that I see many, many intersex people have experienced, it is to me such a classic experience of growing up intersex.
This is to say nothing of the appropriation of the transfem experience (no, Iā€™m not accusing you or anyone else specifically of doing this, if it doesnā€™t apply to you, it doesnā€™t apply to you, but yes some people are objectively doing this). I am not focused on that. It is its own separate issue, but the thing I am trying to communicate here is why people struggle to find themselves in the word intersex when the thing that caused them these traumas is being intersex. The denial of intersexness and intersexism as explanations for the experiences directly caused by being intersex. The need to use terms broadly conceived of within perisex communities to describe perisex experiences of sex and gender to describe experiences inherently outside of the perisex view. To me, it seems like there is a very clear difference between using intersex transfem to describe ā€œI have Klinefelter and also I am a trans womanā€ and ā€œdue to my experiences with PCOS, my relationship with femininity is deeply complicated and I use transfem as a sort of code for reclaiming my womanhood that I feel has been denied to me.ā€ And like. I am not saying that these couldnā€™t possibly both be transfem experiences! I am not the decider of what makes people transfem, and itā€™s not really my business at the end of the day, but these are still just like, objectively different concepts being described. This is what I meant at the beginning of the post by the inside-outside usage of the term. It feels like transfem, in intersex spaces, is often used as a shorthand to describe a specific relationship to femininity and womanhood and this relationship is not necessarily ā€œtransitioning to femininity.ā€ At the same time, it feels like it is being used this way because in some way, perhaps, the community is lacking in language that adequately communicates ā€œmy being intersex locked me out of womanhood, even though womanhood is what I was assigned and expected to conform toā€ which is, to me, a fundamental difference between most (not all, Iā€™m aware we cannot ever make absolute statements when it comes to intersex experiences) AFAB/CTF and AMAB/CTM transfem experiences.
To me, I feel that intersex does adequately express these sentiments. Or, at least, it can if you let it. Intersex people pretty much inherently experience a complicated relationship to their sex and gender, and I wish we were allowed to talk about this without there being an obligatory comparison of how every intersex experience is always analogous to some equivalent transgender experience. Intersexism is intersexism, and intersex people experience it because we are intersex, and maybe we should fucking talk about that sometimes.
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zhouxiangs Ā· 6 months ago
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me: it's ok! eventually there would be an adaptation change i wouldn't vibe with and it's too early to have an opinion about it anyway! let's see what happens first!
also me: chewing glass about it actually
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irregularbillcipher Ā· 1 year ago
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having a normal one about brad and birdie again
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#no spoilers for definitive edition here because i haven't played definitive joyful yet and haven't gotten any new birdie content in painful#lisa rpg#i know that half the things i say about birdie are looking Too Far Into It#but also they give us another bearded b-named addiction riddled wreck ruining his life because he's haunted by the deaths of young family#members he feels he should have protected (one of whom even committed suicide) and you expect me NOT to go 'wait that sounds familiar'#honestly the 'like/love' parallel really gets to me because it's so throwaway and i don't know why it's THERE#terry and buzzo say that (and ofc lisa originates it) but that makes SENSE#they're both categorized as someone deeply devoted to someone in the armstrong family. ofc that parallel is made#but why BIRDIE#brad's shirt pattern when he's young is the same pattern as birdie's poncho too#god it's not even just brad#dustin's least favorite thing being 'letting people down' and birdie's being 'being a failure' ESP. with the context of his children like#and (prefacing this by saying i do NOT think birdie was at all the type of father marty was) there's even similarities to marty#like you're telling me the companion who visually looks most like marty is *checks notes* the alcoholic single dad whose kid killed themsel#like there are so many weird things that are canon traits of the armstrong family that you can also see in birdie it's WILD#i'm not even saying i think any of this is THAT intentional or deliberate. like i think having fathers that failed their children on brad's#team is an obvious and deliberate choice but i don't think all this minutia w/birdie was intentional. i acknowledge i'm a lil insane#(birdie has rosy cheeks like marty because they're both drunk. fly also has the same shirt pattern so it's recusing assets. i get it)#there's just a weird amount to pick at if you want to
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moe-broey Ā· 1 year ago
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Oh yeah I meant to. Fucking. Post this. Well here!!!! BEFORE I GET DISTRACTED AGAIN
+ Close ups and text descriptions! (May have to view them in photo viewer for full effect šŸ«”)
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(the flow is supposed to be Sharena -> Peony -> Triandra -> Triandra/Lif but. The crops couldn't accommodate this LMFAOOO)
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karanseraph Ā· 3 days ago
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Today's Double feature is Age of Extinction (2014) and Transformers One (2024).
General notes: these movies are made 10 years apart. Interesting. That means that like Transformers One came out in the 40th Anniversary year of the brand that Age of Extinction must have been around the 30th Anniversary, when there was that whole Thrilling 30 thing.
Transformers is animated adventure type genre movie while Age of Extinction is a live-action (with animated robots) movie in a sort of action blockbuster genre.
I didn't see many parallels between the two movies, not in the way I did with the other double features, where there's some clear parallel or an example of reversal from one movie to how the same element was treated in the other movie.
I've been trying to think how to word or to technically describe the difference in the whole feel and structure of these movies. It's kinda like if we imagine them as novels, then Age of Extinction was written in an omniscient POV which can show us directly things that happen millions of years ago or can show us different events from around the world that are happening at the same time. The audience doesn't experience the actions of Cemetery Wind team through the Autobots or Yaeger family, but the audience sees the actions of Attinger and his Rogue CIA group even before the Autobots learn the details. Which, I think lessens the impact when the protagonists do learn what is happening, because the audience already knows. We already know Ratchet got killed when Optimus finds out about it, for example.
In Transformers One the POV is somewhat more limited. The flashbacks and lore-drops have a diegetic presentation as Alpha Trion's recordings and presentations show the audience these past events as the characters are also learning of them. I feel this has more impact.
IIRC there are a very few instances in which the audience sees events in Transformers One other than when Orion or D-16 are present. I think there are a few scenes in which Sentinel reacts to the race or speaks with Airachnid that arguably is not in the usual limited POV following Orion and D. But most of the movie does follow them. There's even a fade-to-black when they are knocked out and taken by the High Guard. We don't witness how they are transported and find ourselves the audience there looking at Starscream on his throne. We also, don't see what happens with Elita between the time she's fired by Darkwing and when she enters the train where Orion, D, and B are hiding. But, we do later see her encounter with Airachnid when Orion is not present but only in contact over comms. It's not strictly one or two perspectives, but it is limited and expands only as needed to show a significant event.
Age of Extinction (and most of the Transformers live-action movies) jump around showing us what people all over the planet are doing. It's like the movie equivalent of reading a Dan Brown novel.
Whereas Transformers One, we could imagine, is more like reading a YA Science-Fiction/Fantasy novel that closely follows a few characters.
I think in terms of the ranking of the movies, Age of Exitinction is maybe very slightly above Dark of the Moon for me. Both movies still probably have way more human characters than they need and have some genre and tonal differences. And Age of Extinction has the time-skip/new team hurdle to get over. And Age of Extinction also has the weird episodic muti-ending feeling. *BUT* Age of Extinction has scenes of robots talking to each other and not just being props in the background. Bee doesn't talk/radio as much in this movie, I felt, but when we get Hound, Drift, and Crosshairs interacting with each other as well as Bee and Prime it's something that was missing from the previous movies. Like, some of the characters like Jolt, Dino/Mirage, Sideswipe had some actions or one-liners, but they didn't really have much interaction or personality. The bots in Age of Extinction have enough personality to have rivalries and disagreements but work through that to still save the world. Road Warrior Megatron + Sentinel Prime were much better than Galvatron. He was a lame villain. And those KSI bots were so generic (but intentionally because mass-produced knock-offs in universe) the way so many generic Decepticons showed up in scenes of Revenge of the Fallen or Dark of the Moon. But, Age of Extinction also has Lockdown and he felt like a villain with swagger.
So, this thing that Age of Extinction actually did better than the previous movies was then 10 years later done *even better* by Transformers One, in which they just made all the characters the bots, whether the main protagonists, antagonists, minor supporting characters, or background extras.
Since I found out that Transformers One is on Paramount+ in my region, and since I still have access to this service, I've been watching it every day and then watching some other Transformers content I have access to. Back-to-back like.
It's only been a few days.
The first day I watched Transformers One and then about 6-ish episodes of EarthSpark 'Season 3 '. Transformers One IMO, is the superior work. I don't hate EarthSpark (the obvious shift between seasons 1 and 2 does frustrate me). It generally does a lot of things I like. One of them is that it has an interesting animation style in which the 'Transformers Bots' come out looking very toy-like and the special effects 2D in style and it makes me feel like the whole thing is someone playing with toys, but in a good way (except one of the kids I'm playing with wants to go in a direction I don't like). Anyway, Transformers One is just a more epic thing all around. It's from the same era but made with different style and design. Less like toys (weirdly, considering Director, eh?) and more like an animated Science Fiction/Adventure in general. Also, arguably deeper resonance in the characters and their arcs.
The next day I watched Transformers One and then Rise of the Beasts, which only came out a little more than a year before. So, similar era of media, again. Animation vs 'live action' (but we know those bots are all animated just in a 'realism' style). The characters look pretty good to me in both. And the plots and characters and their arcs are different, but both are interesting and have resonance. I mean it's like the 'brothers' that turn into enemies with one, but then in the other it's largely about these two (three but Primal is so ahead of the others) guys from different planets trying to do their best for their own families and coming together to fight a destructive force. So, both movie are pretty epic. I kinda want others to watch these back-to-back to see what they feel, because one movie is like the one splitting apart and the other is about separate people joining as one.
Now, today I'm watching The Transformers: The Movie (I believe I own this one) and Transformers One back-to-back double feature. I'm still in the midst of this. But I think TF:tM holds up. It's 80s as Hell, right? 1986 up against 2024. But if I think about it in terms of "was this good or typical of its time" then both movies looked good in their era. Both animated, though different in technique and style. Both make use of Quintessons while the main foe is someone else. Both pretty epic plots. Both have that sort of cultural resonance where Transformers One does have those sort of Prince of Egypt vibes (I see what you did TFWiki) or like shades of Set and Osiris or vaguely The Lion King where there's a pair of close characters who split apart dramatically with betrayal. And Transformers: the Movie is very Hero's Journey itself borrowing heavily from Star Wars. Both these movies made use of some amount of celebrity casting and it worked. Transformers One several more girl or woman type characters than Transformers: The Movie, but that's also likely reflective of the eras in which they were made. Transformers One still mainly has the one main pink heroic girl and dark bad girl characters which is a thing with this whole genre of the action toyline adaptation, but yes, many other different types of bots in the background.
I think maybe Bumblebee tomorrow?
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exopelagic Ā· 5 months ago
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everyone was so harsh to alola it deserved so much better. like this region is so well designed and so pretty and the story is actually really fun? will never forgive everyone for what we did to her
#I started a sun nuzlocke and granted Iā€™ve only just finished the melemele grand trial#and idk! Iā€™m having a great time!#when I played it the first time I didnā€™t love it but I was also doing pretty bad at the time and had started being less into pokemon#there are reasons I understand being frustrated like the constant stop start of tutorials and cutscenes but also like?#maybe itā€™s that i know theyā€™re coming and have accepted it but canā€™t you just like enjoy the ride? itā€™s a way more involved story I guess#like you get to talk to lillie and hau a bunch and see what theyā€™re up to! feels more like actually going on a journey w your friends yknow#compared to idk sinnoh where you run into Barry occasionally or even bw where there are 3 parallel journeys which intersect#also think when I first played it I didnā€™t like the removal of megas. z moves as a concept. and the removal of national dex#and yeah all those things suck a little bit maybe Iā€™m just more used to it now after galar+paldea#idk! but man alola itself is so cool itā€™s just so good#I rlly love the environments and the island setup and god alolan pokemon are so fun#the one thing I DO have beef abt is the relative paucity of grass types but itā€™s not even that bad. thatā€™s a me thing bc i like grass types#(it would be unfair to judge alola on ice types especially given theyā€™re kinda the best about it to that point bc of tapu village)#anyway Iā€™m rambling but alola!!! alola my beloved Iā€™m so sorry#this is my first time properly playing since it came out bc I didnā€™t wanna restart ultra/sun for the longest time#my original sun had all my ancient pokemon from the bank launch free trial. rip to my original black + x teams. and also the 2020 mythicals#ultra sun is my last original save file pre-switch so i am very reluctant to restart that. maybe one day. until then! sun <3#luke.txt
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bobbydabob Ā· 6 months ago
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you are literally making all my dreams come true. seeing homestuck AND enstars, esp in ur style is a blessing ty for ur service
Thank you, haha.
I intend to draw a lot more ShuMika if I can honestly. They used to be my ā€œOTPā€ and I was obsessed with Valkyrie for ages. Iā€™ve really really really been missing them recently to the point of vibrating excitement. Homestuck is a no brainer though I have been a DirkJake fan since like 2019.
Iā€™m glad you like my style, I will keep it up. Thank you for the ask.
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godhasforsnakenme Ā· 10 months ago
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BOOK REVIEW šŸ“–
Last year I kept track of the series & films I watched; this year I've decided to keep track of whatever books I read! So this one is for the month of January ā€“ I'll share these sometime after the month is over, or if I read more than one book during the month, I will do their reviews as soon as I finish the book :)
#ben picks up reading again#dania rambles about shit#should note that this is not spoiler free (don't give much context but still)#i would read it again just to catch all the parallels and symbolism#chose to read this on libby bc of the option to highlight and keep notes in one spot bc jfc I would've annotated tf out of a physical copy#doing this completely from my phone and made my own little template because I couldn't find any good ones for free#what else ummmm oh right this is like a basic answer/question and I ramble off topic but still within some type of margin#read that fanfic I recommend really since I feel like it's better written aka maybe I just like it more bc it has a happy ending#and it includes all the same problems that the characters of the original book went through (for the most part)#anyway 4/5 stars and not 5 bc like I got tired of clare's pov bc it felt like there was no different between#the varying ages we get once we reach her at like 12 and up#henry also affected this bc like he's likable but so stupid and shouldve studied paradoxes or something to solve his problems#again rambling it needs a fix it but blah blah not really their suffering is a main point of the book :)#yeah so structured like a traditional one but I focus on not so traditional aspects bc I have a way of analyzing things#as if I have an essay to write on it lmaooooo#these are handwritten bc I like to keep track in case it worsens due to my cubital tunnel affected wrist#(im a righty; lefty on the other hand has carpal tunnel but that only affects when I do hand on projects like pottery or painting)#I'm giving free trivia/lore about myself here lol
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unproduciblesmackdown Ā· 2 years ago
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hell yes my "deniably casual sexual encounter in taylor's apartment babeyyy" wip is over 7k words already and i haven't even gotten to the part where anyone's kissing yet. so far it's all In Effect taylor going "is there like, an energy here or is it just me" (there is) in this 7k< form via my classic move of providing wildly extensive introspection that Could be pared down a ton i'm sure but if i was thorough abt editing myself & my verbosity & taking thousands of words to say something, including the same things repeatedly in slightly different ways, writing anything would be all the more difficult / rarely manifested. playing to my strengths / weaknesses w/fiction out here like, see that last billions fic scene that's Supposed to be largely winston somewhat going in circles stuck in his head and also sexual activity. seizing the premise for this one like, taylor being all I'm Extra Pensive Atm But What If That Sets Me Up To Be More Spontaneous When I Go Back Into The Living Room And Quants Have Something Going On. i've triumphantly managed to get taylor out of the living room in the first place and now their being able to return any minute now as soon as i wrap up their thinking about how their quants are sure like special little guys (extraordinary) (least veil of neutrality; readily positive)
#that silver lining like oh Have to be offline? that next day i do think i more than doubled the wip's length#just having fun and being ourselves (thousands of words intro to another sorta threesome)#(following my heart / playing it by ear here even if i have the general ideas)#i think it's fun if it's very long lol Why Not. and doesn't have to be just inarguably unimpeachible writing; thus also v edited or w/e....#it'll be fine lol even while i go ''damn have i said Just / Only / Simply too much?" probably yeah but eh.#sure i go ''way to be incorporating allll these sentence fragments'' lol but i also then proceed anyways. it's fine#and when it's also so like; in the genre of Realtime Introspection it just happens lol like feels more thoughtesque#don't think i'm also managing the most stunningly characterful material wrt taylor's supposed internal voice here lmfao but again. eh.#being conscious of such matters / Any effort to hone things for the better but not sweating it enough to be too held back#like if we want this to exist at all (which i think would be fun. hence the writing of it) it's gonna have to be [yeah this is fine] levels#gotta have enough room for largely Spontaneous writing whether it's posts or a fic. or i just can't really write them lol#fun though when things Come Through while improvising thusly....actually some dialogue / action lol; largely from said quants#had the fun of writing Their having fun with it enough for a high five; ppl do those & felt [glass clink] parallel#and the inspiration like ooh throw in another Touch like rian kicking his ankle. with reasonable casual lightness lol#and yet also having gone ahead and had taylor already thoroughly and outright considered Thee Energy well prior to that lol....#vs their not particularly internally commenting on what's meant as a [thee energy] setup type of detail lol#anyways being this far into a wip / this close to ''and then some things were getting underway'' sure increases the odds of a finished proj#umm tags idk just:#winston billions
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subskz Ā· 1 year ago
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ā€¦i lost the tag limit war
the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, theyā€™re both such lil nerdsā€¦my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now šŸ„° it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!
their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking thatā€™s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings 慠 it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too
them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender 慠慠 leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say šŸ˜­ "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar 慠慠 but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life
the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength 慠慠 and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed
the scene w minho in the rain šŸ˜ž i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies 慠 i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another
"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationshipā€”the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3
the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and moreā€¦the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose šŸ˜­šŸ’— come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE itā€™s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3
the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible 慠慠 i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him šŸ˜­ they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now
"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" oh my GOD!!! 慠慠慠慠 her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic 慠 i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~
minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart 慠慠 i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally šŸ˜ž also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!
now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this 慠慠 the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence 慠慠 the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks šŸ’” as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear
and minho šŸ˜­šŸ˜­šŸ˜­šŸ˜­šŸ˜­ the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy 慠慠 and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.
"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar 慠慠慠慠
"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her
i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic šŸ˜ž just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3
this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^
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
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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 wonā€™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.Ā 
A simple ā€œgood jobā€ 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.Ā 
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 wouldnā€™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.Ā 
Youā€™ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone.Ā 
On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, sheā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā Ā 
Thatā€™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.Ā 
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 ā€˜Separation of Powersā€™. You were arguing that judges shouldnā€™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 youā€™d like to say?" you asked.
And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just donā€™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."Ā 
"Who's to say that those judges arenā€™t biased or politically motivated? Theyā€™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. "Arenā€™t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesnā€™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."Ā 
"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, wouldnā€™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 Minhoā€™s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts.Ā 
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.Ā 
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 shouldā€™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.Ā 
"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.Ā Ā 
"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.Ā 
That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them.Ā 
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 youā€™d lose?"
"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Donā€™t come crying when I win."
"Weā€™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.Ā 
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."
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat cafĆ© near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldnā€™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.Ā 
You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the cafƩ'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.Ā 
"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 canā€™t believe that of all places youā€™ve found this cafĆ© 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.Ā 
From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didnā€™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 wasnā€™t Minhoā€™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.Ā 
You didnā€™t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But youā€™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, youā€™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 Minhoā€™s taunting wasnā€™t malicious. He wasnā€™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 didnā€™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 didnā€™t do anything of significance.Ā 
To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped youā€”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.
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
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?"Ā 
"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.
Ā "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."
"Okayā€¦ 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 Iā€™m always winning," you cut him off.
"Yeah, thatā€™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."
"Didnā€™t think you wouldnā€™t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldnā€™t possibly say no now.Ā Ā 
"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet."Ā 
"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.Ā 
"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "thatā€™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. Heā€™s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you canā€™t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him.Ā 
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 heā€™s still laughing uncontrollably.Ā 
Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, youā€™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 youā€™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. Youā€™ve never noticed that before.Ā 
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.Ā Ā 
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 Minhoā€™s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
You came first in your grade this semester.
True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where youā€™d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldnā€™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.ā€ He pouts, a hand on his heart and you canā€™t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person youā€™ve talked to the most since the start of this year.Ā 
"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.
Ā "Most expensive thing on the menu."
"So you are only here for the food."Ā 
"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display.Ā 
"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, "Canā€™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.Ā 
"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."
"Eat up, donā€™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 havenā€™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?"Ā 
"Yeah, Iā€™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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"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. Thereā€™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, "Iā€™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."
"Iā€™d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? Itā€™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. "Donā€™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 otherā€™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.
"Iā€™d open a cafĆ© that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And Iā€™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?"
"Iā€™d be a dancer."
"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"I didn't even finish."
"I knew what you were going to say."
"Please, I won't make a sound Iā€™d just watch. Pinky promise.ā€ He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down.Ā 
"Iā€™d only grant you this wish when youā€™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, "Iā€™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 couldnā€™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.Ā 
You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldnā€™t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit.Ā 
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 canā€™t be more daunting than a real-life meeting.Ā 
"See, Iā€™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 canā€™t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice.Ā 
"What's there to miss?"
"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden.Ā 
"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you.Ā 
"Trees can't hurt you."
"No shit Sherlock."
"Close your eyes.ā€ He instructs and you frown at his words.Ā 
"Why?"
"Iā€™ll tell you a story."
"Fine.ā€ You close your eyes tentatively. Itā€™s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly.Ā 
"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"
"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"
"Yes?ā€ He replies as if itā€™s an evidence, ā€œNow 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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"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 Minhoā€™s story.Ā 
"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.Ā 
You just made his world stop.
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldnā€™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 Minaā€™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.
ā€œGo get your man!ā€ You shout in her ears, so sheā€™d be able to hear you.Ā 
ā€œWhat are you talking about?ā€ She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.
ā€œHe likes you! Go talk to him!ā€
ā€œI donā€™t want to leave you alone. We came together!ā€ She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.
ā€œIā€™ll be fine. Iā€™ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!ā€
ā€œYou are sure?ā€ She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only.Ā 
ā€œYes! Go!ā€ 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.Ā 
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 didnā€™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 didnā€™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. Youā€™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 ā€œYouā€™re annoyingā€, 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 Minhoā€™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 werenā€™t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didnā€™t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it.Ā 
"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, donā€™t stay alone."
ā€œFine, Dad.ā€ You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "Iā€™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 donā€™t."
"Well, itā€™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 youā€™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.Ā 
But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "Iā€™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."
"Iā€™ll ask her."
You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that sheā€™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 catā€™s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face.Ā 
"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 sheā€™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 cafƩ 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."
"Whatā€™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."
"Thatā€™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.
"Whatā€™s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well heā€™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 canā€™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.ā€
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.Ā 
"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 catā€™s ear. Your fingers brush against Minhoā€™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 wouldnā€™t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."
This was Minhoā€™s way of telling you that someday it wouldnā€™t hurt anymore. That someday youā€™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 itā€™s no longer ā€˜I needed thatā€™. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.
"Okay, Mr. Therapist. Iā€™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 wasnā€™t awkward between you after your discussion.
"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.
"Iā€™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 wasnā€™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 doesnā€™t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me Iā€™m pretty too?"
"But then Iā€™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.
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
Itā€™s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didnā€™t need to study.Ā 
Sometimes youā€™d just grab a book and youā€™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 didnā€™t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time youā€™ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is.Ā 
You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didnā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"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."Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā 
"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."
"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."
"Yn, I donā€™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, Iā€™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 Minhoā€™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.Ā 
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 doesnā€™t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.
Nothing particular happened. But heā€™d go through days when heā€™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. Thatā€™s why he didnā€™t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.
But for some reason, he didnā€™t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldnā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"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 youā€™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 Minhoā€™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."
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
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.Ā 
And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you werenā€™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.
Thatā€™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.Ā 
Thatā€™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 didnā€™t dare to call you by that nickname.Ā 
"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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
ā€œI know.ā€ 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. Thatā€™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.Ā 
ā€œHere,ā€ you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands.Ā 
ā€œWhat are you doing?ā€ He questions as you stand behind him. You donā€™t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldnā€™t get in his eyes anymore.
ā€œVoila,ā€ 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.Ā 
This was something friends think about, right?Ā 
"Iā€™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?
"Iā€™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 didnā€™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.
"Iā€™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, Minhoā€™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.
ā€œOkay. Will you stay for breakfast?ā€, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you.Ā 
"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 Minhoā€™s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldnā€™t feel this way, he thinks. Heā€™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.Ā 
You told him to stay for breakfast. Heā€™ll stay.
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
2 months later
"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"What are you doing?"
"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me."Ā 
"Don't mind me. Do your thing."Ā 
"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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
You notice how the sun is hitting Minhoā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā 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.Ā 
His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into.Ā 
"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him.Ā 
"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?Ā 
"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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "Iā€™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, Iā€™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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
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.Ā 
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā  You hated how weak you felt in that instant.Ā 
"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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
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.
Ā "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 Iā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"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."Ā 
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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie.Ā 
"Where to?"
"Iā€™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.Ā 
"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you."Ā 
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.Ā Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him.Ā 
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.Ā 
No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minhoā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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. Iā€™ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?"Ā 
"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key.Ā 
'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.Ā 
You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it.Ā 
"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome."Ā 
"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?"Ā 
"Yeah."
"Can I ask why?"Ā 
You want to confide in him, to tell him that itā€™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. Youā€™ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you.Ā 
"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.Ā 
"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."
"You didn't," you reply instantly.Ā 
"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"
"I will."Ā 
"Okay."Ā 
"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 Minhoā€™s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer."Ā 
And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply.Ā 
Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds.Ā 
That's four seconds more than the first time.Ā 
Progress.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā 
āœ¹āœ¹āœ¹
You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days.Ā 
Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting.Ā 
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.Ā 
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 donā€™t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her.Ā 
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.Ā 
You knew you shouldnā€™t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your motherā€™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 didnā€™t, you kept her number in the hopes that sheā€™d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are.Ā 
With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your motherā€™s number for the first time in a year. You didnā€™t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didnā€™t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called.Ā 
"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.Ā 
ā€œWho is this?ā€ 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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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 youā€™ll always seek something out of her?Ā 
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 Minhoā€™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.Ā 
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 Iā€™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. "Donā€™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 Iā€™m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "Iā€™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 heā€™d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing.Ā 
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. "Iā€™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."Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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.Ā 
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 isnā€™t here to fix you, heā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.
"Iā€™m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace.Ā 
"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.Ā 
Ā "I was mean to you and you didnā€™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 Iā€™m sorry. I'm so sorry."Ā 
"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here Iā€™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.Ā 
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.Ā 
"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 Minhoā€™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? Iā€™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?
"Iā€™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 Iā€™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."Ā 
"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.
"Iā€™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, "Iā€™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 Minhoā€™s love and itā€™s all you know within you.Ā Ā 
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 Minhoā€™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.Ā Ā 
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 Minhoā€™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.
#FINALLY!!! turning the lights down low scattering rose petals lighting candlesā€¦my date w invisible thread is upon me at last šŸ„°#also iā€™m doing a sahar-style live reaction so apologies if i comment on literally every little thing that happens hehe im excited#hitting me w the clay metaphor right off the bat...i'm in awe of how perfectly you described childhood development w just a single analogy#molding the reader when sheā€™s young n impressionable and leaving those imprints to harden beyond repair even after she's grown#what a beautifully melancholy way to describe her relationship w her mother and how it affects her view of herself i love it so much 慠#lesm inho. leemingo. LEMINHO!!! THE LAZY SMILE NOO U ALREADY GOT ME šŸ˜­šŸ˜­šŸ˜­ itā€™s so fucking over and i only just started oh my god#his eyes being the first thing she notices when they meetā€¦the reader is just like me fr but describing them as black holes that draw her in#is making me crazy ITā€™S SO TRUE!!!! the most mesmerizing eyes known to man that warp space n time this comparison is absolutely stunning#the chill in his hand reminding her of a horrible memory like that šŸ˜ž so heartbreaking but also such a clever way to give insight into#the reader's character as well as insight into the the type of relationship she n lino will have and how it will likely resurface old wound#ā€œu weren't sure what u would find on the other side nor did u have any desire to find outā€ u conveyed the odd magnetism of his eyes SO WELL#im very glad she got a higher grade than him i was not prepared for the smugness that would ensue if he beat her -_-; but a detail i really#adore is how casually lino takes the loss i feel like it goes to show that he truly doesnt have any ill intent despite being so provocative#the cat cafe is called limbo PLEASE THATS SO CUTE šŸ˜­ lino mimicking her wordsā€¦n dodging the pillow i cant stand him actually#to be minho is to be insufferable and get away w itā€¦she should throw a brick at his head next (<- madly in love)#oh my god the part where he laughs at her for hitting her head but from that point on covers that edges of the tables to protect her šŸ˜­šŸ˜­šŸ˜­#iā€™m going to be sick to my stomach thsi is the most minho expression of care on earth. all the careful linoisms u included are killing me 慠#comparing his eyelashes to the wings of a butterfly ARE U KIDDING!! that has me clutching my heart it's such delicate n gentle beauty#i love that heā€™s just as competitive as the reader but in a much more lighthearted wayā€¦he sees it almost like a game whereas she sees it as#a very serious demonstration of her worth. minho eventually becoming the one she wants to prove herself to rather than her mother#is so intensely sweet and heartwrenching at the same time ): in just a few months he's shown her a healthier love than her mother ever did#THEIR FIRST SNOW TOGETHER NONONO šŸ˜­ this entire scene has me inconsolable oh my god LINO W HIS SNOWBALL HE IS SO ANNOYINGLY CUTE#ā€œu cant decide if ur shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on himā€ critical hit on my heartā€¦u painted such a#lovely picture of his laughter i can clearly envision his wild giggles and the way his entire body laughs w him when heā€™s really excited 慠#I WAS GONNA COMMENT ON THE SNOW NOT SPARKING THAT SAME AWFUL MEMORY THIS TIME šŸ˜­ his laughter brought her so much warmth she didnt even have#the chance to think abt it i'm so devastated by this parallelā€¦little by little sheā€™s healing w him and melting the frost her mother left#the way the reader grabs her fork to threaten him like he did w the spoon HELP theyre rubbing off on each other without even realizing it#every character detail u included is so well thought out u did a brilliant job 慠慠 it makes them human and the story all the more immersive#lino letting her eat first while he cooks the meat and him blushing everywhere when she feeds him MY BABY šŸ˜žšŸ’” he thinks heā€™s so slickā€¦#asking how sheā€™d dispose of a body over dinnerā€¦lee minho master of romance everyone šŸ™ but literally OF COURSE HE WOULD
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wheelercore Ā· 2 months ago
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Anyways the second woman from Psycho 4: The Beginning always gave me s3 karen vibes. I would not be surprised if it was intentional.
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#if you must ask yes norman kills her. very much.#reminds me of the karenbilly subplot (this woman is waiting to be on a date with norman) so i wouldnt be surprised if theres#inspo there#norman is still pretty youngish at this point but i dont remember how young he was when he killed this woman specifically#its funny that all the women we see norman kill are blonde but his mother was a brunette? lol#regardless i do think theres a non zero chance ted might do something fucked up to karen in s5#i mean i thought that for a while but then those possibly true leaks came out about karen getting injured and im like. hm.#esp since they seem to hint at karen being harmed on multiple occasions eg flayed billy almost hitting her and#el bonking angela (wearing karen paralled outfits and bleach blonde hair) in the face in rink o mania#that plus what holly is seeing horrifies her and its the wheeler kitchen (karens area) + its daylight out so it cant be a UD monster#(also maybe a stretch but in the s1 holly demogorgan scene the moment karen mentions ted thats when holly notices the lights#and follows it to the 'monster'l#)#this is also during daylight time#which you know. with st themes about the darkness that hides under normalcy... the violence that hides under domesticity#normal is a raging psychopath and all that#kinda dont want to be correct bc i dont want to see this type of things handled badly but also flayed!ted? sign me up buddy#flayed ted bc the chernobyl parallels are real plus the comparisons to rediation and being affected by the UD (the husband gets fucked up)#misc#*radiation#plus all the inspo st takes from the shining and amityville horror (dad goes nuts and almost kills wife and young child)
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