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[dandelions-143]

Obsession 3

Part 1 & Part 2

Minho Masterlist

All Member Masterlist

Word Count: 6863k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, sexual content, violence, and emotional manipulation. depictions of physical abuse, emotional trauma, and unhealthy relationship dynamics. If you are sensitive to these topics, please proceed with caution or consider not reading further.

Summary: Minho takes complete control of y/n, whisking y/n away to his luxurious apartment where y/n dances only for his eyes. But will his cold demeanor drive y/n away, or will y/n stay and attempt to break through his hard exterior? Keep reading to find out.

You sat in a sleek black car, its leather seats cool against your skin, that had picked you up from your cramped studio apartment nestled in the bustling red light district of Seoul. As the car glided through the city, you watched the transformation unfold before your eyes. The neon-lit streets, filled with late-night revelers and street food vendors, gradually gave way to tree-lined avenues and sprawling estates. You were on your way to Minho's home, a world apart from your own.

Your heart raced, its rhythm matching the soft purr of the car's engine. You found yourself constantly wiping your clammy palms on your worn jeans, leaving damp patches on the denim. Anxiety coursed through your veins, a feeling so intense and unfamiliar that it threatened to overwhelm you. You'd never experienced nervousness like this before - it felt as if your chest might burst at any moment, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

As the journey continued, the cityscape continued to evolve. Eventually, the car approached a massive wrought iron gate, its intricate designs hinting at the luxury that lay beyond. The gate seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions, encircling a collection of opulent apartment buildings that rose majestically into the sky. Each structure was a testament to wealth and power, their gleaming facades reflecting the late afternoon sun. You couldn't help but feel small and out of place as the car smoothly came to a stop, waiting for the imposing barrier to grant you entry into this world of privilege.

A doorman stood at attention at the entryway steps, his posture as rigid as his perfectly pressed uniform. His eyes, sharp and observant, scanned you as you approached. The driver, with practiced elegance, maneuvered the car to a stop and swiftly moved to open your door. As you stepped out, the air hit you - a subtle blend of freshly cut grass, expensive cologne, and something indefinably luxurious. It was as if even the atmosphere knew it belonged to a different world.

Your nerves, already on edge, seemed to heighten with each cautious step you took. The gravel crunched softly under your feet, each sound feeling like a small explosion in the otherwise quiet surroundings. The doorman bowed deeply as you approached, a gesture that felt both respectful and slightly unsettling. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort, knowing that in reality, you were probably lower on the societal ladder than him, especially considering the moral ambiguity of your profession.

"Follow me, Miss L/N," he said, his voice as crisp and polished as his appearance. The way he pronounced your name, with such familiarity and yet such detachment, sent a small shiver down your spine. As he began to lead the way inside the complex, you couldn't help but marvel at the intricate details of the building's facade - the gleaming brass fixtures, the spotless windows that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, the subtle but unmistakable air of wealth that permeated every inch.

You didn't question how he knew your last name. In fact, you were almost certain that Minho knew more about you than most people did - perhaps even more than you knew about yourself. His connections, his resources, his power - they all seemed to reach far beyond what you could comprehend. As you followed the doorman into the building, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were stepping into a world where information was currency, and Minho held all the cards.

The doorman guided you into an elevator that was more spacious than your entire living room. Its mirrored walls reflected your nervous expression as he pressed the button for the 15th floor. The ascent was swift and silent, the only sound being the soft hum of the machinery and your own shallow breathing. As you reached the top, the doors opened to reveal a private entrance. Your eyes widened in amazement as the doorman produced a sleek, black key card and waved it over a discreet sensor. A soft beep followed, and the door unlocked with a barely audible click.

Stepping into Minho's apartment, you were immediately struck by its vastness. The space before you was grand, yet somber, reminiscent of its owner's personality. The living area stretched out, seemingly endless, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city below. The décor was a study in monochrome - walls adorned with imposing modern art pieces in shades of black, gray, and white. Sleek, black leather furniture dotted the room, their clean lines and minimalist design emphasizing the apartment's modern aesthetic. A large, abstract sculpture dominated one corner, its twisted metal form casting interesting shadows across the polished concrete floor.

The doorman led you down a long hallway, your footsteps echoing in the silence. He stopped at a door and opened it, revealing a bedroom that seemed almost austere in its simplicity. A king-sized bed with crisp, white sheets dominated the space, flanked by two floating nightstands. A tall, narrow chest of drawers stood against one wall, its dark wood a stark contrast to the pale walls. In the corner, a sleek desk and chair setup hinted at a workspace, though it was devoid of any personal touches.

"Mr. Lee has provided towels and toiletries in the bathroom," the doorman informed you, gesturing to your right. You turned to see a spacious en-suite, all gleaming tiles and chrome fixtures. Your gaze swept back across the room, taking in every detail. "Your outfit for the evening is laid out on the bed," he continued, drawing your attention to a garment bag you hadn't noticed before. "Mr. Lee expects you to be ready and in the living room in one hour." With that, he bowed slightly and exited, the soft click of the door leaving you alone in the imposing space.

As silence enveloped you, the reality of your situation began to sink in. You were in Minho's world now, a world of luxury and power that was entirely foreign to you. The contrast between this opulent apartment and your modest studio was stark, serving as a tangible reminder of the vast differences between your lives. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. In an hour, you would be face to face with the man who had turned your world upside down—and who threatened to shatter it completely.

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After you had showered, you meticulously applied your makeup, opting for a subtle smoky eye and a nude lip that accentuated your natural beauty. You styled your hair in loose, cascading waves that flowed down your back, the soft curls framing your face perfectly. With a deep breath, you approached the bed where the garment bag lay waiting.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unzipped the bag, revealing the evening's attire. You gasped softly as you pulled out an exquisite, soft pink lingerie set. The bra was a masterpiece of delicate craftsmanship - sheer and lacy, allowing tantalizing glimpses of skin beneath. Tiny satin bows adorned the straps, adding a touch of innocent charm. Between the cups, a slightly larger pink bow sat like a delicate centerpiece, drawing the eye.

The matching thong was equally alluring. Made of the same sheer, lacy material, it left little to the imagination. A bow, identical to the one on the bra, sat high on the g-string, positioned to rest just above your exposed derrière. As you held up the lingerie, the soft fabric caught the light, giving it an almost ethereal glow. The color, a pale blush pink, was a stark contrast to the monochrome decor of the room, making it seem even more delicate and feminine in comparison.

You couldn't help but marvel at how Minho had chosen something so perfectly suited to your body type and coloring. The thought made you smile but then you dropped it as soon as you realized what you were doing… a mix of anticipation and nervousness for what the evening might hold.

After slipping on the lingerie, you stood before the full-length mirror, your heart racing. The soft pink lace hugged your curves perfectly, the delicate bows adding a touch of innocence to the otherwise sensual ensemble. You took a deep breath, watching your chest rise and fall, before turning away from your reflection and padding barefoot down the hallway.

As you walked, the cold floor sent shivers up your spine, amplifying your heightened senses. Thoughts swirled in your mind like a whirlpool. How were you supposed to dance for him in his own home? The intimacy of the setting made your pulse quicken. Was this more than just dancing? The absence of shoes made you feel even more exposed, vulnerable. Your toes curled against the chilly surface with each step.

Reaching the entryway of the living room, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. The space before you was vast and imposing. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, offering a dizzying view of the city below, now bathed in the warm hues of sunset. The fading light cast long shadows across the room, adding to the atmosphere of anticipation.

Your eyes were drawn to the large, L-shaped leather couch dominating the center of the room. And there, lounging with casual elegance, was Minho. The sight of him made your heart stutter. He looked more relaxed than you'd ever seen him, yet no less dangerous. His usually immaculate hair was slightly tousled, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with the power he exuded. His black silk shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth, olive skin. In his hand, he held a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid that caught the dying light.

As if sensing your presence, Minho's eyes flicked up to meet yours. The change was instantaneous. His pupils dilated, darkening his gaze, and you felt a jolt of electricity course through your body. In that moment, you truly felt like prey caught in the sights of a predator. His lips curled into a small, knowing smile that made your knees weak.

"Come here," he said, his voice a low, velvety command that seemed to caress your skin. The words hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken promise. You swallowed hard, your bare feet moving of their own accord, drawn inexorably towards him like a moth to a flame.

You came to a stop before him, his eyes raking over your body with an intensity that made your skin tingle. His dark gaze lingered on your breasts, causing your nipples to harden instantly to painful peaks beneath the delicate lace. As his eyes descended down the rest of your body, you felt exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely empowered. When his gaze finally returned to your face, you noticed his pouty lips curled into a natural, almost devious smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretched between you, thick with tension. You could hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears, feel the warmth of his gaze like a physical touch. After what felt like an eternity, Minho leaned forward, the movement slow and deliberate. The soft clink of his glass being set down on the coffee table seemed to echo in the quiet room. That small barrier between you two suddenly felt both insurmountable and frustratingly insignificant.

"Dance for me." His command was simple, his voice low and husky, laced with an undercurrent of desire that made your breath catch. You stood there, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure, your usual confidence evaporating under his intense scrutiny. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for something - anything - to ground you.

"How?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's no music... are you wanting a lap dance? Or..." The words tumbled out, betraying your confusion and discomfort. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, fingers twisting nervously in the hem of your lingerie.

Minho's eyes flickered with amusement at your uncertainty, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken. He leaned back, his posture relaxed yet commanding, every inch the powerful man you knew him to be. "Use your imagination," he purred, his voice low and sultry, the sound wrapping around you like silk. "Show me what you can do without music... without rules." The challenge in his words was clear, igniting a spark of determination within you despite your nervousness.

Your heart raced as you took a deep breath, summoning your usual confidence. Slowly, you began to move, your hips swaying gently to an imaginary sultry rhythm. Your hands trailed up your sides, fingers ghosting over the delicate lace of your lingerie, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The soft pink fabric contrasted beautifully with your skin, enhancing your natural allure.

As you danced, your movements became more fluid and sensual. Your fingers traced the curves of your body, teasing and tantalizing. You ran your hands through your hair, letting the soft waves cascade down your back. Your hips swayed in hypnotic circles, the motion accentuating the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips. You could feel Minho's intense gaze following your every move, his eyes burning a trail across your skin, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire within you.

Slowly, you turned to face Minho, your eyes locking with his as you continued your sensual dance. Your hands glided up your body, fingers trailing along the edge of the lacy bra, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts. You arched your back, showcasing the delicate curves of your figure, the movement causing the tiny bows on your lingerie to quiver enticingly. Your fingers tangled in your hair as you tilted your head back, exposing the long line of your throat. The intensity of Minho's gaze seemed to burn through you, his dark eyes reflecting a fierce desire that matched your own. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken promises and barely restrained passion.

You dared to move closer to him, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The desire to see Minho finally lose control, like he had the other night but in a completely different context, burned within you. It was a challenge, one that made your skin tingle with anticipation. You knew the risks, but you never backed down from a challenge, especially not one as thrilling as this.

With deliberate steps, you approached him, each movement calculated to draw his attention. You came to stand between his splayed thighs, the heat from his body radiating towards you. Minho remained motionless, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His face remained an impassive mask, betraying no emotion save for the slight flaring of his nostrils - a telltale sign that your proximity was affecting him.

A small thrill of victory ran through you. You were getting to him, slowly but surely chipping away at his ironclad control.

Emboldened by this realization, you decided to push further. Your confidence grew with each passing moment, fueled by the palpable tension in the air. With tantalizing slowness, you began to lower yourself onto Minho's lap. Your movements were deliberate and teasing, designed to provoke a reaction. As you straddled him, the heat of his body enveloped you, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the slight tremor that ran through him as you settled your weight onto his thighs. His carefully controlled exterior was beginning to crack, and the knowledge that you were the cause sent a rush of power through you.

Your hips began to move in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding against him with deliberate pressure. You could feel the heat building between you, the air thick with tension and desire. Minho's hands twitched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the couch cushions, fighting to maintain his composure.

You could feel his cock slowly hardening beneath his black trousers, the growing bulge pressing against you with each subtle movement. You arched your back languidly, your breasts now mere inches from his handsome face. The delicate lace of your bra brushed against his cheek, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. You smiled to yourself, a mixture of triumph and desire coursing through you as you felt him shift beneath you, his muscles tensing with barely contained need. When you leaned back up to connect your eyes with his, you saw the battle raging within him - his iron control wavering, threatening to snap at any moment.

Emboldened by his reaction, you slowly leaned forward, your lips grazing the shell of his ear. Your hot breath tickled his skin as you whispered, "Touch me." Those two words seemed to shatter the last of his restraint. His warm hands were suddenly on you, sliding over the curve of your hips with a possessiveness that made you shiver. His touch trailed up your back, fingers tracing the line of your spine before tangling in your hair. His eyes stayed sharply focused on your face, dark with desire as they took in your features. You watched as his gaze lingered on the perfect curve of your lips, the pretty glint in your eyes as they locked onto his.

The moment his hands made contact with your skin, it was as if a dam had broken. The already present slickness between your folds seemed to intensify, a rush of heat and moisture that threatened to drench your inner thighs. As Minho's fingers tangled in your hair, he gripped hard, the slight pain sending a jolt of pleasure through you. With a firm tug, he pulled your head back, exposing the column of your neck. His lips hovered just above your pulse point, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin. You could feel the rapid beating of your heart, matching the frantic rhythm of his own that you felt beneath your palms splayed on his chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" Minho mumbled slowly against your neck, his lips barely grazing your skin. The vibration of his deep voice sent shivers down your spine, making your breath hitch. Your fingers, which had been working their way down his shirt buttons, froze mid-motion. The sudden stillness amplified the tension between you, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. All you wanted was to touch him, to peel away the layers of his carefully constructed facade. To make him feel good, to help him unwind from the constant tension that seemed to radiate from him. The urge to explore every inch of his body was overwhelming, your fingertips tingling with the need to caress his skin.

When you didn't answer immediately, Minho's grip on your hair tightened, causing a sharp pain to bloom across your scalp. You winced, a small gasp escaping your lips. The mix of pain and pleasure sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core, making you squirm in his lap.

"I-I just wanted to touch you," you finally managed to stammer out, your voice breathy and unsteady. "What's so wrong with that? I know you want me." To emphasize your point, you rolled your hips deliberately, grinding against the unmistakable hardness trapped beneath his pants. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through your body, and you could feel the heat building between your thighs.

Minho hissed in response, the sound low and primal. His grip on your hair tightened further, yanking your head back with more force. The sudden movement elicited a soft yelp from your lips, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The position exposed the long line of your throat to him, your pulse visibly racing beneath your skin. You could feel his hot breath fanning across your neck, his lips hovering mere millimeters from your sensitive flesh. The anticipation was maddening, every nerve in your body on high alert, waiting for his next move.

Minho's teeth grazed your neck as he spoke again, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "My little dancer wants to feel me?" The vibration of his words against your skin sent shivers down your spine, your body trembling with anticipation. Without warning, he bit down hard on the sensitive juncture where your neck met your shoulder. The sudden sharp pain mixed with pleasure, causing a loud, breathy gasp to escape your lips. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his shirt, your body arching into his touch.

Just as quickly as he had pulled you close, Minho suddenly pushed you away. The abrupt movement caught you off guard, and you landed unceremoniously on your ass at his feet. The plush carpet cushioned your fall, but the shock of the transition left you breathless. You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of surprise, fear, and undeniable arousal.

"What my dancer wants, my dancer gets," Minho drawled, his voice dripping with dark promise. The timbre of his words was both sultry and ominous, sending conflicting signals through your body. A shiver of fear ran down your spine, but it was quickly overshadowed by the intense throbbing between your legs. Your pussy clenched around nothing, aching to be filled, your arousal only intensifying under his predatory gaze.

With fluid grace, Minho lowered himself to his knees before you. His movements were slow, deliberate, like a panther stalking its prey. His hands reached out, long fingers wrapping around your ankles. The touch of his skin against yours sent sparks of electricity through your body. With a swift, powerful motion, he yanked you towards him, dragging you across the carpet until his muscular thighs were nestled between your spread legs.

The new position left you breathless, your chest heaving as you looked up at him. Minho towered over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light, casting you in his shadow. His dark eyes raked over your form, taking in every curve, every trembling inch of exposed skin. The heat of his body radiated against yours, the proximity making your head spin with desire. You could feel the hard planes of his thighs pressing against your inner legs, the contact both thrilling and maddening. Your body screamed for more, every nerve ending on fire, waiting with bated breath.

Minho's hands moved with a ferocious intensity, his fingers hooking under the delicate straps of your lingerie. With a swift, powerful motion, he tore the fabric apart, the sound of ripping lace filling the air. The sudden violence of his action made you gasp, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through your body.

The tattered remains of your bra fell away, exposing your breasts to the cool air and Minho's hungry gaze. His hands didn't pause, moving down to grasp the waistband of your panties. With another brutal yank, he shredded the fragile material, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

You lay there, breathless and trembling, your skin flushed with desire and the thrill of his rough treatment. Minho's eyes raked over your naked form, dark with lust and something more primal. The intensity of his gaze made you feel utterly exposed, vulnerable, and impossibly aroused.

Minho's hands gripped your hips tightly as he leaned down, his hot breath fanning across your skin. "You're mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you."

His lips crashed against yours in a bruising kiss, teeth nipping at your lower lip. As he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your neck, pausing to suck hard at your pulse point. "Every inch of you belongs to me," he murmured against your skin.

Minho's tongue traced a path down to your collarbone, where he bit down hard enough to leave a mark. "I'm going to mark every part of you," he said, his dark eyes meeting yours. "So everyone knows you're taken."

His mouth moved lower, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth. As you gasped, he growled, "These perfect tits? Mine." His hand kneaded your other breast roughly as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud.

Minho continued his journey downward, leaving a trail of bites and kisses across your stomach. "This gorgeous body? All mine," he said, his voice husky with desire. His hands spread your thighs wide as he settled between them.

You felt his hot breath against your core as he spoke. "And this sweet pussy? It's mine to taste, to fuck, to make come whenever I want." Without warning, he dove in, his tongue lapping at your folds hungrily.

As pleasure coursed through your body, Minho's words echoed in your mind. You were his, completely and utterly, and the thought only heightened your arousal.

Minho's tongue delved deeper into your folds, exploring every inch of your slick heat. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every taste, every texture. The sensation was maddening, pleasure building steadily but never quite reaching its peak.

"Minho," you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against his face, seeking more friction, more pressure. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging sharply as another wave of pleasure washed over you.

He growled against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he continued his relentless assault. His tongue flicked over your clit before diving back into your entrance, fucking you with a fervor that left you breathless.

You could feel yourself getting close, the coil of tension in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter. "Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. More? Release? Both?

Minho seemed to understand. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard as two of his long fingers plunged into your dripping core. The dual sensation was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your back arched off the floor, your body trembling as you chased your impending orgasm. Until it finally rushed over you. An all enthralling heat rolling through your body from head to toe.

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, Minho pulled back, his mouth glistening with your juices. His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face.

Then, his voice low and commanding, he ordered, "Get on all fours."

Without hesitation, you complied, turning away from him and positioning yourself as instructed. The plush carpet beneath your hands and knees was a stark contrast to the tension in your body, anticipation coiling tightly in your core.

The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room, followed immediately by a stinging sensation on your upturned ass. You gasped, the pain quickly melting into pleasure as Minho's hand gripped the flesh he'd just struck, kneading it roughly.

"You were made for me," he growled, his voice husky with desire. "Every curve, every inch of this perfect body was crafted just for my pleasure."

Unable to resist the temptation, you turned your head to look over your shoulder. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight of Minho's exposed body. His chiseled torso was a canvas of scars, each one telling a story of pain and survival. The long, jagged line that ran from his left shoulder to his right hip stood out starkly against his pale olive skin.

Your eyes traced the constellation of smaller scars scattered across his chest and abdomen, some faded with time, others still pink and raised. The circular burn marks on his right side, a memento from a cigarette wielded by a cruel hand, made your heart ache. Despite the marks of violence etched into his skin, Minho's body was a masterpiece of lean muscle and raw power.

As your gaze traveled lower, you noticed even more burn marks scattered along his muscular thighs. The juxtaposition of his physical strength and these vulnerable marks made your chest tighten with a mix of desire and protective instinct.

Minho's eyes met yours, dark and intense, as he caught you staring. There was a flicker of something - vulnerability, perhaps - before it was quickly replaced by a predatory gleam. "Like what you see?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine.

Now you understood why he wouldn't allow you to touch him. The scars that marred his skin were more than just physical marks; they were emotional barriers, built over years of pain and mistrust. Each scar told a story of betrayal, of hands that hurt instead of healed. Minho had learned to push people away, to keep them at arm's length, afraid of the vulnerability that came with closeness.

Despite the pain etched into his skin, you found him achingly beautiful. Your eyes lingered on the map of his scars, wanting to trace each one with gentle fingers, to show him that touch could be tender, loving. But when he commanded you to put your face down, you obeyed, your cheek pressing against the plush carpet.

You felt him move behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your exposed skin. His hands, calloused yet surprisingly gentle, gripped your ass, kneading the flesh before spreading your cheeks. The cool air against your most intimate parts made you shiver, a mix of anticipation and vulnerability coursing through you.

Minho's hands slid up your back, his touch feather-light yet leaving trails of fire in their wake. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, pausing at each vertebra as if memorizing your body by touch alone. "Such smooth skin," he mumbled softly, his voice a mix of wonder and desire. The tenderness in his tone contrasted sharply with his earlier roughness, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

You throbbed with anticipation, your arousal evident in the slick wetness coating your inner thighs. Minho positioned himself behind you, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance. Without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside you in one swift motion.

A gasp tore from your throat as he filled you completely, the sudden stretch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Minho didn't give you time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust hard and fast, driving you forward on the plush carpet.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you back to meet each powerful thrust. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your breathless moans and Minho's low grunts of pleasure.

The intensity of his movements left you dizzy with desire, your body aflame with sensation. Every nerve ending seemed to come alive under his touch, your pussy clenching around him with each deep stroke. You could feel the tension building within you, a familiar coil of heat tightening in your lower belly as Minho continued his relentless assault on your senses.

Minho's grip on your hips tightened as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back. His hot breath fanned across your ear as he growled, "You feel so fucking good. So tight, so wet for me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel your climax building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter with each powerful thrust.

"Minho," you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a desperate prayer. "Oh god, Minho!"

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves of intense pleasure, your body shuddering beneath him as your inner walls clenched around his length. Minho's rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic as your climax triggered his own.

To your surprise, Minho's arms suddenly wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he came. His body trembled against yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he spilled himself deep inside you. For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, bodies intertwined, breath mingling as you both came down from your highs.

As you lay there, still intertwined with Minho, a fierce determination welled up inside you. You were resolved to break through the walls he had built around himself, to shatter the hardened mask he wore like armor. His vulnerability in that moment of climax had given you a glimpse of the man beneath the scars, and you yearned to see more.

You knew it wouldn't be easy. Minho's defenses were strong, fortified by years of pain and mistrust. But you were equally stubborn, equally passionate. You wanted to show him that he could be vulnerable without being weak, that opening up didn't always lead to pain.

With every touch, every kiss, every shared moment of intimacy, you were determined to chip away at his barriers. You wanted to be the one he could trust, the one he could show his true self to without fear of judgment or betrayal. It was more than just physical attraction now; it was a mission to heal the wounds that ran deeper than his scars.

As Minho's breathing steadied, you made a silent promise to yourself. You would be patient, persistent, and unwavering in your efforts to break through his defenses. No matter how long it took, no matter how hard he pushed back, you were committed to showing him that he was worthy of love, vulnerability, and genuine connection.

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Over the next few weeks, you were relentless in your pursuit to break down Minho's walls. After your performances, when he would take you with his usual passion and intensity, you would attempt to cuddle him, to simply lie close and be with him in the afterglow. Initially, he resisted, sending you away to the room he had designated for you. But gradually, he began to soften, allowing you to stay in his bed overnight.

Still, there was a barrier. While you could share his bed, he maintained a physical distance, avoiding prolonged skin contact outside of your intimate encounters. You yearned for more, for the simple comfort of his touch without the urgency of desire.

One night, emboldened by the progress you'd made and driven by a deep need to understand him, you decided to take a risk. As you lay beside him in the dim light of his bedroom, you turned to face him and softly asked, "Minho, will you tell me about your scars?"

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with tension and unspoken emotions. You held your breath, wondering if you had pushed too far, too soon. But then, to your surprise, Minho began to speak, his voice low and hesitant as he started to share the stories etched into his skin.

Minho's voice was steady, almost detached, as he began to explain. "These knife marks," he said, tracing a finger along the jagged scars on his torso, "they're from fights. Nasty encounters with the scum I had to deal with while working for my father's business." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if recounting mundane daily events rather than violent altercations.

He paused, his hand hovering over the circular burn marks scattered across his skin. "And these," he continued, his voice maintaining its even tone, "these are from my father. His favorite way to teach a lesson when I disappointed him." The words were delivered without inflection, but you noticed a slight tremor in his hand as it hovered over the burns.

Throughout his explanation, Minho's voice remained devoid of emotion, as if he were discussing someone else's life rather than his own. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a storm of emotions swirling in their dark depths. Pain, anger, fear, and a deep-seated vulnerability that he struggled to keep hidden were all there, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior.

His eyes, usually so guarded, now told the story his voice wouldn't. They spoke of nights filled with terror, of a childhood marred by cruelty, of battles fought not just on the streets but within the very place he should have felt safest. In that moment, you understood the true depth of the scars Minho carried - not just the physical ones etched into his skin, but the emotional wounds that ran far deeper.

You hesitated, your eyes tracing the map of scars on his skin. Softly, almost reverently, you asked, "Can I... touch them?"

Minho stiffened, his eyes clouding with uncertainty. "I don't... I've never let anyone..." he trailed off, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable.

You waited, patient and understanding, as he wrestled with his internal struggle. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

With gentle, trembling fingers, you reached out. As your fingertips grazed his skin, tracing the raised lines of his scars, you felt Minho's sharp intake of breath. His eyes, usually so guarded, now held a storm of emotions - fear, vulnerability, and something else... something deeper.

As you continued your careful exploration, Minho felt an unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest. It was more than his usual obsession with you, more than the physical desire that usually consumed him. This was something new, something that both terrified and exhilarated him - a connection that went beyond the physical, touching a part of him he thought long dead.

Snapping out of it, Minho suddenly shoved your hands away. "That's enough," he said sternly, his voice regaining its usual cold edge. "It's time for you to go. I'll be sure to leave your usual pay with you tomorrow."

His words were nothing new to you, but this time they cut deeper than ever before. As you've become more attached to him, the dismissal hurt worse than anything that's ever been done to you. The emotional connection you thought you were forming crumbled in an instant, leaving you feeling hollow and used.

You slowly got up from the bed, your body feeling heavy with disappointment and rejection. As you gathered your things, you couldn't help but steal glances at Minho. His face had returned to its usual mask of indifference, all traces of vulnerability gone. It was as if the tender moment you had just shared never happened.

Walking towards the door, you felt a lump forming in your throat. You wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the sudden chasm between you, but words failed you. With a final look back at Minho, who was now pointedly avoiding your gaze, you left the room, the sound of the closing door echoing with a sense of finality.

—————————————————————————

That night, you packed your things, the few possessions you had acquired during your stay at Minho's home. Your hands trembled as you folded each item, memories flooding your mind with every touch. The silk robe he had gifted you, the expensive perfume that sat untouched on the dresser - all reminders of a connection you thought was growing, but now seemed nothing more than a fantasy.

With a heavy heart, you penned a short note, your handwriting unsteady as emotions threatened to overwhelm you. The words were simple, yet they carried the weight of your pain and disappointment:

“Minho, I will no longer be your whore and I will never be your dancer. Goodbye.”

You placed the note on his coffee table, where you knew he would find it in the morning. For a moment, you stood there, your eyes sweeping over the luxurious apartment that had been your home for the past weeks. Then, with a deep breath, you turned and walked out, closing the door silently behind you.

The next morning, Minho found the note as he was leaving for work. His initial reaction was anger, a familiar emotion that surged through him like wildfire. How dare you leave? How dare you reject what he offered? But as the initial rage subsided, unfamiliar feelings began to surface - worry, sadness, and a deep, aching pain he couldn't quite understand.

He stood there, note in hand, his usual morning routine forgotten. For the first time in years, Minho felt lost, the carefully constructed walls around his heart beginning to crumble. As he stared at your handwriting, he realized that somewhere along the way, you had become more than just an obsession or a plaything. You had become someone he cared for, someone whose absence left a void he didn't know how to fill.

Taglist:

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[lambmotifz]

What make you think Dean is not a bottom?

i’ll never understand why 99% of spn fandom are so convinced he is a bottom with men when he’s canonically 1) straight (he said so himself multiple times, also jensen confirmed it) 2) homophobic (he HAS said things that are kinda homophobic and since he’s not canonically not straight, those things are just homophobic) 3) if we’re talking about wincest then it couldn’t be more obvious from their canon interactions that his primal urge is to possess/control sam in every aspect, including physically, and also regain control that john took away from him when he was younger (which also explains his repressed enjoyment of violence & sadism that he’s ashamed of). i often see shippers say that he “just wants to submit and be vulnerable” but i don’t get that vibe from him at all, especially when it comes to sam. on the contrary he is often shown to be physically violent with sam and he goes unhinged every time he loses a bit of control over him (which partly comes from his unhealthy obsession with the ideal version of sam). he enjoys having that power/control over sam because it gives him the feeling of stability, he feels confident when he knows sam belongs to him. also just because he lets women take the lead in bed doesn’t mean it’d be like that with sam because dean has completely different needs when it comes to their dynamic

[devoutvesta]

i do not think its wrong to ship billford, here’s why

1) reevaluate the way in which you consume media. no one is shipping something because its their ideal for a perfect, romantic relationship. it’s not that black and white. that’s never been the point of shipping.

2) these tropes are nothing new, and have been beloved by ancient audiences for the same reasons it’s beloved today. whether it’s an imbalanced power dynamic, specifically god x mortal, a shared history, or mutual obsession.

3) for centuries, people have enjoyed navigating complicated and unhealthy emotional dynamics. especially when said ship can not exist in a healthy way. ford either hates or worships a much stronger, less empathetic, ancient eldritch being that likewise either obsesses over him or sees him as a nuisance/pet. either way, they’re always on the other’s mind. they are both deeply flawed, and only they know the true extent of the other’s ugliness, and they still love them.

but there is that middle ground that we’ve seen in the journal pages, some domesticity and genuine, pure love for the other. it exists, abusive relationships are nuanced, they have their good and their bad. and billford had their good parts. why wouldn’t people want to make art about it? here is your reminder that creating art does not equate to justifying or fetishizing abuse. it can and has happened, but there are many people incapable of seeing how obvious it would be if billford’s abuse was actually being fetishized by its shippers. it is so easy to notice. and it isn’t what’s being done here.

that nuance is still present when people make billford fluff. billford did have fluffy moments. there was tenderness, vulnerability, and love in that relationship. it’s okay to acknowledge that. why do you expect all art of billford to be torture porn of ford? not everyone wants to write bill physically torturing ford over and over again, especially when there are other, less gory aspects of their relationship to explore, that only increase the emotional impact of the torture that follows.

the ship is canon and is meant to be acknowledged, alex hirsch has attempted to explore both the messed up parts and the happy parts of their dynamic multiple times. in the show, in the journal, and in the book of bill. why is it any different when a fan does it?

does the art have to be explicitly acknowledge the abuse and remove all nuance from bill’s character, reducing him to something simple and one dimensional whose only motivation is to hurt others, for you to accept it? abuse is not that black and white, abusers themselves are not that black and white. bill in particular definitely is not.

it seems like a disservice to the original work.

navigating the ugly parts of a very fucked-up relationship is something fascinating and enjoyable for artists. there is a lot of grief, anger, and probably every other toxic thing in the book for you to work with. it’s the same reason people wait impatiently for whumptober.

exploring their dynamic has also allowed many to put their own abusive relationships into perspective.

i remember someone on reddit saying, “they’re both broken people, rub them sharp edges together long enough and you’ll get a fire. it’s fun to write.” and i think that describes it perfectly.

[theitgirlboutique]

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Dolly tutorial: From Glow-Ups to Dream Lives

Your ultimate inspiration to start living the life you’ve always dreamed of—because anything is possible.

ଘ꒰੭˶• ༝ •˶꒱੭ .⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹⋆｡⋆༶⋆˙⊹❀

Hiya gorgeous! lets jump right into it!

Just a quick reminder: if this post feels familiar, it’s because it is. I’ve shared this before, deleted it, deleted the entire blog, and now here we are again. A clean slate, but with the same glamorous stories to share.

1. Desired Face

When I tell you I look completely different now compared to just a year ago, I mean it. I’ve been consistent with subliminals, and the results came quickly. I changed my nose, lips, eyes, and skin tone (goodbye hyperpigmentation). Now, I’m working on refining my jaw shape. Stay tuned for a post on how to manifest appearance changes—it’s coming soon.

2. Desired Body

I never had a specific dream body, but I desperately wanted to lose weight. At first, I made the mistake of turning to unhealthy habits, like starving myself, which led to the dreaded yo-yo effect. Frustrated, I decided to fix my relationship with food and manifest weight loss using the law of assumption. By affirming consistently, I lost 10 kg without dieting. It was the hardest manifestation journey I’ve ever been on, but now I not only have my dream body but also a positive relationship with food.

3. Academic Success – Part One

When I finished my GCSEs, I was convinced I’d fail. I felt so hopeless that I didn’t even want to manifest better grades. But I listened to a single subliminal three times, let it go, and forgot about it. When results came out, I got all As, including an A* and second-highest in English.

4. Academic Success – Part Two

I completed a music exam knowing I’d guessed more than half the paper. To everyone else though, I acted as though I aced it, which (as I later realized) was me unconsciously manifesting success. The result? High distinction.

5. Glow-Up

Yes, I manifested my dream physical features, but what I really needed was a glow-up in personality. Enter Jennifer Check, my ultimate icon. I didn’t tell anyone about my obsession with her character, yet at least 30 people have told me I resemble her—both in looks and personality.

6. My Dog Manifestation

This happened before I even believed in manifestation. Growing up, I desperately wanted a dog, but my very anti-pet parents wouldn’t allow it. Still, I pretended I had a dog 24/7 as a kid. Somehow, despite their resistance, they eventually agreed to let me get one.

7. Talents

I used to be terrible at art. Like, truly bad. Then I decided to manifest artistic talent. Now, I’m not just good—I’m one of the best artists in my school. Thank goodness for the law of assumption. I also did the same for dancing, singing and crocheting

That’s it for today! I hope these success stories inspired you to create your own. Manifestation isn’t just about wishful thinking—it’s about transforming your life. Start believing, start affirming, and watch your dreams become reality.

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[subskz]

ʚïɞ butterfly bandage - 05

note: this is the final part of a series (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)

content: bang chan/reader, university au, themes of twin flames, themes of soulmates, reader is female and referred to with she/her pronouns, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, themes of death/grief, more crying (sorry), nsfw scenes

18+ content: sub chan, dom reader, soft smut, mirror sex, lots and lots of praise, body worship, biting, marking, possessiveness, teasing, channie is very embarrassed, handjob, begging, just a little bit of crying, edging, reader and chan are kinda obsessively in love, unprotected sex, riding, cockwarming

word count: 17.3k

A call of your name from across the lab caught your attention, just as you were preparing to collect your materials and head out for the day. Fumbling with your bag, you zipped it up as quickly as you could and headed towards your lab instructor, already bracing yourself for a conversation that, based on your track record with her, was very likely to be disheartening.

She lowered the stack of papers she’d been holding as you approached her, revealing her smile—a rare sight for anyone who worked under her.

“Yes?”

“Congratulations,” she announced. “Your paper’s approved.”

Your eyes widened as she handed the stack to you, over twenty pages of blood, sweat, and tears. They felt heavy in your hands, heavy with the weight of everything that had been sacrificed for their completion. Just a few days ago, the news would’ve had you over the moon. It was all you’d been wanting to hear, all you’d been dreaming of since you’d first begun your studies. Now, it was nothing more than a shallow comfort, a single drop of sunlight that was immediately obscured by the shadows all around it.

“Great,” you said at last, flashing a strained smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

She gave you a pat on the back, and you tried to find solace in the proud shine in her eyes. “You did well,” she praised. “I’m sure you’ll excel in your next rotation, too.”

“My next…rotation?”

Your instructor glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses with a hum. “Since your research has been approved, there’s no need for you to remain at your current station. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with those binary pairs,” she added. “You’ll be doing interferometric imaging for the next few weeks. We’re a few people short.”

Something twisted inside you. “Really?”

She looked up from her notes, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“I…” you trailed off. There was nothing you could tell her that would be meaningful enough for her to let you stay—nothing that wouldn’t get you laughed at or even potentially dismissed from the lab for the rest of the semester. How on earth were you meant to explain that a pair of spectroscopic stars had come to mean so much to you? How on earth were you meant to explain what they signified in your mind?

“No, nothing,” you said weakly. “I’ll transfer my things tomorrow. Thank you.”

Your instructor nodded, and that was that. In the blink of an eye, you’d lost the final piece of what you’d had left of Chan.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, bowing quickly to her and turning to leave. Your pace quickened as you exited the lab, a wave of inexplicable emotions rising within you. It ushered you to head home as soon as possible, like it was a race against time, like you had to reach shelter before it crashed into the shore and drowned you in front of everyone.

A cold gust of air billowed past you as you pushed open the doors to the physics building. You squinted against it, burying your hands in your pockets. The sky was still covered with that same, gray sheet—much darker than it had been earlier in the week. The closer you studied it, the more it looked like the clouds might break at any given moment. All the more reason to rush home; you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

Your phone vibrated against your hand, and you fished it out of your pocket without thinking. Anything to distract you from this. 

bin 😑 (2:27 p.m.) hey

bin 😑 (2:28 p.m.) is everything okay?

Just as you were about to close the notification, another came.

bin 😑 (2:30 p.m.) did something happen with chan?

You stopped in your tracks. 

Did he really not know? Had Chan still not said anything to him?

Was Chan keeping it all to himself? Suffering in silence, even now?

You didn’t have to question it for long. Of course he was. 

Against your better judgment, you typed out a reply, fingers stiff from the cold and—for some reason—thumb burning.

you (2:33 p.m.) i’m fine bin don’t worry about me

you (2:34 p.m.) please just be there for chan

bin 😑 (2:36 p.m.) where have u been??? i was worried

Guilt, guilt, guilt. 

He wouldn’t be worried anymore when he found out the truth.

bin 😑 (2:38 p.m) pls talk to me

You wanted to talk to him. You so badly wanted to talk to him—not even about everything that had transpired over the past four days, just in general. You wanted to tease him, to laugh with him, to share a meal with him, to chatter about the most trivial, most mundane of topics with him because you could, because you enjoyed each other’s company and nothing else.

You missed your friend. But he was Chan’s friend first and foremost; Chan’s little brother. Losing Chan meant losing Changbin. The moment he’d find out what you’d done, how you’d hurt the person he admired most in this world, he would look at you with that same, dark glare that had unsettled you so much on the day you’d first met. Only this time, it wouldn’t be misleading, masking the kindness underneath. It would be real, intentional. He would mean every bit of it.

Minho’s glares were one thing. The thought of Changbin looking at you the same way was more than you could take. There was no place for you in his life anymore.

A droplet landed on your screen, splattering water across it and blurring the words of his message. You looked up at the sky. The clouds had broken.

You were going to cry.

It was for the best, probably. A pot could only withstand so much before it boiled over. And boil over, it did.

You pulled the hood of your jacket over your head just as the rain began to fall more steadily, sinking to the ground and settling on the curb of the sidewalk. You gave up on outrunning the wave. For once, uncaring of the people around you. For once, allowing yourself to be an inconvenience. 

Vaguely, you felt another buzz in your pocket; repeating, persistent. Changbin must have been calling you. Pressure rose in your chest. A strange sound built in your throat, an unpleasant, unfamiliar sensation pricked at your eyes. But before droplets of your own could well up in their corners, before you could release, the feeling of rain pattering relentlessly against your clothes came to a sudden halt. Something had passed over you, shielding you from it.

You didn’t bother to look up, praying that whoever it was whose presence you felt hovering above you, they’d take the hint and leave you alone. Just a moment to wallow in your misery. Just a moment to feel without worrying about anyone or anything else. Even now, that was too much to ask for, it seemed.

Through the roaring downpour, you barely caught it—soft, airy.

“It’s raining.”

Your blood ran cold, chilling you more than any of the water seeping through your clothing, right down to your bones.

Of course. You almost laughed out loud. Of fucking course.

This had to be some kind of joke, the universe’s cruel finale to everything it had put you through over the past three years.

“Go away.”

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me for learning how to use an umbrella?”

You peered up through the mess of hair and fabric blocking your vision, fixing him with a look fiercer than any of the insults he’d ever hurled your way.

“Go away.”

His stare didn’t waver, face unchanging as always. It must’ve been so easy, to be so unaffected. It must’ve been so easy, to care so little. He blinked down at you, and despite the static swarming your mind, through it all, you couldn’t help but notice that there was nothing harsh about the look he was giving you. Not quite warm, not quite cold. It was far from the self-satisfied expression of someone who knew he had been right all along. Of someone who knew that he had won. 

“Come with me.”

You watched him blankly, too appalled to speak. 

When you didn’t budge, he tilted his wrist, leaning his umbrella forward so that it covered you completely and exposed part of himself to the rain.

“I’ll get sick if you don’t.”

“Yeah? Brew yourself some yuja tea.”

His lip twitched into the beginnings of a smirk. Not smug, not condescending. Just faintly amused.

“That was pretty funny.” He tilted the umbrella further. The rain began to land on his hair, darkening it, weighing it down. “But I’m really starting to get cold, now.”

“I don’t care.”

He clicked his tongue. Still, he made no move to leave, not even to pull his umbrella back over himself. You might’ve been swayed by whatever approach he was taking if you weren’t too preoccupied with figuring out just how the hell you could get rid of this guy.

“By the way,” he added casually. “Changbin gave me something. I think it belongs to you?”

You cursed yourself for perking up so quickly, so obviously. It was only for a split second, but he caught on—of course he did—eyes glinting like a cat that had spotted its target in all your loose threads.

“What do you want?”

“Let’s talk,” he said. “Come with me, and the pencil’s all yours.”

You gave in. For whatever reason, Lee Minho had suddenly decided that you were now worth his time.

He didn’t offer his hand to help you come to full standing, but he kept the umbrella steadily above you as you rose from the curb, allowing himself to get drenched in the process. It almost made you grimace more than his usual behavior, solely because it felt so wrong. And, maybe, because you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Not even from someone like him.

As he led you down the sidewalk towards wherever he planned to take you, you inched away from him, back into the rain. He made no effort to move closer again, but you did notice his eyes flicker your way once or twice.

You shuffled awkwardly behind him, focus kept firmly on the pavement, feet kicking up water with every step you took. It wasn’t until the warm, addictive scent of freshly-ground coffee flooded your senses that you lifted your head with a start, just in time to see Minho wiping the bottom of his shoes on the campus library mat. He shook out his umbrella and stepped inside, seemingly debating for a moment whether or not he should hold the door open for you.

An ache gripped your heart, somehow, stronger than anything you’d felt over the past four days. It ached and throbbed and pulsed when you processed where you were headed. The table right across from the entrance, at the very back of the library.

You half-expected to find him there—shrouded in black, hunched over his laptop, one set of fingers playing with his lips, the other set tapping along to the melody of his music. But his seat was empty. He wasn't there anymore.

You tried to control the sheer enormity of your anguish as you approached its source. You’d already humiliated yourself enough in front of the last person you’d ever have wanted to witness it. Even if he didn’t seem nearly as delighted with your downfall as you’d imagined, the fact that he’d caught you more vulnerable than anyone else had before, more than Chan ever had, made your skin positively crawl.

Minho sat down with a heavy sigh, ruffling his hair in a half-hearted attempt to dry it out. He slipped off his drenched jacket, giving it a disgusted look before dropping it on the table.

“Want some coffee?”

“No.”

“It’ll warm you up.”

You narrowed your eyes. If you’d had any semblance of rationality left in your system, you would’ve told yourself that it was just an offhand comment, that he couldn’t possibly have known just how devoid of warmth you truly were. But you were far past that point. Everything he said was a trap and everything he did was a taunt.

When he saw that you had no plans to respond, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Where’s my pencil?”

“Oh,” he sniffed. “I lied about that.”

You bristled. “What?”

“I don’t have it,” he clarified. “I lied so you’d come with me. Get it?”

You reached for your bag, preparing to leave.

“You can take it from Changbin yourself,” he continued. “Once this is all fixed.”

For once, the absolute certainty with which he spoke, like anything that came out of his mouth was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, wasn’t used to stir doubt within you. You froze in place. Whether it was a flash of hope, or a stubborn indignation that kept you rooted to your chair, you weren’t quite sure.

“Once this is fixed?” you echoed, rife with hostility. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? Chan hates me just as much as you do, now. You win.”

“I don’t hate you.”

You scoffed, expecting the lie—because it had to be a lie, a jeer, a vicious way to kick you while you were down—to be followed by that same scornful sneer that had become all too familiar for your liking. 

But it never came.

Your disbelief was only met with a sincere, unbreaking expression. No games, no underlying meaning. A complete contrast to everything you associated with Lee Minho.

“Are you serious?”

“You don’t believe me?” he feigned hurt, which you had half a mind to be infuriated about considering the many, many worse things he’d assumed about you. “I mean it. I don’t hate you.”

You blinked.

“I probably could’ve,” he added unhelpfully. “If what I'd thought about you turned out to be true. But really, I just didn’t trust you.”

You grunted to at least acknowledge his confession, unsure of how else you should react. If that was how he treated the people he didn’t trust, you’d love to know what his hatred looked like. 

You’d long told yourself not to take it personally, but for some reason, there was an undeniable sting there. Maybe it was because Minho was eerily perceptive, so much that this whole ordeal had planted the idea in your head that he had to be correct. Or maybe, it was because you’d always felt like there was a bit of truth to his impression of you, even before you’d met him, even before his opinion of you had sunk straight into the gutter. Having someone else say it out loud had just forced you to come to terms with it.

That constant voice in the back of your head, etching guilt into your mind. Telling you that you liked hurting the people who depended on you, that you liked to build them a safe haven and then crush it before their very eyes. Exactly what he had claimed you’d done to him.

Exactly what you’d done to Chan.

“Am I making things worse?” Minho tilted his head. 

“No,” you answered, and it was mostly honest. “Go on.”

He said nothing, eyeing you for a moment longer. It put you on high alert. Similarly to Chan, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was delving straight into your center—but unlike Chan, there was no comfort of being able to stare right back into his. 

“You probably know this by now, but Chan is an easy target for a lot of people,” he began. Slow, deliberate, no playful lilt to it. “He can usually tell when he’s being mistreated, but even so, he puts up with it. He thinks he can make it all better.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your spot, concentrating on the rain droplets that hadn’t yet dried from your hair. “Yeah, I know.” 

I know better than you. The petty side of you wanted to tack on. But you decided against it, instead choosing to foster whatever kind of tentative truce was coming to fruition here.

Minho paused again. “Right.”

“So, what, you thought I was one of those people?”

“Mm.” Blunt as ever. “Like I said, I've seen the type before. And if Chan wasn’t going to do anything about it, then I was.”

He’d changed his wording, you noticed. It had been your type before, uttered with all the contempt and venom in the world. You wanted to find consolation in that subtle difference, but it didn’t stop the memory from rousing your defiance all over again.

“You think he can’t make decisions for himself?”

It was a risk—hypocritical, too, when you knew firsthand what kind of decisions Chan made for himself, when you knew firsthand the powerlessness of trying to get him to stop—but you said it anyway. Minho hummed, leaning back in his chair, as if the challenge in your words hadn’t affected him in the slightest.

“Of course he can,” he replied evenly. “Doesn’t make them right. When you see your friend make the same decision over and over and get hurt every single time, wouldn’t it be cruel to just sit by and watch?”

He looked off to the side, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought that he was—God forbid—trying to prevent you from possibly catching on to an emotion of his.

“That’s what real insanity is—isn’t that how the saying goes? Repeating the same thing and expecting different results.”

You knew, deep down, that his explanation made sense, and somehow, that only stung more. You felt wronged, like the collateral damage for all the people who had harmed Chan in the past. Knowing Minho had treated you so coldly out of the goodness of his heart wasn’t much of a compensation. In a childish sense, it made things even worse, because now, your own negative feelings towards him felt unjustified.

That didn’t even begin to cover the fact that he had been right. 

Every part of you wanted to object to him lumping you in with all the others as the same decision, but in the end, you were just another name on the endless list of people who had hurt Chan.

When he saw how long you’d gone silent for, Minho spoke up again, looking unsure of himself for what may very well have been the first time in his life. 

“I’m…” he huffed. “Look, I was wrong.”

As always, what he said was the polar opposite of what you’d been thinking. It was almost comical, how the wavelengths the two of you operated on were so determined to be different in every conceivable way. 

His ears, you noticed, had dusted red at the tips—the exact same way Chan’s would flare up when he was flustered. You hated how it weakened your resolve, how his mere association with Chan had you more than willing to accept his olive branch, however awkwardly shaped it was.

“Chan’s done a lot for me—for everyone. I just wanted to protect him.”

That was the point of convergence, the one, precious point where your waves intersected. The desire to keep Chan safe. You understood it better than anything else, and so, for that fleeting moment, you understood Minho. Still, your pride—something you’d repressed far too many times in your attempts to reconcile with him before—wasn’t quite ready to back down.

“But you barely even knew me,” you protested. “What did I do to make you decide that you hated me all of a sudden?”

“Didn’t hate you,” he corrected.

You pressed your lips together into an annoyed line. “What made you think I wanted to��to hurt him?”

Minho looked contemplative, and you found yourself worrying that he may simply decide not to tell you. You wouldn’t put it past him. It would be painfully on-brand, actually, at least with the version of him that you’d come to know. 

“Chan came home crying.”

Your throat went dry.

“What?” you rasped. “When?”

“Back in July. The morning I got back from summer break.”

The morning after you’d first slept together. All at once, everything snapped into place—pieces of the puzzle that you hadn’t been able to connect, pieces that you hadn’t even known were missing in the first place.

“So, he comes home from your place, crying, with those marks all over his neck,” he explained. “It wasn’t the first time something like that happened. I put two and two together.”

You felt sick enough that you actually feared you might throw up, right there, on the library floor.

“I thought he must’ve landed himself in a bad spot again. With someone who only wanted to use him.”

“Why?” You gripped your soaked bag to your chest, with so much force that residual water began to dribble out of it. “Why was he crying?”

How did I hurt him? You wanted to add. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I notice? 

How could you have ever let this happen?

Minho hesitated, and you squeezed your eyes shut, not entirely certain that you even wanted to hear the answer.

“He was happy.”

Confusion. And then, relief. And then, confusion again. The turmoil must have been written all over your face, because Minho ever so graciously decided to elaborate.

“I didn’t find that part out until yesterday, though. Not much of a happy crier, myself.”

A fresh surge of anger overtook everything else you were struggling to comprehend. Thoughts of what could’ve been, of how it all might have turned out if it weren’t for the man in front of you. The man who had given you all the tools in chiseling your self-doubt to perfection, who had passed you the hammer to destroy what you loved most.

You wanted it to be his fault. It would be so easy to pin the blame all on him. But nothing was ever that easy. Nothing was ever that simple. Even without the right tools, you would’ve found a way to destroy it regardless. It was what you were best at.

“You didn’t bother to ask him!?” you snapped.

“Oh. You think I’m stupid.” A glimpse of his former sharpness. You had to stop yourself from saying yes, just to spite him. “Of course, I asked. More than once. But his answer was the same as always—he smiled and told me not to worry. He’d say it with a gun to his head.”

You frowned. It was too much to process at once, too much for your already worn-down brain to compute. All you could really make sense of was a gut feeling, an instinct, telling you that you’d made a horrible, horrible mistake.

“I talked to Chan yesterday,” he mellowed again, back to his usual, airy tenor. “He told me everything. He doesn’t seem to fully understand it, but I do.”

Minho locked eyes with you, deep, intense. No longer the look of someone that had decided you were guilty, but a look that warned you that he would know if you were lying to him.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

It sounded more like a statement than a question, but you nodded, anyway. Such a simple thing to admit to. How could such a simple thing have ever led to all of this? 

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “That’s why I did it. I was afraid I’d end up…”

You took in a shaky breath.

“I just didn’t want to hurt him.”

“Ah, seriously.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and he laughed. Incredulous, dry, ending with an exhale. “You broke up with him because you didn’t want to hurt him? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

Your face heated up. “You’re the one who thought I would in the first place!”

“But I was wrong.”

You were taken aback by how plainly he admitted to it, how that indestructible, stubborn pride of his was extinguished the instant he’d learned it had harmed someone he cared about. Even more troubling than that, was that you could tell he was apologetic, even without him saying it outright. All of this, as annoyingly as he was going about it, was his apology to you. Changbin’s words—fond and reassuring and, now, truer than ever—reverberated in your mind. Soft at heart.

“People are supposed to help each other. You know that, right?”

You snorted at the absurdity of the question. 

“Obviously.”

“So why are you so weird about it?”

“It’s different with Chan,” you insisted. “You said it yourself. He does so much—everyone takes so much from him. I didn’t want to do the same.”

“But that’s still not fair, is it?” he countered. “You’d just be giving everything instead. Chan doesn’t want that, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, only for the words to die in your throat. There was no way to justify it without sounding ridiculous—maybe, because it was a bit ridiculous. But Chan was the exception, he would always be the exception. You would give everything to him because you knew he would never take it for granted. You would give everything to him because he’d already given everyone so much.

Because he’d given you so much. 

Ah.

“God, you two are so—” Minho cradled his head dramatically, sensing that you’d finally worked it out in your mind. “You’ve already got the hardest part figured out. Just learn to take once in a while. You’re not gonna die.”

“But he won’t change unless I do,” you muttered. “I know he won’t.”

He gave you a look of pure exasperation, as if the answer couldn’t have been more obvious.

“So, change.”

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The feeling of your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, courtesy of Bang Christopher Chan, was one you’d become well-acquainted with over the past seven months. But of all the times you’d experienced it, it’d never been quite like this. This was something else entirely.

A day to mull everything over after your conversation with Minho, a sleepless night spent trying and failing to map out how you could possibly approach the situation, and over an hour of pacing restlessly around your apartment—all useless in ebbing the adrenaline that coursed through your veins. Before the clock had even struck 10:00 a.m., you’d not only felt like you had run a marathon, but that you could run another for good measure. 

You’d spoken to Changbin first. He at least deserved to know what was going on. He deserved an apology, even if the very real possibility that he would never speak to you again afterwards made your stomach churn. On a more selfish note—you figured today was as good as any to start with that—you’d also just really, really missed him. 

As it turned out, he’d more or less come to grasp the situation, even when being protected from all angles. Between what little Minho had let slip, Chan’s avoidant behavior (to the surprise of no one, he’d hardly let Changbin know a thing) and your vaguely ominous texts, he’d gathered up enough bits and pieces for his genius intuition to fill in the gaps. The sound of his voice once you’d revealed what had happened in full; compassionate, calm—not an ounce of the disdain you’d resigned yourself to be met with so viciously—had almost been enough to make you choke up.

“You should’ve told me,” he’d chided. “Why do you love doing that to yourself? What, you think I’m not strong enough to lean on?”

You’d let out a long exhale, heavy with all the apprehension you released with it; relieved, embarrassed. “It’s not that, Bin,” you’d mumbled. “I didn’t want to trouble you. Not when Chan and Minho both mean so much to you.”

“And you think you don’t? C’mon, you’re supposed to be the smart one here.”

Naturally, it only added to your guilt, that you’d created such an uncharacteristically cruel image of him in your head. This was Seo Changbin, after all. A great talker, but an even better listener, and as much as he liked to tease Chan for his age, he had a level of emotional intelligence far beyond his years. A wisdom that you would probably do well to learn from whenever it bothered to make an appearance. 

At the same time, however, this was Seo Changbin, the one man show, Leo incarnate. Once the relief of hearing back from you had eased his conscience (as much as it could, knowing how horribly tangled up everything had become), the theatrics had ensued.

“Dating my best friend is one thing, but breaking his heart is off limits!” he’d complained. It was mostly light. No real anger behind it, just plenty of highly-warranted frustration. “Not only that—breaking your own heart too! What am I supposed to do with two brokenhearted best friends? Hang out with Minho!?”

After a slew of loud, nagging, reprimands, and a very serious threat that Cinnamoroll would be held hostage until further notice, Changbin had let you go. For the first time in five days, you’d laughed. You’d never felt more grateful, or more stupid, in your life. He made it all sound so simple. Lee Minho, quite possibly the most convoluted piece of work you’d ever encountered in this world, had made it all sound so simple. 

You could only hope that you hadn’t crushed it into something infinitely more complicated, something beyond repair.

The trembling of your fingers, coupled with that strange sensation in your thumb that had yet to go away, made it difficult for you to type properly. Still, you persisted, throwing caution to the wind. Caution had ruled over you for far too long, anyway.

you (10:03 a.m.) hi

you (10:04 a.m.) i understand if you want some space right now but if you can, i’d like to talk

You prepared to lock your phone, not expecting a reply for some time—if any at all. Even under normal circumstances, he didn’t always get back to you right away. But, well, maybe the fact that the circumstances were anything but normal should’ve been enough for you to know better, because you didn’t even get the chance to swipe out of your messaging app before you noticed three little dots below your chat bubble.

Appearing. Disappearing. Appearing. Disappearing. Just a sign of life from him, and your palms had grown clammy. With fear, anticipation, dread. The dread of being met with anything but love, anything but warmth.

Then, at last, a single word.

channie 🐺 (10:08 a.m.) about?

you (10:08 a.m.) everything us

This time, it took him longer to respond. Ignoring every instinct that screamed otherwise, you typed up another text. There was no use hiding. There was never any use hiding with him.

you (10:12 a.m.) i don’t think i can do this

Almost immediately.

channie 🐺 (10:12 a.m.) me neither

Your heart leapt. You didn’t want it to give you hope. He had every right, every reason in the world, to not give you the time of day. He could get his closure and leave you, just as you’d left him.

channie 🐺 (10:13 a.m.) i can be over in 10?

A million thoughts sparked to life at once. The question of why he was already so close by. The urge to insist that you go meet him instead. The sudden realization that you were in no way prepared to see him so soon.

But all of it, overwhelming as it was, didn’t hold a candle to your strongest desire—a desire that could never be subdued by anything else. To put Chan first.

you (10:14 a.m.) okay, sure see you soon

You didn't deserve to say it, so you added it in your head. Get here safe, Channie.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

Chan looked tired when you opened the door. Eyes dull, drooping, littered with traces of pink and lined with dark circles. A few stray curls peeked out from beneath his beanie. You prayed that the black hoodie he was wearing wasn’t the same one he’d had on five days ago. He looked so tired. Tired and cold.

His gaze met yours. Just for a heartbeat, then it fell to the ground. You wanted to think it was because he felt self-conscious, you wanted to think it was that shyness—that hopelessly endearing shyness that got the best of him no matter how many times he looked at you. You didn’t want to believe that he simply couldn’t stomach the sight of you anymore.

“Are you okay?”

Chan tensed. Then, he caught you eyeing the bandaid on his thumb. He brushed his finger over it absentmindedly. He’d thought the pain had faded until now.

“Yeah. Just cut my finger.”

Your expression changed.

“On accident.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit.”

You reached up to tug at your ear. He swiped his thumb over his nose.

“I—” you swallowed. The moment he’d stepped through the door, everything you’d so carefully planned to say, every point you’d spent hours trying to piece together into something comprehensible, was immediately tossed out the window. You had to navigate this in real time. There was no map for it—the path to something better. The only place you’d ever journeyed was your own destruction. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out. “I think I messed up.”

He lifted his head. For once, unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

He knew what you meant, you were sure of it. But he wanted you to say it���needed you to say it. He needed you to dare to open yourself up to him, just as he had to you.

You understood now. That was the most important thing you could’ve ever given him, yet the one thing you’d refused to give.

“I’m not used to this,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to get used to it. You’re…you’re so good, Chan. To everyone. To me.”

Already, cracks were beginning to form in your composure. You had to keep it together, just enough to fix this. Just enough to hold the mirror up to him before it shattered. 

“When someone that good comes into your life, you wanna do everything you can to keep them, y’know? I wanted to do everything for you.”

Chan’s breath caught in his throat, audibly, and you knew a protest was building on his tongue. So, you barreled through.  

“It’s exactly because you’re so good that I got so scared. Because you wouldn’t just let me do it all for you like everyone else does.”

There was a pause, long and heavy enough for you to debate if you should just keep going, to air it all out and pray that at least some of it would come out sensical. But before you could, he spoke up, attentive as ever in what he chose to focus on. He narrowed it down like second nature, sought out the most essential part. The root of it all.

“You were scared?”

You winced. “I…yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Whatever remained of your heart from the past few days was effectively smashed into pieces. An apology from the last person on earth you needed to hear it from. An apology from someone who was owed so many apologies. From you, from himself, and from countless others who would never have to say it.

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I drove you to this, didn't I?” he whispered. “I thought about it the past few days—talked with Minho about it. I put you in a position you didn’t want. It’s my fault.”

“Oh, Channie,” it slipped out so naturally, with such ease, you didn’t even have the chance to second-guess yourself. “Your only fault is the way you treat yourself.”

Chan didn’t appear convinced. He shuffled his feet from side to side, hands heavy in the pocket of his hoodie. Restless, ashamed. Still not looking you in the eye. You weren’t grateful for it anymore; you missed his gaze. Dark and reflective, kind and curious. Seeing right through you, even with all its flickering around. 

“Maybe I needed to be put in that position,” you continued. “I was just too much of a coward to take it. B-because you were right. I try to be everything for people, then I end up being nothing. I was so afraid I was going to do that to you—or even worse. I was afraid I was going to be the one taking everything from you.”

“Why would you ever think that?” he sounded so helpless, like you were communicating in two completely foreign tongues. No room for speaking in riddles. “I saw every little way you cared for me. Always. Did you think I didn’t?”

Challenging him meant challenging yourself. You’d taken the plunge acutely aware of that fact, this time. Still, the panic rose in your chest all over again, the itch in your feet goaded you to turn and run.

“I know you did. And that’s more than enough for me.” You forced yourself to take a step forward instead, desperate to get through to him, desperate to reach him. “But when you do these things for me at your own expense…when you don’t tell me about it, don’t you see how that could scare me? As someone who cares about you?”

In all the time you’d known Chan, you’d never once have guessed that he could be so difficult. But if that unshakeable stubbornness would emerge over anything, of course it would be this. He would never make things difficult for anyone but himself. You still remembered how plainly he’d said it, how bleak and merciless and cold it had been: “It doesn’t matter.”

You could tell he sensed how on-edge you were, how laughably out of your element something like this was for you. But you were pushing yourself—for him. So, like a true reflection, he matched you.

“I guess I was scared, too,” he admitted quietly. “It’s been the only thing I know how to do for so long. I thought…I-I thought you’d leave if I did anything else. Because why else would you stay, y’know?”

You’d known it. Even before he’d bared himself to you, even before you’d had the knowledge to connect all the dots, you’d felt it, deep within you. But that didn’t make hearing him say it out loud any less devastating.

“I don’t love you because of what you can do for me, Chan.”

His eyes shot up at last. Wide, intense, searching. Realigning with you. A break in the fog that had been clouding your view of each other for the past five days.

It may have been unfair—cruel, even—to say now. But you needed him to hear it, even if this was the end of the road for you and him. You needed to at least plant the seed in his mind with the hopes that one day, with enough care, it might sprout into something beautiful.

“You’re worth so much as you are,” you tried to get a handle on the shake creeping into it. “You do so much for me just by being yourself.”

Chan blinked. Pupils darting between you and the floor, hands slipping from his pockets, face muscles twisting in an internal conflict. You could see him physically exerting all his willpower to not reject the idea—to dare to accept a love so unconditional, solely so that you might accept it in return.

“If I told you the same thing,” he began slowly. “Would you believe me?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “I can learn to believe it.”

His fingers flexed. You realized for the first time how close the distance between you and him had become—drifting towards each other involuntarily. That inevitable, magnetic pull, more powerful than any of the forces you’d studied in four years.

“Okay.” He was reaching out for you. “Then, how about we learn together, yeah?”

Your heart jumped against your ribcage. Over his words. Over the sight of his pinky, held out in earnest despite you giving it such little reason to ever do so again, waiting patiently to curl against yours. 

You’d believe in anything that connected you to him.

“Together.”

Just as quickly as things had fallen apart, the foundation was laid out for them to be put back together. A steady foundation, built to last. Your belief that day had turned out to be true, after all. Everything always worked out when you talked to Chan. When you leaned into him. When you didn’t run.

Heat rippled through you the instant your fingers entwined, fiercer, more all-consuming than even the first time you’d ever touched. Still, neither of you pulled away. For the first time in five days, you were warm again.

The new, unspoken promise igniting to life between you reminded you of another; one that you’d let sit on your ledger for far too long. One you’d made so carelessly to the boy who deserved all the care in the world. The boy who treated you with all the care in the world.

“I’m going to be more selfish from now on.” You tightened your hold on his pinky, creating a fresh buzz of heat. “Because I want you to be, too.”

You thought you were hallucinating it for a second, the beginnings of a grin on Chan’s face. Soft cheeks rising, not enough to draw out his dimples or eclipse his eyes, but enough to make you certain of your decision. The key you’d tossed out a year and a half ago was in that smile.

“Guess I’ve got no choice but to mirror you.”

“That’s right,” any firmness it might’ve had was lost to a smile of your own. Exhausted, but tragically enamored with the boy in front of you. “Since you wanna be my other half so bad, and all.”

He giggled. Short, sweet, playing the strings of your heart like a harp. Or, rather, its melody was the sound of your heart.

“I’m gonna tell you some things,” you warned. “And they’re not going to be nice. Or good. Is that okay?”

“Anything.” He unhooked his pinky from yours, only to wiggle his sleeve back and weave all of your fingers together instead. Five fingers, one for each of the days you’d spent apart. Your palm pressed against his, pumping faintly with your quickening pulse. “Tell me anything.”

You inhaled. Better to start with something smaller, first. A test run in this whole emotional openness thing.

“About Minho…”

“He gave you plenty of trouble, didn’t he?”

You puffed out a soft laugh. “Well, I gave him some back.”

“I scolded him,” Chan mumbled. “A lot. Bin did, too.”

You tried not to feel too satisfied about it. The idea of Chan, so doting, so unabashed in his adoration for the younger boy, rebuking him, addressing him with anything but overflowing fondness. You would take it as a small, private victory—one that Minho didn’t need to know about now that you’d both chosen to bury the hatchet.

“But…I hope you won’t think badly of him. He means well, really. He’s—”

“Soft at heart, right?” you finished for him. “It’s okay, we talked it out in the end. I think."

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, he told me.”

You could’ve laughed. Lee Minho. You never thought you’d see the day where the mention of him wouldn’t be promptly followed by a wave of absolute revulsion. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had even agreed to see you today. You wondered if he was the reason Chan had only been ten minutes away from your apartment before you’d even sent him a message.

“I just wish you’d told me.”

I wish you’d told me. They were words you’d said to him so many times, words you’d wanted to say on even more occasions. But it was in your hands, now. You were in each other’s hands, now. You didn’t have to wish anymore.

“I know.” You gave his palm a squeeze. “But you can see why I didn’t, right?”

He nodded, sheepish, well aware that it was a pointed question.

“A lot of the things Minho did were to protect you,” you murmured. “But, a lot of the things he said were things someone else once said to me. I guess it made them easier to believe.”

Chan’s thumb glided delicately across the back of your hand. You knew he could predict where this was going.

“When you told me about what happened two years ago, I think I related to you a lot. I think it was one of those shared experiences you talked about.”

Each sentence felt like it was being dragged out of you, uprooted. But it was necessary. Clearing the weeds out to make room for something less parasitic—maybe, even flowers. “My last relationship was with someone who took a lot out of me, too. He needed someone to depend on. I…I wanted to be that for him.”

“I know you did.” Gentle, sad. A tenderness for you and, hopefully, himself. It gave you the strength to keep going.

“He needed so many things, felt so many things. All his emotions became mine until I didn’t have any for myself,” you were losing control of your voice again. “I didn’t understand how you could ever blame yourself for what that girl did to you. But, really, I’ve always blamed myself, too. Because I let him rely on me. I promised to be everything for him, then I left.”

“But he never let you rely on him, did he?” Chan didn’t miss a beat, like he already knew the answer. “He wanted you to carry it all yourself.”

You averted your stare. “M-maybe. And maybe I wanted that, too. Some people just need more support than others, y’know? I thought I could handle it.”

You always thought you could handle it, even when every past experience proved otherwise. That was yet another thing Minho had been right about. You’d driven yourself mad repeating the same cycle over and over again, deluding yourself into thinking it could ever turn out any different.

“Nobody needs no support at all,” he pointed out. “Not even someone as strong as you.”

Strong. Hearing the word come out of his mouth—his perfect mouth, in that light, melodic voice—pricked at your eyes. It was a term you’d never once thought to describe yourself with. It was the exact opposite of everything you’d come to believe about yourself. You wanted to reject it, to crush the idea before letting it get to your head. But how could you, when it came from the strongest person you knew? How could you do anything but cling to it, cherish it?

“I don’t know if I’m strong,” you muttered, blinking away what was sure to come eventually. “It’s just that every time I’ve tried to lean on someone, they let me fall. So it’s better to stand on my own.”

“Yeah. I understand."

You knew that much was true. You knew, painfully well, how much he understood. And you knew he still thought you were strong.

“I…” Everything had been put into place—or, rather, everything had been properly displaced—for the dam to break loose. Tentatively, lovingly, he was helping you pull out each log. It filled you with fear, down to every last fiber of your being, but you knew that you could break in front of him. He wouldn’t crumble with you. He wouldn’t shatter over the mere prospect of you expressing an emotion of your own. He’d let you release, and when it was all over, he’d help you pick up the pieces. Just as you had with him.

“I lost my friend last year.”

“Lost…?”

“I mean, she passed away—last summer. She was in an accident back home.”

Such a common way to die for someone who was anything but. Such a special person to become part of such an ordinary statistic. Chan’s face morphed into something heartbreaking, a look that told you he felt everything you were feeling in that moment. The gears were turning in his head, you could see it unfolding through your blurred vision. That was why you hadn’t wanted to return home over the summer. That was why you’d come back to him so soon.

“I’m so sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t only giving his condolences, he was apologizing for ever cornering you to reveal it. For forcing you to unveil the wound that had been festering for so long. Bleeding with no signs of stopping, neglected with no signs of healing.

“It’s okay, I—” A lump rose in your throat. “I need to talk about it, I think. Never really did.”

His hand tugged at yours, just barely, uncertain. Always hesitant to pull you as close as he really wanted. You leaned forward all at once, falling into him. And he caught you.

“Never?” 

“I tried once.” You rested your head against him, and his arms locked securely around you straight away. No room for you to fear, even for a second, that he might let you fall. “I tried to tell him. He always said he felt bad that he wasn’t there for me like I was for him. B-but…” The wave was rising again. “He just left.”

You couldn’t see Chan’s expression, you weren’t sure if you wanted to. You didn’t want to know what anger might look like on such an angelic face. But you could feel it, his jaw clenching, his muscles tensing. You figured he must look something like you had that night in October, struggling to maintain the delicacy in your movements as he revealed things that had filled you with a protective fire.

“He left?” Chan repeated, strained. “He left you like that?”

“Yeah. I-I guess it made him feel worse to be there.”

His hand began to run slowly up and down your back; drawing out your pain and soothing it simultaneously. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. He’d put his anger to the side, just as you had that night. “It must have been lonely for you.” 

Lonely. Something else you’d never once considered. Something else that became so obvious only once he’d said it. You’d always been surrounded by people, but they were all flocking to a version of you that didn’t exist. A version you’d let them believe was real, because that was so much easier. Maybe the version of you, in your truest form, had been lonely.

“A little.” You buried your nose into his hoodie. No scent of sweet citrus today, no vanilla cherry blossom. Just him. “I think she’s the only one I could’ve talked to about it. She…she was a lot like you, in some ways.”

Something seemed to dawn on Chan, because he gripped you a little tighter, pulled you impossibly closer. The realization that the universe had taken away the only person you’d ever come to rely on. Of course you would be terrified to ever let anyone take that role again.

“She sounds exactly like the kind of friend you deserve,” his voice rumbled softly where you rested against his chest. “You can tell me about her. About it all. I’m here to listen.”

“I want to,” you took in a sharp inhale. “But I think I’m going to cry.”

“You can do that, too.” 

The wave engulfed you in full. For the first time since the day you’d lost her, you allowed yourself to cry over her.

Given how long you’d been holding it in, it didn’t come out nearly as explosive as you’d expected. The tears slipped from your eyes and down your cheeks without a sound, but they came and came and came. Each hot stream was immediately followed by a fresh one, a buildup of all the sorrow you’d kept sealed inside you for the past year and a half, and all the years before that. You didn’t sob or wail or scream out, but with how tightly Chan was holding you, you were certain he felt every tremor, every subdued hiccup, every droplet soaking through his clothes.

“It’ll be okay, one day,” he promised. “You’ll remember all the happy times with her. That’s something you can never lose.”

You hoped it was true. You hoped that one day, you could step off the train in your hometown, take in the pine-tinged summer air, pick a chrysanthemum from that flower stall, and remember her with that warm, glowing ball of light you used to carry in your chest.

Chan didn’t stop rubbing your back the entire time you cried. He didn’t stop enveloping you in his warmth. He didn’t stop humming sweetly in your ear. 

He didn’t leave.

The tears eventually stopped flowing, not because it didn’t hurt anymore—you just didn’t think your body could keep up. No amount of tears could ever live up to your grief for her. But your breathing slowed, your shaking steadied, and, as much as your head positively throbbed, a sense of tranquility came with it, one you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt.

“Thank you, Channie,” you mumbled. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

After everything you’d put him through the past five days, after he’d listened to you so intently and patiently as you poured your heart out, after he’d comforted you when he was still in such a fragile state himself, he was thanking you. It was hopeless. You would fall in love with him over and over again, every moment you spent with him. 

“Have you…” he hesitated. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone? About everything?”

“No,” you choked out a sad laugh. “Not really.”

Chan hummed again, quiet. He rested his hand on the back of your head, as if to pull you so far into him that you’d meld fully together.

“You shouldn’t torture yourself anymore,” he murmured.

“Neither should you.”

So immediate, so resolute, it made him stiffen against you.

“My stuff doesn’t compare to any of this.”

“That’s not true. You’ve only told me the half of it, haven’t you?” You curled your fingers a bit tighter around his hoodie. “You've been through so much to become this strong, haven’t you?”

The peaceful drag of his hand finally stopped. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. He'd been holding it together up until now, for you, even if your every tremble and sniffle made his chest ache like your pain was his own.

“Maybe,” he rasped. 

“So, let’s work towards something better. Together.”

“Together,” he agreed.

You raised your head at last, squeezing your eyes shut so that any remaining trace of tears trickled free. Chan reached up to swipe the droplets away with his thumb, soaking his bandaid. Still, neither of you let go. There were so many things to let go of, but not each other.

“I finished Placebo,” he said softly. “Do you want to hear it?”

The final promise that had yet to be fulfilled.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Weak, a piteous sight, probably, but genuine. “It makes me happy.”

You were lulled back to that day in April, seated next to Chan in the warm, coffee-infused atmosphere of the library, trying not to fall head over heels in love with him right then and there while he played the instrumental for you with a giddiness so uncontainable that he had to bite down on his fist. As you heard Placebo’s lyrics for the first time—lyrics that had gone through countless rearrangements, rewrites, and delays—you decided it must’ve been fate that it had been brought to completion now, of all times. You felt Chan in every line, every vitalizing beat, every nostalgic melody of the synth. You understood it better now than you ever would have back then.

But just as you’d predicted on that warm day in April, it became your new favorite.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

The sun had been shining for two days straight. Bright, unobstructed by a single cloud, bathing everything in gold. It filtered through the blinds of your window, casting a delicate pattern of light on Chan’s face and creating quite possibly the most breathtaking view you’d ever seen. And you were warm. Warm against each other.

His curls were free, messy, tousled as you combed through them. You relished in every ringlet dancing between your fingers, in each content sound he let slip when your nails grazed his scalp. You brushed his bangs back, revealing his face to you in full—droopy eyes, big, adorable nose, soft cheeks, faintly freckled skin, every feature illuminated with nowhere to hide—then allowed them to fall into his eyes once more. The dark locks moved as one, a fluffy unit. He wasn’t taking care of them properly. You wanted to wash them again, give them the treatment they deserved.

Chan watched you the entire time you played with his hair, curious, mesmerized. Every flop of his curls against his forehead made him giggle, and so, you did it again and again. You couldn’t help it. After five days without him, without that sweet, harmonious sound, you could listen to him laugh for hours on end and still yearn for more.

But his lips were getting poutier with every card of your fingers, his thighs were shifting beneath you more and more. Impatient, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t have to say a thing for you to hear him willing you to do it, begging you to do it. So, you leaned in and kissed him.

He sighed into it, just like he always did. But it was higher in pitch this time, involuntary, a neediness he typically tried to suppress until later down the line when it grew into something unbearable. He was already so vocal, so responsive, but today, he needed you more than ever. Every gap, every crevice between your bodies, he needed filled with you.

His lips consumed your senses, plush and plump and warm. They moved against yours seamlessly, encasing you in his softness, matching your rhythm, every part and pucker. So attentive, even through his haze of longing. It was familiar, the most natural thing in the world, yet still something you’d never get used to—something you never wanted to get used to. How his lips chased yours so insatiably, how they warmed you to your very core.

You were both breathless when you broke apart. That was nothing new either, you would kiss each other until your lungs cried out and then some. With the way Chan hardly pulled back, mouth ghosting just a centimeter away as you panted lightly in unison, you might’ve thought he needed to kiss you more than he needed oxygen. You took his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling delicately just to get a taste of him while the two of you caught your breath.

“Missed you,” he whimpered. “God, I missed you.”

Your chest ached. 

“I know, baby.” 

Giving his bottom lip a light tug, you released it. You could tell his head was starting to go fuzzy, it was far more important for you to speak clearly. You rested your hand on his curls again, trying to keep yourself composed for his sake—even if your body was screaming for you to take him back and take him back now. “I know. I missed you, too.”

“Don’t leave me, please?” For once, a selfish request. 

He pecked the corner of your mouth as he said it, then your jaw, growing less controlled the further down he moved. He was getting lost in you, he wanted to lose himself in you and never find his way out again.

“Never,” you assured him. 

“Promise?” 

He nuzzled his nose into your neck, lips pressing urgent kisses to every spot of flesh they touched. Gentle and intense, hot and wet. They cooled your skin and set it ablaze, all at once. 

You’d gone five days without each other before—even longer, on particularly hectic weeks—but it had never been anything like this. After the emptiness that came in your time apart, the holes that had been left behind where you’d ripped yourself away from him, you wanted every kiss absorbed into your skin, filling them up one by one. You found yourself wondering, for what was neither the first nor the last time, how you’d ever managed to trick yourself into thinking you could be without him. You couldn’t even take him in moderation.

“I promise,” you murmured. “I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chan whined, opening his mouth against the edge of your collarbone, sucking, tongue flickering lightly against it. You allowed him to, petting his head, humming sweetly to him as he covered every inch he roamed with that irresistible heat.

His restlessness beneath you grew more obvious—squirming. He ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling and grabbing and holding onto you like you might disappear if he didn’t. His usual hesitance to touch was nowhere to be found today, far overpowered by his hunger for you. You adjusted your position in his lap, and the beginnings of his desire brushed against your thigh, adorably transparent as always. It made your own self-control slip just a bit. Suddenly, his clothes were forming far too thick of a barrier between you and him for your liking.

You pulled gently at his hair, catching his attention enough for him to lift his head from your neck. His lips were already swelling, deepening from that pretty pink shade into something even more addictive. His eyes were dark, dilated, and so hopeful, like he didn’t already know where this was going. Like he had no idea that you craved him every bit as much as he craved you.

“It’s getting warm, huh, Channie?”

“Mhm.” He rested his cheek against your palm. “You’re so warm.”

“Let’s get you out of this, then.” You reached down to dip your fingers under the hem of his sweater. Reluctant to let go for even a moment, Chan kept his hands close to you, wiggling around as best as he could to help you slip the garment off. He blinked his eyes open once you’d pulled it over his head, catching a glimpse of his reflection in your dresser mirror, directly across from where the two of you sat tangled up in each other. It made his stomach drop a bit. Hair unkempt, eyes sunken, face puffy from what was a concerning lack of rest over the past week, even by his standards.

His gaze averted, flickering right back to you the instant he took in his appearance. Brief as the action was, it wasn’t lost on you, twisting your emotions and resurfacing an idea in your mind—one that had been brewing ever since the day of the showcase, where Chan had avoided looking into the bathroom mirror like his life depended on it.

You cupped his cheeks, pushing them together just enough for his lips to pucker.

“You’re glowing, Channie,” you marveled. “You’re so beautiful.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m not.”

You pressed your thumbs into his skin, chiding. “The light’s hitting your face so perfectly. You look like an angel.” 

Chan’s breath quickened, another deflection building in his throat. You slid your hands down from his face, allowing the golden rays of the sun to fully illuminate him, just as they illuminated the moon. 

“I…” he chuckled. “Th-thank you, but I’m a mess.”

You frowned, placing your hands over his. Panic struck when you urged him to unlatch his fingers from your hips, you could tell by the way he gripped you just a bit tighter. It was another pang to your chest. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, that reflex had been ingrained. But you weren’t going to leave him, not even for a second. You kept your hands firmly rested on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself off his lap and settled down right behind him on the mattress. Comforting him with your touch, reminding him that you were there.

You peered into the mirror from over Chan’s shoulder, met with the gorgeous sight of his bare upper half and, unsurprisingly, his head ducked in embarrassment. A mop of dark curls shielding him from himself. 

“You should try looking at yourself through my eyes,” you suggested. “You might like what you see.”

He glanced up to meet your stare in the mirror, stubbornly set on ignoring his own figure. You dragged your hands along his tense shoulders, feeling up the warm expanse of skin, the curves of his muscles—taut, yet tender.

“Rather look at you,” he said softly.

Affection swelled inside you, but you were determined to maintain your resolve, even when faced with an opponent as formidable as Chan’s deep-seated inhibitions. 

“Why?” You faked a pout. “You’ve already got such a pretty view right here.”

You lowered yourself to brush your lips against his neck, almost completely out of sight. He all but jolted as you pressed an open-mouthed kiss right below his jawline, just as reactive as your first night together. Just as honest and open and just as painfully cute. Your hand slipped over his shoulder to take hold of his chin, tilting it up, exposing his throat fully to you and encouraging him to look at himself.

“You’re a gorgeous boy, Channie.” Your words melted right into his ear. “Everyone can see it.”

You pressed another kiss to the juncture of his shoulder and neck—his weak spot. With how sensitive he was, every part of his body may as well have been his weak spot, but the sound he let out as you grazed your teeth over it was like no other. Sweet and pleading in the back of his throat. It spiked in volume when you closed your mouth over the patch of skin, unconcerned this time over whether or not the mark would show. He wanted it to. And, selfishly, so did you.

“I-I don’t see it,” he stuttered at last. “I can’t.”

Your tsk of disapproval was met with another shaky sigh as you ran your tongue over the fresh lovebite. It soothed his burning skin, fogged up any remaining space in his head. You took a moment to admire the blooming red ring before gliding your lips over to a new spot to sully. He was yours, even untouched, but you wanted to leave traces of yourself everywhere, to make him a part of you in every sense.

“Look at yourself, baby,” you ordered gently.

His Adam's apple bobbed under your mouth, swallowing down his misgivings and finding the courage to comply. Before he even locked eyes with himself in the mirror, his ears were already flushing at their tips.

“There we go. Good boy.”

The praise eased his mind a bit, but you could still feel his heartbeat racing under your kisses, pulsing beneath your traveling fingers. All simply because of the sight of himself—a sight you wanted engraved permanently into your memories, just as badly as he wanted it removed from his. 

“Look at all these muscles. So big and strong.” You flattened your palms against his broad shoulders, trailing slowly, appreciatively, down to his biceps. Arms you used to dream about having bulge beneath your hands. Arms you had at your mercy, even in all their strength. Because it was a strength used solely to protect others, never to harm.

You wrapped your fingers around the defined muscles, too large to even close your grip entirely around. They flexed under your touch—a detail you found adorable, strangely enough.

“D-do you…” Chan licked his lips. “D’you like them?”

You smiled against his skin. Such an endearingly Chan question. Setting himself up for a response that he wouldn’t be able to handle; a response that was sure to set his face on fire and put a stammer in his speech.

“I might like them too much,” you admitted. “So gorgeous to look at. So irresistible to touch. So cute when I hold them down,” you mumbled the compliments between each kiss you peppered along his arm veins, protruding from his nervous hold on the sheets. “So safe and reliable. So strong, but so weak for me.”

Chan’s reaction didn’t disappoint, cheeks heating up instantly to match the burn of his ears, dimples making a timid appearance. Anything he attempted to say was lost in the shy, breathless laugh he sputtered out. You knew right about now that he was wishing he had some kind of cap, beanie—anything to pull over his face and hide away. To hear your doting words without having to face himself. Maybe then, he’d believe them.

“You work so hard, don’t you, Channie?” you cooed. “Such a strong, beautiful body for a strong, beautiful boy.”

“A-ah…please.” Chan fought back the impulse to cross his arms over his torso, solely because he didn’t want to lose the feeling of your mouth ravishing them, appreciating every curve. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed, too flustered to bear. Your hands found his chest without warning, cupping his pecs and making him squeak. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, a split second too late in trying to mask the pitiful noise.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” You dug your nails delicately into his chest, just enough to make him shudder. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

To that, he didn’t object. “Yours, ‘m all yours.” It was eager, immediate, accompanied by a tilt of his head. Urging you to make it known, to leave more marks of yourself all over his neck until it belonged just as much to you as it did him. 

“All mine.” You rolled his nipples delicately between your fingers, earning a broken whimper that made heat pool in your stomach. “My pretty boy.”

Chan jerked forward, every intoxicating word of praise, every drop of your attention making his arousal skyrocket. With his eyes still shut tight, all his other senses were on high alert. The serene sound of your voice reverberated all around him, the deliberate care of your touch sent tremors up his spine. You roamed further down his body, fingertips dancing over his lean abdomen, tracing the outlines of his muscles. His stomach clenched as you did; exhilarated, rising and falling with each rapid breath. He felt so vulnerable—all his pleasure, all his comfort, all his worth in the palm of your hand. More exposed than ever, yet somehow, safer than ever. He could stay blind through it all and trust you to guide him to the other side.

“Open your eyes for me, baby.”

He pressed his lips together, protest cut short when you inched dangerously close to where he needed you most.

“There,” he gasped out. “There, please.”

Mischievously, you pinched the skin right above his waistband, satisfaction rushing through you when he throbbed in the confines of his sweatpants. “Where?” you questioned, deceptively innocent. “You have to look and see.”

You drifted further down, skimming the softness of his hips and stroking his tensed thigh. “Here?”

“No,” he huffed, face scrunching in frustration. “Please, ‘s too embarrassing.”

Your hum was full of sympathy, but your hand said otherwise, moving along his inner thigh and giving it a light squeeze. “How about here?”

You knew what was coming by now. So, you snaked your legs around his waist from behind, prying his thighs apart before they could clamp together reflexively. The added contact only made Chan’s composure weaken further, a low groan spilling out of him. Practically every part of your body was pressed against his—head tucked into his neck, chest rubbing against his back, hands grasping him wherever they slid, thighs resting on his—but it wasn’t enough. He needed more before he crumbled completely against you. Or, rather, he needed more to crumble completely against you.

His eyes snapped open at last, hazy, disoriented. He blinked a few times to readjust his vision, taking in the view before him. His puffed, rosy cheeks, his neck, painted with deep, crimson marks, his arms and torso, lined with the faint drag of your nails. Every part of himself that he chose to focus on was evidence of you on his body.

“Beautiful,” you said firmly.

“Ah…th-thank you.”

His reflection peered back at him, nowhere to hide. But with it, he found his other reflection, one he could admire so wholeheartedly, one he could never run out of things to love about. When at your side, maybe he didn’t look so bad.

Your lips were by his ear again, he felt your breath fanning softly next to it, saw your mouth opening unexpectedly close to his piercing—so close that he thought you may take it between your teeth again. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself if you did.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Channie?” you whispered.

His stare dropped to your hand, more than ready for any excuse to redirect his attention from himself. You rubbed gentle circles into his thighs, traveling upwards at an agonizingly slow place. Chan sucked in through his teeth, a fresh wave of embarrassment passing over him when his dick twitched again, as if it was crying out the answer for him.

“My baby’s so shy,” you remarked playfully. “But your body isn't.”

He squirmed between your legs with a sound of pure helplessness, too worked up to handle your teasing properly—not that he ever really handled it well, in the first place. 

“P-please, need you so bad.”

You softened. “I’m here.”

His eyes followed your movements in a glimmer of hope, fixated on your hand like a puppy would with its favorite treat. When you came to brush over his bulge at last, his hips shot forward, pressing into your palm in a way that made your stomach flutter, and his twist with pleasure. He didn’t even have the chance to feel humiliated about it, not when you finally curled your fingers around him like he’d been longing for so intently, so fiercely that even thinking straight had become a challenge for him.

“Is this it?” you asked sweetly.

“Mmph, yes. There, please.”

You gave him a squeeze, feeling up the shape of his length through his sweatpants. So hard without a single touch to it, more than ready for you—desperate for you. It made the ache between your own legs take over in full. Restraint slipping, you dipped your fingers below his waistband to tug his sweatpants off. Chan reacted immediately, scrambling to raise himself from the mattress just enough for you to slide them down along with his underwear. You couldn’t even find the patience in you to remove the garments entirely, instead letting them rest halfway down his legs.

Chan’s gaze flickered back to you in the mirror, just in time to catch the way your eyes gleamed at the sight of his bare body. Length glistening with precum, pressed and dripping against his stomach. Milky thighs, dotted with delicate moles you could kiss endlessly. But you wanted to leave a different kind of mark on them, today. You ran your hands along his flesh—gentle, pacifying—then dragged your nails back up all at once, raking his skin and leaving a trail of pale lines that quickly deepened in shade. Chan inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against your shoulder, muscles constricting under your fingers.

“Pretty little thing,” you crooned. “You’re unreal.”

There was no time for him to recover—not from the delicious sting on his thighs, not from your doting words—before you took his cock into your hold at last. It sent a ripple of heat all throughout his body, almost enough to make him unravel right then and there.

You gave him a few careful pumps, delighted by the sheer amount of wetness that had dribbled from his tip, allowing you to move with ease. Using your free hand, you nudged his head from your shoulder to direct him back to the mirror. Despite knowing full well that the visual he’d be met with would turn his brain to mush, he obeyed. He would do anything you so much as suggested in that moment.

“You’re just like that moon you love so much,” you murmured. “You know that, Channie?”

It pierced through the lust occupying his thoughts, pulling him out from his haze just enough to string together a feeble response. “What—ah. What d’you mean?”

He tried not to let the sight of your fingers, sticky with his arousal, gliding up and down his most intimate spot, twisting and teasing in all the right ways like you knew his body better than he did, distract him from what you said next. If there was anything to focus on, it was you. 

“The moon can only see itself reflected in the water.” You swirled your thumb along his slit, using your other hand to run the pads of your fingers tenderly along his cheek. The combination was enough to make him dizzy. So much love, so much pleasure. He didn’t know how to handle it. He would never know how to handle it. “It doesn’t see its own beauty or light. Just the way it gets distorted by the ripples all around it.”

Before he could even fully process the comparison, Chan’s eyes began to water. This time, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was happiness imbued in those tears. A happiness the both of you still needed adjusting to.

“So, look at yourself clearly, now,” you encouraged, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Look at your reflection when it isn’t broken.”

It may have been too much for him at once; such adoration amidst everything else he was experiencing. The stimulation to every last one of his nerve endings, the bliss consuming his body and mind, robbing him of any coherent thought. But you needed to say it just as much as he needed to hear it. You wanted all the pleasure, all the love he felt in that moment to be associated with himself.

“O-oh, wow,” he choked out. “I…I don’t…”

I don’t deserve this. You could hear it on the tip of his tongue, clear as day. But he was too awestruck to protest, too awestruck to even speak. You felt a tinge of protectiveness—he was so far gone.

“D-dunno what to s-say,” he stammered. You knew it was taking every ounce of his strength not to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to let himself go completely and forget about anything that wasn’t you.

“It’s okay, Channie. You don’t have to say anything. Just look.”

You studied him in the mirror, nearly melting when you noticed him blinking the few, fragile droplets from his eyes—listening diligently to you, clearing his vision from any water that might distort it. He drank in his reflection in full, stiff, uneasy, but relaxing slightly between your legs when you pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“So pretty, every inch of you.” Your hand resumed its stroking, sliding down to the base of his length, cupping him gently. “Even prettier when you’re filling me up.”

“Oh my gosh,” he gasped, jerking in your grip. Even with the mirror there to guide him, he struggled to coordinate his hand movements, pawing aimlessly behind him to find some part of you to grab onto, some part of you to anchor himself with. “Please, please. Wanna feel you.”

“I know, baby boy,” you shushed him. “You’re dripping so much. Poor thing.”

You dragged your index finger along the underside of his cock one last time before pulling away with a light flick. Chan barely stopped himself from surging forward, chasing your hand like an instinct. That, coupled with the mewl he let out when he registered the sudden loss of your body heat around him, tugged at your heart just as much as it spiked your adrenaline. You made quick work of removing your clothes, well aware of his eyes, wide as moons, watching you undress through the mirror, waiting for you to return to him. Keen, yearning, but obedient above all else.

He reached for you the instant you settled back in his lap, hovering over your waist for just a second before ultimately latching on, skin on skin, a whole new layer of heat. You took his length back into your grasp, turning your body so that you were both facing your dresser mirror. You could hear Chan’s breathing pick up behind you, feel his chest expanding against your back.

“See that, Channie?” You dragged the head of his dick along your folds, coating it with your own wetness. “Just looking at you gets me like this.”

If all you’d said wasn’t enough, maybe the physical proof of his effects on you would help do the trick. A sweet, desperate vocalization, so rife with need that you could practically taste it, was all he could manage. It morphed into a moan as you sank down on him all at once—loud, absolutely shameless. You would never think it came from the boy who couldn’t even catch a glimpse of himself without being reduced to a flustered wreck. Just as your heat engulfed him, his engulfed you. It came more intensely than ever before, more staggering than even your first time together, bolting through your veins and making you suppress a gasp. You clenched around his cock, relishing in the feeling of him pressed so snugly inside you, as close as physically possible. So comforting in its familiarity, so exhilarating in its return. It was something you could only describe as relief, relief in the warmth, the fullness, the completion you brought to each other.

Chan’s head fell forward with a whimper, chin resting against your shoulder, clinging to you so tightly that it was difficult to move. You weren’t even sure if he was aware of it, a subconscious desire to stay buried inside you, not wanting to lose the security of your walls wrapped around him for even a second.

“Missed you so much,” he slurred into your skin. “W-wanna stay like this forever.”

You reached back to cradle his head, running your fingers through his hair. “I missed you too, angel. Missed the way you fill me up so perfectly.”

You lifted yourself until just the head of his cock was left pulsing inside you. When you noticed Chan’s blissed out expression in the mirror—eyes fluttered shut, lips swollen against your shoulder, eyebrows knitted together—a golden opportunity presented itself. It took him a second or two to realize that you weren’t sliding back down, another soft plea rumbling in his throat, vibrating into your skin. You gave his scalp an affectionate scratch, prompting him to look. This time, he listened without question, driven solely by the need to feel your wet heat around him again.

“Good boy.” You took him back inside immediately, not keen on being apart for much longer, either. He gritted his teeth as you did, trying his best to keep his gaze leveled with his reflection for you, for your satisfaction, for your approval. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what came out of your mouth next. 

“See how perfect you look when you’re inside me, Channie? See all the pretty faces you make? My pretty baby, feeling so good. Making me feel so good.”

At that, the precious little that had remained of Chan’s composure fizzled out completely. His hands flew up to cover his face, hot with shame, burning with arousal. The filthy sight of him pushing in and out of you, the wet sounds filling his ears, the teasing lilt of your voice. It was all too much. He shoved his nose into his palms, letting out a cute, mortified wail that echoed throughout the bedroom, mixing with your breathless giggles. 

Even as you continued riding him, he stayed hidden behind the safety net of his fingers, shyness turned back up to full blast with no signs of disappearing. It only added to the pressure building up inside your abdomen to see him so overwhelmed, each muffled grunt and soft whimper of his spurring you on. Your words from earlier rang truer than ever—he was so weak for you.

You allowed him to stay that way for the sake of his sanity, petting his head with a gentleness that contrasted the steady pace of your bouncing. It wasn’t until you felt his cock begin to jerk inside you that he pulled his hands away from his face with a choked noise, reaching out for you once more.

“Can’t take it—mmph—‘m getting close! ‘M s-sorry!”

His fingers dug deep into your flesh, igniting heat at every point of contact. You basked in the feeling for as long as you could, then halted your movements altogether, pulling off of him in one fell swoop. The loss made both of your bodies cry out in protest. Chan hiccuped pathetically, mouth falling open, confused blinks reflecting in the mirror when your softness, your warmth, escaped him without warning.

He trembled underneath you, tugging at your waist as he tried to get a handle on his voice. With care, you turned in his lap to come face to face with him again, moving slowly enough as not to break his hold on you, not even for a moment.

“Did I…” he panted. “Did I do something wrong?”

You brushed your thumb over his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had begun to accumulate. “No, baby. You’re doing so well for me,” you assured him. “But you wanna finish together, don’t you?”

It was almost funny, in a sense, how the way Chan’s face lit up—how his features flooded with pure delight—made your heart flutter more than anything else. More than any irresistible sound he let out, more than any way he let you use his body to your heart’s content. You were just as captivated, just as endeared, just as hopelessly taken with him as that night in May, walking home alongside him under the moonlight and knowing your fate was sealed.

“Y-yeah, together. Together, please.” He leaned forward, nose finding your neck, taking in your scent. “Can we stay like this? Wanna see you.”

Your hand found his length again, wrapping just tight enough around it to make him jolt. “Hm…you can see me in the mirror though, can’t you?”

“Please,” he repeated, pouty lips brushing against your skin. “Only wanna see you. Need you.”

You relented. Regardless of how badly you wanted to get the message across to him, regardless of how addictive you found the sight of him on display in ways you’d never seen before, you knew he’d just about reached his limit. And, well, maybe you needed him too. Needed to watch him fall apart right before your very eyes, needed to have every bit of your skin pressed against his, needed to kiss him when it all became too much for his foggy mind.

“You’re so cute. I’ve got you, baby.” You tilted his chin up with your free hand, half-lidded doe eyes finding yours. Knowing him, the eye contact wouldn’t last long before he was ducking away again. So, you took advantage of it, realigning him with you and watching his features flood with pleasure as you sank down on him once more. He had to stop himself from bucking up into you, body stiffening with effort, a breathy, grateful moan, nothing short of angelic, slipping past his lips.

“You’ve gotta hold on for a bit, alright?” You gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re close. Can you do that for me, Channie?”

His arms wrapped around you in full, no longer content with just his hands on your waist. “Mhm.” He barely mustered up a nod, pulling himself closer to you in a way that burrowed his cock impossibly deeper inside. “Promise. W-wanna make you feel good, too. Wanna be a good boy for you.”

“My good boy,” you cooed. “See how well you fit inside me? See how good you make me feel?” You clenched around him as you dragged yourself up his length, snapping back down with a delicious speed. “You were made for me.”

“M-made for you,” he agreed, head falling forward to nestle into your chest. “Ah—fuck! You’re so warm. Feels s-so good.”

You dug your nails into his muscles, using your grip on him for leverage as you began working your way up to a pace even more vigorous than before. Immediately, the new angle took a toll on Chan. It allowed the head of his length to rub directly against your sweet spot with each rock of your hips, making the both of you shudder. You could feel his mouth fall open against you to let out an especially sharp cry, nibbling mindlessly at your flesh, matching your rhythm.

“Y-you’re mine, too, right? Gonna stay with me?” he babbled into your skin. “Please, tell me you’ll stay. I’ll be good for you. P-please.”

The coil in your chest twisted just as tight as the one in your abdomen. You knew his thoughts were muddled, ridding him of any filter and making him ramble in the heat of the moment. But you also knew it stemmed from a very real fear, one that you would never feed into again.

“You’re already so good for me, Channie. You’re perfect. My perfect boy,” you spoke as steadily as your erratic movements and shaky breath would allow, ensuring that each reassurance found him. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m here ‘cause I love you.”

Chan whined, ringing out loud and clear even through the softness of your chest. “Love you. I love you so much.” He nuzzled further into you, strengthening his hold around you, hands pawing at your sides. The words seemed to have opened the floodgates within him, like he’d been waiting to hear them—the catalyst for him to lose himself in you completely. “Love you, love you, love you. ‘M almost th-there.”

This time, there was a short delay before you could bring yourself to stop. You didn’t want to let go of him again, no amount of time would be tolerable enough. So, you stayed perfectly still, indulging selfishly in the feeling of him inside you without snapping the final thread just yet. Chan lifted his head, disoriented, biting down on his bottom lip to fight back a pathetic groan as his climax was denied once more. You could feel his thighs quivering under yours, his arms flexing around you, his cock twitching wildly against your walls. Every bit of his energy was being expended to hold himself together, to endure it however many times you saw fit.

“You’re doing so well, baby boy. Lasting so long for me.” You twirled a lock of his damp curls around your finger, hoping to keep him grounded enough to hang on just a bit more.

“Y-yeah? ‘M doing okay?” He brushed his nose against yours, a silent plea that you understood all too well by now. “Making you feel good?”

“So good, Channie. I’m getting close, too.” You closed the gap between you and him before his wordless request became another whine, taking his swollen lips between yours. They were hot, pillowy, unbelievably wet. You tried your best not to flutter around him, but it was impossible not to when he was humming so eagerly into your mouth, kissing without an ounce of self-control left in his system. His movements were sloppy, uncoordinated, but each messy slide of his lips sent another jolt through your senses. The hug he’d enveloped you in loosened at last, hands wandering obsessively over your body until he found your chest. He paused for a moment, mumbling out something that made drool drip from the corner of his mouth.

“Mmph, c-can I? Wanna touch, please.”

Even now, he was clinging to the last few shreds of his rationality for you, thinking of you above all else when the promise of his climax was dangling right in front of his face. It took the arousal coursing through your veins to a whole new degree, so intensely that you had to stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his lips out of raw affection. 

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmured.

Chan cupped the soft flesh in an instant, sighing like he was slipping into a dream. His kisses became near-frantic, so drunk on you that he had trouble staying confined to just your lips, landing on the corner of your mouth, all over your cheeks, pecking and sucking any spot he could. Despite that, his hands were gentle, kneading at your flesh in a delicate back and forth pattern that calmed him and kindled a fresh warmth in your body. He was doing so well for you, trying his absolute best for you. You wanted to give him everything. You wanted to take his heart that he offered up to you so willingly, and give him yours in return.

“Ready to keep going, Channie? Can you take it?”

“Y-yeah. Yes, please,” he breathed. “Gonna do it for you. I’ll do anything.”

“My sweet boy.” You cupped his cheeks, steadying his clumsy kisses, but holding him just close enough to keep him content. He hissed softly as you began moving again, rolling your hips down so that his length grinded against your walls, stimulating every nerve-ending inside you. The heat building between your bodies became much harder to ignore, filling the air around you and seeping into your skin. It was heavy, thick, but it made you feel lighter than ever. Your high was drawing near, and, judging by the way Chan’s hips stuttered with less and less restraint, you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer either.

The pads of his fingers dug into your breasts just as he let out a warning moan. “Oh God, ‘m sorry. Please, don’t wanna finish without you. So—ngh—close.”

You grinded down against him, spine tingling when Chan yelped in response, so sharp it almost sounded like he was in pain. “Mm, just a little more, baby boy. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“I-I…oh, please,” he swallowed hard, eyebrows scrunching together as you dragged yourself all the way up his length, mind-numbingly slow. “Yeah, I can do it. I’ll be g-good.”

Your hands traveled up to his hair, tangling in his curls and pulling at them just hard enough to make goosebumps rise at his nape. “Channie listens so well,” you purred. “You were made to please, hm? Good boy, good boy.”

If your honeyed praises weren’t enough to push him alarmingly close to the edge, the way you squeezed around him as you sank back down, wrapping him in your heat all the way to his base surely was. Chan surged forward with a sob, head falling into your shoulder, fingers grasping at you helplessly.

“Your good boy,” he whimpered. “Please, please, ‘m not gonna l-last.”

You cradled the back of his head. “It’s too much, huh angel?” you pouted. “You can let it all out, now.”

“Together?” You could hear the strain in his voice, mere seconds away from losing it completely. “Together—ah—right?”

“Together.”

At that, you gave one last sloppy glide along his length, snapping the tension in both of you at once. Chan cried out, teeth grazing against your shoulder, hips surging up to push as far into you as your bodies would allow. A delicious heat seared through your senses, only amplified by the flood of his release coating your insides, stronger than ever from how long he’d been holding back. You tried to keep your own sounds under control, far more entranced by the ones slipping from his trembling lips. Mewls of your name, slurring out how much he loved you, chanting his gratitude like a mantra as you guided him through your shared high.

Minutes or hours could’ve passed and you wouldn’t have known the difference—you wouldn’t have minded either way. Eventually, the shivers in Chan’s body faded out, his panting evened into softer, more peaceful breaths. When he finally found it in him to pull his head from the comfort of your neck, droplets had begun to form in his eyes again. Not enough to spill down his cheeks quite yet, just enough to glaze his pupils over with happy tears, just enough to make them shine.

Your fingers danced absentmindedly in his hair, serving as a different pleasure from the kind that had just rocked your bodies. “You did so well for me, Channie. I’m proud of you.”

He blinked up at you. Slow, lazy, a dreamy smile tugging at his lips. “You’re s’ beautiful.”

“Sweet baby,” you murmured. “I hope you think the same when you see yourself.”

Anything he planned to say trailed off when you reached down for his hand, bringing it up to your lips. He was still buried deep inside you, hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch, but he did his best not to squirm as you pressed kisses to his fingertips, paying extra attention to the fading cut on his thumb. The pain was long gone, now. Still, it made a few glistening tears trickle out delicately. You kissed them away, too.

“You’re still my favorite reflection.”

Shy, barely audible, but spoken with all the sincerity in the world. Butterflies erupted in your stomach. It was a start, at least. Maybe the parts of yourselves that you loved in each other, you could eventually come to love in yourselves.

“Can we—?”

“Stay like this?” you finished for him, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Yeah, we can.”

He bumped his forehead against yours, letting out an exhausted giggle, eyes crinkling and dimples flashing. He was glazed with sweat, skin sticky, damp curls pressed to his forehead, but he shone with every ray of light that slipped through your blinds.

The urge to check on him, to fuss over him, to care for him, still nagged at your mind. That was something that would never change. You wanted to clean him up, wash away the soreness and soothe the marks all over his body. But he didn’t need any of that right now. He just needed you. That was it. From day one, it had been as simple as that. You didn’t need to do anything. You didn’t need to prove anything. You just needed each other. Maybe, you could stay wrapped up in the mess you’d left on each other’s bodies for a while—bask in it, even. 

Chan’s innocent nuzzles inevitably led to another kiss. Soft, but just as hungry for you, just as desperate to stay immersed in this moment. You shifted slightly on his lap, making your heart jump and making him jolt against you. The poorly concealed sound that built up in his throat might’ve made you giggle if you didn’t need him just as much. No more limits. No more restraint. You didn’t have to worry about taking him in moderation.

You wanted each other endlessly. You fell into each other again and again.

。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。⋆。˚ ʚïɞ ˚。⋆。

A sudden buzz against your nightstand cut through the tranquil rhythm of breath that filled your bedroom, pulling you from the haze of sleep that had been pricking at your mind’s edges. It was a brief, low vibration, but still loud enough for you to worry that it may wake the boy in your arms. For once, you allowed yourself to be unavailable, not daring to disturb his peace for even a moment to roll over and read the notification. You already had a good idea of who it might be, anyway: Changbin, triple checking what time you’d all be meeting up for jjajangmyeon on Friday. The thought alone made fondness bubble up inside you, lips curling into a private smile. After four years of tardiness, absences, and missed deadlines throughout his academic career, this was the one thing he was determined to be on time for.

Graduation was two days away. You and Changbin’s class ceremony would take place in the early morning, while Chan’s was scheduled for later that same night. Timed seamlessly with the rise of the sun and the moon. The finish line that you’d been terrified of for so long was a mere few steps away, but when viewed up close, it wasn’t quite so daunting anymore. Even if the path you walked next was still unfamiliar, uncarved by anyone before you to clear the way, you knew who you’d be walking it with, and you knew where it would lead you. You’d walk side by side with Chan, towards something better.

His family had flown in from Australia earlier in the week to visit, to attend his ceremony—to celebrate him. An occasion that was just as precious to them even with the bitter memories that surrounded it, even in its delay, even if Chan had spent the past two years of his life convincing himself otherwise. He’d been a nervous wreck before leaving to meet with them when they first arrived, you could see it in every awkward shift of his feet, every subconscious rub of his neck, every unnecessary adjustment of his clothes. However much you’d tried to comfort him beforehand, however many grateful smiles he’d given you, you’d known that there was no real way to ease his apprehension. He hadn’t seen them in person for over a year, and, even prior to that, it’d been two years since he’d had an interaction with them that wasn’t engulfed in shame.

But when he’d returned, he had a smile that almost reached his eyes; hopeful. It hadn’t been perfect, everything wasn’t okay yet, but the seed had at least been planted for it to blossom one day. He’d missed them so much. It made your heart sing and ache at the same time. You only wished that he’d believed he deserved to see them before now—to stand in front of them as the son and brother that they loved, not as the collection of faults and disappointments he saw himself as. 

Though, you supposed you weren’t exactly one to talk. Your family would be coming into the city on the day of your ceremony as well, a very blatant reminder that you had yet to visit your hometown again like you’d promised them over the summer.

You weren’t quite ready to return yet. But just like Chan, you would be, one day. And you would try again. Of all the things you’d come to learn in your time with him, the value of upholding a promise was undoubtedly the most important one. You weren’t going to run. You would try as many times as it took until your home felt like home again, until you remembered all the good times, until the memories laced in every crack and crevice didn’t add to the sting in your skin, but eased it. 

You eyed Chan’s form through the darkness, nestled against you with his head buried in the softness of your chest—sound asleep, for once. 

Your arm was still draped over his waist, lingering at the small of his back where you’d been rubbing as he drifted off. In turn, his muscular arm was wrapped securely around you. Holding each other, protecting each other. An endless cycle of drawing strength from one another without growing any weaker in the process. You could give him everything, and not lose a single drop of yourself.

For the first time, you could hold someone in your arms without that underlying sense of dread spreading its roots in your mind. For the first time, your heart was still. A calm and clear surface of a lake, one that you hoped could reflect Chan’s light in its truest, most unbroken form.

You were no longer held together by a butterfly bandage, an ill-fitted adhesive, forcibly closing your wounds without giving them the chance to heal properly. At last, you were stitched up. Stitched up by the very same thread of fate that had brought you and Chan together. 

You didn’t have to ask to know that he felt the same. You could feel his emotions like they were your own, after all.

[mizading]

UPPER MOON YANDERE HEADCANONS~ PT.2

Characters: Muzan, Gyutaro, Sekido, Urogi, Karaku, Gyokko, Kaigaku.

A/N:  I would like to thank Yoshinohirmet for the request! I thoroughly enjoyed adding to my Yandere Upper Moon series. As for my readers, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the love. Take care of yourselves and enjoy <3

Warnings : Verbal abuse, Physical abuse, violence, obsession, Yandere themes, etc. 

Muzan ・❥・

Muzan, a man with a twisted secret.

You’re the one chosen to take on the role of the demon's wife.

Muzan's obsession won’t be known.

As far as you know, you’re only here to maintain his facade of a perfect family.

Your only job is to help him live a "normal" life and keep his true identity hidden.

Deep down, a twisted spiral of obsession consumes Muzan slowly but entirely.

Although you serve a purpose that benefits Muzan, it’s merely an appropriate excuse for Muzan to get close to you.

Something about you is as intoxicating as his desire for the blue spider lily.

He himself can’t explain his unhealthy attraction to you.

Each day, he loses more and more control over this dark passion that burns inside.

Muzan needs you entirely. He’ll tell you lies until his last breath, just to keep you dependent.

You need him; you’re merely nothing without Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his.

Muzan prefers to silently watch and stalk.

Seeing you exist and your movements, untainted by the presence of another, satisfies his desire ever so slightly.

Muzan just loves the way you exist naturally when nobody is around. Everything about you is fascinating. The way your eyebrows furrow while reading, the way you bite your lip when focusing, how your right eye is a bit wider when you smile—he loves it all.

In your eyes, you disgust Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his "wife". He barely speaks to you, let alone acknowledges your presence.

At least, that is what you believe.

Muzan will slip one day. He can’t keep pretending that his body doesn’t yearn for you. He’s slowly losing control.

Muzan's spiral of hidden obsession will eventually engulf you both.

Gyutaro ・❥・

You’re the only thing that Gyutaro has—the only possession of his that is worth anything.

If Gyutaro doesn’t have you, he has less than nothing.

Nights would be spent with him obsessively touching and admiring you.

Over-the-top praise would be whispered in your ear as his fingers shakily traced your supple skin.

Gyutaro has a meal schedule set in place for you.

He desperately needs to see you in the best condition possible; he knows more than anyone what it’s like to almost die from starvation.

Gyutaro treats you as a trophy to show off, his little pretty lover.

Although he doesn’t take well to other men or women staring at or touching you.

One gaze that lasts too long from another sends Gyutaro into a blinding rage.

Gyutaro has a lingering fear that you'll see someone who meets your unattainable level.

He won’t ever have the only thing that he has in his pathetic life taken from him.

Gyutaro secretly craves your acceptance—just a small reassurance that he isn’t the scum of the earth.

Deep down, he fantasizes about being attractive and finally being able to proudly call himself your lover without utter shame and embarrassment.

Gyutaros strength is the only thing he has an ounce of confidence in.

He may never be able to compare to something as small as your hand when it comes to looks, but he can protect you proudly.

Gyutaro will gladly give up his life for you over and over again.

Sekido ・❥・

Not a soul was safe from Sekido’s wrath, but you were somehow the exception?

You were on a mission with other demon-slayers when you first met him.

Your existence hypnotized Sekido; every movement of yours made his own existence worthless to him.

All that mattered in the moment was you.

Your comrades were killed in no time; as for you? He didn’t lay a single hand on you.

All attempts to hurt Sekido were futile.

Sekido doesn’t want to take you by force, but he will if he has to.

Sekido would take you into hiding. For now, he wants you to himself with nobody to interfere.

Months would be spent with him in the forest.

Days consist of him admiring you, trying to figure out what's so special about you.

Why do you make him feel this way?

Sekido wouldn’t force physical contact until his emotions were too much to bear; he'd hold out for as long as possible.

Once he actually gets his hands on you, it’s hard for him to control himself.

Sekido isn’t exactly gentle with you; he has too much pent-up anger, but he tries.

Disobeying in any form earns you verbal abuse or physical restraint.

Don’t test Sekido; he can’t always control himself.

Urogi ・❥・

You make excitement run its course through Urogi’s body.

Such a beautiful specimen you were through his eyes.

Urogis feathers can’t help but ruffle at the thought of you belonging to him.

His sizable wings would wrap around you tightly, preventing you from leaving as he dragged you to a new location.

Somewhere, the two of you could stay together for as long as you both live.

Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing your screams, and watching your hopeless attempts to escape makes his fire of excitement burn brighter.

Urogi knows that such a smart and beautiful person as you would soon understand that he is what's best for you.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever come close to his love.

Attempt to escape, and you’re wrapped in his soft but chilling wings again.

"Can’t you see how good I am for you? Keep up this bad behavior; you’re making things much more exciting."

Urogi wouldn’t use any of his abilities on you; he doesn’t need to.

His physical strength alone is enough to keep you his. It’s much more entertaining this way.

The way Urogi scans your body using his blinding yellow eyes with a soft but chilling smile on his face makes you weak in the knees.

He’s expresses nothing but joy and excitement, no matter what you attempt to do.

There is something awfully off about Urogi; he knows this, and you know this.

Karaku ・❥・

Karakus's obsessiveness is only natural; it goes hand in hand with pleasure.

There have been many that Karaku has been fond of, but nobody could dare touch your level.

The way your little face scrunches up with determination while you swing useless slashes at him drives Karaku crazy.

Your hopelessness is so precious to him.

Karaku pays an awful amount of attention to your body; the way you maneuver fascinates him.

Karaku thoroughly enjoys touching you unexpectedly; he simply does it to see the way your body reacts.

You’re basically Karaku's doll, his new porcelain doll wrapped in plastic.

He’ll do anything in his power to make you completely dependent on him and him alone.

Karaku breaking and molding you into his little dependent doll is only a cover-up for how much he needs you.

If you need him, he won’t ever have to worry about the one thing he needs most escaping from his grasp.

It takes much effort to make Karaku the slightest bit unhappy.

Throw a tantrum? He thinks it's cute.

Hurt him? He enjoys pinning you down, Karaku will put up with all of your antics.

The only thing that can manage to set off Karaku is trying to escape.

Attempting to escape his grasp drives him mad; why would you ever try to leave him?

Karaku will hunt you down until the second he takes his last breath.

Gyokko ・❥・

You were the first thing to make Gyokko pause in awe, besides his own vases.

A mere human with beauty that puts one of his vases to shame? Gyokko couldn’t wrap his mind around the phenomenon.

Gyokko spent a couple of weeks stalking you from the shadows.

He needed to capture your beauty somewhere, and that somewhere was on a vase.

Gyokko spends hours studying your features, painting out every little detail of your existence on an empty vase.

Your essence needed to be captured permanently.

Gyokko wants nothing more than to show you his work—just something, anything that’ll impress you.

All he wants is your validation—to make you pause in awe just as much as he did when he first laid eyes on you.

Deep down, Gyokko knows better; he shouldn’t dare show himself.

He has just enough sense left to acknowledge his form, half of his body encapsulated in a vase, and a terrifying face as a cherry on top.

Gyokko only has enough confidence to watch you silently from the depths of the night.

By now, there are at least fifty vases, all in your name.

Gyokko quenches his heart's desire for you by admiring you on his vases; it’s almost as if you’re really there.

Somehow, someday Gyokko will have you posing right before his eyes as he paints every inch of you.

Kaigaku ・❥・

On the outside, Kaigaku is seen as an arrogant narcissist.

What lies inside is someone insecure, who craves your acceptance more than anything.

Kaigaku ingrained your low worth compared to him into your head.

This is the only way he knows how to keep you by his side for as long as you live.

If you continue to stray, Kaigaku will resort to physical violence.

He knows no better; this is the only way in his clouded mind.

There are moments where Kaigaku gets slightly vulnerable.

This typically only happens after a battle.

Kaigaku will spend hours on end begging for your acceptance.

The demon only wants to hear that he still has a purpose, even if it's minor.

His vulnerability is hidden once more the next day.

Kaigaku will return to his verbally abusive ways, denying anything that happened the night before.

Kaigaku's only worry is that you'll see through his facade.

He can’t bear the thought of you seeing him for who he truly is.

Until that day comes, Kaigaku will force you to be by his side.

With him, you are nothing more than his puppet.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

[comicaurora]

These have been pent up for a while, so there's a whole list lol. Some are Aurora, some are not.

1) Can lacrimas carry out multiple purposes at once? Or will they blend them? I'm assuming that this is possible, considering that the automaton in the ruins was using a lacrima as a brain

2) Has anyone tried to make tools or weapons out of lacrimas? I'm talking like chisel that needs no hammer. Or maybe a Fire lacrima on a bow that sets your arrows on fire

3) Can you engrave runes on lacrimas to make them affect themselves?

4) Where can I read more about the Twins? If I'm not wrong they're the creator gods, aided by the Light dragon and the Void dragon to create life, but I might be getting a wrong read on that

5) Since we see Erin successfully become the first Void mage, does that now mean there's potential for him to make a Void lacrima? The dragon probably won't allow it, but still

6) What exactly does elemental corruption of each element do? Fire literally burns you up, as we saw in Arc 1. I can infer that Life likely makes you a chimera. Void corruption makes you a cave crawler. But what do the other one do? Does Earth make you a statue? Does Wind disintegrate you, Thanos style?

7) Now onto the non-Aurora questions, is your art vector or raster? I believe it's vector, but it's always better to confirm

8) What are your opinions on reading into the environment and the character design to infer things about the character themselves? In any type of media

9) Have you played Baldur's Gate 3?

10) Do you have any music that you'd recommend? I've listened to every song I liked so many times that I hate them now.

11) I'm new to Tumblr, anything that I should know? You don't have to answer this one if you don't wanna. I think I know some of the basics already. Reblog what you like, and avoid the terfs, right?

You might be able to tell that I like the idea of the lacrimas a little bit. Just a teensy bit. The artificer in me definitely isn't obsessed. I appreciate any answers you can give :3

Cheers!

Ooh, lots of stuff!

Yes, it's possible. A lacrima can be engraved with multiple spells, set in a casing engraved with commands, or some combination of the two. Typically, all spells engraved directly on a lacrima will activate at once when the lacrima is "switched on", but a spell can be quite complex, and conditional activations are possible - "if-then-else" statements, basically.

Yes, magic items exist.

Generally no. If the lacrima is disrupted or broken, the spell generally stops functioning, so a self-affecting lacrima will run only as long as it takes for the lacrima to distort or break.

There's an extra lore page about them!

He probably could if he wanted to (and the Dragon allowed it) but Void energy is very dangerous, so he likely doesn't want to.

Each form of elemental corruption agitates the presence of the element in the mage's body. Earth corruption can damage or alter bones, encourage unhealthy petrification of soft tissues, etc. Wind corruption can have physical effects but it often most obviously produces breakdowns in the person's ability to speak or understand language. Lightning damages, numbs or intensifies a person's physical senses.

Raster, I draw with CSP's digital pens. I've only very briefly experimented with vector art - I don't like how it simplifies the lines.

I think it's a fun school of analysis but, like all literary analysis, it runs into trouble if it tries to lock down exactly what the writer was thinking or intending (which is an objective fact that one can be incorrect about) rather than trying to analyze the story on its own and what meaning might, intentionally or unintentionally, be factoring into it.

Nope

don't trust my taste in music it's 90% nu metal and sonic OSTs

Like what you like, reblog what you want, generally it's considered dubious form to add a comment to a reblog unless you have something profound to contribute (commenting in the tags is fine), steer clear of discourse and callout posts and generally the sectors of the site that are constantly on fire, blocking someone for any reason is 100% fine

[chweverni]

HOW I THINK _ bonedo 'n their love languages ! (pt.2)

pairing; ot6!bonedo x fem!reader synopsis; how would your adorable boyfriend(s) express their love for you? word count; 614 author's note; pt.2 is here!! wooo what are yall's thoughts on a taesan fic involving love potions? i got the idea a while back but idk if the commitment is there lmfaoo

read pt.1 here !

-

KIM DONG HYUN - physical touch/gift giving & receiving !

ESFJs are.. interesting. when they're in love, every little thing their partners do, affect the way they judge their relationship. here, leehan would definitely be the one who's into physical affection a lot. for him, a day without your hugs and kisses, or cuddles right after waking up, is enough for him to jump into conclusions that maybe your day was bad, or that you had a nightmare. he'd do everything, in his favors to make your day better. leaving you in bed, with a forehead kiss, and going out of his way to bring you breakfast in bed is something i definitely think he'll do a lot! the type to be totally into pda because he desperately needs people to know that he has the most prettiest, cutest, sexiest, smartest and loving girlfriend on this entire planet!

think of gifts such as flowers, hand-made cards, CDs or cassettes, rings, things he made in art classes such as little pots, drawings, tickets to concerts or amusement parks, because he loves to spoil his babe a lot and would swim across oceans just to get you the things you like. and this would totally go both ways, too. you would exchange gifts whenever there's a special day you both would like to cherish together.

he'll probably get you hot water bags, chocolates, snacks and warm blankets when you're on your period and would check up on you frequently to make sure you're doing fine. he would give back rubs whenever you're having cramps, while you sleep helplessly on your bed.

"i made you this during pottery classes.. see the flowers here? they're real! i glazed them afterwards.", he'll say proudly, with his adorable eye smile.

you'd kiss him immediately right there and then, which he would return in a heartbeat.

KIM WOONHAK - quality time/physical affection !

another ENFP, who has an unhealthy obsession of being with and around you 24/7 because he just loves you a lot, he can't help it okay? for him, one second without you feels like eternity. you two spend every second together, being literally attached at the hip. the type to send you messages like, "i wish you lived next to me, so that whenever i wake up, i could just stick some notes in my window, wishing you good morning, hoping you'd see them.", knowing that you'd have to literally run out of your house to reach school on time if that happened. he's the one who yaps a lot in the relationship, while all you can do is either listen with full interest, or feed into his interests by asking him more. and if you do both, he'll probably be planning a future with you, far away from the main lands, because he wants you to himself.

the type to give you surprise hugs whenever you're fully focused on something, like reading a book, to see you flinch. he'll probably be into the concept of cheek touching, as a form of greeting you. be prepared for random kisses on your cheek, nose, forehead, lips, hands and knuckles through out the day, because poor baby just cannot get enough! think of teddy bear hugs, and him resting his chin on your shoulder.

he's totally the type to fall asleep in the bus/train ride home after school, leaning to your body or shoulder, while one of your earbuds is still playing faint music, to help him sleep.

"can you come over, baby? pretty please? i promise this is the last time i'm asking you this! i miss you.", even though it probably will continue to happen every single day.

-

that's it! i hope i did them justice as usual <3

thanks for checking in on my blog, love you, bye!

all creds to chweverni only on tumblr !

[bblovetarot]

{𖥔} What in your life needs your attention?

ʚ ═══･୨ꕤ୧･═══ ɞ Pick a Pile ʚ ═══･୨ꕤ୧･═══ ɞ 

. ༄. paid readings . ༄

。°⚠︎°。follow your intuition when choosing a pile. if you're drawn to more than one pile, that's okay! you may have messages in more than one.

。°⚠︎°。tarot readings are not 100% accurate, and do not dictate your future. please keep in mind that you have free will. these readings are also general and aren't specific to one person, so please take what resonates and leave what doesn't! 

Pile 1

Pile 1, it seems that there's a crucial aspect of your life that needs attention—how past family treatment affects your present. Hurtful family beliefs or traditions may have shaped you into someone who lacks joy, hesitates to explore the world, and tries new things. There's a sense that you may have become cynical, losing belief in yourself and the possibility of miracles. Short bursts of inspiration often don't stick, and family might have led you to believe that your true dreams are unattainable, pushing you towards what's considered traditional and normal. However, these beliefs aren't serving you well, Pile 1. They've turned your perspective on life negative, making it challenging to find meaning in even the small things. You may be accustomed to doing what's perceived as normal and easy, but for growth and progress, stepping out of your comfort zone is necessary. There's a message, perhaps for some of you about moving out of a family home, but the fear of the unknown and the comfort of the familiar holds you back. It's essential to recognize that you might not be taking the right steps to get what you truly desire. You may have grand ideas for yourself but believe you can't implement them, thinking they're impossible or that you don't deserve them. It's crucial to understand that you, more than external factors, are the one holding yourself back. Bringing happiness and peace into your life will provide clarity and help you move forward. What brings you joy? What inspires you?Pay attention to your mindset and surroundings that might be hindering progress. Don't let internal doubts rob you of the opportunity to be truly happy in this lifetime. Spirit advises you to prepare for what comes when tackling these issues—it won't be easy, but it's a necessary transformation for your growth, much like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. Trust that the universe will be with you every step of the way, guiding you through the darkness of uncertainty. Remember, everything happens for a reason.

Pile 2

It seems that there's someone in your life, Pile 3, who demands your attention, possibly a family member or someone you share a lot of happiness with. This person may exhibit characteristics of laziness, depression, reckless spending habits leading to financial burdens, or an excessive obsession with money. Whether describing someone else or reflecting aspects of yourself, take what resonates. This person appears to be ungrounded, potentially battling mental or physical illnesses, and displaying reckless tendencies. If this doesn't directly apply to you, it seems you feel caught in a dilemma about deciding whether to keep this person in your life. While you share many happy memories, you could be weary of their actions and arrogant behavior. There may not be direct rudeness or abuse, but a sense of unhealthy coping mechanisms. You might be contemplating whether to cut ties with them, desiring peace, calmness, and a journey towards happiness and healing. The universe advises you to listen to your intuition and heart, assuring you that you're supported in your decision. It's undoubtedly a tough choice, but prioritize your own well-being and happiness. You don't necessarily have to completely cut this person out, but creating some distance might be beneficial. If you resonate with the described person, it's crucial to focus on gaining control over impulsive actions, understanding that your current behavior is throwing you out of alignment. Strive for balance in various aspects of your life and tap into your intuition for true happiness. Check your level of confidence and assertiveness, ensuring it doesn't come off as overly pushy or arrogant. Reflect on how you present yourself to others, how you treat them and yourself, and where insecurities might be affecting your life. This can guide you towards a healthier and more balanced existence.

Pile 3

It appears that there's a childhood dream or a creative aspiration that once brought joy to your inner child. However, over time, it seems you've given up on this dream, possibly due to the challenges you faced when you attempted to pursue it. Fear of others' opinions, especially the potential for competition or tension, might be holding you back. If not competitiveness, it could be concerns about how others perceive your dream. The message emphasizes the importance of standing up for yourself and not letting others' opinions hinder your pursuit of happiness. Pay attention to your soul's calling and drown out the external noise. Embarking on this dream might induce stress, especially as it involves taking on significant responsibilities. However, you're not obligated to carry the burden alone. There's a suggestion to examine how you might be overwhelming yourself with unnecessary stress on this journey. Consider taking on responsibilities gradually rather than piling them all at once. Be mindful of your pacing and avoid rushing into things. It's essential to find a balance that allows you to move forward without burning yourself out, regaining motivation, and instilling discipline in pursuing this dream of yours.

[thecherrytarot]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 (𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧)

pile 1 → pile 2 → pile 3

This is an 18+ reading. Minors do not interact. I am not responsible for your actions and if uncomfortable I will block you. Pick the photo you feel the most drawn to and please remember that this is a general reading so take what resonates!! Keep in mind that this reading is not about the masculine gender it's about the energy.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏:

I will be honest I didn't get much about your sexual energy but instead got a message about what you do not enjoy. Many of you are afraid of getting/ or getting your partner pregnant and for some of you even being in a committed relationship is an issue. You are afraid to have kids because you do not want to end up being like your parents. Many of you also have issues with your motherly figure. You have gotten so lost in masculine energy, you tend to go for people with more feminine energy to find that comfort that you lack. Some of you might be so desperate for this affection (bc that's how some of you feel alive) you always surround yourself with the wrong people. Some of you might like doing it with foreigners or someone who doesn't know much about you. Whatever it is, you have complicated relations with your sexual partners (some of you have more than one partner). The only 'kinks' I can think of are sexting, sending nudes, filming while having sex, and thigh reading.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐:

You enjoy being the one who is assertive and in charge but some of you tend to adapt to their personal needs and wants. You love to write or read erotica and not just like normal or vanilla type, many of you read the taboo ones like CNC, threesomes, or orgies, forbidden either incest or something like 'your best friend's mom/dad and yandere. You feel like you do not have the time for committed relationships because you are focused on bringing your manifestations into reality(i keep getting this feeling that some of you are virgins or have little physical experience) It always feels like the timing isn't right because you have been focusing on achieving a bigger picture but that's okay your partners do not mind. They feel comfortable around you, and you know how to give them a good time. I saw a couple drinking red wine, and there is a naked woman wrapped in a white sheet while playing a board game with someone so take however that resonates. Also, many of you like to have phone sex or enjoy sexting, especially on Omegle.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑:

Freak by Doja Cat started playing when I shuffled it resonated so listen to it !!!

Your Mars sign could either be in Aries or Scorpio. Some of you could even think that you are in your "heartless" era because you think that feelings are just a big distraction for you. Many of you feel good about being bad or mean to your partner cause you know when it is done in the right way, how good and toe-curling it is. You like to try new things and explore your sexuality. Sometimes you end up in unhealthy relationships because the 'thrill' and the angst of it adds extra flavour in bed. You like being the authoritative one because you like to provide security to your partners, and seeing them safe in your arms relaxes you. You like it when your partner is obsessed with you and keep coming back to you for more and more and you love to tease them about this ('tease him just enough to hate me ' This lyric kept replaying in my head lol)

please leave feedback!

[its-dari]

Beware Baby Bunny

Hard Yandere! Akatsuki - Types & Danger Levels

I know it says "hard yan". But that's because my preferred type are soft yans... This is literally the worst extreme, especially in terms of character.

~ Dari

Deidara

Type: Manipulative & Dependent

Danger Level: 3/10

Not particularly manipulative towards you, more so towards any possible suitors. But if he is favored by you, he will milk it to the best he can. This especially shows when he assesses that he cannot physically win over them and resorts to more underhanded methods. A yandere that needs you like he needs air and all his purpose feels like it's gone when he is no longer with you. Like he'd die without you.

Creepy Behaviors Include: Heavy breathing upon close contact. Occasional thievery of your items. Manipulative behaviors towards potential suitors. Occasionally Munchausen.

Hidan

Type: Violent & Delusional

Danger Level: 9.5/10

Intensely wrapped in the bloody thoughts of Jashin, he believes that you were gifted to him for his labors to his god. There is nothing but blood in his brain when it comes to you, obsessively and sexually wrapping himself in how you look drenched in it. He is willing to harm both you and anyone that gets in his way of having you. It is only a side comment that makes him conceal his feelings and behavior.

Creepy Behaviors Include: Idealization. Erotomania. Stealing of bloodied sanitation products. Leering.

Hoshigaki Kisame

Type: Protective & Possessive

Danger Level: 7/10

Immensely blood thirsty but unlikely to violently react towards rivals unless they were similar. Views your opinion as important and so is careful in how he presents himself in front of you. If pushed, he could react violently but is a relatively docile type. Very loyal and pretty liberal in committing bloody acts if he knows he won't be caught. Depends on how well you handle these tendencies.

Creepy Behaviors Include: Keeping things you make for him long beyond it's tenure; including food.

Kakuzu

Type: Possessive Provider

Danger Level: 4/10

Doesn't try and especially hide his fondness and generally is one of the more normal types. While people presumably think he'd view the object of his affections as a posession, it's his experience and older age that allowed this more mellowed look. While his rank and level of violence of a criminal is still high. There is still somewhat of a levelheaded way he goes about dealing with rivals. He also won't really attempt to force you into anything.

Creepy Behaviors Include: Stealing Minimal Items. Financial Coercion.

Sasori

Type: Apathetic, Obsessive & Possessive

Danger Level: 10/10

Lucid and fully aware his behavior is unhealthy and will keep it to himself. The most dangerous in the sense that he cares little for you, your feelings, or your choices. He's also the master of acting like there's nothing wrong with him. The only one with a full 10 in all categories.

Obsessed with the idea of memorializing you forever by turning you into a puppet regardless of your wishes. Watches you often and at length to be able to gauge your anatomy and measurements perfectly. Has likely made a doll version of you and prepared clothes for a potential wedding... If given a chance, will make a different human puppet if the victim is close enough to your likeness.

Creepy Behaviors Include: Staring(often withoit blinking). Watching you sleep if given chance. Idealization. Objectification.

Uchiha Itachi

Type: Protective & Passive

Danger Level: 2/10

Genuinely the least selfish of the bunch, while he has an agenda in flirting with you and wanting to have you. He simply can go on without having you in a romantic sense, content fo have you in his life and just show you that you matter a lot to him. Will set aside his feelings in favor of yours and let you be happy with someone else. The closest to genuinely loving you. Though can show aggression/violence towards those that mean you harm or disrespect your memory.

Creepy Behaviors Include: Stealing Items. Replicating them with sharigan if possible.

Non-Yans / Yan Leashes:

Pein / Nagato

Honestly, someone come help this man. It is their respect for him that they're not acting out. He probably has a soft spot of some sort for you otherwise, he would consider murdering you for causing unrest among the others.

Konan

She's probably used to the creepy leering of men, and is immensely uncomfortable by the knowledge of this behavior. It is her connection with Pein and respect for her that keep them from behaving like insane people. Well, except Hidan, but that's par for the course.

Uchiha Obito / Tobi

He knows EVERYTHING and WOW, he thought he was bad. He takes advantage of his position as "innocent" Tobi to go around and mess with them, just for his amusement... It is his own fondness for you as a member that makes sure they keep from anything too extreme.

Zetsu

If the cannibal himself is grossed out by them, there's a problem. He is the one to report to the others as he can phase through walls and such... Keeps them docile for the sake of that they might know he knows everything.

[sagstelliums]

Why are they sending you black magic (pac) *follower request

Pile 1

(Angel number 123/345/12345) I see that they’re sending you black magic and they’re tapping into your energy, they’re trying to keep tabs on you and watch what you’re doing or hinder your success. They’re trying to put you through hardships or financial struggles, they’re trying to cause you to lose your job or have trouble at work. Signs- Aries/capricorn, initials- Q, U, K, H

Pile 2

(Does someone have a southern accent or like a southern spirit guide?) I see that they’re sending you black magic on you because they can’t let go of you or the past, they have a lot of regret and denial that they’re dealing with. They can’t handle that you left them or that they don’t have control over you anymore the way they want you to, they’re putting black magic on you so that you can loose your luck or be as unlucky as they are. They’re putting black magic on you to interfere with your love life, they’re putting black magic on you because they still care about you and they’re sad. They’re trying to cause physical harm and pain to you. Signs- Taurus/genini, initals- Q, N, B

Pile 3

(Angel number 8/88/888) I see that they’re sending you black magic because they’re trying to knock you off your focus and unmotivate you, they’re trying to cause a “tower” moment in your life and they want to break your pride/confidence. They want revenge and they have an unhealthy obsession with you, they’re trying to unbalance you and cause a lot of chaos in your life. They’re trying to make your life take a turn for the worse and they’re trying to make it happen fast. They’re trying to take control over your life, they’re trying to cause financial troubles or cause a mental block that stops you from producing plans or that stops your creativity. Signs- Aries/libra. Initials- S, M, V

Personal readings always available

Pngs by @snailspng @thepngpixie Divider by @thecutestgrotto

[killykstudio]

Melancholia

Miguel O'Hara x Obsessed!Reader

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6;

Warnings: 18+, smut, parano1a,heavy themes as depress1on, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, obsessive behaviour

Summary: After breaking definitely with your ex husband, you think your life is gonna be better, instead you get submerged from your own unhealthy behaviour.

Author's note: the pictures at the top of the post are just for aesthetic purposes. Y/N doesn't have any distinguishing physical traits or type of clothing, leaving you free to imagine her as you like!

;

;

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Your reflection in the hand mirror is engulfed in the pinkish and blue lights of the club.You are messing your hair , trying to give them a more beautiful shape. You look...

Hideous

"Linda~" you feel the word on your neck and gasp at the known voice.

"here. The line at the bar was so long, sorry if I made you wait too much" he places two glasses of tequila in front of you two on a glass table.

"Don't worry, Miggy" you lovely smiled at him. He reciprocates the sweet gesture adding a hint of seduction.

You both take the glasses , sip down the drink. Without thinking, you took all the tequila in your glasses, and in that same moment, a sensation of both heat and cold sent a shiver down your spine, causing an involuntary shudder. The alcohol was relentless, mercilessly scorching your throat, and your stomach clenched uncomfortably.

"Slow down! Muñequa! This isn't a competition " he chuckled, placing his glass on the table.

"God," you murmured, choked, and closed your eyes for a moment.

"You were supposed to enjoy it and not see it as a challenge..." His hand brush against yours as he takes your glass and places it near his. You reopened your eyes and locked them on his figure.

Damn, he is gorgeous: disheveled hair, plumb lips , you can see his muscle under his too tight black shirt and his eyes! His red bloodied eyes that make you bloom emotions you cannot distinguish.

"You are... sooo pretty Miggy ~ " you said it boldly.

He chuckles at your statement. You start hitting him playfully "why are you laughing!" Accidentally you went so close to him: your breast against his heavy chest; one of your legs on his; your nose lightly brushing. "C'mon Miggy stop making fun of me!" He keeps laughing until his lips crash on yours. It was sensual and hungry: he tasted all you had to give him,then he broke the kiss with a groan, leaving you breathless.

His warm hand ventured higher. A shiver ran through your heated body, and you couldn't help but bite down on your lower lip and close your eyes. His warm breath on your neck made you tense up. 

He buried his head in your supple neck, kissing and sucking on your skin, leaving behind a trail of love bites.His hand disappears under your dress, and you stifle a moan as he slides two fingers in your slit. Your body was engulfed in flames.

"Miggy-y! Not her-e!" "Let them see who makes you feel good and who you belong to" you have to muffle a moan by biting your lips due to the way his voice rumbles in your ear to your chest.

"te gusta Muñeca? Eres un balbuceo desastre, "¿Te hago sentir tan bien?

The desire in his burning eyes. He stared at you like a hungry predator, and it dawned on you that it was just because of what he was doing to you, right in the middle of the club.

The various sensations nearly drove you insane

"If only you knew," his fingers moved faster inside you, his thumb massaging your clit incessantly, you almost lost your mind, "how much I’d like to fuck you right here on this table."

And that was it. His words were the trigger, you org-

❗SESSION INTERRUPTED❗

You scream in pain as you fall on the freezing ground, you were on the peak of pleasure and you were brought abruptly down from it without having the time to experience it.

Ring!

"time is off Y/L/N" you are a shaking mess, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. You stand on your arms , propping your head back to see the figure in front of you. A woman elegantly dressed with a goth cyberpunk dress and wearing

"you don't have enough memories for another round"

What?

"impossibile I- "you have used them all" She leans near you giving you a hand to stand up. Delicately she starts unplugging all the caves attached to you. " The fuck?!" You move quickly from her touch falling on the floor. "Listen Y/L/N you know perfectly how paraerotism works , I even gave you the depliant : you can use your own memories of a person and copy and paste them to be able to modify them in whatever scenarios you want, but they can only last as much as the original one. You have copied all in which this.... Eugh " she touched her glasses that worked as a tablet.

"Mike?"

"Miguel" you correct her

Ring!

"can you silence your phone, Y/N/L? It has been ringing the whole time "

It was your husband sending all that texts still desperate to understand why you left him

" I can't, if someone important text me, I have to know it"

As if Miguel is gonna call you in any moments

She sighs and continues with her lecture "Unfortunately you already copied all the memories you have of him and-

"can I not copy them again?"

"Can you not talk for a minute?" Your face showing clearly annoyance. " if you copy the same memory more than once , there is the chance of altering it irrevocably and even the chance of completely forgetting it."

Now everything else from now she said was a buzz for you , immersed in your thoughts as you slowly regain your sense from the brain sucking session

Fuck... You don't know for how many days you went on this paraerotic thing: you had left your husband two weeks ago and you cut all your relationships, but one , except for your ex searched for you and this only led you more into this artificial drug. It's not the first time you were dragged by it, but all the time you exited from it.

"I promise this will be the last time, mom" the phrase reverbed in your brain.

Ring!

"anyway since you have finished your memories of this guy, can I show you our Catalog of videoparaerotica? We have a new entry! which is already popular among our costumers: Spiderman Venom edition! The tags include: tentacle; dom; superhero; fighting; rescue; traumatic experience..."

As she continued reading all the tags, she didn't notice you get off from the floor and leaving the club like place.

Your senses are still cool down having a difficult time to focus everything in your eyesight, you could feel under your skin a buzzing feeling like a static tv. Another effect of assumption is the momentary loss of sense of orientation, so you activate location to be able to move back to your home.

Ring!

As you narrow your eyes to adjust them to the light, you are met by a huge thunderstorm

Lucky me ! You sarcastically smiled thinking at the fact you didn't bring an umbrella since the metro didn't announce anything about rain.

Ring!

Your smile fades away

Fuck! Fuck this city! Fuck my family! Fuck my ex! Fuck Miguel! FUCK EVERYBODY!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Ting!

This sound is different, since you have set up different sounds for all your number contacts.

You open your phone:

Mom

My dear I've been worrying about you I hope you are doing that disgusting perverse synthetic drug again... Please call me when you can.

You start typing.

You

Ok

You are never gonna call her.

Ring!

You keep walking under the rain trying to avoid getting dripping wet, stopping sometimes under some balcony and veranda. The rain doesn't stop, it's raining cats and dogs, it's so strong that it almost creates a Gray screen. You are freezing and trembling , the cold reminds you of that of the lake.

Without realising, tears start flooding from your eyes,falling in the plash in front of you, fading in the rain.

Why am I like this? No . I destroyed my wedding, my most important relationship that I've built up in many years .not again . It's not my ex fault , it's mine ! I was feeling strange even before I knew about his cheating. NO. I'm tired of these thoughts, I can't MANAGE TO DO ANYTHING, why can't my brain shut down?

You try to stop thinking, eyes fixed on the rain falling in front of you, then see your reflection: you look fucking stupid.

I'm so stupid! I'm so weird! Can I be someone else?! God I wish I could peel my f-

A crowd of people screaming and running in front of you drags you back to reality.

"come here you little bug!"

It's that dr. Octopus? Is he a female? He is... A human?! I thought it was a sentient octopus, on the news they describe it in that way... I'm gonna unsubscribe from NYCN website. It's a fucking scam. Like this cit-

"Come on spidey don't run~ I've a lot of questions for you~ you don't know? It's legit to ask questions and it's a courtesy to answer them!"

She is swinging across the builds with her mechanical tentacles , the rain making it difficult for her to move quickly and precisely, trying to grab something, someone.

"It's courtesy not obligatory!"

Ah yeah... omg... You bring a hand in exasperation on your face. again him. You sigh deeply.

Ring!

Spiderman still being agile enough to dodge or her hits and swings. He is really agile, but he has the trademark to be like an elephant in a crystal shop, terribly unaware of his surroundings, everywhere he goes , something has to be repair.

Ring!

Like my balls everytime my ex messages me. Incredibly this rude statement from you makes you grins a little. Good one Y/N!

The two opponents keep bittering each other with witty remarks. You couldn't care less : you are under a veranda bar covering yourself from the thunderstorm; people keep fleeing the scene to secure themselves,but you couldn't care less, you didn't care If the hit,on the contrary, your mother could redeem your association, so you would actually be helpful to your family! Finally!

"We have fought thousands of times in my universe, it's a quiet...as they say in Italy... a 'prassi'~" (custom thing)

God,I should start a business where I sell popcorn near this kind of fights. Also thickets and merchandise, people would go crazy for this kind of things

"Funny! I have checked my agenda and there is written that it is scheduled only one match, bitch or as they in Italy,puttana!"

He lands on the street, throws a web and pulls himself towards his foe. She starts striking quickly attacks with her tentacles,but he manages to dodge them all, cutting them in the processe. Only one is still functioning properly, infuriated , Docto tries to flee , but Spiderman grabs her by her last tentacle and pushes her violently on the ground.

No wait!

Hitting the ground, due to cause effect , a huge wave of rainwater hits you like a tsunami. You are incredulous and dripping wet.

Not even Miguel could make you this w-

FUCK OFF!

Now even your thoughts were making your life miserable.

Ring!

You can smell blood. Not yours.She is still alive, getting up weakly from the ground.

"Wanna go for round two?" He asked sarcastically

She stares at him full of wrath then her anger seems to be replaced by amusement. She starts laughing , starting from normal to a hysterical one, simultaneously she takes a pistol needle and injects her self with some strange liquids and slowly she regains strength. Ready to storm towards him. She starts swinging, then everything went black for her.

You couldn't see her anymore: a flying ambulance just hit her.

You are still from shock. Spiderman is shocked. The paramedics are shocked. The only thing that wasn't stunned , is the rain who keeps falling down at an incredible speed.

Ring!

Fuck this shit!

As you feel the effects of the drugs have been completely washed over by the shock, you turn off your phone and storm back to your home.

And so in the hallway echoed your steps, the screaming of the people, the shouts of the paramedics at the poor driver and the voice of spiderman.

~~~

Drops falling from your jacket on your floor as you are undressing your self. You look around, something is off.

Did I forget to turn the lights off? AGAIN!? Damn then I ask myself why the bill is so hig-

"Y/N , you know it's courtesy to answer the phone" you turn your head knowing what hare you going to face : your mother fury.

"But it's not obligatory"

"only people without common sense doesn't or-

"my ex doesn't leave me alone , he keeps messaging me! What the fuck does he want from me?!"You cut her lecture clearly being too tired to even listen to her, but at the same time you know the power she holds on you.

"moderate the language"

"sorry... So I had to turn off my phone, the sound was driving me insane!"

"I-" "your phone had the position activated" she abruptly interrupts you. Cold sweating gathering on your skin.

"and it was still on when I texted you"

"I-" you trying to collect saliva in your mouth.

"I was busy"

"busy destroying yourself?"

" I was in the fifth Avenue 42 there is a pub there" she narrows her eyes. "This isn't a bright period for me and I just wanted to relax a bit." Your hands moving in the air looking more dramatic, trying to release all your anxiety.

"Drinking a few beers isn't destroying my self"

"oh so you were drinking alone in a pub? " she says sarcastically. "It's not true that drinking alone leads to alcoholism! You know my bud-"

" let me check your breath"

You are caught red-handed. Your mouth is semi open trying to think of something to help yourself out of this umpteenth disaster.

"I washed my teeth"

Nice try

Your mother stared at you with a murderous look. She stands up and comes closer to you. You are petrified. You could feel your soul leaving you. You don't remember how many times she helped you and how much money she has spent for your rehabilitation, but you can clearly picture how many times you let her down.

She a few centimetres from your face

"you destroyed all my efforts to give you a better life" her voice was grave and severe. You are preparing yourself for the emotional wave of anger she is gonna throw on you.

"I'm sorry to have been a nuisance. I will let you be. Have fun with your own life"

Then she turns her hills and goes straight to the door.

Wait, what?

WAIT!

;

;

;

Author's note: I'm sorry for the long chapter, but I didn't find a way to split in two effectively. Anyway in the next one we will encounter a new familiar face! A new silly and bizarre relationship is gonna form. Also I've plans for Miguel POV,but I don't know if it will be in the next part or the one after. Only time can tell. So be ready for part 7 and as always thank you for your support!

[sunnysam-my]

Dark Academia is a subculture and it isn't problematic, just misunderstood.

I am so tired of people that aren't a part of this community shitting on dark academia literally any time it gains popularity again, claiming that it's pretentious, elitist and racist. It's not problematic, at least not in a way most people criticise it for.

What all of those people don't seems to understand is that there's the dark academia aesthetic and there is the dark academia the subculture. Even when they do understand they still put people who are only interested in the fashion and overall vibe together with people who are dark academia.

Why is dark academia a subculture?

First let's start with what even subculture is?

It's a cultural group within a larger culture, often sharing a collection of values, beliefs, rituals and traditions. Despite what many believes, it doesn't have to have any connection to music, like Star Trek and Star Wars fans, but there's no need for having a shared fandom at all, like the gays, bikers and youth.

Participation in the dark academia subculture is not limited to following a specific set of fashion. It suggest preferred activities, hobbies, philosophies and lifestyles. The focus is on reading and expanding one’s horizons, on becaming the best version of oneself no matter the cost, especially by engaging in classical literature, history, foreign languages, mythology, art and philosophy. On top of that DA is actually connected to certain music (classical and neoclassical) and fandoms.

The (incorrect) criticisms:

1. One of the more common criticisms of dark academia is that of its superficiality and pretentiousness – that it is more a fetishisation of intellectual life than real intellectual life. "Instead of being a reading society, it's a Dead Poets Society cosplay." This is just simply untrue. Yes, there are people who are purely here for the aesthetic and vibes, but they aren't part of the subculture. People who are genuinely part of this community do read all those books, write poetry, journal e.t.c regularly and try to be well educated.

2. The money issue. Now this is where it gets funny. Dark academia is often called classist and racist because of it's "idealised vision of the academic lifestyle in which the money is simply there". Obviously in places where higher education is strictly financially driven studying is a bitch. Nowadays there are even a lot of doctors who are homeless, especially in US. But DA is mainly a European thing, and in a lot of EU countries studying isn't that expensive, it's not cheap either (books costs a lot and not working doesn't help), but you don't need to pay for a good education, you need to study hard and compete with others to get good education.

This however is not a dark academia problem. It's a harsh reality. One that we need to fight with. Getting higher education shouldn't make you get into a debt. It shouldn't make you sacrifice social life for studying all your life only to end on the streets.

3. "Eurocentric obsession". This is so dumb I don't even know to say. How can you possibly call people, mostly from Europe, problematic for being fascinated by Europe's history, it's past culture, Greek mythology, mostly European philosophers (but American too), Latin that is still fucking taught at many schools here, etc. All of things are taught in schools here. There is nothing wrong with you being obsessed with Asian royalty and making it part of your personality, but God forbid, you, a white person, are obsessed with the best parts of your history and culture 🙄.

4. Another criticism of dark academia is that it encourages unhealthy behaviour, both physically (caffeine overconsumption, smoking, drugs) and mentally (perfectionist, constant competition). The pursuit of perfection comes at a price. The entire idea of DA is to study as hard as possible so you can reach enlighten. It's workaholism, except it's school, not work. Now this is why I think dark academia isn't problematic in a way people think, but is misunderstood.

A melancholic comforting dream

It's easy to understand why people think DA is unhealthy or fake. Nights spent studying, writing essays for hours on end, drowning in books and writing excessive notes. For many this sounds like a nightmare, but dark academia romanticise it. It see it as the true joy of university life. At the same time there's taking joy in reflecting on what is irretrievably lost, pessimistic and melancholic.

In reality most people in this community are overworked neurodivergent, usually twice exceptional, youth who struggles mentally. So many people are twice exceptional and it's very obvious. The hyperfixetions, the love for linguistics and humanities, the hate of math.

For many Dark Academia is a coping method.

Staples of dark academia fiction explore intellectualism, classic literature and self-discovery, but also the struggle of fighting for your identity, the way humans are shaped by their trauma, the way they destroy themselves to be better. The word "dark" in Dark Academia is primarily about those dark sides of the human nature, not just the dark colours of the DA aesthetic.

If you think that Dead Poets Society romanticised suicide or Kill Your Darlings academicly motivated drug use then you're the crazy one here. People loved those movies, because of how relatable they were, even the suffering.

Studying is a bitch. If you make it fun then you are less depressed about the fact that you don't have the choice to not study all night. It's not just nostalgia for what you haven't experienced, but what you have to endure all your youth. Some people are forced to study to be the very best and sacrifice their (social) lives, because the system is so broken, but if you can make it into your own, comforting, time - it's better. Sure, the movies and books have lots of harmful copying mechanism, but irl (or in this case online) this community encourages healthy methods like reading, making art, journaling, acting etc.

I do think there's a lot of to talk about when it comes to, for example, sexism, and I do agree DA needs more diversity than just white cis man, but like I said, it's not problematic in a way most people criticise it for.

[animentality]

(Leaps in askbox now its clear) Howdy! I'm curious about your opinions on the companions, like initial thoughts and now that you've clocked in an unhealthy (affectionate) amount of hours? We know what you'd change but how about everyone as is? Thanks!

Alrighty, I can finally answer this one...

Ok.

Man. This is gonna be a long one.

We're gonna start with the shorter opinions first.

Minthara:

I have not done a run where Minthara was alive in Act 2. I literally know almost nothing about her.

I think she's hot and has the sexiest voice of all the female characters, but I know nothing about her story, other than she was a lesbian with Orin. I do wanna try and romance her, but.

Who knows if I'll ever get around to it.

Minsc:

I get that he's a fan favorite from the old games, but I kind of hate him. He feels like fanservice, and I didn't get a nostalgia boner for him, so he does nothing for me as a character.

I honestly kill him. Not out of malice, just more out of, why even have him be here?

Plus I tend to go through the entire game without swapping my party members, because I'm pretending it's a real dnd campaign.

And I ain't changing my team comp for this weirdo who only shows up at the very end.

Sorry to his hamster when I kill him, though.

Jaheira:

She's ok. I don't hate her, but she doesn't do it for me. I don't get why she's Russian. And apparently the only Russian in the whole game.

She also feels like fanservice.

Plus she fucking drops ice storms on everyone's goddamn HEADS when they're already in Hunger of Hadar, and honestly?

We have beef. I let her die sometimes, for that crime specifically. I also skip her house, because it doesn't have good loot, besides the scimitars, and I don't play races or classes that use scimitars. like ever.

Halsin:

I like Halsin generally, he's inoffensive to me, but his "romance" is so bad. It's shallow, it feels tacked on, which it was, and everyone knows how much I HATE how little his sexual trauma is focused on.

I romanced him twice, and both times, I was underwhelmed and kind of shrugged him off.

He should just be a fling option like Mizora. He shouldn't have become a "romance" option. It's fine for him to be a big buff bear hippie that you can fuck, but a companion?

He's got nothing to do with Act 3. It's a detriment to his character and the game, tbh.

Ok, that's the smaller ones out of the way. Now mains:

Astarion:

I got into BG3 for Astarion.

I fully admit it. I saw a scene of him screaming at Tav for blasting him with the sun beam from the githyanki creche, and it was funny as fuck.

Neil Newbon is highly charismatic, and truly elevates a character I don't find that physically attractive. His personality and enthusiasm shine through, and his voice acting is superb. And I am a sucker for angst and redemption and themes of abuse and breaking free of toxic relationships. And darkly, I admit. I do like the more twisted nature of his backstory, the way he had to use his body to survive, has a bad relationship with sex, and was tortured repeatedly. As anyone who reads my writing knows...I am a disgusting sadistic pervert.

That being said.

I no longer like Astarion. Well. No. I like Astarion.

I don't like his fans, or his rhetoric. Astarion has the better writing of BG3, but the lack of nuance from his fans annoys the shit out of me, and overexposure to him as a character, since Tumblr and TikTok are obsessed with him?

No me gusta. I don't hate him as a character, but I can't stand to see Astarion is so perfect posts. He's not, and that's the whole point. He's awful, but you people don't appreciate that. I don't want to see Astarion x Tav headcanons. And I especially do not care about the BookTok crowd being obsessed with him because they just like a dommy vampire, and disrespect his narrative with absolutely no self awareness.

BookTok Astarion is SO GODDAMN BORING. They really just reduce him to a hot dommy vampire daddy, and that's why I never take BookTok recs. Pure garbage.

So. TL;DR - I got BG3 for him, but overexposure to his fans made me be significantly less interested in him. It's a good thing. If I was obsessed with Astarion, I'd be forced to interact with his fans. Thank god for Gortash... I'm free of that prison.

Lae'zel:

I loved Lae'zel the minute she was mean to me.

She's hot as fuck, like seriously, so hot, her neck makes me sweat something fierce, and her voice is sultry and raspy and hostile. just how i like my women.

But I admit...she's too fucking meta. gameplay wise, she's probably the strongest companion you can have for DPS...so I admit...I've had her on my teams so much, that I am sick of her.

And again! It's not because she's badly written. I actually think her character is really strong, and really awesome. I also think her arc is amazing, going from this devoted cult member to basically saying I'm going to fucking kill a god.

I actually teared up a little at the creche this one time, when I had to beg her to stay, and she was like, you knew I had no other path to follow, but this one, or something like that.

But.

But I have beaten the game with her in my party like three times. I've had her in my party on Honor mode like...a million times.

So, tl;dr - I love her to death, but gameplay wise, she's so strong that I can't play her anymore.

Shadowheart:

Ok...I admit it.

I don't like Shadowheart. I find her boring visually, because she's just this generically hot white girl. She was designed to be the companion that all straight cis white men would want to see naked, and that's fine but uh.

Does absolutely nothing for me.

I don't care for her personality either. I don't like her lines, all coy and vaguely condescending. I don't really like how mean she is to you, and it's different from Lae'zel, because at least Lae'zel came from a warrior culture that doesn't put much value on flowery language. Lae'zel makes sense.

Shadowheart is an amnesiac who's just mean to you because.

I also don't care for her story, at all.

Don't care about Shar's Gauntlet or her kidnapped backstory. Don't give a shit about her parents. Don't care that she's scared of wolves or that her hand hurts.

I like the overarching thematic bridge that her character exists on, specifically that the gods will demand everything of you, and will hurt you for their own amusement.

But as a companion...no.

I have never been interested in romancing her. I never have her on the party, except to get that achievement.

I also don't like clerics. I think they're kind of weak, tbh. They're heal bots. They're really only good for spirit guardians, glyph of warding, and removing status effects. Just don't care for that. I'm an all dps team, we have no room for healers.

TL;DR: I don't think Shadowheart is interesting design wise, story wise, or gameplay wise.

Karlach:

I loved Karlach the moment I saw her, I fell deeper in love with her the second I heard her voice, and I knew I would die and kill for her, when I saw her excited "I love you" confession scene.

Seriously.

I have said this before, and I will say it again.

Out of all of these characters, romanceable or not...

I would only marry Karlach in REAL LIFE. I'd never date a man like Gortash or Astarion. I might be friends with Gale, but he's too smart to be my boyfriend.

But Karlach. She brings the wife energy. She could throw me over her shoulder and bash me against the concrete, and I would say thank you, ma'am.

she's also so fucking fun to play. barbarian options in bg3 are so goddamn funny. you can intimidate everyone and just break shit. it's great. you can also constantly throw people AT PEOPLE. And it's great. She's way more fun than Lae'zel because of it.

No notes. Top tier character design. My wife.

But also FUCK the developers for only giving her two fucking quests, one of which is a FETCH IT quest and the other is just a lame boss fight.

And FUCK THEM for only originally giving her an ending where she either dies or becomes a mindflayer. WHY.

And the Avernus ending still annoys me, because the ENTIRE PARTY should be there too.

FUCK YOU LARIAN. Why do you hate Karlach???? You're monsters. She's never done anything wrong, and yet all you do, is wrong her.

Bullshit.

Wyll:

Ok.

Hard truth time.

Wyll is the hottest male companion.

Like.

No cap. Everyone who says Gale, or Astarion, or Halsin-

Incorrect. It's Wyll. He is literally so hot, with the white eye and those sexy throat scars. Hrrrrrrr.

Also, controversial opinion. I actually like his devil form.

I think it makes him even hotter. I do wish he had wilder hair, though.

That being said...

He's horribly underwritten.

I went in, thinking, he's so kind and nice and hot...and then I was disappointed by how little they gave him.

He, like Karlach, got hit with the cut content curse.

And it's so ugly.

And gross.

And honestly, I suspect it's racist.

But yeah.

I think he's really sweet and I like romancing him and all. But they didn't dedicate any time or effort to his romance, and I hate that. But not him. Never him.

TL;DR - my first impression of Wyll was wow, he's hot, I wanna know more about him, and my last impression is, wow, he's so hot, I hate that he has nothing going on because Larian simply didn't bother to give him shit to do.

Gale

Alright, I left Gale for last, because he has the MOST complicated relationship with me.

So I initially missed Gale, because my friend failed the strength check to get him out of the portal.

So for a while, I didn't even know he existed.

Then I started to see more of him on Tiktok and Tumblr, and I was like oh...ok. So...we missed him. Damn.

So I decided to try romancing him fairly early on....only to find out...

I absolutely despised that when he dies, he killed me with necrotic damage.

That pissed me off. In the early days, when I was new to the game, I think I once had a whole team wipe, because Gale and Lae'zel went down, and then Karlach went rampaging, set me on fire, and then died to Gale's necrotic...which is funny in hindsight, but it was annoying at the time.

The eating magical items thing was mildly annoying, but that was far worse.

I pretty much never ran Gale for a long period of time.

As the Dark Urge, I'd often kill him, in fact, just so I wouldn't have to deal with his Arcane Hunger.

And honestly, initially, I kind of disliked his personality too.

I think the first scene I ever saw of him was when you tell him he's ok in bed, and his response is like, I guess I'll go kill myself.

And honestly, I thought he had incel vibes because of it. Then add to the fact that he's rude to you, no matter what, when he needs his third item...and also add that to the annoying gameplay, PLUS the fact.

That I was rocking Sorceror and Warlock for most of my early runs, so didn't need a wizard...I said, no. No Gale.

I don't like Gale.

BUT.

Here's the thing, right?

I got into Gortash... and then I stepped away from Astarion. Started being obsessed with the Dark Urge...

And then I noticed that all of my Durgetash friends were super into Gale, and I didn't get why...

But then weavewithshadow specifically alerted me to the fact that... there are Gale and Gortash parallels...specifically, that they're both brilliant, scruffy, are blinded by ambition, can't appreciate the things they have, and keep chasing after things they can't quite reach.

And then I was like...ok, maybe I've been harsh on him...

So I did his romance...and I felt bad.

Because he's actually very sweet.

And his voice is reallllly lovely when it's soft and fond.

He's a poet...and then I felt bad for all the times I had chewed off his arm.

And honestly, with experience...I now know what to feed him. Mostly garbage magic items like Komira's dumb locket or the ring of color spray from the harpies' nest, or those dumb boots that electrify the water you stand in.

Plus, I'm smart enough to know how to keep Gale alive now, so the necrotic thing isn't an issue.

So.

So. TL;DR I had a very complicated relationship with Gale, first with his mechanics, then with this random out of context scene where he's kind of nasty to you. But I came around, and honestly...right now...I like him more than Astarion.

All he wants to do is...live.

And I relate to that.

And his romance scenes are nice, and he has more of an arc than most of the other companions, Astarion aside.

So there you go, anon.

This took forever to write.

Thanks for the ask, though.

[hisui555]

Hazbin Hotel thoughts : Foils

More of a ramble than anything speculative like the previous posts, just gonna blabber muppet-style about something I like from this show : the Foils between the Good/Ambiguously Good Guys (I mean, Alastor's there, right ?) and the Bad/Opposite Side Guys.

If you have time to kill, fancy yourself the read (<- not even sure that's proper English, and it's my third language anyway. Let's hack it up some more, shall we).

(Foils 2 here)

(Foils 3 here)

(Foils 4 here)

Masterpost here.

I mean the main thing that made my brain go "ding !" like a microwave and scratched it just right like my cat kneading my back when I'm too lazy to stand up and give her food right away, is the parallel between main couple Charlie & Vaggie (they're so sweet together) and villain couple Valentino & Vox (they're horrible people that are hilarious together).

Both have one of them at the head of their 'organisation' (Charlie is the founder of the Hazbin Hotel, Vox is the CEO of Voxtech and the TV tycoon in Pride), composed of one bi character (Charlie and Vox) and one Hispanic character (Vaggie and Valentino - and respectively they're lesbian and pan if you wanna know), yet Charlie & Vaggie are in a mutually supportive, kind, very encouraging, healthy, stable, devoted and genuinely loving relationship, and if they have fallouts (see Episode 7), deal with it in a mature and upstanding way. Vox & Val on the other side are mutually manipulative (see Episode 2), on-and-off together-but-not-dating (nothing wrong with that in itself, it's just how it's the opposite of Charlie & Vaggie), freewheeling, chaotic and co-dependent relationship (as Vees : Vox provides the medium of TV, Val provides the content), even if, for now, it appears to be somewhat functional, if unhealthy - they are less about fallouts and more dealing with the other's tantrums (Vox keeps Val in line, then does a 180 about Alastor as Val riles him up).

They're both same-sex couples but the first are a healthy couple because they mutually love each other and encourage the best qualities they have, always being there for the other, while the second are an unhealthy couple because they based it on power, and being together because they're mutually attracted to their worst qualities : they're a couple AS the worst people, while Charlie & Vaggie are two of the nicest people in Hell. Funnily enough, Val seems pretty open about Vox' past crush/unfading obsession on Alastor and Vox doesn't seem to mind Val's (horrible) obsession with Angel that much, while Vaggie easily gets jealous when another girl is (what she thinks) too affectionate with Charlie : see her reaction to Emily holding Charlie's hand in Ep 6.

Also, both Vox and Vaggie have to deal with an easily overwhelmed-by-their-feelings partner with a penchant for childishness and drama while being the (usually) more cool-headed and rational one (I mean, Charlie does her plans in crayons for hell's sake), but while Valentino is a psychopathic manchild with very little impulse control when angry, that needs to get his head screwed on straight and hurting people to come down from his tantrum, with Vox' babysitting (before he blows his top in the same way), Charlie has that side to her because she actively doesn't want to harm people, as well as being empathetic and a bit naive, along with her usual musical theatrics - it puts her at odds with the rest of Hell, who for the most part are raging jackasses indulging in their worst behaviors. But just like Valentino, if she focuses on what's urgent or important (and is willing to go that far), she can be quite dangerous and capable (Ep 8) - ironically, in a physical fight, while Val shows perfectly capable of using his mental capacities to manipulate and pressure both Angel and Charlie into making her leave (alongside the heavy beating on Angel, but he actually avoids the confrontation with the Princess of Hell - way more powerful than he is - that way).

Vox and Vaggie also have quite the temper underneath the rationality : Vaggie when loosing her nerve with the Hotel residents' idiocy, Vox when hearing the first wink about Alastor. Vaggie and Val may be the more readily violent (in completely different ways, because, I mean, Valentino) while Charlie and Vox the ones to plan things out (Hotel group activities and redemption VS getting Pentious to spy for the Vees), with material and budget back-up for each (Princess of Hell VS CEO), so there's kind of a square crossing between the two teams : they each share personality traits (in WIDELY different ways though) with the two others on the opposite side.

Valentino & Vox is also a foil for Angel & Husk (whether these latter two stay friends or become more remains to be seen, but as things are for now, I'm telling it how it currently is and will call them friends) : both Val and Husk are pansexual, but one follows the stereotype and jumps on anyone (Val), while the other doesn't wear his sexuality on his sleeve, is respectful with others' boundaries and has a clear, justified limit on his (see Ep 4). Valentino's horrible abuse of Angel becomes even more gut-wrenching when it shows (for now, and if the Instagrams are loosely canon by now) that he's perfectly capable of having a functional (if mutually manipulative and unhealthy) relationship with Vox - meaning he's chosing to hurt Angel and be a sadistic bastard.

Angel does a (very toned-down) certain version of sexual harrasment (constantly hitting on Husk, invading his personal space, H24 innuendos towards him, etc) just like Valentino, to try to get what he wants - but Husk sees it as the unhealthy mechanism it is to mask his pain, coping with the abuse, and calls him out on it. While Angel is naturally promiscuitous, he stops his tryharding, coke-myself-out-of-consciousness ways, and stands up to his rapist - all of that supported by Husk, while Vox doesn't lift a finger to stop Val until it Harms The Image, and even offers his lowest-earners so that his squeaky moth asshat of a boyfriend can shoot someone. Angel detaches himself from the Valentino-shaped shadow that looms over him, and Husk, an ex-Overlord dealing in souls and gambling, having them under his control, is the better version of Vox, who watches and controls everything he can.

Last but not least, Sera is a foil to Carmilla (and obviously, Lucifer, but I might do that one in another post). They're both mom-like figures (if not outright moms, like Carmilla is to her daughters) that are greatly motivated by protecting those under their charge (Winner souls and Emily VS Sinner souls and Odette, Clara, and even Zestial if that line in Whatever It Takes is to be taken at face value - though Carmilla means it at the very least as a close friend). Sera is willing to lie to her daughter (sister ?) figure Emily to keep her happy and out of the loop, regretting allowing the Exterminations to happen, and refusing to question the system for fear of retribution (like what happened to Lucifer), on her or her wards. When called out on her behavior and for help, she refuses to lend a hand and upholds the status quo, even if she's trying to be compassionate and doesn't agree with the sheer pettiness that motivates Adam and Lute.

Carmilla on her side outright broke the rules (on accident - she wasn't expecting for it to work), killing the unkillable in self-defense for her daughters. When asked about in Ep 3, she tries to deny it, both out of fear of a suicidal uprising, and just like Sera, retribution for her own family (plus the Sinner souls), yet after a little push from Zestial, she semi-confides in him (VS Sera who didn't brought Emily into the loop), and when Vaggie confronts her about it in Ep 7, she stealthily gives her what is needed to break the status quo : tactics on how to fight, and weapons. In fact, Carmilla's help from the shadows, while she didn't participate in the fight herself, proved to be instrumental in flipping the scales towards victory. She, a demon, was reluctant too, but she did help despite not knowing all the stakes, unlike Sera, an angel.

And this is what I love about that part of the show : it shows us a spectrum. People being people. To each more stereotyped character, there's a non-assuming counterpart. To each character with a specific trait on the bad side, there's one with the same trait on the good side. And that trait isn't their whole personality either.

Just that : people being people.

(Welp, that's the second post in a day, got enough socializing for the rest of the week. I'm gonna crawl back into my cave.)

Again, Masterpost here.