#there's still so much more that can be explored regardless

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-fi prompt from @liberwolf:

Could you explain Tariff's , like who pays them and what they do to a country?

Well, I can definitely guess where this question is coming from.

Honestly, I was pretty excited to get this prompt, because it's one I can answer and was part of my studies focus in college. International business was my thing, and the issues of comparative advantage (along with Power Purchasing Parity) were one of the things I liked to explore.

-----------------

At their simplest, tariffs are an import tax. The United States has had tariffs as low as 5%, and at other times as high as 44% on most goods, such as during the Civil War. The purpose of a tariff is in two parts: generating revenue for the government, and protectionism.

Let's first explore how a tariff works. If you want to be confused, then you need to have never taken an economics class, and look at this graph:

(src)

So let's undo that confusion.

The simplest examples are raw or basic materials such as steel, cotton, or wine.

First, without tariffs:

Let us say that Country A and Country B both produce steel, and it is of similar quality, and in both cases cost $100 per unit. Transportation from one country to the other is $50/unit, so you can either buy domestically for $100, or internationally for $150. So you buy domestically.

Now, Country B discovers a new place to mine iron very easily, and so their cost for steel drops to $60/unit due to increased ease of access. Country A can either purchase domestically for $100, or internationally for $110 (incl. shipping), which is much more even. Still, it is more cost-effective to purchase domestically, and so Country A isn't worried.

Transportation technology is improved, dropping the shipping costs to $30/unit. A person from Country A can buy: Domestic: $100 International: $60+$30 = $90 Purchasing steel from Country B is now cheaper than purchasing it from Country A, regardless of where you live.

Citizens in Country A, in order to reduce costs for domestic construction, begin to purchase their steel from Country B. As a result, money flows from Country A to B, and the domestic steel industry in Country A begins to feel the strain as demand dwindles.

In this scenario, with no tariffs, Country A begins to rely on B for their steel, which causes a loss of jobs (steelworkers, miners), loss of infrastructure (closing of mines and factories), and an outflow of funds to another country. As a result, Country A sees itself as losing money to B, while also growing increasingly reliant on their trading partner for the crucial good that is steel. If something happens to drive up the price of B's steel again, like political upheaval or a natural disaster, it will be difficult to quickly ramp up the production of steel in Country A's domestic facilities again.

What if a tariff is introduced early?

Alternately, the dropping of complete costs for purchase of steel from Country B could be counteracted with tariffs. Let's say we do a 25% tariff on that steel. This tariff is placed on the value of the steel, not the end cost, so:

$60 + (0.25 x $60) + $30 = $105/unit

Suddenly, with the implementation of a 25% tariff on steel from Country B, the domestic market is once again competitive. People can still buy from Country B if they would like, but Country A is less worried about the potential impacts to the domestic market.

The above example is done in regards to a mature market that has not yet begun to dwindle. The infrastructure and labor is still present, and is being preemptively protected against possible loss of industry to purchasing abroad.

What happens if the tariff is not implemented until after the market has dwindled?

Let's say that the domestic market was not protected by the tariff until several decades on. Country A's domestic production, in response to increased purchasing from abroad, has dwindled to one third of what it was before the change in pricing incentivized purchase from B. Prices have, for the sake of keeping this example simple, remained at $100(A) and $60(B) in that time. However, transportation has likely become better, so transportation is down to $20, meaning that total cost for steel from B is $80, accelerating the turn from domestic steel to international.

So, what happens if you suddenly implement a tariff on international steel? Shall we say, 40%?

$60 + (0.4 x 60) + 20 = $104

It's more expensive to order from abroad! Wow! Let's purchase domestically instead, because these prices add up!

But the production is only a third of what it used to be, and domestic mines and factories for refining the iron into steel can't keep up. They're scaling, sure, but that takes time. Because demand is suddenly triple of the supply, the cost skyrockets, and so steel in Country A is now $150/unit! The price will hopefully come down eventually, as factories and mines get back in gear, but will the people setting prices let that happen?

So industries that have begun to rely on international steel, which had come to $80/unit prior to the tariff, are facing the sudden impact of a cost increase of at least $25/unit (B with tariff) or the demand-driven price increase of domestic (nearly double the pre-tariff cost of steel from B), which is an increase of at least 30% what they were paying prior to the tariff.

There are possible other aspects here, such as government subsidies to buoy the domestic steel industry until it catches back up, or possibly Country B eating some of the costs so that people still buy from them (selling for $50 instead of $60 to mitigate some of the price hike, and maintain a loyal customer base), but that's not a direct impact of the tariff.

Who pays for tariffs?

Ultimately, this is a tax on a product (as opposed to a tax on profits or capital themselves, which has other effects), which means the majority of the cost is passed on directly to the consume.

As I said, we could see the producers in Country B cut their costs a little bit to maintain a loyal customer base, but depending on their trade relationships with other countries, they are just as likely to stop trading with Country A altogether in order to focus on more profitable markets.

So why do not put tariffs on everything?

Well... for that, we get into the question of production efficiency, or in this case, comparative advantage.

Let's say we have two small, neighboring countries, C and D, that have negligible transportation costs and similar industries. Both have extensive farmland, and both have a history of growing grapes for wine, and goats for wool. Country C is a little further north than D, so it has more rocky grasses that are good for goats, while D has more fertile plains that are good for growing grapes.

Let's say that they have an equal workforce of 500,000 of people. I'm going to say that 10,000 people working full time for a year is 1 unit of labor. So, Country C and Country D have between the 100 units of labor, and 50 each.

The cost of 1 unit of wool = the cost of 1 unit of wine

Country C, having better land for goats, can produce 4 units of wool for every unit of labor, and 2 units of wine for every unit of labor.

Meanwhile, Country D, having better land for grapes, can produce 2 units of wool per unit of labor, and 4 units of wine per unit of labor.

If they each devote exactly half their workforce to each product, then:

Country C: 100 units of wool, 50 units of wine Country D: 50 units of wool, 100 units of wine

Totaling 150 units of each product.

However, if each devotes all of their workforce to the product they're better at...

Country C: 200 units of wool, no wine Country D: no wool, 200 units of wine

and when they trade with each other, they each end up with 100 units of each product, which is a doubling of what their less-efficient labor would have resulted in!

The real world is obviously much more complicated, but in this example, we can see the pros of outsourcing some of your production to another country to focus on your own specialties.

Extreme examples of this IRL are countries where most of the economy rests on one product, such as middle-eastern petro-states that are now struggling to diversify their economies in order to not get left behind in the transition to green energy, or Taiwan's role as the world's primary producer of semiconductors being its 'silicon shield' against China.

Comparative advantage can be used well, such as our Unnamed Countries (that are definitely not the classic example of England and Portugal, with goats instead of sheep) up in the example. With each economy focusing on its specialty, there is a greater yield of both products, meaning a greater bounty for both countries.

However, should something happen to Country C up there, like an earthquake that kills half the goats, they are suddenly left with barely enough wool to clothe themselves, and nothing for Country D, which now has a surplus of wine and no wool.

So you do have to keep some domestic industry, because Bad Things Can Happen. And if we want to avoid the steel example of a collapse in the given industry, tariffs might be needed.

Are export tariffs a thing?

Yes, but they are much rarer, and can largely be defined as "oh my god, everyone please stop getting rid of this really important resource by selling it to foreigners for a big buck, we are depleting this crucial resource."

So what's the big confusion right now?

Donald Trump has, on a number of occasions, talked about 'making China pay' tariffs on the goods they import into the US. This has led to a belief that is not entirely unreasonable, that China would be the side paying the tariffs.

The view this statement engenders is that a tariff is a bit like paying a rental fee for a seller's table at an event: the producer or merchant pays the host (or landlord or what have you) a fee to sell their product on the premises. This could be a farmer's market, a renaissance faire, a comic book convention, whatever. If you want to sell at the event, you have to pay a fee to get a space to set up your table.

In the eyes of the people who listened to Trump, the tariff is that fee. China is paying the United States for access to the market.

And, technically, that's not entirely wrong. China is thus paying to enter the US market. It's just the money to pay that fee needs to come from somewhere, and like most taxes on goods, that fee comes from the consumer.

So... what now?

Well, a lot of smaller US companies that rely on cheap goods made in China are buying up non-perishables while they can, before the tariffs hit. Long-term, manufacturers in the US that rely on parts and tools manufactured in China are going to feel the squeeze once that frontloaded stock is depleted.

Some companies are large enough to take the hit on their own end, still selling at cheap rates to the consumer, because they can offset those costs with other parts of their empire... at least until smaller competitors are driven out of business, at which point they can start jacking up their prices since there are no options left. You may look at that and think, "huh, isn't that the modus operandi for Walmart and Amazon already?" and yes. It is. We are very much anticipating a 'rich get richer, poor go out of business' situation with these tariffs.

The tariffs will also impact larger companies, including non-US ones like Zara (Spanish) and H&M (Swedish), if they have a huge reliance on Chinese production to supply their huge market in the United States.

If you're interested in the repercussions that people expect from these proposed tariffs on Chinese goods, I'd suggest listening to or watching the November 8th, 2024 episode of Morning Brew Daily (I linked to YouTube, but it's also available on Spotify, Nebula, the Morning Brew website, and other podcast platforms).

[dontstandmedown]

Just started watching hannibal and i dont see what this guy is doing wrong. as far as i can tell he's just a gay man who loves to cook fancy meals for his friends

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

[chlorinecake]

A SUCKER FOR THE TASTE ✦— 𝐋.𝐇𝐒

▹ PAIRING — experienced husband heeseung x virgin f. reader

▹ GENRE — smut, fluff, newlyweds au

▹ SYNOPSIS — As teens, you were the uncanny duo that fell in love at first sight. Some odd years later, and you’re now a newlywed couple, spending your first night together in a fit of nerves as you navigate sex and other new feelings…

▹ WARNINGS — KINKTOBER SPECIAL, basically just pussy drunk!husband!heeseung making you squirt for hours on the night of your honeymoon, marriage themes (duh), mentions of food, dom and sub dynamics, kissing with tongue, overstimulation kink (reader cums multiple times), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, petnames (baby, angel, pretty, sweetie), that’s all

▹ WORD COUNT: 3.3k — DAY 1

YOU AND HEESEUNG were like Romeo and Juliet; two people from totally different walks of life, and honestly, no one ever would’ve guessed you two’d end up falling for each other.

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell any time had passed between the first moment you met Heeseung with a hickey on his neck in the lunch hall to now as you sit before him on a king sized bed, ring fingers clad with beautiful bands to match as you stared into each others eyes, speaking a love song of unspoken words.

“You’re fine with waiting til marriage?” You remember asking him a few weeks after you first started dating as teens, “you won’t think I’m a prude for wanting to keep things traditional?…”

“Of course not, sweetie,” you remember him answering while cupping your face in his hands, “a girl like you is worth the wait—” He whispered in between kissing your lips, “—and so much more…”

Since that moment, you and Heeseung have stuck to your guns, not even so much as showering together to keep your purity intact until the right moment…

… That fateful day when you’d say “I do” and he the same, right before venturing off into the sunset on angel’s wings to explore another country together.

Another life, might I add, as a married couple on your extravagant honeymoon…

Everything was so magical in your head, too… but regardless of that, Heeseung was too big of a fucking dork to let himself be romantic for once.

Just an hour ago, he had told the hotel receptionist “you too” after she congratulated you both on getting married—

“Grrrrrrrrr,” he pouted, scrunching his nose at you.

“Did you just… growl at me!?”

“Yes, and I’ll do it again if you keep resisting,” Heeseung threatened playfully, pointing an accusing finger at your frame now.

Sighing, you raised your hands beside your head as a sign of compliance, parting your lips slightly as you held your head back for him.

“Alright, don't move this time, alright? We can do this!” He ordered more passionately this time, cradling a single grape between his fingers before angling his wrist backwards and launching it towards your mouth.

“Oh my gosh, I finally caught it!” You shouted with excitement, words coming out a bit slurred as you bit down into the sweet fruit, “Tastes like victory,” you continued, making Heeseung grace you with his thundering ovation.

“Brava!” He began to cheer, but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by his own burp, which only elicited a fit of embarrassed giggles from the both of you…

Two empty glasses of wine sat on the hotel nightstand beside the bed you were currently sat on, and if it wasn't obvious enough, y'all were already starting to experience the giddy effects of the alcohol dancing in your systems.

“So,” you smiled, a laugh still present in your throat as you fed him a white grape from the bowl between you two, “we're the couple that eats pie in place of dinner now?”

“Sure... but not just any pie,” Heeseung corrected, leaning closer to your ear as he whispered, “blueeeberry pieeee.”

You're not sure if it was the wine or the honeymoon high, but you can't help yourself from laughing out loud at Heeseung's behavior in this moment—

“You’re a legend for always vibing with my horrible sense of humor, y’know that?” Your husband remarked while tilting his head at you endearingly.

“Your humor is definitely one-of-a-kind, but I wouldn't want you to change a thing about it,” you returned tenderly, right before feeding him a fork-full of blueberry pie from the dish between you two, feeling your heart swell as he smiled into the bite.

The kind of smile you’d have a hard time getting out of your mind later—

“Thanks, babe,” he said, a bit of dark blue jam resting in the corner of his mouth now as his eyes sparkled with what you could bet was pure flattery.

You always liked it whenever you managed to get Heeseung all flustered before you, considering how he was usually the one to make you a blushing mess with only his words.

“You've uh...” you stammer slightly, “you've got a little something on your lip there...”

“Really?”

“Yea, just... let me get it for you real quick,” you continue, licking the pad of your thumb before leaning forward to dab at the jam on his mouth.

That's when you noticed his lips curving into a subtle smirk as he whispered in a low voice, “You got it, baby?”

“Y-yea,” you stuttered again, feeling your face heat up at his words, and if you didn't look so hot to him right now, he would've pinched your cheeks—

“Whoops,” Heeseung gasped facetiously, pouting at the streak of blueberry jam he very intentionally just smeared on your lower lip, “must be the wine making me so clumsy today...”

Your eye almost twitched at the sight of him licking his finger clean, a rush of nerves swarming in your stomach now

“I-it's okay, Heeseung,” you said while lifting your thumb to your mouth, “I've got it...”

“No you don't,” he chuckled at your shy demeanor, right before closing the space between you two, taking your face in his hand and kissing you.

And yes, you saw this coming, but it took you a few seconds to fully close your eyes, letting them flutter shut as you both sighed at the taste of each other, almost as if the contact relaxed you…

The kiss was slow at first, with you and him simply breathing against each other’s mouths as his velvety lips moved against yours.

But that pace didn't last long once Heeseung broke from the kiss to move the bowl of grapes and pie out of the way, a few of the glossy green ovals hitting the ground with light thuds as his right hand found the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

The kiss grew more intense from there as both your heads were tilting into each other, wet smacks filling the room now as his tongue prodded against yours with every passing second.

“God, you taste so sweet,” Heeseung groaned, desperately clinging to your waist which only made you moan in response.

You and Heeseung had made out countless times in the past, but you could tell something was different this time... you never felt this worked up with him before, and you knew it wasn’t just gonna end with a kiss—

“Can’t wait to taste other parts of you, too, baby…” he hummed, kissing along your neck while pinning your delicate wrists above your head.

And that’s when you felt it…

The twitch between your legs and the heat rushing throughout your entire body…

You were wearing a plaid pajama skirt and white top that matched Heeseung’s plaid sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, as you simply expected to only eat some dessert, discuss the rest of your honeymoon plans, and head straight to sleep right after.

Now though, you knew you wouldn't be able to get much rest with your emotions like this… at least not comfortably, that is…

You’re between his lap at first until he guides you onto your back, kissing down your neck, between your breasts, and down your stomach as he lifts your top, stopping at the waist band of your skirt given the way your body tensed up suddenly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked softly, glancing back up at you with a swollen look to his pouty lips, given all the kissing they had just done.

You knew what was happening right now..

Heeseung was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and as much as your body craved it, your mind kept fighting it for some reason…

FLASHBACK —

“Just… don’t make it too… formal, okay?”

“Formal?” Heeseung repeated with a slight chuckle as you sat beside each other on the plane that morning.

“Well, yea… I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it—”

“But it is a big deal, baby,” he cut you off by placing his hand over yours. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this, y’know?… Not just to have sex but—” he leaned closer to you as he whispered this in your ear, “—to make each other feel good… in all kinds of ways…”

His breath tickled your ear in that moment… similarly to how his lips were tickling you now as you laid before him on the mattress, his head hovering over the space between your thighs.

“We don’t have to go any further until you’re ready, love—”

“I’m ready, Heeseung,” you said while nodding, but he waited to continue, knowing in his heart that there was still something you needed to get off your chest.

He backed away, pulling your shirt back over your stomach and sitting on the bed normally now.

“Heeseung,” you said again, drawing his sparkly doe eyes back to you.

“I’m listening, love,” is all he replied with, offering you a warm smile, “what’s on your mind?”

What’s in the way? You internally asked yourself right after, knowing deep down that you had no reason to feel so nervous with him right now…

Heeseung had never alienated you because of your inexperience with sex before, and was always very understanding of your moral and sexual boundaries.

But now, things were different; you were a married couple, and one of the many perks of that was being able to explore each others body in a comfortable way…

Turns out though, it was all just your own insecurities clouding your judgment, and you hated that you couldn’t shake the nerves bubbling in your stomach…

“It’s just that,” you started nervously, fidgeting with your manicured nails, “I… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Yeah, I know,” your husband nodded sarcastically, trying his best to resist the urge to kiss you again—

“And…well, you have a lot more experience than me with this kind of thing,” you continued, lowering your head.

“So what?”

“What if I don’t meet your expectations?…”

“Expectations? What do you mean, ____?”

“Well, you’ve been with a lot of other girls and what if I’m not as good as them? What if you don’t like sex with me?…”

Heeseung’s heart would’ve otherwise dropped at your words, but instead, he smiled softly, taking your chin in his hand and lifting your head towards him. “You’re nothing like those girls I was with in the past, ____, and that’s my favorite part about you,”

You looked into his eyes as he continued, “I’ll be happy with whatever happens tonight. You wanna know why? Because I did it with you, and I love you with my everything, princess…”

“I love you too, Heeseung,” you replied meekly, flashing him a soft smile as he kissed your cheek.

“No expectations tonight, then… okay, baby? I just wanna please you,” he whispered, slowly guiding your body back down against the mattress with a secure hand. “I wanna make you feel so good,” he continued, placing another kiss to the center of your lips. 

Heeseung started by letting his plush lips wander all over your body again, lifting your shirt up once more to leave open-mouthed kisses all over your stomach.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured with warm breath against your skin, caressing your inner thighs with his hands until you naturally craned them open, inviting him to your pulsing core.

Your breath hitched once you felt his nose burry between your clothed folds, but your little sounds only excited him even further, and he wasted no time in removing your panties completely now.

“Heeseung,” you whined, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he spat on your cunt, toying with the moisture there using his middle and index finger.

“Just relax for me, angel,” your husband cooed with a soothing tone, and you're not sure if it was the alcohol or the petname he just called you in his bedroom voice, but your head was starting to feel very dizzy.

And if you weren't so horny, you would've felt bashful in front of him like this... half-naked, and trembling when he's hardly even touched you yet.

The coldness of his wedding band against the warm flesh of your thigh sent shivers down your spine, and he wasted no time in inviting his fingers into your sopping hole, one at a time until your walls practically sucked him in.

He then started to leave kitten licks against your sensitive bud, complimenting the pace by pumping his wrist towards your pelvis with his digits still exploring the gummy walls of your cunt.

Admittedly, you had tried fingering yourself in the past, but it never felt as good as the way Heeseung worked wonders inside you right now, but you still needed something...

Something to hold onto… something to grab, and Heeseung could immediately tell once your nails started weakly nipping at the bed sheets, your pussy throbbing more and more—

“Hee,” you moaned, feeling his fingers curl deeper and deeper inside your tight cunt, “need to touch you so bad...”

“Yea? Wanna hold my hand, pretty?”

All you can manage to do is nod desperately, making him chuckle slightly at your neediness.

“If you hold my hands, I need you to promise to keep your legs open for me on your own... can you do that for me, love?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, and with that, Heeseung got to work on licking your slick from his fingers before finding your hands in his.

But your core was already missing the stimulation, making your hips rise up and down as if thin air would provide enough friction to ease your craving.

And that's when he licked his first stripe up the center of your pussy, and you're sure your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sensation.

It didn't take long for the pleasure to escalate from there, either.

His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked you in like a starved out man. His tongue was applying pressure in all the best ways before sinking into your hole, filling you up just enough to have you arching your back on the bed.

You felt your first orgasm wash over you, but you knew your husband had no intention of stopping so soon.

You were mewling beneath him at the overstimulation, thankful that he at least slowed down the pace of his tongue, even though he was still very earnestly slurping at your juices…

“Could eat this pussy for hours, princess… you’re just too delicious…” he groaned, and you felt the bed shaking from the way he was rutting his crotch against the mattress, furrowing his eyebrows as his kept eating you out.

“Come on baby, let me hear you,” Heeseung practically begged, his tone sounding so hoarse, so drunk as the vibrations from his voice only tantalized you even further, “tell me how good it feels...”

“F-feels s-so fucking good, baby,” you moaned, words coming out in fragments given how cloudy your brain was becoming, and you're pretty sure you had your second or third orgasm shortly after as your hands squeezed his, so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His tongue was licking between your folds so well, the textured muscle making your skin tingle all over but in the best way imaginable.

Heeseung didn't plan on any of this to happening, which is why it felt so good in the first place. It was natural, raw, and so so messy…

Your own cum was dripping all over his chin and lips, and he was loving every single second of it.

He was obsessed with it. The way your clit throbbed against his lips, the way you squirted your juices all over his face, the way your thighs squirmed while struggling to stay open, and your angelically desperate cries of pleasure as he drew out orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

He wished he could watch your face contort with need as he fucked you with his face and tongue, but he couldn't look back up at you no matter how hard he tried… He had to keep his face buried between you…

Your strength eventually gave out and your grip released his hands that soon found one of your tits, gripping the mound of flesh in a way that only drew you even further over the edge.

Your hips had even developed a mind of their own, humping against his face like a bunny in heat as he whispered filthy nothings against your cunt, as well as sweet somethings that you'd hear for the next hour or two that Heesueng spent with his pointy nose brushing against your clit.

“You're so fucking wet for me, angel...”

“Love it when you come all over my face.”

“Pull my hair, baby... harder than that...”

“So so beautiful, and just for me.”

“Keep those pretty thighs open just like that, baby…”

“You taste so fucking divine...”

“Please don't tell me to stop... just one more, baby... I know you've got it in you...”

He found just as much enjoyment being between your thighs as you did in having him there, making you cream on his tongue again and again until you finally hiccuped the words, “N-no more, Hee... p-please, I can't t-take anymore...”

But your begging only made Heeseung even greedier, letting his fingers find your clit where he applied enough pressure and stimulation to break that last orgasm out of you, leaving you a shaking mess as he kissed you down, harder than a bullet in his own pants from getting to see you like this so many times and for so long in just one evening.

A series of shaky whimpers filled the room now as your husband crawled back over you, kissing you with his swollen lips while caressing the side of your fucked-out face. “You did so good for me, baby... especially on your first night...”

“Th-thank you,” you said with a weak chuckle, still feeling your orgasms fresh in your hips and thighs as he kept soothing you with his touch, your breath shaky in your chest after hours of coming undone with him…

That's when he moved over to lay beside you, and your eyes almost immediately caught sight of the thick bulge resting behind his pants, and you couldn't help but feel a little bad now given how he didn’t get much action the whole time.

“Do you want me to...” you started timidly, moving your hand to touch him up til he stopped you.

“Not tonight... we can have fun with that tomorrow,” Heeseung smiled, making you giggle again as he changed his position to make the bulge less noticeable, “for now though, let's focus on getting you cleaned up... sound good?”

“Better than good,” you replied tenderly, kissing him on the cheek before he got up from the bed and headed toward the hotel bathroom where he planned to run you a nice warm bath.

“Wait!” Your husband called out suddenly, just as he caught you trying to get out of the bed on your own.

Running over, a confused look remained on your face as he picked you up from the mattress bridal style, carrying you to the bathroom.

“I didn't forget how to walk, Heeseung,” you giggled, keeping your hands secure at his shoulder as he cradled you into the tub.

“I know,” he laughed, helping you get your top off and over your head as the water ran in the background, “I just didn't want my precious wife accidentally stepping on any of those grapes I dropped earlier...”

It went without saying that Heeseung had always been a loser, but he was your loser, and that fact alone was the bandaid that covered up every preconceived notion of him you ever created in the back of your mind…

You didn’t see him the way other people saw him… as the former man whore, troublemaker, or hopeless goof from high school, ‘destined’ to never change…

You saw him as the adorable nerd who accepted you for the things you saw as flaws… as the guy who still wore character themed PJ’s every once in a while that you now get to call “Hubby,” “lovey,” and “mine…”

⋆♱✮ Huge thanks to everyone who read this little fic of mine, which actually concludes DAY 1 of my Kinktober Event !! If you're interested in reading more works like this, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist by clicking one of these links !!

⋆♱✮ PERMANANT TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash

@yourmomscuntis2tighy, @wonbinisbabygurl

@watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

⋆♱✮ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs

@mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij

@yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess

@zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier

@idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings

[ariestrxsh]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 content warning: smut, quite a bit of fluff, innocence corruption, masturbation, use of toys, getting caught, handjob (kinda), voyeurism/exhibitionism, religious kink, sexualization of religious imagery, slow burn, mommy kink (sorry lol), sub!virgin!matt, experienced!pervy!reader

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 author's note: dont read this if you're religious - it will offend you. this is part two of me & u. you can read part one here. 💖 there will be more parts to this story, so stick around. also, disclaimer: don't spy on people and watch them without their permission. 😭 this is just fantasy.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 summary: after getting to know and hanging out with the innocent, virgin christian boy who recently moved in next door, he starts exploring his sexuality with you, and the two of you start falling in love with each other.

me & u part two

"Your mom wasn't mad that you were smoking, was she?" Matt timidly asked you through the phone later on that day as he was rifling through kitchen appliances and finding a place to store them.

"No, I'm an adult. She doesn't care what I do. She was calling me in for lunch," you snorted, tugging at a loose thread on your blanket while you laid on your bed, still in your fairy dress and laying down with your feet kicking behind you.

Matt was thankful your mom wasn't upset with you, but he was annoyed that your first kiss with him was interrupted by something as menial as lunch.

"Well, what did you eat?" Matt wondered, trying to find a way to ask you to hang out again. "Just a sandwich and some macaroni," you told him. "W-what kind of sandwich?" Matt stammered, beating around the bush.

"Did you really call me to hear me talk about a turkey sandwich?" You chuckled. "I mean, I wanted to hear about your sandwich and to see if you wanted to hang out again," Matt shyly replied, biting his nails.

"Depends. What did you have in mind?" You inquired, teasing him and knowing you were going to say yes regardless of what he suggested the two of you do.

"We could go buy paint for my room. You could help me pick out a color," Matt said, hoping you'd say yes. "I'd love that. I'll be over soon. I just need to shower and get out of these clothes," you replied, smiling at how cute Matt sounded through the phone.

He couldn't help but picture you slipping out of your fairy dress.

"O-okay. Cool, I-I'll see you soon," Matt tripped over his words as you two hung up the phone. You put on a black tank top and a pair of jean shorts after your hasty shower, and you hurried over, eager to see Matt again.

You knocked on his door and patiently waited for him to answer. He was in a solid black t-shirt and jeans, and he was wearing a silver chain around his neck with a cross on it. "Ready to go?" You asked him, looking him up and down. "Yeah, let's go," Matt said, smiling at you and pulling his front door closed behind him.

On the ride to go pick out paint, Matt kept stealing glances at you at stoplights and stop signs, wondering if it would be the right time to try and re-do your first kiss, but every time he thought about leaning in, it felt too forced.

You could feel this, the way he was desperately looking for a chance to press his lips against yours, but you knew the perfect time would come again, and you didn't want to rush it.

You liked making him wait, but this didn't mean you weren't going to relentlessly tease him.

"Are you dying to hear how hard I came with my new toy?" You smirked over at Matt who looked back over at you wide-eyed. "Y-you already used it?" Matt studdered. "No. But I figured you were wondering if I had," you teased him. He blushed and grinned.

"I actually wanted to wait until I could use it in front of you," you admitted, your voice dripping with lust as you peered over at him and raised an eyebrow. "W-what?" He struggled to get out.

It was far too much fun to watch him blush and fidget. You couldn't get enough of his flushed, pink cheeks, his puppy dog eyes, and the desperate expression that would subtly make itself known everytime you'd tease him. And you knew just what to do and say to elicit these kinds of responses from him.

Once you guys stumbled upon a local store that sold paint, the two of you wandered over to the earth tones. "Now, really take your time making this decision. This is going to be the color of the paint in your room. You're going to have to see it every day," you told Matt when you saw all the different options they had.

Matt was scanning through different swatches of all the cool-toned paints when one caught his attention. "I like this one," he told you, pointing at the dark green shade on the page. "I love that color," you responded, taking the swatch from him and looking on the wall for the matching paint. "I think I found it," you told him, smiling and picking up a bucket.

Matt grabbed a second bucket of paint, a few paint brushes, some plastic covering, and the two of you paid for it all and left the store. "I'm so excited," Matt told you, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.

The two of you rode home in a comfortable silence, and you helped Matt carry the paint up the stairs to his room. You two decided to go your separate ways for the night to go eat dinner and get ready for bed, so you'd be well-rested for the next day.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon line, illuminating the summer evening as Matt walked you to your doorstep. "I had fun with you today," Matt told you, his eyes fixed on yours. "I did, too," you replied.

"Maybe tomorrow you could paint it with me. You know, unless you have other plans," Matt shrugged, trying to hide how disappointed he would be if you did. "You know, I'm sorry. I'm busy tomorrow. I'm helping the hot neighbor boy paint his room," you jokingly replied.

He chuckled at your response, and then he pulled you into a long hug. You smiled against his chest, savoring how it felt to hold him, and when you went to pull away, you glanced up at him lovingly.

The two of you felt that familiar magnetic pull, and he leaned down until his lips were gently locked onto yours. His kiss was soft and tender, like his personality, and you both felt that spark that you'd always heard people talk about but hadn't experienced up until this point.

He reached up and cradled your face, lightly running his thumb back and forth over your cheek. Your tongue gently swirled around against his, and for how inexperienced he was, he was an incredible kisser. He moaned against your lip before the two of you slowly pulled away.

You were both even more smitten than before. Matt blushed, and you let out a soft giggle. "I'll see you tomorrow," you whispered as you slipped into your front door.

Matt stayed put on your porch for a few minutes, buzzing from the intimate moment he'd just shared with you, and he slowly made his way back to his house, tucking his erection into his waistband that he got from kissing you.

Later that night, after eating a delicious dinner, taking a steamy shower, and brushing your teeth, you switched out your lamp and got into your warm bed. A few seconds after you climbed into your bed to finish off your day, Matt's light came on across the way.

You watched again as he stepped out of his bathroom in just a towel, running his fingers through his wet hair. He looked so hot. You held your breath as the fabric around his waist hit the floor.

You'd imagined Matt naked at least a dozen times since you'd met him, and you were finally seeing it in person. And although you weren't getting a close-up view, you could see his hard member standing at attention. And it was big.

You didn't believe in God, but you did thank whoever was out there listening as you watched Matt climb onto his bed, lay on top of his blanket, and begin to stroke himself.

You hoped he was thinking about you, and he was. He was replaying the moment you two had kissed.

You continued peering in through his window, admiring the way he tenderly ran his thumb over the tip, causing him to throw his head back. He kept his movements slow and drawn out at first, teasing himself.

You couldn't hear the sounds he was making, but you couldn't stop imagining his needy little whimpers. You intently focused on the way he fisted his gorgeous cock, guiding his hand up and down his shaft and his strokes becoming faster, rougher, and more urgent.

You spied on him for several minutes, unable to shift your gaze away from the glorious sight of the cute neighbor boy all alone in his room, tugging on his dick. Your pussy began throbbing and drooling without you even touching it as you kept your eyes locked on Matt and what he was doing to himself.

He started to squirm around beneath his own touch, bucking his hips up, and you watched in awe as several spurts of cum shot out of his tip and painted his stomach and chest.

His hand that was gliding up and down his length slowed to a stop, and he took the towel he'd just used after his shower to wipe himself off. Even the way he cleaned up the mess he made was incredibly sexy.

He put on a pair of pajama pants once he was finished and knelt down by the foot of his bed to pray. The show he put on for you was so hot and naughty that you almost wondered if you should start praying for forgiveness.

Before you could follow that thought too deeply or do anything about the wetness that had pooled between your legs, you found yourself drifting off to sleep while more images of Matt flooded your mind.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

The next morning at about 5 a.m., you groggily rubbed your eyes and let out a yawn. You checked your phone for the time, and when you realized how early it was, you rolled over onto your other side and shut your eyes, hoping to be able to fall back asleep.

When all your efforts failed, you decided to go up to your treehouse, bringing a thin blanket with you for a morning marijuana and masturbation session - the two things that always helped you fall asleep.

You admired the way the sunrise lit up the view from your secret hideaway while you exhaled weed smoke, watching the way it danced and dissipated against the scenery before you. A tranquil state came over you, and you felt all light and airy after a few hits.

Being cautious not to burn yourself with the lit end of your joint, you shimmied out of your underwear and your pajama shorts and spread open your legs. You took your new suction vibrator, turned it on, and gasped as you lowered the buzzing toy onto your clit. It was unlike any vibrator you'd owned before, and it immediately had you moaning and shuddering at the sensation.

"Oh, Matt.." you softly whined over and over while you remembered the night before and the way you'd witnessed him make a mess all over himself. You took another puff from your joint. You were so enthralled by the stimulation and so lost in the way you were needily whining the neighbor boy's name, you didn't realize the man of your fantasies had followed you up to your treehouse and was watching you the same way you'd watched him.

He was already crawling in through the entrance before he realized he was intruding on an intimate moment you were having with yourself. He thought about clearing his throat or forcing out a cough to make his presence known, maybe even turning around and leaving before he could embarrass you, but he held his breath, and all he could do was stay put and admire how pretty and wet your pink pussy was.

It was the first time he'd ever seen anything like it in person, and he couldn't get enough. He grew incredibly hard as he studied the way your eyes were slammed shut and the needy and pleasured expression that overcame your face while you held your lit joint up to your parted lips. "Oh, Matt.." you whimpered again after exhaling the smoke, your legs beginning to quiver.

To Matt's horror, you opened your eyes, and while you were shocked that he was watching you, you didn't stop. "I-I'm so sorry. I woke up and looked out my window, and I saw you going to your treehouse. I thought you could use some company. I had no idea you were-" Matt started defending himself, but you cut him off.

"Shh. Please don't go. It feels so good to have you watching me," you whined with the vibrator still resting on your clit. "You're moaning my name an awful lot.." Matt murmured with his eyes fixated on the treasure between your thighs. You took another hit and slowly nodded at him.

"You like watching, don't you, naughty boy?" You managed to get out between your satisfied mewls. "I do, mommy," Matt whispered back, palming himself through the thin flannel fabric he had on. The way it sounded when Matt called you mommy sent waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. You couldn't take it anymore.

The way he peered down at your pussy with his puppy dog eyes, whimpering alongside you while you were playing with it was too good, and your whole body violently shook as you let out a few more needy moans.

"Holy shit," you and Matt both said in unison as your cum slowly leaked out of your pussy. "Did you just swear?" You asked wide-eyed and sneering at the innocent boy, turning off your toy. He threw his hand over his mouth, giving you a deer in the headlights look. "I-I didn't mean to," he stumbled over his words.

"Naughty, naughty boy," you seductively responded, putting out the joint and shaking your head. You noticed the wet spot on the front of Matt's flannel pajamas. "Did you finish just from watching me?" Your lips curled into a malicious grin. "I mean. I rubbed it a little through my pants, but yeah," Matt said in an embarrassed tone, looking down like he was ashamed.

"Come here, pretty boy," you gestured towards him. You pulled him close and pulled the thin blanket over the both of you. You guys looked into each other's eyes and shared another kiss, each of your lips touching and creating a circuit through which an electric feeling ran through your bodies.

You loved kissing Matt, and he loved kissing you. It was unlike any feeling either of you had felt before. You pulled him in even closer, and the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms in your treehouse as the sun came up.

A couple hours later, you woke up on the hard floor of your treehouse next to the cute neighbor boy who was softly snoring next to you. You didn't want to wake him because he was sleeping so soundly, but all it took was a subtle movement from you, and he began to stir.

"Morning," he softly groaned as he opened his eyes and stretched his arms out overhead. "I had fun with you earlier," you whispered to him, biting your lip. He smiled at you, his cheeks turning pink. "I did, too."

He couldn't get the image of you touching yourself out of his head. All he could think about was your pretty pink flower between your legs and the sound of his name escaping your soft lips.

Like he was most mornings when he first woke up, he was incredibly hard, and he subtly tucked his erection into his waistband, hoping you wouldn't notice, but you did.

"How about we both go change and get ready for the day? Then we can go get coffee? I'll buy," you asked Matt, gently running your fingers across his chest. "Yeah, sure," he whispered. The two of you went your separate ways for a bit, sharing another kiss before you did.

When you got back to your house, you showered, washed your face, and climbed into a pair of washed-out jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt that you wouldn't mind getting paint on. You grabbed a granola bar and an apple on your way out, skipping over to the neighbor boy's house.

Before you could even knock on his door, Matt was turning the knob and stepping out onto his porch. "Hey, long time no see," you told him, eyeing him up and down. He was wearing a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and your opened your eyes wide when you realized you could see the faint outline of his cock through the cotton fabric.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Matt asked, teasing you. "You wore these on purpose, didn't you? You little temptress," you responded, nibbling on your lip. "I don't know what you're talking about," Matt casually responded, playing dumb and smirking to himself.

"Why'd you wear something so revealing then, hmm?" You wondered. "Why are you looking, perv?" Matt chuckled, getting into his orange truck.

The two of you started off down the road towards the nearest coffee shop, and as Matt drove, a naughty idea crossed your mind. You peered over at him, running your fingers along the inside of his thigh as he blew through a stop sign due to you distracting him.

He subtly gasped as you grazed his cock that was beginning to harden. It was the first time he'd ever been touched by anyone but himself. "W-what if God's watching?" Matt nervously questioned. "Then God's a little freak," you whispered back, sneering at him.

"You can't say that about God," Matt gasped, peering over at you. "But I just did," you said, poking the inside of your teeth with your tongue. "Please.. do it again," he sweetly whined. "You like that?" You asked, gently squeezing it, eliciting a whimper from the cute boy beside you. He bit his lip and shook his head yes.

"You better keep your eyes on the road, baby," you whispered, gently caressing it with your nails through the grey cotton that was beginning to strain. Before you knew it, the reactions you were getting from Matt as you teased his sensitive dick were getting to you. You felt your panties become all wet and sticky as Matt softly moaned beside you, using all his strength to pay attention to the road.

He approached a red light and gripped the steering wheel for dear life before letting out a loud groan. "Naughty boy. Like when mommy plays with you?" You asked seductively, moving your hand back and forth faster. "Oh, yes, mommy," he cried out.

He couldn't stop what was about to happen next. It was the first time anyone besides himself had ever given him that incredible release, and he let out a desperate mewl as he coated the inside of his pant leg with his cum.

"Wow. That was fast," you teased him. He looked over at you breathlessly with his glazed over blue eyes. "I tried to hold back as much as I could. I'm sorry," Matt responded quietly in a shameful tone, looking down at the mess he'd made in his sweats. "I know you did, baby. You did so good for me," you whispered, cradling his face and looking at him sympathetically.

The light switched to green, and he continued driving, embarrassed by how quickly he'd finished. "Well, I guess we're going through the drive thru," Matt stated, still blushing at the obvious wet spot.

He ordered the two of you coffee from the driver's side, for you, a frozen caramel drink and for himself, a black coffee, and you paid for it like you said you would. Matt thanked you for the coffee as well as the over-the-pants handjob you'd given him, and the two you made your way back to Matt's to get started on painting his room.

When you arrived back, you and Matt slipped into his house and up the stairs without alerting his dad, for which Matt was extremely grateful, so he wouldn't have to come up with an excuse as to why there was a questionable damp spot on the front of his sweats.

"I have to change my underwear for the second time today because of you. So scram," Matt told you, gesturing for you leave the room while he changed. "Oh, relax. I've already seen it," you shrugged and rolled your eyes.

"What?" Matt asked, widening his gaze in your direction. "Oh. Um," you innocently smiled at him. "What do you mean by that?" He asked. "I have a confession to make," you mumbled. Matt stayed quiet, but he looked at you intently, waiting for your admission.

You glanced across the way at your bedroom window. "So, my room is right there, and I can kind of see everything you do from the comfort of my bed," you pointed at the spot you watched him from last night, smirking and recalling how good he looked while getting off.

"You've been spying on me?" Matt asked accusingly, narrowing his blue eyes at you. "Not spying! I just happened to look up, and you dropped your towel," you said defensively.

"Oh, no. Did you see anything else?" Matt nibbled on his lip and shot you a nervous expression. "I might have watched you jerk off," you snickered. "I can't believe you watched me!" Matt exclaimed, feeling violated.

"And you're telling me that this morning when you walked in on me in my treehouse that you wouldn't have watched me until I finished if I didn't know you could see me?" You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. "Ugh. Fine. I guess I get it," Matt voice became softer as he realized his hypocrisy.

"Plus, I thought it was really hot," you said in a lustful voice while your gaze was fixed on his pink lips. "I'm still changing in the bathroom," Matt smiled at you, grabbing a change of clothes and heading into the other room, loudly locking the door behind him.

When he came back out, he was in some old jeans that already had some paint on them. The two of you started opening up the cans and setting down plastic and newspapers to keep the paint off the floor. Matt knew he was going to love the color the second he dipped the brush in the dark green liquid and began stirring it around.

"Oh my god. It's gonna look so good!" You told Matt after you painted a stripe on the white wall. "I already love it. Especially because we're painting it together," he looked over at you and grinned. You continued coating the wall in the first layer of dark green while you and Matt talked.

"So, did you write in your diary about me last night?" You teased him. "Shut up," he scoffed at you. "That's no way to talk to a lady," you said, taking your brush and slapping paint onto his arm. He gasped and pulled back.

"Oh, there's nothing lady-like about you," Matt replied, taking his paint brush and touching your face with it. You looked at him in disbelief. "You're right. You're more of a lady than me," you said, sticking your hand in the paint and slapping Matt on the ass, leaving a dark green handprint on his back pocket.

The two of you started laughing until your cheeks hurt and your stomachs started aching. Matt pulled you into another kiss, and you smiled against his soft lips as the two of you explored the inside of each other's mouths, leaving one another with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Before the two of you could get too carried away, Matt broke off the kiss, and you got back to painting until you'd covered every wall in an even coat of dark green. You guys looked at each other, proud of the work you'd done together.

"You know, I don't usually fall for people this easy, but I really like you," you admitted to Matt once the two of you had finished and were sitting on his plastic-covered floor. "I don't usually fall for weed-smoking peeping toms, but I like you, too," Matt teased you.

part three posted 💖

taglist: @gabri3la-sturns @lowkeyobsessedwthesturniolos @starzinasblog @mattsturns09 @sluttt4matt @heartsforsturniolo567 @nomusic-nodreams @freakbob15 @valkatriee @lyla-rose05 @savannah00 @shadowthesim @clara-sangster @bsturnzmtt @sturniolo-girl @munchingmini @butterbean-01 @coolasice01 @theyluvme-2315 @zariyam @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @new2024cats4life @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @jaysturniolo @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo

[artdcnaldson]

Been thinking about Patrick teaching Art how to masturbate

Patrick lowering himself down onto his stomach and between Art's legs on their pushed together beds, encouraging Art to continue despite his clear embarrassment.

Coaxing him into bringing his other hand down to his balls, only to end up doing it himself because the blonde's hands are shaking too much.

Once Art begins to get closer, so does Patrick. His hot breath fanning over Art's tip as he encourages him breathlessly.

Art shooting thick ropes of cum, half of which lands on his best friend's tongue, dribbling down his chin

And Art cums a lot and Patrick only wants to help. Sucking Art's tip into his warm mouth, licking his slit as he swallows him down

-🕊

I started shaking and vibrating reading this my god

Art jerking off as fast as he can the few random times Patrick leaves their hotel room while they’re at tournaments. He’s really, like, clinical with it— he just wants to cum as fast as possible. There’s no exploration, no teasing. He spits in his palm the same way Patrick showed him and fucks into his fist until he cums.

Patrick went out expecting a blowjob, and winds up getting stood up after the girl gets cold feet, so he trudges back to his room, already pent up and buzzing under his skin. It’s just his luck he walks into the room to see Art propped against the headboard of his bed, fist blurry from how fast it’s moving.

“Jesus Christ, dude, you’re gonna give yourself a friction burn.” Art yelps in surprise, throws a pillow over his lap to cover himself up, like the damage wasn’t already done ten times over. Patrick doesn’t give a shit. He relishes in making Art blush and squirm. He throws himself onto the bed, between Art’s thighs, and grins up at the blond. “You still jerk off the exact same way after six years?”

Art’s face wrinkles. “How else could I do it?”

So many ways. So, so many ways. But Patrick tries to be casual about it. “Dunno… you don’t touch anything else?” He tries not to act interested, like the answer won't plague his every waking moment the second it passes his lips.

"Dude, I don't finger myself. 'm not a girl," Art says, but the whiny affectation it comes out with doesn't help.

And fuck, that wasn't even what Patrick was thinking, but knowing that Art's mind went there... fuck, it does something to him. Patrick tries his best to push that thought deep, deep into the recesses of his mind and brings a smarmy little grin to his lips. It helps to hide his desperate interest.

"Yeah, but what about here-" he flicks Art's nipple and the blond squirms, which, incidentally, makes him buck up against the pillow. His cheeks burn hot and he tries and fails to make his glare look deadly.

"No." Art snaps. "I told you, I'm not a girl."

"I'm trying to help, you know. For old time's sake, you dickhead." He's trying to do more than just help. Patrick was the fucking king of hidden intentions. Of leading Art to do something for his own benefit. "It can feel better."

Art swallows, nose twitching slightly. It reminds Patrick of a bunny being led into a snare. He's not entrapping Art, of course. If Art just... told Patrick to fuck off, he'd go. Of course he would. He'd find some other hot tennis player to suck his dick.

"It can?" Art's pretty eyes are earnest, his pupils swallowing up all that pretty blue. Patrick smiles like the cat who got the cream and tugs the pillow away. When it lands at the headboard, he tries to ignore the large wet spot on the case. He's so hard in his shorts he thinks he'll pass out.

"Yeah," Patrick says. He grabs Art's wrist and moves his hand back between his thighs, past the twitching length of his dick. He moves his fingers over Art's and guides him to squeeze, so he's cupping his balls. The way precum dribbles from his tip isn't lost on Patrick. "Feels good."

Not a question, just... the first thing that he could think of. But Art nods regardless, his hand shaky as he gives a small squeeze. Patrick's eyes train on the expanse of his throat as Art's head falls back.

"God—" Art pants. "That's... yeah—"

Fuck yeah it is. Patrick swallows— all but licks his lips with big hearts in his eyes like a cartoon character. "Do it again. While you jerk off."

Art gulps and Patrick tracks the bob of his adam's apple. The blond exhales shakily and takes his cock into his trembling hand, his grip lax and hesitant. His other hand just barely teases over his sac, making his balls twitch and draw up. Fuck, Art’s so pretty— shaved smooth everywhere, flushed pink and needy, slick with pre.

Patrick wants Art’s cock stuffed down his throat so badly that he’s dizzy with it. “Let me, you’re not doin’ it right—“ Patrick says, and he replaces Art’s hand with his own. The blond whines and bucks up into his fist, legs kicking out.

“Patrick—“ He groans, but he doesn’t move Patrick’s hand, doesn’t squirm out of reach. “Fuck, Pat—“

Patrick swallows, moves closer. Art’s knuckles practically skim his jaw each time his hand reaches the head of his cock. His hips buck like he’s seeking the warmth of Patrick’s mouth. God, he wants that.

“See? Feels good, huh?” Patrick goads. He gives another firm squeeze and Art sobs pathetically, little ah, ah, ahs punched out from his lungs. Art nods, his curls plastered against his forehead. All of his words escape in breathy whines— yeah, feels good, so fucking good, Pat, god, please, please please please don’t stop, need it, do it again, fuck—

Patrick feels Art’s balls draw up, knows he’s going to come before Art even has a chance to warn him, not that he’s particularly verbose about it. All he manages is a mumbled, “Nnngghh— coming, coming—“ and he’s shooting warm, thick ropes of cum.

Art comes a lot. He’s always known the blond makes a mess, but Patrick never dreamed he’d be on the recieving end of a fucking facial from good Christian boy Art Donaldson himself. He feels Art’s cum paint his face, practically glazing him. It drips into his open mouth and he moans without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut as art comes and comes and comes.

When he’s finally spent, Art sobs weakly, collapsing back against the pillows. Patrick opens his eyes, licks the taste of Art’s spend from his lips, and looks at how fucking messy his cock is, dripping with pearly white. Patrick leans forward and licks, the same way he’s teasingly licked Art’s face, or his hand when they’re messing around. A long, messy lave of his tongue that makes Art’s toes curl into the duvet, muscles twitching until Patrick finally relents.

“Fuck,” Art says, breathless, exhausted, satisfied. “That’s… that was… I’m not gay.”

Right. He runs his hand through the cooling cum on his chin and smears it across Art’s face until his whines in protest and kicks Patrick off. “It’s not gay,” Patrick assures him, wiping his face with that same fucking pillow from earlier. One of them would have to sleep on it, but they could use the flip side. “I was just teaching you again. Don’t worry about it.”

Art nods, trying to convince himself through sheer delusion. That it wasn’t gay, that he didn’t like it, that he doesn’t have feelings for Patrick that can’t be explained away as being best friends.

Patrick taught him again, the way he did before. Only this time, he taught Art that when he wants to come hard, all he has to do is think about dark curls and blue eyes and a smarmy fucking grin.

[winged-self-indulgence]

Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.   

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

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.

I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.     

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

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If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

[citrus-moonlight]

As I often do, I've seen a few posts going around lately lamenting the lack of interaction with fanfiction/fanart here on Tumblr as well as AO3, but after reading a particular comment last night I just need to say this:

If someone tells you that the lack of response to sharing their writing is making them feel so upset that they're thinking of quitting writing altogether, don't tell them that's not a good mindset to have and they should just have fun with it and write for themselves. (have you just tried not being sad? you'll feel so much better!)

Even if you're a writer who felt that way once upon a time but then you changed your mindset so that you don't rely on others' feedback for validation and now you're so much happier, that's not helpful. Because that's obviously not what the person who is feeling sad and defeated is able to do right now, and for most writers/creators that's never going to be possible.

And it shouldn't have to be.

Especially here. Especially fanfiction.

Fanfiction is something that's created because someone loves something and wants to share it with others who love the same thing. And this is specifically a fandom space, somewhere that is supposed to be a community where discussion and dialogue can and is encouraged to happen between the people who write and the people who read. So when there's radio silence when you share something in this kind of space, do you really not see how that would be discouraging?

Because of course I write for myself - I would never get anything down on the page if I didn't - but I share because ultimately I want someone else out there to read what I wrote, and with any luck, to get some joy out of it. But if no one tells me they did, how am I supposed to know? As far as I know I've just been yelling into the void. As far as I know, all that work wasn't worth it.

A metaphor I've seen as an example is that it would be like having someone invite you over and cooking an entire delicious, heartfelt meal, you eat it all without saying anything, and then just leave. Do you not see how that would be upsetting?

We put so much of ourselves into what we write, bits of our hearts and souls and the things that we love and are exploring and are interested in or confused about. It's such a vulnerable thing to share something you've created, so when you tell someone that they shouldn't care if someone else reads what they wrote or tells them that they liked it, you're dismissing a very real and valid experience for so many creators out there.

Because regardless of how slow or fast a writer is, or how big or small their fandom is, it's still hard and takes time and energy and dedication and love - all of it in between our day to day lives from the mundanities to the heartbreaks - to even get something to the point where we're comfortable sharing.

Now, I know that not everyone thinks that writers are silly or selfish or entitled when they ask for feedback. Before I started writing again after many, many years, the main reason I didn't really comment on fics very often wasn't because I didn't think that the authors deserved feedback, it was more that I didn't really think that it would matter. That my comments would just be noted - if read at all - and brushed aside and then they would continue on about their day.

I could not have possible been more wrong. You might think you're just one person and it's just one comment but it's amazing how it can turn a day (or week, or month) around. How it can encourage someone to finish a story, or make a connection they'd been struggling with, or even just manage to add 500 words to a WIP. It is truly incredible to hear that someone loved something I wrote, and if you've ever commented on or reblogged one of my fics, please know that it truly means the world to me.

I've gone through a rough time with all of this lately myself, but I'm doing a bit better now (for the moment), so I just wanted to say this, in part to remind myself when it inevitably gets hard again:

If you're reading this, whether you're a friend or you've never seen me on your dash and never will again: I'm sorry it hurts right now. I'm sorry you feel discouraged and lonely, that it doesn't feel like it's worth it anymore, that you're struggling to find a reason to continue.

But I desperately hope that you keep writing. I hope you keep sharing. You're worth it. I know it's hard, and if you don't want to and you're just tired of the cycle of giving so much of yourself and getting so little in return, I understand that, too. It's ok to be in your feelings about it, it's ok to feel drained by it, and even though knowing you're not alone in your experience doesn't change anything and it still sucks, it's normal and valid and there's nothing wrong with you feeling the way that you do.

But I hope that you are able to find the joy in it again, because you deserve it. ❤️

[sluglore]

Some Thoughts on Karma, the Natural Journey of Ascension, and Why the Ancients/Benefactors were Kind of Wrong

I'd like to address the community-wide misconception that you can only gain karma through "shedding your urges" when both in game and within the text of the game, we see this isn't true! the whole "shedding urges in order to ascend" stuff was only really a thing before the void fluid revolution, as Moon states in the bright red farm arrays pearl. The discovery of void fluid entirely trivialized needing to completely shed your urges by providing a much more natural method of ascension, and we see this play out within Rain World's story and gameplay.

In-game, we gain karma by directly engaging with our urges, whether it be sustaining our hunger, holding treasured items close or just survival in itself. From the beginning we are deeply ensnared within the struggles of living, "caught in the net" as the ancients/benefactors say. However, over the course of our gameplay, (I'm using survivor as a baseline, since their campaign illustrates the core of this) as we learn and grow and become more knowledged, living becomes easier, the struggle is not as harsh as it was before, and surely but slowly we die less and less as time goes on.

Simultaneously, this is reflected in our karma, as by dying less, we now hold higher karma more frequently. This coincides with the natural gameplay loop of rain world; the more we explore and learn new things, the more we grow and learn about the world and our place within it, we tread further and further away from the struggles of life, and become closer to enlightenment.

Ascension is the natural culmination of this journey of enlightenment, the next step on the path beyond. It's not inherently the right or wrong choice to make, its a step into the unknown, in search of something greater, of answers to our own existence, true spiritual self-fulfillment. This is how the ancients/benefactors saw it, but you could say they still got parts of it pretty wrong...

This is treading more into personal headcanon territory now, so bear with me, but I believe the issue lies within the great problem that the ancients built the iterators to solve. They wanted to find a means of evicting all life, material, the entire world from the cycles entirely, eliminating the personal struggle tied to ascension, taking away the choice and the journey that are so unbelievably crucial to it. This is also why I personally believe that a solution to the great problem doesn't or can't exist, as it would go against the fabric of their universe, from which the cycles are built upon. (LTTM describes the group behind this ideology as "triangulators"; they believed a solution was dangerous and had to be inferred rather than solved)

Ironically, in their desire to become effortless, by creating the iterators to make living easier, and to detach themselves from the struggles of the cycles, (just as we do within our own journey to ascension as the slugcat) this could also only be achieved through massive effort, so they even weren't truly "effortless" in the end, as nothing can be. Of course though, the few echoes in-game demonstrate that same ideology slipping through. Those ancients/benefactors became echoes because they hadn't experienced the personal journey paramount to ascension, or maybe they just didn't want to leave, but regardless, they weren't able to let go of their place in the universe and move on, and thus, they stayed behind.

TLDR: The ancients/benefactors were wrong about ascension because as a society they didn't fully recognize how important personal struggle, journey, and choice is for ascension, and sought to remove that struggle entirely.

[celestialtarot11]

Hiiiiii devika what signals someone getting married when they’re older?

Signs in your chart—marrying later

Capricorn moon—they may prefer someone older with more experience so their time isn’t wasted. A lot of Capricorns value their time, and don’t want a shitty re-run.

Saturn 7h—This is because these natives are so focused on building their individuality first before a relationship. They know it’s important to have a great relationship with yourself first before a romantic relationship!

Virgo 7h—They can have high standards on who they want to be with, because they know they’re the shit. They need someone to match their freak.

Chiron 7h—Healing first before commitment. Might prefer to stay single as they learn to love themselves in way they never did before. Learning to find where the fit in community wise and need time to figure it out. Lovely individuals. So much to share.

Fixed signs in the 7h (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius) strong need tor stability and does not like change. Has high standards and wants their freedom, and may not view relationships as high priority.

Saturn 12h—These individuals may go on to explore their individuality from a young age. They may have had experiences in which dating did not go well. But their Saturn returns can be significant periods in time for a relationship (not limited to)

Check where your 7h lord lies, and if there are aspects to Pluto and saturn there can be a delay in marriage. If it’s in a sign where it’s debilitated, or in detriment it can cause a delay.

SN in the 7h can also cause a delay. NN in the 7h can also cause a delay as these are malefic.

Moon in the 7h but aspecting saturn or Pluto can cause a delay! Also aspects to SN or NN, any malefic aspects can cause a delay in marriage.

That being said—you can still get married regardless of astrology. Many people with these aspects still got married regardless of their age and placements.

[astralnymphh]

Omg can I request Ellie and reader on halloween night exploring an abandoned house that’s known to be haunted. Ellie and reader are both huge fans of horror and ghosts, often exploring abandoned places and even using those apps that you can talk to ghosts with. So, you both go, but terrifying things begin to happen and you’re both freaking the fuck out equally. Bonus points if Ellie gets protective <3

ok so yeah i had to do a bit of a drabble for this one! nothing too extreme though, but i love this idea. instead of them using apps, because ellie is such a nerd, i think she would have the genuine gear for it. girl heard the words "ghost hunting" and decked out immediately in all the utilities. ellie image @/angel-gbc

“Can you tell us your name?”

This house is a chamber of disembodied sounds. Ellie discovered it on her usual walk from work, dead and moth-eaten as ever, and all she wanted to do was explore it through and through. She loves horror, and you follow her on that sentiment. The Victorian face of the house has remained gently intact—a debris-ridden ghost of its preceding self—save for a few holes, shattered windows, spots of soot from fire, and the eternal state of squalor. Eternal life of loneliness, unwantedness. Quite a big, blotchy stain on a lovely modern neighborhood full of copy and paste houses, huh?

Wrong!

Gentry used to live there, and now the gentry want it torn up. Like a sketch you feel disgust looking at.

But you admit this plainly. Watching your nerdy girlfriend psych herself to come here with every gimmick and gadget pushing on the seams of her backpack really is cute. Noticing her lip curl when there's even a second of static feedback on the spirit box, really is the cherry on top of a long weekend; you regret nothing.

For now.

She is kneeling, you are crouching. “You can use the—um, spirit box,” Ellie swallows her throat clear, adjusting the placement of the equipment. ”To talk to us.” Ridiculous excursion or not, you both felt a bit on edge. Hairs raise in anticipation.

Your pores felt susceptible. Open to the change in the air, responsive to the uncomfortable sounds of clothes and limbs shifting. Maybe your mind had made up an individual now: a pompous and rich woman. Tight in the waist from the boning of a corset, and rather busty because of it. She is the woman of this household, you believe, and she circles you with broad shoulders and steel curiosity. Not too creative for a nineteenth-century ghost.

You could feel her stare crawling all over you. Or your imagination. Shivers run up your spine regardless.

“Hey, maybe we should ask what happened to her,” you bleat, not conscious of how disomforted you look palming the back of your neck, or your words. The air has gone cold.

Ellie scales a brow at you. “Her? Shit, have you gone psychic now?” Her questioning tone drips of mock and shock, somehow simultaneously. But one widens her expression when static crackles inside the receiver, and lets a low sound through. She props up on her knees. “Could you tell us what happened to you?”

The feedback ends.

Ellie huffs a sigh of disappointment, lowering herself again. So much for going psychic. “Good job, though. Seem to 've said somethin' right,” she reveres you softly, pricking a knee up to set her fist on. Her leather jacket shines low with your flashlight.

The event left you paranoid, but all you can do is wonder if she feels the same, but stomachs a facade over it. God, does she think she needs to impress you?

Apparently so. Behind the silence, came a violent clatter of wood, or a door, none can be sure. You were the first instantiation; something between a shirek and a gasp calls your hand to cocoon at your chest, and you scatter aimlessly onto your bottom. It felt like an injection of fear. It made your blood drain. Made your breath run thick.

Fucking ghosts.

Ellie repined in a yelling whisper. “Jesus!” Her silhouette much more composed and still upright, but with a hand on her heart. Faint sounds of her scooting over, however, spurn your sight from the suspected room of activity, her acorn-brown brows pulled to a worried low. “You good?”

The gentleness of the question soothes. “Sure.” Somewhat.

Her lips quirk, and she hesitates a laugh. “Ha—yeah. No clue what the fuck that was,” she rasps as she slides up next to you, the warmth of her hand eroding the stifle in your back. She encourages you to ease into it with rubbing motions. “Way scarier than horror movies make it out to be, huh?”

You over-ease, “Definitely,” the word falling out so heavy. The charm of her actions make you forget this place even surrounds you. Material disappears. “God, my heart is racing.” You lean into your knees.

Ellie noses at your neck, tip smushing. “I got you.”

She does. You cannot see her from your cocooned vantage, but you can feel her breath, and sweet lips forming into kisses. The little noises created let you imagine instead: she is probably donning a dorky smile, and has wispy, brown, shut eyes. You picture her hand coming up to clasp your shoulder, right when it actually does.

“Good thing we aren't in an actual horror movie, though,” Ellie presses the joke into your humid neck, slowly creeping behind your ear. “That would suck.”

You bring your forehead up, smiling tauntingly. “You would probably die first since you're so distracted.”

Her mouth clicks. “Shut up.” But resumes the delicate act of pinching at your skin without shame. That, for her, is the reason the other-worldly, torturing atmosphere around you turns to something of a soothing bliss. Funnily enough, it happens during said movies. Distractions on your neck and a greedy girl hungry to eat them whole and proudly.

Though, when she finally comes to her senses, she plays knight in converse and band-shirt armor and scopes the area of interest. Nothing was there except an old broom and a rat nest. Made for a whole lot of embarrassment later on in bed, that is for damn sure. Little comments of “I'm such an idiot,” rolling off your tongue while Ellie complimented you on your sudden intuition; the house did indeed belong to a woman of affluent status. How sexy is intuition? Ellie would know.

But Ellie loves being your ghost-hunting bodyguard—and nerd—either way. Something inherent inside her says she might be made for it.

a/n: wrote this in one go so i hope it suffices enough! click here for my autumntime masterlist!

[yanderestarangel]

‘TOGETHER IN KHAOS’

new!noob saibot x male reader

♡ ┆TW : ftm reader, fingering, v!sex, penetration, afab anatomy, use of his saibot to stimulate you, creampie.

"Look at me, don't take your eyes off me." The deep, dark voice sent something like a sweet poison down your spine, making you try to maintain consciousness as your reality and world crashed down on you – literally crumbling around you. Bi Han had been caught by Havik and the titan transformed him into a perfect warrior, without mercy, without weakness, more agile and lethal – however he could not exclude the most important part of the grandmaster's soul, you.

You felt his large hands explore your body lying on the cold stone floor as the lights and fragments of destruction passed around the two of you – he had small sharp claws along his black skin with small green glowing threads on his body, his eyes, previously brown and alive, were shining an ice-like white. He heard you moan softly as his fingers found their way to your clit, applying gentle pressure to your sensitive bud and making you hold onto his body.

You felt his fingers filling you like never before, however before you could moan his name he stopped you, whispering through the fabric that covered the lower half of his face.

"It's Noob now, Noob Saibot..." He spoke calmly, for the first time in years you saw your husband truly calm and complete with himself, it was all too new for you to digest but you were trying for him. He curled his fingers hitting your G-spot and making you moan softly and turning into a blushing mess for him, you could smell him, his voice even if a little thicker and deeper, it was still that of the same human man you had always loved.

"Fuck boy... So fucking wet." Noob moaned softly as he watched his fingers completely wet with your juices, his thumb quickly found your clit again as you felt his clouded gaze on your body; his other hand settled on your soft thigh and lightly marked you with his claws, your pleasure was so much that you didn't even feel the small pain in your flesh when he did this.

You tried to focus your gaze on his eyes, as he told you to, but you could only shed a few tears as you begged him for more — the fact that you hadn't denied his new appearance and status was like another proof of love to him, not only that, it also served to boost his ego, regardless of how he was, you would want him, be he demon or human. "Look how you're wetting my fingers baby... Holy shit- boy you don't know how much I love you." He moaned hoarsely and deep, curling his fingers again and making you tremble on his digits and milk them as if it was the only thing you knew.

You saw your lover take his cock out of his pants, small bright green veins adorned his dark, pulsing member – He began to move slowly at first, his thrusts deep and deliberate, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of his thick cock inside you.

His movements became more confident, his pace quickening as he felt your body responding to his touch. He began to move slowly at first, his thrusts deep and deliberate, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of his thick cock inside you. His movements became more confident, his pace quickening as he felt your body responding to his touch.

As he pumped into you, Noob's Saibot appeared behind you, gently reached around you and began to caress and manipulate your breasts; "You like being used by me, don't you, darling? I can see it in your eyes, you're pitiful, begging to be broken, to be taken... you still love me don't you?" Noob moaned hoarsely, while his Saibot pinched his nipples between his ghostly fingers – He leaned forward, his mask brushing against your face as he lowered his head, his breath hot against your skin. He wanted to claim you, to remind you that despite the darkness that now surrounded him, he was still the man you once loved.

"You shiver and moan louder... such a good boy." He lifted your legs up to his shoulders, burying himself completely inside you. His cock filled you completely, the sensation of being completely possessed by him causing your back to arch and your moans to intensify. The power behind his thrusts increased, his hips slamming into you with a primal fury.

You could feel the heat emanating from his cock, the throbbing pulse growing stronger with each movement; you moaned his name loud enough to echo in the space of that chaos, the stimuli were making you see stars and lose control of your own senses – As you climaxed, Noob Saibot felt his own release building, the sensation of your pussy milking his cock sending him over the edge.

He grunted loudly, his hips bucking against yours as he filled you with his hot, thick cum – It was different from the other times his cum froze your brain, this time you felt warm inside; you whimpered at the new sensation feeling totally full.

His saibot, sensing his master's release, took his fingers and gently spread your pussy lips, allowing Noob's cum to spill out, mixing with your own juices. You watched your husband practically in a trance as his cum dripped down onto the cold stone beneath your body. He presses your forehead against his, his sighing heavily through the mask – his white eyes shining brightly as he looked deeply into your eyes.

"We are together in this chaos... Forever."

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 ©𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 2024. 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆

[squidpedia]

pedia, how would a clover and lilac swap au be in your style? like, nothing else changes except for them

Lilac if they weren’t fucking around (phrase said at least 12 times while drawing with hysterical laughter and sleep deprivation). Three leaf clovers for clover because getting the role of integrity is not a lucky one,,,,,,,,

And yeah that does mean clover would be stuck sharing the amalgamate body with kanako too to me

Lilac is a very naturally distrustful person, Flowey trying to use them would be a ticking time bomb, there is not a reality where they 100% believe he has their best interest at heart. “Shady fucking flower has ulterior motives but going along with it for now is better than dying i guess” - Justice Lilac probably. I think Lilac after enough resets would be able to reach the pacifist ending and give up their soul, there’s a certain point where they don’t remember the other timelines but they feel insane amounts of unconscious guilt over the obscene amount of LOVE they gained before. Giving up their soul would go against all of their personal rules of self preservation, but I can see them doing doing it after enough time. They wouldn’t know how to explain this, it so seemingly out of character for them but its what felt right.

I think Clover would ultimately still end up dying to axis and their soul being used in chujin’s experiments. Thats integrity soul canon event to me. Original sketch of clover had them seem much more happy, but I toned down their expression to give them a more unreadable smile. Integrity clover is a little difficult to parse for me in terms of actions and intentions because I imagine them to be a very selfless person that has a difficult time acting in their own best interest (whether it be execution in the name of justice for the fallen kids or giving up their soul to help ensure a better future for monsterkind). Integrity Clover would also have special emphasis on their role as a performer rather than as a deputy, so idk, they aim to never break character, keep up a smile regardless of the things that are happening right now. The world is your audience, and the audience wants to see a smile. But meanwhile I think their actions would be a bit more morally grey and odd to track, chujin’s attempts at using the integrity serum still don’t work because the soul lacks a pure heart after all. Integrity clover has an interest in exploring and finding the truth behind mysteries, while having a somewhat mysterious way of behaving themself I guess

[lyon-77]

It's great to see Erlang Shen (二郎神) gaining more recognition in recent years, both with the current generation and globally. His portrayal in Black Myth: Wukong is particularly multilayered and fascinating. However, I've noticed some misunderstandings surrounding his character and development in Chinese lore and literature. As someone deeply interested in folk traditions and history, I’d love to explore this complex folk god with you all. If anyone's interested, feel free to share your thoughts, questions, or ideas!

As an intro, let me begin with Erlang Shen's divine roles in Chinese folk religion. TL;DR: His primary roles are as the god of water management, hunting, and protection. At different points in history, he also took on derivative roles as a patron of various artistic and leisure activities (music, drama, cuju [an ancient ball game], alcohol, gambling, etc.) and as a protector of the vulnerable including children, street vendors, and prostitutes. Yeah, pretty wild and non-discriminative

Many people seem to interpret Erlang Shen as a god of order and justice, constrained by the celestial court. While I understand the juxtaposition of this interpretation with Wukong, it does not really align with the lore tradition. Erlang Shen and Sun Wukong were indeed linked before the formulation of Journey to the West (JTTW)—most likely because Erlang Shen was originally the god of hunting. You can still see this in the fact that he's always accompanied by a hound. Traditionally, he also had an eagle (not commonly seen now) and carried a bow (which he used in his first match with Wukong in JTTW).

Some also mistake Erlang Shen as the Chinese God of War, but he is very much not. Erlang Shen is a protector god, originally of the multiethnic Sichuan (Shu) region of China. This region was independent of any central government for over half a century following the fall of the Tang Dynasty in the 10the century, and during the early 11th century, local people rebelled under Erlang Shen's name against the newly established Song Dynasty intermittently for over three decades. If we view the celestial court as a mirror of the mortal one, Erlang Shen essentially led multiple rebellions—this isn't lore but historical fact. To appease the people of the Shu region, the Song central government officially recognized Erlang Shen on the national level. Erlang Shen then gradually became the protector of Greater China and was prayed to during times of war, especially in the face of foreign invasions during Song Dynasty. His official recognition and tributes carried through all subsequent Chinese dynasties regardless of the ruling ethnic group—be it the Mongolian Yuan Dynasty, Han Ming Dynasty, or Manchurian Qing Dynasty.

In terms of lore, Erlang Shen wasn't linked to the Jade Emperor until around the time of JTTW. In The Investiture of the Gods, formulated around the same time as JTTW, Erlang Shen was the source of a main character but no connection to the Jade Emperor was ever mentioned. Again, this dubiety likely reflected the historical process of integrating Erlang Shen into the official pantheon, as he was simply too powerful and influential to ignore. In both traditional lore and in JTTW, Erlang Shen commands his own military (草头神，roughly translated to grassroot gods), is supported by loyal generals (the Mei Mount brothers), and resides in the Shu region, where his lore originated, rather than in the celestial realm. He maintains a cooperative relationship with the celestial court but enjoys great autonomy. Most importantly, Erlang Shen remains close to the mortal world and to the people he protects, which is why he lives on through millennia in the hearts of so many as a beloved folk god and takes on derivative protective roles in response to people's needs and trust.

TBC. Let me know if you find this interesting 👀

[ataleofcrowns]

Chapter Progress [NOV/06]

Hey all, it's been a while since I've written one of these 🍂

I've been posting regular previews on my Patreon, but a proper update was long overdue! As a refresher, my last update was this one, and I've got lots more to update you on now that I'm further along!

I've struggled a lot with this chapter and have been trying to wrangle it into shape as best I can, and I'm happy (and relieved) to say that I can finally give you an estimated release date: you can expect CH12 to be uploaded in December this year.

I won't be putting a specific date on it yet, since it could be anywhere from early December to late December depending on how much progress I make in November, but I'll let you know! Now, onto specifics.

The Main Plot

I'm currently balancing out LI specific content in the main plot! Regardless of what you chose in regards to Kham and the peri trader, players will be spending some time with D and X to make up for their absence in CH10 at the beginning of this chapter, and I've really missed writing their dynamic with each other as well as the Crown.

I genuinely can't decide which branch is my favorite. Meeting with Kham directly gives so much juicy verbal sparring and tension between not only her and the Crown but her and D and X as well. But meeting directly with the peri trader let me dig more into the worldbuilding, explore the city a bit, and have some more lighthearted shenanigans with D and X too.

I'll add some previews here for both routes that I've also already shared for people on the Patreon. Here's a little excerpt for people meeting with Kham:

“There is one thing I have been wondering, princess,” you say as you stare back into her eyes, watching the way the orange orbs of light flicker like flames. “When you first arrived here, you were accompanied by a retinue of guards. Whatever happened to them?” Kham does not raise her brows at you, exactly, but something similar to the motion as the wood above her eyes arches upwards with a stiff creaking sound. “They are not merely my guards, they are my servants first and foremost. Naturally, they run errands for me.” “What kinds of errands?” “Surely you do not think I would fetch all I require by myself?” She appears amused by the line of questioning rather than offended. “They trade with the peri merchants in your city on my behalf. Although, calling it trade is perhaps not accurate, as I hold the right to lay claim on their supplies whenever I please. They are representatives of my mother, after all.” You consider the explanation, but nothing about it seems notable or inconsistent so far. “So you have never dealt with this peri trader I wish to meet with yourself?” “Of course not.” She smiles, her wooden mouth briefly pressing together. “That would be beneath me.” “A shame,” $xname muses casually from beside you, contrasting the sharp look in their eyes. “We had hoped you might have some insight to share.” “As much insight as you are willing to offer me regarding this flower you seek,” Kham returns, her smile still in place. “The blue siren, yes? A rather strange fixation…” You feel the urge to tense, but withhold yourself from it by taking a slow, relaxed breath. All the rigorous physical training you have underwent over the course of the past month is already showing its benefits: you feel more aware and in control over your body, able to maintain your composure. A necessary skill when dealing with someone like Kham, as conversing with her feels like a dance of sorts. The two of you are watching each other’s steps, waiting for the other to slip.

And here's the excerpt for if you choose to meet with the peri trader:

You manage to make it through the marketplace, finally arriving at a large building with an open front, wrapping around the corner of the street. Tables and shelves are lined with various flowers and plants, perused by a few passing customers. This appears to be the peri trader’s shop, signaled by the sign at the front that reads Eshkar’s Garden. Eshkar being the name of the peri trader in question. Most of the flora on display you recognize, if not by the labeled names then by sight alone, but several look entirely new to you. Pale white flowers whose hanging bulbs pulse with light when a customer brushes against its leaves; bleeding vines wrapped around a miniature roofed trellis atop a tall table, its crimson flowers slowly dripping down pink juice caught by bowls below; a tall flower with only two black petals, large and pointed, that nearly startle you when they snap together several times in sharp, cracking sounds, almost as if the flower were clapping. IF CROWN IS INTELLIGENT Momentarily forgetting about your intended purpose in being here, you approach the clapping flower with curiosity, wondering what set it off. Sure enough, you see dead and decomposing flies of various sorts collected at the center of its bulb as you lean over to peer inside, taking care to avoid leaning in too close lest your nose get caught between the aggressive petals. Does it catch and eat small insects? How fascinating. You glance at the labeling of the flower, its name fittingly given as ‘black ovation’. IF CROWN IS INTUITIVE Eyes drawn by the visual spectacle of the white flowers, you find yourself wandering over to its shelf, glancing at the labeling that reads ‘stardrops’. The bulbs look ordinary at first glance, but sure enough, when you reach out to touch its petals, the flower begins to glow like you saw before. A ring of light travels up its stem, through the petals to the very ends, where it erupts into tiny little golden sparks. Hence the name, you suppose. Unable to stop yourself, you touch the flower again, mesmerized by the light show, until you notice a shop attendee frowning at you from nearby. Feeling scolded, you quickly pull your hand away and offer an apologetic smile.

Lots of fun going on in both routes! I don't envy you for having to make this choice lol.

Aside from this big branch, the main plot will converge for everyone again in the latter half of the chapter, where the Crown gets do to some more typical Crown things: hearing public petitions! They'll contain 2 smaller scenes where your character will hear out some citizen concerns, which will let you rack up reputation points with either the public or the nobility, and 1 major scene that affects a future plot point.

Not gonna spoil these since I've already talked so much about everything else regarding this chapter, so this will have to remain a surprise ✨

The Romances and Friendships

While the start of the chapter is X and D focused, if you have a specific (platonic) LI you want to spend more time with as buddies and perhaps get a little relationship advice, you'll have that opportunity at the start of CH12! I've had to write 12 variations in total for each friendship scene, which was a lot of work, but completely worth it.

Some LI routes also have big additional differences depending on if you have a low or high romance (such as A and R), while it matters a little bit less for the others for the time being (such as D and X). So if you screwed up on D or X's romances and have a low status, you're mostly in the clear from immediate consequences… for now.

Here's a little excerpt, taken from a playthrough of a Crown who has a high romance with A and chooses R's friendship scene:

Something like mischief gleams in $rname’s eyes as $rthey looks at you. “I’ve noticed you and $aname seem especially close nowadays.” You shift a little on the couch, averting your gaze to avoid $rname’s eyes as you strike a casual tone. “Do we?” “Mhm.” When you do glance over at $rname, you find $rthem studying $rtheir nails, and you begin to relax as you think it was just an idle remark. Until $rthey adds, “All the hand-holding underneath the table is endearing, I must admit. Especially since the two of you seem to think you’re being subtle about it.” IF CROWN IS RESERVED Heat flushes up your neck at being seen through so easily, remembering breakfast earlier that morning where $aname’s fingers hooked around yours beneath the table. “We were just… we’re not…” $rname looks up from $rtheir nails to grin at you. “There’s no need to look so embarrassed! I’m happy for you. The two of you seem well-suited for each other.” Trying to move past your flustered state, you clear your throat. “You think so?” “I’ve never seen $aname so at ease as when you’re around,” $rname considers, eyes narrowing with teasing and fondness both. “You look more unburdened with $athem near, as well.” IF CROWN IS FLIRTATIOUS You almost laugh at the remark and give it away completely, only managing to keep it in at the last moment and grinning back at $rname instead. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” $rname looks up from $rtheir nails with a sly smile. “No? What a shame. I was going to say how well-suited the two of you are for each other.” That catches your attention, your playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Really?” “I’ve never seen $aname so at ease as when you’re around,” $rname considers, eyes narrowing with teasing and fondness both. “You look more unburdened with $athem near, as well.”

This scene aside, CH12 will also contain another dedicated romance scene with your LI, dealing with some of the fallout from last chapter whether good or bad. If your romance is high, you'll be coasting- except maybe for D romancers, who are in Pining Hell either way haha.

If your romance is low, though, prepare for some delicious angst 🙏🏼

That's all I've got for now! Thank you all so much for your patience and support as always, especially for how long I've been making you all wait. You're the best 💖

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: The Prophet and His Muse Pairing: greek god!woozi x reincarnated lover!fem!reader Genre: romance, angst, fluff, smut, romance, fantasy, soulmate au, reincarnation au, deity au Wordcount: 11k Rating: 18+

Synopsis: In a world where ancient myths whisper through the fabric of modern life, a poignant tale of love and redemption unfolds. A god reunited with his eternal love. As this ancient bond stirs to life, he must navigate the delicate interplay between myth and reality—striving to rekindle a romance that defies time and embraces destiny’s call.

Warnings: angst, character death, reincarnation, fluffy smut, slight exhibitionism, reader is afab, mentions of food, mentions of wanting kids

A/N: so happy to finally post this fic for @beomcoups's and @wooahaeproductions' collab - see the Thirteen Gods of Olympus masterlist here!

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

MDNI: Adults only. Minors are not allowed. Any minors found will be blocked.

Join my taglist // Masterlists

Prologue: Golden Shadows

You sit on the edge of the bed, the cool linens draped around your naked frame, watching as Apollo’s fingers dance delicately over the strings of his golden lyre. The soft, melodic notes fill the room, mingling with the last rays of the setting sun that bathe everything in a warm, golden glow. The heat from the day still clings to the air, wrapping the room in an intimate cocoon.

Rising slowly, you let the linens slide around you like a silken robe as you step toward him. Your voice, barely above a whisper, drifts through the melody. "Won’t you come back to bed?"

Apollo’s eyes meet yours, a tender smile playing on his lips. Some of his golden locks fall over his forehead, and you reach out to brush them back with your fingers. Your hand lingers on his cheek, and Apollo leans into your touch. He sets the lyre aside, the music hanging in the air like a fragrant memory. Rising gracefully, he takes your hand and places it on his bare chest. You let your hand travel up his warm skin before wrapping your arms around his neck. His forehead rests against yours, and he closes his eyes as if to savor the moment.

"Please?" you repeat softly. "I don’t get much time with you."

Without a word, Apollo scoops you into his arms, lifting you as though you weigh nothing. You feel the strength and warmth of his embrace, your heart quickening in response. He carries you to the bed, laying you down with a reverence that speaks of a love transcending time. Apollo settles beside you, easing past the linens covering your figure to press his bare skin against yours.

You move together in perfect harmony, your love a silent conversation. The golden light of the sunset wraps around you, turning your world into a haven of softness and desire. As the sun dips below the horizon, you are lost in each other, your bodies entwined, your souls connecting.

"You're enchanting, my flower," he whispers, his lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck. "In your presence, the loveliest hymns dance through my mind."

He leans over you, his gaze deep and unwavering as he looks into your eyes. With one hand, he reaches out to touch your cheek, his warm palm caressing your soft skin with a silken touch. "I don’t mean to take my attention off of you."

"I suppose I can allow it," you answer playfully, a smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you promise to stay with me now and until morning."

Instead of answering, he draws closer, his breath mingling with yours. His lips meet yours in a kiss that begins gently, a tender brush that sends shivers down your spine. As the kiss deepens, his other hand finds its way to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. His kiss grows more passionate, his lips moving with a soft urgency, tasting and exploring. Your hearts beat in unison, each throb echoing the intensity of the moment. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you, entwined in a timeless embrace, lost in the rapture of a kiss that promises forever.

"I am consumed by you, my love," he whispers as he pulls away from the kiss, trying to catch his breath. His eyes, dark with desire, bore into yours, searching for the same fire he feels burning within himself.

You cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. "And I by you," you murmur, your voice trembling with emotion. "Every moment with you feels like a beautiful dream I never want to wake from."

He smiles, a soft, tender smile that makes your heart flutter. "Then let’s never wake," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let’s stay in this dream, where time stands still and nothing else matters but us."

You nod, pulling him closer once more. As your lips meet again, the world outside ceases to exist. The night wraps around you like a velvet cloak, and in that moment, all that matters is the love you share, burning brightly in the dark.

When at last you lie spent, the stars begin to twinkle like diamonds in the velvet night sky. Apollo brushes a tender kiss against your forehead. "I promise to stay with you until morning," he murmurs, his voice a soothing lullaby that melts into the silence of the night.

You nestle closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, your heart brimming with contentment and love. His scent envelops you, a blend of earth and spice, grounding you in the moment. The world outside ceases to exist. It is just the two of you, cocooned in a timeless embrace, held together by a love as eternal and unchanging as the stars above.

His fingers trace lazy circles on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Every touch, every whispered word, binds you closer. The night air is cool against your heated skin, a contrast that heightens your senses, making you acutely aware of every breath, every heartbeat.

You look up at him, his eyes reflecting the starlight, filled with a promise that transcends words. He smiles, and it feels like the universe unfolding just for you. The night cradles you both gently, a sanctuary where time stands still, and you drift into dreams knowing you are cherished beyond measure.

Chapter 1: Echoes of a Memory

Jihoon stirs awake, the rain’s steady tap against the windowpane weaves a mournful lullaby. The room, bathed in the somber gray of the overcast morning, is cloaked in a cold, desolate light that seeps through the curtains, transforming every corner into a silent witness to his solitude. The apartment stands bare, a ghostly echo of the warmth and vibrancy that once defined his life.

“Y/N?” he whispers, his voice hoarse with dreams and yearning. The answer is a void, an echo of silence that wraps around him like a shroud. His hand reaches out to the empty space beside him, feeling the familiar sting of her absence.

With a weary sigh, Jihoon pushes himself up and retrieves his phone from the nightstand. As he unlocks it, a new email notification blinks at him, its presence a tiny spark in the dimness. He opens it, his heart pounding in time with the rain’s steady rhythm:

“Dear Mr. Lee,

Thank you for your generous donation. We would be honored to invite you to visit our institute at your earliest convenience. We are eager to discuss future collaborations...”

He doesn't bother to read the rest. A faint smile touches Jihoon’s lips, a fragile glimmer in his otherwise monochrome world. The prospect of seeing Y/N again breathes a tentative hope into his chest, a whisper of joy amidst the pervasive gloom. He can almost hear your laughter, feel the warmth of your presence.

He sets the phone down, the smile lingering like a delicate shadow, and moves toward the window. Pulling the curtains aside, he gazes out at the relentless rain, its steady fall a poignant reminder of the emptiness he endures. Yet now, amidst the gray, there is a flicker of something more—an ember of hope that dares to illuminate the path ahead.

He will visit the music institute. He will see her again. And in that fragile hope, there lies the possibility that she may indeed be you.

Jihoon walks through the entrance of the local university’s music institute, the air buzzing with a mix of creativity and academia. He’s even gone so far as to dress up for the occasion—skipping his usual black ensemble of oversized shirts, shorts, and slippers, for a more sophisticated button-down and trousers. Students hurry past with instruments and sheet music, their conversations a background symphony of youthful energy. Some of them give him a double look, whispering amongst themselves. He can feel their music, rhythmically beating as they go about their day. For a moment, he lets go of the barrier he builds up between himself and others, allowing the melodies of their futures to play through his mind. He’s completely entranced by the feeling that he doesn’t see the person walking towards him. An administrator, a middle-aged woman with an eager smile, greets him warmly.

“Woozi—Mr. Lee, it’s such an honor to have you here,” she says, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “I’ve been a fan of your music for years, we’re so excited to have you. Let me show you around.”

As they walk through the hallways, she points out various rooms—practice spaces, classrooms, and performance halls. Jihoon listens politely, nodding and occasionally asking questions, but his thoughts are elsewhere. He’s eager to see Y/N, the professor he’s heard so much about.

Finally, they reach a spacious room with large windows that let in the afternoon light. Instruments of all kinds line the walls, and students sit in clusters, discussing music theory and composition. Y/N stands by one of the groups, her presence commanding yet kind. The administrator walks over to her, tapping her on her shoulder to get her attention.

“Professor, this is Mr. Lee,” the administrator introduces him with pride.

Y/N turns, and Jihoon feels his breath catch. She looks so just like you—the same grace, the same spark in her eyes. She extends her hand, a warm smile on her lips.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Lee,” she says. “Your support means a lot to us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Jihoon replies, shaking her hand. He can’t help but stare, his mind awash with memories.

The administrator, sensing the moment, excuses herself. “I’ll leave you two to talk. If you need anything, I’ll be just outside.”

As the door closed behind her, Jihoon chuckled, breaking the ice. “I think she was about to ask for an autograph.”

Y/N laughs a melodic sound that sends a jolt of nostalgia through him. “She probably was. You have quite a fan base here.”

Jihoon smiles, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. “It’s nice to know my music is appreciated. But enough about me—I want to hear about your work here.”

They talk for a while, their conversation flowing effortlessly. Jihoon finds himself captivated by her passion for teaching and her genuine love for music. As they speak, he feels a connection, a sense of familiarity that goes beyond the present moment.

For the first time in decades, Jihoon feels a spark of hope. Perhaps, he’s actually found you again.

Chapter 2: Symphony of the Sun

The garden basks in the golden glow of a summer afternoon, where sunlight spills like liquid amber through the canopy of a grand orange tree. The air, rich with the heady perfume of blooming flowers and sun-warmed citrus, drapes around you like a fragrant embrace.

You and Apollo lounge beneath the tree’s sprawling boughs, its ancient branches casting a protective, dappled shade. The leaves murmur softly in the breeze, their whispers blending with the distant songs of nature, creating a lullaby of tranquility.

Apollo’s eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint as he plucks a plump, sun-kissed orange from a low-hanging branch. He cradles it in his hands, studying its ripe, glossy skin with an almost reverent gaze.

A smile curves on your lips as Apollo’s thumb presses into the fruit; the sharp, tangy aroma of citrus bursts forth, mingling with the garden’s sweet floral symphony. With a flick of his wrist, he begins to peel the orange, and in an unexpected burst of citrus, a stream of golden juice arcs through the air, landing with a soft splash upon your cheek.

You gasp in surprise, your eyes widening before laughter spills from your lips, bright and unrestrained. “Look at what you’ve done!” you exclaim, your voice a melody of delight.

Apollo’s grin widens, his laughter melding with yours in a harmonious duet. “Let me help you,” he offers, leaning in with tender intent. His lips graze your cheek, his tongue softly tracing the path of the sweet juice.

Your laughter subsides into a gentle smile, your heart swelling with a profound, loving warmth. “You always know how to make me laugh,” you murmur, your voice a tender whisper that lingers in the golden light.

Apollo’s gaze holds a deep, unwavering tenderness as he pulls back slightly, his fingers still glistening with remnants of orange juice. “And you always know how to make me happy,” he responds, his eyes reflecting a love that seems to glow from within.

As you share the orange, Apollo feeds you each succulent piece with a playful grace, your laughter spilling freely as more juice dribbles down your chins. The simple joy of the moment, wrapped in the warmth of your shared affection, lifts your hearts in a dance of delight.

With the afternoon sun casting intricate patterns of light through the tree’s leaves, you and Apollo savor the serene beauty of the moment. It becomes a cherished fragment of time, a golden memory to treasure long after the orange trees have shed their fruit and summer’s warmth has faded. In the garden’s tranquil embrace, surrounded by nature’s gentle symphony, you are two souls entwined in a love that feels as eternal as the sun-dappled day itself.

The room is cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from Jihoon’s computer screen. Rain patters against the windows, a somber symphony that matches the turmoil in his heart. Will it ever stop raining? Jihoon sits hunched over his desk, tears streaming down his face as he struggles to contain the overwhelming grief.

Memories of his lover’s death flash through his mind—your final moments, the helplessness he felt, the crushing sense of loss that had never truly left him. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, but the tears keep coming, blurring his vision and deepening his despair.

His phone buzzes on the desk, breaking through the haze of his sorrow. It’s a message from his manager, yet another demand for new material for his upcoming album. Jihoon stares at the screen, his frustration bubbling up. He didn’t have the energy to argue, and the constant pressure was becoming unbearable.

With a heavy heart, he types a reply, his fingers trembling. “Fine. I’ll start working on it,” he writes, feeling a hollow resignation as he hits send. Agreeing to his manager’s demands feels like a betrayal of his own emotions, but he has no choice.

He looks out over his apartment. The room still feels cold despite the progress he’s made in unpacking. Boxes now lay open, their contents partially arranged around the room, but there’s an air of impatience and frustration hanging over him.

He looks back at his laptop, a video paused on the screen. It was of Y/N, gracefully playing the harp. It’s the video that got him interested in the university he donated to in the first place. He presses play, and the delicate notes fill the room—transporting him back to a time long ago when he had taught you to play the lyre. The memories are vivid; from the way your fingers would fumble at first, to when you finally found your confidence as you mastered each chord.

Sighing, Jihoon runs a hand through his hair. The thought of his manager’s text appears in his mind again. He only has one song left on the album, but every time he sits down to write his mind goes blank. The writer’s block is suffocating, a relentless weight that grows heavier with each passing day.

The video ends and Jihoon presses replay, watching Y/N’s fingers glide over the strings—her expression serene and focused. A pang of longing shot through him. She’s so different, yet so familiar. He needs to see her, to talk to her—about anything that could reignite his creativity.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Jihoon opens his email and begins to type.

“Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I hope this message finds you well. I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation and the inspiration I felt afterward. Your music and your passion have stayed with me.

I’m struggling with my next album and could use your guidance. Would you be available to meet sometime soon? I believe that discussing music with you might help me find my way again.

Looking forward to your response.

Best regards, Lee Jihoon”

He pauses, his fingers hovering over the send button. The room seems to hold it, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. Finally, with a deep sigh, he sends the email, a flicker of hope piercing through the darkness.

Jihoon leans back in his chair, the tears slowly subsiding. He glances around the room, the shadows no longer seeming as oppressive. As the rain continues to fall outside, Jihoon allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He knows the journey ahead will be difficult, but for the first time in a long while, he feels a glimmer of possibility, a hint of light in the darkness.

The forest surrounding you is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. Apollo sits with you on a blanket spread across the grass, the tranquil waters of the lake reflecting the serene beauty of the moment.

Apollo hands you his golden lyre, his fingers brushing against yours as he does so. “Now, remember what I showed you,” he says, his voice soft and encouraging.

You took a deep breath, your fingers tentatively plucking at the strings. A few hesitant notes fill the air, mingling with the encouraging sounds of nature. Apollo watches you intently, his eyes filled with admiration and love

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

With each note, your confidence grew. You glance up at Apollo, a smile tugging at your lips. His praise and gentle guidance make you feel invincible. You begin to play a simple, the notes flowing more smoothly with each attempt.

Apollo leans closer, his arms enveloping you, his presence warm and comforting. “Let’s try something together,” he suggests.

His hands cradle the lyre with yours, its unfamiliar weight making the notes stumble and falter, sparking a cascade of laughter between you. Yet Apollo persists, his fingers weaving a delicate tapestry of sound across the strings. You watch, mesmerized by his effortless grace, his skill transforming each note into a tender caress.

As the music entwines, it swirls around you like a gentle embrace, filling the clearing with a melodious harmony that dances with the rustling leaves and whispering breeze. Apollo leans his chin softly on your shoulder, his presence both grounding and soothing. Your fingers waver, losing their surety beneath the weight of his affection. You surrender to the warmth of his chest, letting the lyre fall to your lap as you lean into him, lost in the serenity of the moment.

Taking over, Apollo plays with a subtle, soulful passion, each note a testament to his mastery. The music flows like liquid gold, filling the space with its beauty. After a while, he returns the lyre to you, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine.

You finish the final notes, the melody soft and lingering, while Apollo’s lips trail gentle kisses along the curve of your neck. Each kiss is a whisper of affection, a silent promise woven into the tender music of the evening.

As the final notes fade, Apollo smiles at you, his eyes shining with pride. “You’re incredible,” he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

You blush, your heart swelling with affection. “I had a good teacher,” you reply, your tone flirtatious.

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and Apollo moves with an elegant grace, his forehead resting softly against yours. The world around you seems to still, the air thick with the tender intimacy of the moment. He pulls back just a breath, his touch delicate as he raises one hand to your face, his fingertips brushing your skin with the gentlest of caresses.

With a loving precision, he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch as light as a feather, tracing the curve of your cheek. His eyes, deep and expressive, linger on your lips with a tender reverence.

“I could stay here forever with you,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, melodious whisper that seems to drift on the evening breeze, carrying with it the promise of eternity.

Before you can respond, a distant voice calls out your name. You sigh, your expression reluctantly turning serious. “I have to go,” you say, getting out of his embrace and standing up before handing the lyre back to your lover.

He takes it, his fingers lingering on yours for a moment longer. “Will you come back to me soon?” he asks, his voice tinged with longing.

You nod, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I promise,” you whisper.

As you turn to leave, Apollo’s gaze follows you with a mixture of longing and bittersweet affection. His heart, though full of love, aches with an almost palpable desire to draw you nearer, to keep you forever within his reach. He remains rooted in the clearing, a solitary figure bathed in the soft, fading light of dusk. A lovesick smile plays on his lips, his eyes still glowing with the warmth of the moments shared. The echoes of your music and the lingering touch of your hand haunt him like a sweet, entrancing dream, leaving an indelible mark on his soul.

The twilight deepens, casting long shadows that mingle with the growing night, while you drift into your dreams, wrapped in the comfort of your shared affection. Unbeknownst to you, as the two of you are enveloped in the sanctuary of your loving reveries, vengeful eyes peer from the darkness, their gaze cold and unyielding. The unseen observer watches with a quiet malice, their presence a dark contrast to the serene bliss you and Apollo cherish.

Chapter 3: Warmth of the Sun

You rouse from an unexpected nap, your senses gradually reconnecting with the ambient sounds of your modest office at the institute. The hum of the air conditioner, the distant murmur of conversation, and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards slowly pull you back to consciousness. Blinking away the remnants of sleep and smoothing your disheveled hair, you instinctively reach for your phone. An email notification from the singer who had recently graced the university’s halls catches your eye.

Curiosity piqued and cheeks tinged with a hint of fluster, you gather your composure and walk over to a colleague’s desk. Amidst the soft glow of computer screens and the rustling of papers, you share the intriguing news of Jihoon’s email. Your voice carries a blend of excitement and uncertainty, betraying the flutter of emotions you feel.

“Lee Jihoon wants to meet and discuss music,” you announce, your words spilling out as you pass your phone to your colleague. The screen displays Jihoon’s message, succinct yet promising.

Your colleague reads through the email with a raised eyebrow, a look of mild surprise crossing their face. They nod slowly, their expression a mix of interest and amusement. “He’s quite the character, isn’t he?” they comment, their tone tinged with playful intrigue.

You nod in agreement, a complex swirl of emotions stirring within you. “Yes, he certainly is…”

“I think you should take him up on his offer,” your colleague suggests, their eyes alight with encouragement. “It’s a unique opportunity, might be a good for networking.”

Taking a deep breath, you allow their words to settle. The sterile office space seems to momentarily dissolve, replaced by fleeting memories of citrus scents and the warmth of a special touch. The thought evokes a gentle sense of nostalgia and anticipation.

“You’re right,” you reply softly, a newfound resolve firming within you.

With that, you return to your desk, the soft, curious energy of the moment lingering in the air. As you compose your response to Jihoon’s email, the anticipation of what lies ahead envelops you, and the office around you seems to hum with a newfound promise.

After noticing the late hour, you gather your things and make your way out of the institute. The city outside is bathed in the soft, golden hues of early evening, the setting sun casting long shadows across the streets. You move through the bustling crowd with a quiet sense of anticipation, your mind still buzzing with the implications of Jihoon’s email.

Arriving home, you slip into the comforting sanctuary of your apartment. The familiar sounds of the city fade into the background, replaced by the serene quiet of your personal space. You let out a sigh of relief, the day’s stress slowly unwinding as you step into your cozy, dimly lit living room.

You prepare for bed after a quick dinner. The rhythmic ritual of winding down feels both calming and reassuring. You brush your teeth and change into comfortable pajamas, the softness of the fabric a soothing contrast to the day's formal attire. The scent of citrus from the diffuser fills the air.

In the solitude of your bedroom, you settle into your bed, the cool sheets embracing you as you pull them up to your chin. Your laptop is set aside on the nightstand, Jihoon’s email now a tangible part of your thoughts. The gentle hum of a distant city sounds outside your window is a comforting backdrop as you lie back and allow your mind to wander.

As you turn off the bedside lamp, the room darkens to a soothing twilight, the soft glow of streetlights casting faint patterns on the walls. You close your eyes, and Jihoon’s message drifts to the forefront of your thoughts. His words replay in your mind, each one imbued with the promise of new possibilities and the allure of an encounter yet to come.

You find yourself imagining the meeting, the possibilities of what might unfold. The prospect of discussing music with him, hearing his thoughts and ideas, fills you with a quiet excitement. The tenderness of his email and the enigmatic charm he exudes blend into a wistful reverie.

As you drift closer to sleep, your thoughts are a tapestry of anticipation and curiosity. Jihoon’s face, his smile, and the gentle tone of his voice become part of your dreams. The promise of a future conversation wraps around you like a soft, comforting blanket, and soon, you are lulled into a peaceful slumber, the echoes of Jihoon’s words weaving through your dreams.

You find yourself in a lavish bedroom adorned with silk drapes and flickering oil lamps. You stand by an open window, the moon casting a silvery glow over the room. As you gaze out, a figure materializes before you: Jihoon?– no, this is someone different… you can feel it. The man stands tall and radiant. You feel a magnetic pull towards him, your heart racing with a mixture of awe and desire.

“Apollo,” you whisper instinctively, your voice filled with longing and recognition. The man who looks like Jihoon meets your gaze with a tender smile, his eyes reflecting centuries of longing and a love that transcends time. Slowly, he steps closer, his presence enveloping you in warmth and familiarity. His fingers brush against your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. The world around you seems to fade, leaving just the two of you bathed in the moonlight.

As you stand inches apart, the intensity of the moment is palpable. Jihoon’s hand gently caresses your face, and you close your eyes, savoring the touch that feels both new and ancient. The air is thick with unspoken emotions and the promise of something profound.

You awaken suddenly, back in your bedroom. The soft glow of your bedside lamp illuminates the familiar surroundings: a cluttered desk, shelves lined with books, and a faint scent of something ambrosial in the air. Your heart still races from the vivid dream. Had that really been Jihoon? Why were you suddenly dreaming of gods? A mix of confusion and fascination floods your senses. Your cheeks are burning as you realize that you’re going to have to face the man you had such an intimate dream about in just a couple of days.

In the dimly lit ambiance of his studio, Jihoon sits at his desk, the soft glow of his computer screen casting a gentle light on his face. The room is filled with the subtle scent of coffee and the distant hum of city life outside his window. After hours of trying to work, he unlocks his phone to see if he has any messages. His heart skips a beat as he sees Y/N’s email reply, her words filled with warmth and a hint of excitement.

Feeling a surge of hope and renewed affection, Jihoon leans back in his chair, a smile spreading across his features. He reads her message again, savoring each word as if discovering a precious treasure. Her playful tone and genuine interest radiate through the screen, reigniting memories of past conversations and shared moments.

The anticipation of their upcoming meeting fills him with nervous energy. He envisions your face, the sound of your laughter, and the warmth of your presence—even if she’s not you, he lets himself dream. 

With a decisive nod, Jihoon sets his plans in motion. His fingers tap eagerly on the keyboard as he arranges the details, asking her to meet him at a café near campus. The late-night hours pass swiftly as he imagines your reunion. Jihoon’s heart is light, filled with hope and a renewed sense of purpose. He glances at the clock, noting the late hour, but sleep is the last thing on his mind. Instead, he finds himself dreaming of you and the endless possibilities that lie ahead.

As the first light of dawn filters through the window, Jihoon leans back once more, satisfied with his preparations. He knows that this meeting could be the start of something beautiful, a new chapter in your shared story. With a final glance at your email, he shuts down his computer, his heart full and ready for what the future holds—as well as nostalgic over your past.

You stand by the edge of the forest that lines your family home, dappled sunlight filters through the dense canopy, casting a mystical glow over the tranquil surroundings. Amidst the rustling leaves, you try to have a moment of peace and quiet when, suddenly, a figure emerges from the shadows – a man of elegant stature, adorned in a toga of shimmering gold. Your eyes meet, sparks of tension crackling between you.

The beautiful man, undeterred by your irritation, was captivated by your fiery spirit. With a graceful bow and a voice imbued with sincerity, he offered a heartfelt apology. "Forgive my intrusion. I am Apollo, the god of light and music. I was drawn here by your spirit."

“You have no right to intrude,” you snap, though your gaze lingers on his ethereal presence.

Apollo stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I mean you no harm,” he said softly. “I sensed a soul as spirited as the forest itself, and I couldn't resist meeting its bearer.”

In a display of his divine prowess, Apollo performs a magical trick, a burst of light appearing at the movement of his hands. Your eyes widen, taken aback yet intrigued by his powers. The anger in your heart begins to wane, replaced by a budding fascination. You allow him into your peace and he sits down by your side, entranced by your being.

As you find yourself immersed in the tranquil embrace of nature, the world around you becomes a canvas of serenity and whispered secrets. The rustling leaves and soft murmur of the brook create a symphony that echoes the gentle pulse of the earth. Here, in this sacred haven, the boundaries between the divine and the mortal blur, and you are granted a glimpse beyond the celestial façade.

In this fleeting interlude of enchantment, you encounter the man behind the god—his essence revealed not through grand titles or divine spectacles, but through the subtle, intimate moments shared amidst the dappled sunlight and shadowy groves. His presence, though touched by the ethereal, is grounded in the warmth of human connection. You see the depth of his humanity, the tenderness of his gaze, and the sincerity of his touch, all wrapped in the natural splendor that surrounds you.

The forest whispers its age-old secrets, and the air hums with the quiet magic of your meeting. Each shared glance and gentle touch weaves a story of intertwined fates, a dance choreographed by the hands of destiny itself. The connection that binds you grows, a delicate thread spun from the loom of the cosmos, shimmering with the hues of eternity and intimacy.

As you move together through this enchanted realm, the dance of myth and reality intertwines with every step. The cosmic rhythm of your bond echoes through the forest, resonating with the ageless harmonies of the universe. In this timeless moment, where myth meets mortal, your destinies converge, forming a union that is as profound as it is ephemeral. The magic of the cosmos swirls around you, a testament to a connection that transcends the ordinary, forged in the crucible of both celestial wonder and human warmth.

“You have stirred something within me,” Apollo confessed, his voice carrying the weight of millennia. “A mortal spirit so fierce and yet so tender.”

Apollo’s presence radiates a soft, celestial glow as he extends his hand toward you, bestowing a healing light that shimmers like liquid moonlight. The warm radiance wraps around you like a tender embrace, a soothing balm for the soul. As the light envelops you, the weight of your burdens begins to dissolve, replaced by a profound sense of tranquility. The aches that have haunted you ebb away, leaving in their place a serene peace that seems to harmonize with the very fabric of your being.

The bond between you feels tangible, a connection woven from threads of fate and the ageless dance of the cosmos. The celestial and the mortal intertwine in a delicate symphony, echoing the timeless rhythms of the universe.

With a soft, grateful smile, you turn to him. “Apollo, would you visit me tonight? I want to see you again.”

Apollo’s eyes sparkle with an ethereal light, his smile warm and reassuring. “I would be delighted,” he replies, his voice like a caress of the evening breeze. “You shall have my promise.”

As night falls and the sky is draped in a velvet cloak of darkness, Apollo keeps his word. The moon casts its silvery glow upon the world, and he climbs with effortless grace, his figure blending seamlessly with the shadows and moonlight. The air is fragrant with the scent of wildflowers, a heady perfume that mingles with the gentle rustling of leaves.

You stand on your balcony, where the cool night air wraps around you like a gentle caress, the crispness of the evening a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the day. You clutch your thin robe closer, its delicate fabric barely shielding you from the night’s chill. The stillness of the night seems to hold its breath in anticipation, and your heartbeat quickens, a soft flutter of excitement resonating through the serene darkness.

Leaning over the edge, you peer into the velvety abyss below, and your breath hitches in your throat as you catch sight of Apollo’s face, aglow with an otherworldly radiance. His divine presence bathes him in a soft, silvery light that dances with the shadows, making his features appear both ethereal and incredibly close.

“You came,” you say, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of relief and elation, as you extend your hand toward him.

Apollo’s smile is both tender and mischievous as he reaches up to take your hand. “I couldn’t stay away,” he confesses, his voice a melodious murmur that seems to blend seamlessly with the night air.

As he steps onto the balcony and joins you, the world around you transforms into a cocoon of intimacy. You both retreat into the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom, where the soft glow of oil lamps casts a warm, flickering light that dances across the room's serene decor. The gentle illumination bathes everything in a golden hue, creating an atmosphere of both tranquility and expectation.

You and Apollo sit close together, the little space between you filled with anticipation. The air seems charged with an unspoken connection, and every glance, every movement, feels laden with meaning. Apollo’s eyes, reflecting the soft light, hold a gaze of deep, attentive interest as he listens to your heartfelt conversation.

Noticing the slight shiver that has taken hold of you, Apollo shifts a little closer, his warmth a soothing balm against the chill. Sensing his unspoken invitation, you lean into him, resting your head on his chest. The rhythmic, steady beat of his heart beneath your ear brings a comforting sense of closeness, and the world outside fades away, leaving only the intimate cocoon of your shared space and the gentle glow of the oil lamps.

As the night deepens, your connection deepens too, drawing you closer until your breaths mingle in the quiet intimacy of the moment. You look up at him and he holds your face in his hands, carefully looking over each and every one of your features. Apollo leans in, brushing a gentle kiss against your lips, a gesture filled with reverence and longing. Your heart races in response, feeling the undeniable pull of your shared destiny.

Yet, sensing your hesitation and the weight of your burgeoning emotions, Apollo pulls back slightly, his touch lingering on your cheek. He gazes into your eyes with a mixture of desire and restraint, wanting to savor this romance and to truly know you before taking things further.

With a soft smile, Apollo rises from where you sit, a promise of return lingering in his parting words. “Until we meet again,” he whispers, his voice a soothing melody in the quiet night. You watch him go, the echo of his presence lingering in the room, leaving your heart and mind swirling with the complexities of newfound love and the mysteries of your intertwined fates.

As you lie back on your bed, the soft rustle of silk drapes and the flickering light of the oil lamps create a cocoon of warmth around you. The memory of Apollo's kiss and the tender look in his eyes replay in your mind, a delicate thread weaving through the tapestry of your thoughts. The night is filled with dreams of what might come, the promise of love and destiny guiding your heart.

Only a few days pass before you find yourself once more in his presence. As the first tender rays of dawn gently infiltrate your bedroom through the ornate windows, the room transforms into a sanctuary bathed in a soft, golden light. The early morning sun, with its delicate hues, filters through the intricately carved glass, casting a warm, ethereal glow that dances across the room.

The air is hushed and serene, carrying with it a faint but enchanting blend of incense and wildflowers. The subtle aroma weaves through the space, infusing the atmosphere with a calming, fragrant embrace that speaks of both tranquility and the natural world’s quiet beauty.

The bed, a luxurious cocoon draped in rich, sumptuous fabrics, stands as a testament to both elegance and comfort. The linens, adorned with intricate patterns and plush textures, create a space of exquisite softness. Here, amidst the opulence of the bedding, you and Apollo lie entwined. Your bodies are wrapped in a tender embrace, the warmth of his presence melding seamlessly with the softness of the fabrics. The gentle interplay of light and shadow enhances the intimate atmosphere, casting a dreamlike glow over the serene tableau of your shared sanctuary.

Apollo, the radiant deity of the sun, and you, a cherished mortal, are entwined in a tender embrace. In this moment of exquisite intimacy, your bodies rest together, warmed by the residual glow of passion's heat. Apollo’s golden hair shimmers like strands of sunlight caught in the dawn’s gentle embrace, its divine brilliance casting a striking contrast against the earthly warmth of your skin.

The room hums softly with an energy that feels almost palpable—a vibrant, living current born of your intertwined love and boundless desire. This love, a bridge between mortal and divine realms, pulses with a timeless rhythm, transcending the limits of both worlds. In the soft morning light, where shadows play and whispers linger, the boundary between the celestial and the earthly fades, leaving only the pure essence of your shared connection.

In this sacred moment, the world outside fades into insignificance. Your surroundings, once grand and imposing, now serve merely as a backdrop to the profound intimacy you share. Apollo’s touch upon your skin is gentle yet electric, sending shivers down your spine as if each caress were a promise written in the language of the gods.

The silence of the morning is punctuated by whispers—whispers of affection, of longing fulfilled, and of promises exchanged between two souls. Your voices, soft and reverent, carry the weight of countless whispered vows made in the stillness of countless dawns before this one.

Apollo gazes upon you with eyes that hold not just admiration, but reverence. In you, Apollo finds a reflection of the mortal world’s beauty and vulnerability—a beauty that enchants even the sun god himself, and vulnerability that draws forth his protective instincts.

As the sun rises higher in the sky, casting a warm glow across the room, your embrace deepens. You explore the depths of your connection with newfound intensity, each movement a testament to the passion and longing that has bound you together since your first meeting under the auspices of fate. He knows that you don’t have long before your servants come to greet you good morning and get you to start your day. However, he can’t bring himself to leave—not when he still hungers for you. Apollo kisses you again, bringing his lips down your jaw, to your neck, and to your bare chest.

“Again?” you ask with a chuckle. “You’ve barely let me recover.”

He gazes up at you with eyes brimming with longing, and a soft, affectionate coo escapes your lips as your fingers glide gently through his hair. In this tender moment, it feels almost impossible to believe that the man before you is a god. He appears so vulnerable, so exquisitely delicate in your embrace.

Apollo’s lips brush against the tender curve of your chest, planting a kiss in the hollow between your breasts with a reverence that speaks of deep adoration. Slowly, he moves over you, his body fluid and graceful, until he has enclosed you within the gentle fortress of his arms. His presence above you, warm and enveloping, creates a cocoon of intimacy where the world outside fades away, leaving only the delicate, shared space of your love.

“I have to go soon,” he says, “but not yet.”

“Do I really entice you this much?” you murmur and study the way his hair shimmers when you pull your fingers through it.

“Very much,” he admits and presses another kiss on your lips. “I want to devote my love to you. Will you grant me that wish?”

You nod, and his lips are immediately back on yours. Your love, ignited by the primal force of desire and nurtured by a deep understanding of each other’s essence, blooms like the lotus flower at the dawn of creation. Each touch is a prayer whispered into the fabric of time, each kiss a vow written in the stars. One of his hands lifts up your thigh, as the other aligns himself with your core. You gasp at the feeling of him entering you again, but his lips drown out the sound.

Your hands find his shoulders, your nails gently clawing at his skin. Apollo’s hands wander over your skin, his fingers leaving a warm and tingling sensation. The bed beneath you seems to dissolve into nothingness, replaced by the ethereal softness of clouds as he thrusts into you. You float in a realm where the ordinary world no longer holds sway, cradled in a dreamlike embrace. Apollo’s lips gently withdraw from yours, leaving a lingering warmth, as his hand rises to cup your cheek with a tenderness that feels both celestial and intimate.

Outside your reverie, a knock echoes softly on the door, accompanied by a distant, unfamiliar voice calling your name. Yet, within this cocoon of otherworldly bliss, Apollo remains unfazed. His movements continue with a fluid grace, undisturbed by the intrusion, as he draws you deeper into a realm where only the two of you exist—a realm woven from the delicate threads of shared desire and boundless affection.

“I just… adore you,” he murmurs, his eyes hazy with lust.

“I’m close,” you whisper.

Apollo’s head falls to the crook of your neck with a groan, and your fingers immediately tangle in his hair. There’s another knock on your door.

“Just a moment!” You stumble over your words, trying to hold back the noises that are pushing themselves up your throat.

Apollo’s hips stutter as you clench around him, the excitement of the moment becoming too much for you. A moan bubbles up your throat. Apollo moves to lean over you again, putting two of his fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. With your eyes, you tell him that you’re just about ready to explode. He nods, replacing his fingers with his lips as he cums inside of you. You ride out your own high by grinding against him. For what feels like hours, but probably only lasted seconds, the two of you hold each other as you blissfully glide through paradise. Another knock at the door disrupts your peace.

“Go,” you whisper to him. “I’ll meet you again later.”

Apollo’s lips meet yours once more, the kiss a lingering, tender farewell that seems to stretch time itself. His touch is soft yet electrifying, a final whisper of affection that dances across your senses. As he pulls away, his gaze holds yours with a mixture of warmth and melancholy.

With a final, adoring smile, Apollo turns toward the edge of your balcony. The soft glow of moonlight highlights his divine features, casting a silvery halo around him. He moves with an otherworldly grace, his steps light and fluid as if he’s gliding rather than walking.

In a fleeting moment, he stands at the edge, the morning air swirling around him like a gentle, ethereal embrace. With a final, lingering glance, he leaps effortlessly into the day, his form vanishing into the soft, velvety light from the morning sun. As he disappears from view, the faintest shimmer of his presence lingers in the air, leaving you with the tender echo of his touch and the soft, wistful glow of his departure.

Chapter 4: Desolate Dreams

The café near the bustling campus buzzes with the animated voices of students and the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee. Jihoon sits tucked away in a cozy corner, his leg bouncing with nervous energy as he checks his phone for the umpteenth time, awaiting Y/N’s arrival. Each passing second feels like an eternity, filled with anticipation and the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

Finally, she steps through the café door, her smile radiant and infectious. Jihoon’s heart skips a beat as their eyes lock, a wave of relief washing over him. She approaches his table, and the air between them crackles with a mix of nerves and excitement, a dance of emotions that plays out in every glance and smile.

“Hey,” she says, sliding into the chair opposite Jihoon. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Jihoon manages a shy grin. “No worries. I’ve only just got here myself.”

They exchange pleasantries, the atmosphere around them charged with a subtle flirtatious energy. Jihoon finds himself captivated by her easy charm and the sparkle in her eyes as they banter back and forth. The conversation flows effortlessly, touching on everything from classes to hobbies, but it’s their shared passion for music that truly lights up the space between them.

Her face lights up as she talks about her favorite newest project. Jihoon listens intently, hanging on her every word, feeling a kinship in their mutual love for music. He shares snippets of his own musical aspirations, and Y/N’s genuine interest sparks a newfound confidence within him.

“It’d be amazing to see your studio. I’d even help with that song you’re stuck on if you want me to,” she suggests with a playful glint in her eye.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Jihoon replies, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of sharing his unreleased music with her.

In the warm ambiance of the café, surrounded by the aroma of freshly ground coffee and the soft murmur of other patrons, Jihoon and Y/N begin to forge a connection that transcends the ordinary. She leans in closer, her words becoming more intimate, her laughter ringing out like a shared secret. Everything Y/N does reminds him of you.

As they linger over their drinks, Jihoon feels a sense of exhilaration mingled with contentment. Being with her feels right like he’s stumbled upon something special amidst the chaos of his life. He can’t help but marvel at how effortlessly they seem to fit together, their hearts beating in sync with the rhythm.

Jihoon cannot deny the magnetic pull drawing him closer to her. Y/N’s presence is a beacon of light in his life, illuminating his path with hope and love. He feels a desperate need to protect her, to shield her from any harm that might threaten her fragile happiness.

In the intimate embrace of Jihoon’s studio, the soft, golden light filters gently through the windows, casting a warm, inviting glow over a space filled with musical instruments and cherished memorabilia. The room breathes with the echoes of countless melodies, yet today, it’s imbued with a unique sense of anticipation.

Y/N had suggested playing a piece for Jihoon, a haunting melody that had lingered in her mind—a melody she had struggled to piece together on her own. Jihoon, after carefully maneuvering the harp into the recording booth through numerous attempts, positions Y/N at the heart of the studio. With a nod of readiness, she signals Jihoon, who presses the record button with a mix of reverence and excitement.

Seated gracefully by the harp, Y/N’s presence seems to embody serenity and poise. Her fingers move with delicate precision, each motion a dance across the strings. As she begins to play, the air fills with a melody that unfurls like a wistful story. The notes flow with a fluid grace, weaving through the space with a familiarity that transcends time—a melody imbued with the echoes of ancient love and longing.

Jihoon listens, his heart stirred by the profound beauty of the music. The melody is more than just notes; it is a haunting, ethereal song that he has known for lifetimes. The strains of the harp bring back a rush of memories, fragments of a distant past that had faded over time but now resurface with crystal clarity. The melody, a link to a bygone era, reverberates through him, stirring emotions he thought were long buried.

Standing in the dimly lit studio, Jihoon is mesmerized, his gaze fixed on Y/N. The tears that sting his eyes are a testament to the overwhelming mix of joy and disbelief that fills his heart. The music is a bridge between past and present, its poignant notes binding him to a time and a person he thought he had lost forever. Each chord and every delicate arpeggio is a whisper from another era, weaving a connection between them that is as timeless as it is profound.

As you finish playing, a gentle silence descends upon the studio, punctuated only by the soft echoes of their shared emotions. Jihoon finds his voice, choked with emotion yet filled with gratitude. “Y/N, that was... breathtaking,” Jihoon manages to say, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. 

You smile warmly, your eyes reflecting understanding and a hint of affection. “I’m glad you liked it. You’re more than welcome to use it, I’ve had trouble putting it to use for ages.”

Before you prepare to leave, Jihoon gathers his courage, his heart beating with anticipation as he extends a heartfelt invitation to Y/N. His voice trembles slightly with a mix of nerves and hope as he speaks.

“Y/N, would you... would you join me at the listening party for my album?” Jihoon asks, his eyes searching for yours earnestly. “I would love for you to be there.”

Your expression softens with a smile, her gaze meeting Jihoon’s with warmth and understanding. “I’d be honored to come, Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s heart swells at your words. As soon as he’s said goodbye, and you’re out of earshot, he lets out a joyful shout. Immediately, he gets behind his computer to finish the song. In the dimly lit solitude of his studio, Jihoon sits before his piano, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows across the room. The air is thick with anticipation and reverence as he gathers his thoughts, his own haunting melody and poignant lyrics echoing in his mind. They stir ancient memories and timeless emotions, weaving themselves into the fabric of Jihoon’s being.

With each note that resonates through the air, Jihoon pours his heart and soul into the composition. He closes his eyes, allowing his lyrics to flow like a river of emotions, carrying with them the echoes of laughter and tears shared with you. The piano becomes an extension of his deepest feelings, each chord and progression a reflection of their shared past and the uncertainty of their present love.

His voice rises in a haunting melody that fills the room. His lyrics imbued with vulnerability and raw honesty—from the depths of longing to the heights of uncertain love. Every word is a testament to the fragile nature of their connection, a reflection of Jihoon’s inner turmoil and his yearning for clarity.

Through the timeless alchemy of music, Jihoon channels the essence of your relationship’s uncertainty. Each lyric becomes a vessel for his doubts and hopes, immortalizing his complex emotions in a symphony of passion and introspection. The song evolves with each heartfelt verse, capturing the bittersweet beauty of their intertwined destinies.

As the final notes of “What Kind of Future” fade into the stillness of the night, Jihoon feels a profound sense of catharsis wash over him. The song stands as a testament to your journey, a poignant reminder of the depth of their connection despite the uncertainties that lie ahead.

The air is thick with the heady fragrance of pine sap and the earthy richness of the forest floor. Soft murmurs of unseen creatures create a haunting symphony that reverberates through the dense canopy overhead. Moonlight, filtered through the tangled branches, spills in delicate shafts that paint the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

Apollo's heart pounds with a frantic rhythm, his golden hair and divine robes catching in the underbrush as he runs. His keen senses are overwhelmed by a sense of impending dread. A dryad, her voice trembling with concern, had led him here with the dire news of your plight—of Ares and the terrible fate that had befallen you.

The serene landscape around him seems almost to hold its breath as Apollo crashes through the forest, his footsteps echoing like thunder through the ancient woods. The moonlight reveals a gruesome contrast to the tranquil beauty: your lifeless body lies crumpled amidst the tangled foliage. The sight is a brutal shock—a vivid splash of crimson staining the otherwise peaceful scene, a jarring testament to the violence that had taken place.

Apollo's breath catches in his throat. The world around him blurs as his gaze locks onto the sight of Ares, who stands grimly beside your corpse. The presence of the god of war is a dark blight on the scene, his fierce eyes meeting Apollo's with a cold, unfeeling gaze.

Time seems to freeze in that moment, a heavy silence descending upon the forest as Apollo's heart clenches with anguish. The serene beauty of the woods is eclipsed by the brutal reality of what he has found. With a final, anguished cry, he rushes to your side, his footsteps pounding through the silence of the ancient woods. Each step feels like an eternity, his divine energy merging with the primal pain of his loss as he reaches out to you, desperate to reclaim the love that has been so cruelly torn away.

“Y/N, no!” Apollo’s voice shatters the quiet, filled with raw anguish. He kneels beside her, hands trembling as he reaches out to gently cradle her still form. His voice breaks with sorrow and rage, a primal scream of anguish tearing through the trees.

Tears stream down his face unchecked, mingling with the blood that stains her pale skin. The vibrant life she once possessed now lies still and cold, a cruel testament to the fragility of mortal existence.

“Y/N, please come back,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “You can’t leave me like this.”

Memories surge through his mind like a tempest. He is engulfed by a flood of images—the warmth of the sun on your faces, the way your laughter seemed to dance through the skies, the tender vows exchanged beneath a starlit canopy. These moments, once full of life and hope, now feel achingly ephemeral, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

In the midst of this chaotic despair, Apollo can do nothing but clutch your lifeless body to his chest. His hands, trembling with sorrow, hold you as if by sheer force of will he might bring you back from the brink of oblivion. His heart, once a vessel of divine strength, is now shattered into a myriad of irreparable fragments. Each beat echoes with the agony of loss, a cacophony of pain that reverberates through his very soul. The once bright and eternal light within him dims, consumed by the overwhelming darkness of grief.

The forest bears witness to Apollo’s grief, its ancient trees standing sentinel around them as he mourns the loss of his beloved. His sorrow reverberates through the very fabric of their shared existence, a testament to the devastating impact of Ares’ cruel betrayal. The once-peaceful woods seem to sigh in sympathy, the breeze carrying Apollo’s cries of anguish into the stillness.

Through tear-blurred eyes, he looks up at Ares, standing amidst the trees. His eyes are cold and unrepentant. Apollo’s grief transforms into a surge of anger.

“You!” Apollo’s voice is hoarse with rage as he struggles to rise to his feet. “You did this!”

Ares’ voice is as frigid and unyielding as steel, his expression devoid of warmth or empathy. “Hera’s decree. If she can’t see you dead, she’ll make sure to find another way to make you suffer for daring to be Zeus’ new favorite.”

Fueled by a mix of sorrow and fury, Apollo attempts to lunge at Ares, but his grief-weakened body betrays him. He stumbles, collapsing back to the ground, his strength sapped by the overwhelming despair. His fingers dig into the earth, trying to push himself up again, but it’s no use. The weight of his sorrow is too great.

Ares watches him with a sneer. “Pathetic,” he mutters before turning away and disappearing into the depths of the forest.

Apollo’s vision blurs as fresh tears spill from his eyes. “I’ll make you pay,” he vows, his voice barely a whisper. “One day, I’ll make you pay.”

Determined and desperate, Apollo descends into the Underworld—his body still covered in your blood. The River Styx looms ahead, its dark waters whispering of forgotten souls and eternal rest. The urgency of his mission propels him forward, the weight of his grief a constant companion.

“Charon!” Apollo calls out, his voice echoing across the dark expanse. The ferryman appears, his skeletal form shrouded in shadows, and with a nod, he extends a bony hand. Apollo places a gold coin into the ferryman’s palm, the payment for passage.

As the boat cuts through the inky water, Apollo’s mind races. He must convince Hades to return you from the clutches of death. The mere thought of your lifeless form lying in the forest is unbearable.

Upon reaching the other side, Apollo steps onto the ashen shore and makes his way to the imposing gates of the Underworld. Cerberus, the three-headed guardian, growls low, each head eyeing him warily. With a wave of his hand and a murmur of soothing words, Apollo pacifies the beast and continues forward.

In the throne room, Hades sits in brooding silence, his dark eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression. 

“Hades,” Apollo begins, his voice steady but filled with urgency, “I have come to ask for the return of my Y/N. Her death was unjust, a result of Hera’s jealousy and Ares’ brutality. She deserves another chance at life.”

Hades regards Apollo with a mixture of curiosity and pity. “Apollo, god of light, even you must know the rules of my realm. No soul leaves without due reason, and certainly not without its appointed time.”

“But she was taken too soon!” Apollo’s desperation seeps into his words. “She had so much more to live for, so much love left to give.”

Hades leans forward, his gaze intense. “The balance of life and death is not so easily swayed. Every soul has its time, and its place in the grand design. To disrupt that order is to invite chaos.”

Apollo’s hands clench into fists at his sides. “Then let me take her place. I will remain here, in her stead. Just let her return to the living.”

Hades' expression is soft with understanding underneath the cold exterior. “Apollo, your love for her is evident, but such exchanges are not within our power to grant lightly. The threads of fate are woven tightly, and even the gods must respect them.”

“But why?” Apollo’s voice breaks, the raw edge of his grief cutting through the stillness. “Why must she suffer for the whims of others?”

Hades sighs, a rare glimpse of compassion in his eyes. “Because it is not her time to return. Her soul must find its peace here, in its due course. To interfere would be to unravel the very fabric of existence. Wait now, and meet her again in the future when her soul returns to Earth through another body.”

Tears stream down Apollo’s face, his hope crumbling to dust. “Then what am I to do now? How can I go on without her?”

“Grieve, Apollo. Grieve and remember her. Cherish the love you shared, and let it guide you through this darkness. In time, the pain will lessen, and her memory will become a source of strength rather than sorrow.”

Apollo nods, his heart laden with the somber weight of acceptance. He had ventured in search of a miracle, only to discover that even gods are not exempt from the inescapable embrace of death.

With a final, sorrowful glance at Hades, Apollo turns and makes his way back to the living world, the shadows of the Underworld lingering in his heart. The path ahead seems bleak, but he resolves to honor your memory, carrying the light of their love with him as he faces the uncertain days to come.

In the stillness of Jihoon’s bedroom, where moonlight weaves ghostly patterns through the curtains and shadows dance across the walls, a sudden jolt shatters the tranquility. Jihoon bolts awake, his body drenched in sweat and his breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Tears streak his cheeks, remnants of a nightmarish vision that clings to him like a chilling specter. The room’s serene ambiance is obliterated by the sharp sting of his awakening, leaving him trembling and disoriented, as the haunting echoes of his dream continue to reverberate through the silence.

Gasping for air, Jihoon’s heart pounds with sorrow and panic, his mind still ensnared in the vivid echoes of his grief. His hands tremble with residual emotion as he tries to shake off the tendrils of the nightmare that have left him shaken to the core.

As Jihoon reaches for the glass of water on his bedside table, his trembling fingers betray him. The glass slips from his grasp, falling in slow motion as if time itself is taunting him. It crashes to the floor with a sharp, splintering explosion, sending shards of glass skittering across the room. The sound is jarring, a violent punctuation mark to the unsettling silence that followed his abrupt awakening.

Startled and disoriented, Jihoon stares blankly at the scattered fragments, each shard reflecting the fractured state of his mind. The broken glass, glinting ominously in the moonlight, mirrors the chaos roiling within him.

“Get a grip, Jihoon,” he mutters to himself, his voice a strained whisper of reassurance amidst the turmoil. “It’s over. It’s just a nightmare.”

With a weary sigh, Jihoon drags himself from the bed, the weight of exhaustion bearing down on him like a leaden shroud. He moves cautiously, his footsteps heavy as he carefully picks up the larger pieces of glass, wincing with each crunch underfoot. The small, jagged shards are painstakingly gathered and swept into a dustpan, his hands moving with mechanical precision.

The act of cleaning up the glass is both a physical and emotional distraction, a way to ground himself in the mundane reality of the present. Each piece he collects feels like a step toward regaining control, a small act of order in the wake of his distress.

When the last of the glass is cleared away, Jihoon returns to his bed with a bone-deep weariness. He sinks into the sheets, burying his face in his hands as if to shield himself from the lingering echoes of his nightmare. The bed, once a refuge, now feels like an oppressive weight as he grapples with the flood of sadness and fear that continues to haunt him. Exhaustion envelops him like a cold, unforgiving tide, pulling him down as he struggles to find solace in the fragile embrace of sleep.

In the stillness of the night, Jihoon wrestles with the aftermath of his tumultuous dream, grappling with the deep-seated emotions that threaten to consume him. His tears fall silently as he seeks solace in the darkness, longing for the fleeting comfort of sleep to bring respite from the relentless ache in his heart.

“Please, just let me sleep,” he pleads, closing his eyes against the tears. “Let me forget, even just for a little while.”

Outside, the world sleeps unaware of Jihoon’s turmoil, but inside his bedroom, shadows dance and moonlight weaves a soft tapestry of light and dark. Jihoon remains caught in the grip of sorrow and exhaustion, waiting for the dawn to bring clarity and a renewed strength to face the day ahead.

“I’ll be okay,” he tells himself, though his voice lacks conviction. “I just need to rest. Tomorrow will be better.”

But as the night stretches on, Jihoon can only hope that the morning light will chase away the shadows of his dreams and bring with it the peace he so desperately seeks.

Chapter 5: Resonance of Forgotten Tides

The album-listening party thrums with vibrant anticipation, its energy a living pulse that vibrates through the room. Conversations mingle with the rich swell of background music, creating a tapestry of sound and chatter. You navigate through the animated crowd, your heart fluttering with a blend of excitement and curiosity.

Across the room, Jihoon’s gaze meets yours. A genuine smile blossoms across his face, his eyes sparkling with warmth. He makes his way through the sea of guests, his presence commanding attention. As he reaches you, he extends a hand with an inviting gesture.

“Glad you could make it,” Jihoon says, his voice a blend of enthusiasm and relief. “Come, let me show you around.”

As Jihoon leads you through the gathering, you’re enveloped in the rich, immersive atmosphere of the party. The room is alive with animated conversation and the tantalizing promise of new music. A subtle, almost imperceptible recognition stirs deep within you—a sensation that you’ve been here before, in a place where music and memories intertwine.

Jihoon guides you to a prime spot at the front of the room, his touch light on your back as he gestures to the small stage. “I’ll be introducing the album in a moment,” he says, his tone imbued with both excitement and a hint of nervousness. “I hope you enjoy it.”

He then steps away, ascending the stage with a confident stride. The room's chatter fades, replaced by a reverent hush as Jihoon takes the microphone. His voice, warm and engaging, begins to speak, but you’re too absorbed in the growing tension to focus on his words.

As the first notes of the album unfurl, they drift through the room with an almost ethereal grace. The sound weaves through the crowd, each note delicate and precise, creating a soft, shimmering veil of music that envelops everyone present. The songs flow seamlessly into one another, each transition smooth and fluid, heightening the anticipation that crackles in the air like static electricity.

But it is the final track that captures your attention with an intensity that feels almost supernatural. As the opening chords of the song emerge, a wave of haunting familiarity crashes over you. The melody wraps itself around your senses, its pull almost magnetic, as if the music itself is reaching out to touch a part of you buried deep within.

Each note, each lyric, resonates with an eerie familiarity, stirring memories that seem to slip just out of reach. The melody is both mesmerizing and unsettling, tugging at your emotions with a power that is both awe-inspiring and bewildering. It feels as though the music is unearthing something buried in the recesses of your mind, a part of you that you had almost forgotten.

A tumultuous mix of awe, confusion, and an inexplicable yearning swirls within you. Your heart races, pounding in sync with the rhythm of the song as it weaves its intricate patterns of beauty and emotional depth. The music resonates with a hauntingly ethereal quality, drawing you to the edge of forgotten memories, leaving you teetering between the echoes of the past and the reality of the present.

As Jihoon’s voice rises to its emotional zenith in the song’s poignant conclusion, a profound shift occurs within you. It feels as though a floodgate has been flung open in your mind, unleashing a torrent of memories from a past life.

You catch fleeting glimpses of an opulent, bygone era, each image shimmering with the golden hues of a sunlit past. The grandeur of a stately manor unfurls before you, its rooms draped in luxurious fabrics and adorned with intricate tapestries that tell stories of ancient splendor. Crystal chandeliers cast their radiant glow, illuminating moments of blissful intimacy that you once shared with Apollo.

You see yourself wandering through verdant gardens, where the air is thick with the intoxicating fragrance of blooming roses and citrus blossoms. Apollo stands beside you, his divine presence a beacon of warmth amidst the lush greenery. His golden hair glows like a halo under the dappled sunlight, and his laughter rings like a celestial melody, mingling with the whispers of the breeze.

You recall tender moments spent beneath sprawling orange trees, their branches heavy with ripe fruit. Apollo’s fingers gently pluck an orange, the tangy scent mingling with the floral aroma of the garden as he leans in to kiss your cheek, his touch both soothing and electrifying.

You find yourselves on a sun-drenched terrace overlooking an azure sea, the water sparkling like sapphires under the afternoon sun. Apollo holds you close, his embrace a sanctuary of warmth and comfort. The two of you dance together, moving in perfect harmony to a melody only you two can hear. His gaze is unwavering, filled with adoration and an eternity of promises.

The images are vivid and overwhelming, crashing against the shores of your consciousness like a torrent of nostalgia. Each memory is a testament to a love that transcended mortal boundaries, a bond forged in the fires of an ancient romance that defied time itself. The overwhelming flood of sensations and emotions sweeps through you, leaving you breathless and awestruck as you stand on the precipice of a past life that now feels as tangible as the present.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes as the profound realization dawns upon you. Jihoon’s song is not just a melody—it is a reflection of your shared past, a testament to a love that has spanned across centuries. The realization threads through your mind, weaving together the fragmented pieces of your intertwined destinies into a tapestry of profound clarity.

As the final echoes of the music fade, you turn your gaze toward Jihoon, your heart aching with the weight of newfound understanding. He stands alone in a distant corner of the room, a solitary figure amidst the sea of guests. But Jihoon, consumed by his own emotional storm, does not meet your eyes.

Driven by the urgent pulse of your revelation, you find yourself desperately pushing through the swarming sea of partygoers. The crowd feels almost alive, a living barrier of laughing faces and chattering voices that press in on you from all sides. Each movement you make is slowed by their collective inertia, every step forward a Herculean effort against the relentless tide of bodies.

The cacophony of the party—laughter, clinking glasses, and the echo of the final notes from Jihoon's album—seems to swell around you, amplifying your sense of isolation and anxiety. You catch fleeting glimpses of Jihoon’s retreating figure, his back turned as he navigates the throng of guests, and your heart pounds with a frantic rhythm, each beat driven by the fear of losing him.

Sweat beads on your forehead, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as you struggle to forge a path through the crowd. The warmth of the room, once inviting, now feels stifling, a physical manifestation of the mounting pressure in your chest. Your hands graze the edges of people’s jackets and the fabric of their clothes, their voices a dissonant symphony that heightens your growing sense of panic.

Just as you make a final, desperate push to reach him, you see Jihoon slip through the side door, disappearing into the night beyond the party's glow. The door closes with a muted thud that resonates like a final, crushing blow. Your outstretched hand hangs in mid-air.

You’re left standing amidst the echoes of the party’s final notes and the fading hum of conversation, the realization of your intertwined past hanging heavily in the air around you. The once-celebratory atmosphere now feels hollow and distant, the weight of your unspoken truth settling over you like a shroud.

In Jihoon’s apartment, the air is thick with an unsettling stillness, punctuated only by the distant murmur of city life that drifts through the open window. The urban symphony—a low rumble of traffic, the occasional distant siren—filters into the room, but it feels like a world away from the silence that hangs heavy within the apartment.

Jihoon stands alone amidst this quiet, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical burden. His suitcase, meticulously packed, lies on the bed, its presence a stark reminder of his imminent departure. The room, usually vibrant with his personal touches, now seems stark and impersonal, a reflection of his state of mind. Boxes, filled with his life’s possessions, are stacked haphazardly, waiting to be moved, each one a symbol of his reluctance to settle and face the past.

He gazes out of the window at the sprawling city skyline, a mosaic of shimmering lights and shadowy buildings that stretch into the horizon. The sight is both mesmerizing and melancholic, a visual representation of the opportunities slipping through his fingers. The vast expanse of the city, once full of promise, now seems like an endless expanse of regret and missed chances.

As Jihoon wrestles with the tumultuous mix of regret, longing, and bitter heartache, the weight of his unfulfilled love for you bears down heavily on him. The uncertainty of what could have been gnaws at him relentlessly, each thought a jagged edge that tears at his resolve. The decision to leave seems like the only way to escape the emotional turmoil that has become his constant companion.

His phone vibrates with a text from his manager, breaking through the fog of his thoughts: “I’m ready to take you to the airport.” The message is both a call to action and a finality, pushing him closer to the edge of his decision. With a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, Jihoon realizes there is nothing left to hold him back.

He takes one last look around the apartment, the echo of his footsteps sounding hollow in the empty space. The city outside continues its relentless pace, indifferent to his departure. He grabs his suitcase, the weight of it a tangible reminder of the life he is leaving behind, and steps out of the apartment. The cool night air greets him as he descends the building’s steps, each movement a step away from the life he once knew and the love he is forced to leave behind.

As he heads towards the waiting car, the finality of his choice settles around him like a shroud, the city lights fading into a blur of regret and sorrow.

The airport terminal hums with frenetic energy, a living tapestry of farewells and reunions. The cacophony of rolling suitcases, urgent announcements, and the murmur of conversations creates a backdrop of bustling urgency. Amid this whirlwind of activity, Jihoon stands on the precipice of departure, his thoughts steeped in a brooding contemplation. His eyes are distant, fixated on the distant plane that promises escape.

But just as he readies himself to step onto the jet bridge, the atmosphere around him shifts, charged with an unexpected jolt. Through the dense sea of hurried travelers and flashing departure boards, a figure emerges—it's you. Your presence cuts through the crowd like a beacon, a luminous thread of determination weaving its way through the chaos.

Jihoon's heart leaps as he locks eyes with you, his face a canvas of disbelief and shock. The world narrows to just the space between you, the terminal's clamor fading into a distant hum.

"Jihoon, wait!" your voice pierces through the din, a lifeline in the tempest of the terminal.

You move with urgency, each step resonating like a heartbeat in the cavernous space. Your strides are firm, purposeful, and as you close the distance, the tumult around you seems to pause, holding its breath. Jihoon's breath catches in his throat as you reach him, and in an instant, your arms are around him, enveloping him in a desperate, fervent embrace. The warmth of your body presses against his, grounding him with a sensation both calming and electrifying.

"Y/N?" Jihoon's voice trembles, revealing the storm of emotions within him.

Tears pool in Jihoon's eyes as he feels your breath against his ear, your whisper a soft, aching caress that resonates through his very soul. "I remember everything," you murmur, each word imbued with the gravity of eons of shared memories and unspoken yearnings. "I remember everything. Please don’t leave, Jihoon."

A tidal wave of emotion surges through Jihoon, an intoxicating mix of joy, relief, and incredulity at this miraculous convergence of fate. The chaos of the airport fades into obscurity as he clings to you, your embrace a sanctuary amidst the tumult of travelers and terminal announcements. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling the scent that rekindles a cascade of memories—each breath a journey back to the shared moments that had once bound them together.

“I can’t believe that it's you,” Jihoon whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. “I thought I lost you forever.”

You tighten your grip around him, your voice filled with conviction. “I couldn't let you go, not again.”

Around them, travelers rush past, oblivious to the profound moment unfolding. For Jihoon and you, time seems to stand still as you cling to each other, your hands intertwined as if anchoring yourselves against the uncertain currents of life. The sounds of announcements, footsteps, and rolling suitcases blend into a distant hum.

“Promise me,” Jihoon murmurs, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, “promise me we’ll never be apart again.”

You nod, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I promise.”

As airport security approaches, Jihoon’s grip around you tightens, his fingers refusing to let go. He senses the impending intrusion and instinctively draws you closer, pressing your head gently into the crook of his neck. His embrace is protective, shielding you from the sight of the security personnel who are making their way over to address the disturbance.

With a fierce determination, Jihoon’s eyes lock onto the approaching officers, silently pleading with them to respect the precious moment between the two of you. He keeps his voice low and steady, murmuring softly against your ear, “Just hold on a little longer.”

The security team hesitates, momentarily taken aback by Jihoon's unwavering stance. He subtly gestures to them, signaling that everything is under control. They read the unspoken command in his eyes and, after a brief pause, step back, giving you and Jihoon a moment of reprieve.

Jihoon gently loosens his embrace, just enough to glance at you. His movements are deliberate and careful, designed to keep you blissfully unaware of the escalating tension around you. His eyes scan the crowd, ensuring that no hint of anxiety reaches your serene expression. With tender precision, he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch feather-light, as though he’s afraid to disrupt the calm you maintain.

You respond with a kiss that is both soft and resolute, your lips lingering on Jihoon’s in a silent promise. “I’ll never leave you,” you murmur, your words floating between you like a lifeline amidst the surrounding chaos. The declaration is a small beacon of reassurance in the whirlwind of uncertainty.

Jihoon’s grip on your hand tightens once more, his fingers wrapping around yours with a fervent tenderness that conveys the depth of his love and commitment. His gaze, locked with yours, mirrors a profound sense of devotion and urgency. Together, you weave through the dense mass of passengers, each step a defiant push against the stream of hurried travelers.

The world around you blurs into a chaotic swirl of colors and noises, but in the cocoon of your intertwined hands and shared glances, you find a grounding solace. The chaos of the airport recedes into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your combined presence. In the eye of this storm, your connection becomes an unwavering anchor, a quiet sanctuary amidst the frenetic energy of the departing crowd.

Epilogue: Sunlit Mornings and Quiet Evenings

The morning sun wove its gentle rays through the sheer curtains of your cozy apartment, casting a soft, golden luminescence that bathed the room in a tranquil, ethereal light. The city outside stirred with its habitual, soothing hum—an ambient symphony that mirrored the serene sanctuary of your home. Within this peaceful cocoon, you lay tangled in the sheets, your body twisting restlessly as you resisted the arrival of dawn.

Suddenly, the comforting warmth of your husband’s presence beside you is absent, and you stir awake with a jolt. Your eyes scan the room in a sleepy haze, but he’s nowhere to be seen. A tantalizing hint of sweetness wafts through the air, pulling you from the clutches of sleep. The inviting aroma of breakfast being prepared reaches your senses, urging you out of bed.

With a yawn and a stretch, you push aside the covers. After your wedding night you've slept naked, never wanting to sleep next to your husband without being as close as you possibly could be. So, before venturing out of the bedroom, you slip into one of his oversized t-shirts. The shirt hangs loosely on your frame, its familiar scent a soothing reminder of him.

As you wander through your apartment, every corner of the space tells a story—a living mosaic of your journey together. The walls are adorned with mementos of your shared adventures, each item a tangible fragment of your love and history. You pause beside a framed photograph from your honeymoon in Greece, the sunlit image a cherished memory. A smile tugs at your lips as you take in the scene, savoring the warmth of the moment before continuing your path to the kitchen, where the promise of a lovingly prepared breakfast awaits.

In the kitchen, Jihoon stands by the stove, a vision of effortless grace and casual allure. His tousled golden hair catches the morning light, glinting with every subtle movement, while the faintest scent of him mingles with the aroma of breakfast. His bare back is a tapestry of finely honed muscles, each sinew and contour moving with fluid precision as he flips pancakes with a practiced ease. The soft, melodic hum that escapes his lips seems almost to dance in harmony with the sizzle of the batter on the pan.

The low-hanging pants he wears hang precariously from his hips, accentuating his sculpted form and adding to the mesmerizing tableau. His every motion, from the gentle arch of his back to the easy sway of his torso, is imbued with an innate elegance and strength. The sight is nothing short of breathtaking—an intoxicating blend of divine beauty and earthy charm that leaves you spellbound.

In moments like these, it’s impossible to forget that your husband is more than mortal. He embodies an otherworldly grace, a living testament to the godly allure that first drew you to him. His presence in the kitchen is a reminder of the timeless majesty and irresistible magnetism that defines him, making it clear why he remains an enduring marvel in your life.

The kitchen is enveloped in a warm, inviting aroma—the sweet scent of breakfast mingles seamlessly with the rich, comforting fragrance of freshly brewed coffee. You move softly across the tiled floor, barely making a sound as you approach Jihoon. With a gentle, affectionate touch, you slip your arms around his waist, your fingers splaying across his bare back. Leaning in, you press a series of tender kisses to his warm skin, savoring the intimate closeness.

“Good morning,” you whisper softly, your breath warm against him, carrying the lingering softness of sleep.

Jihoon turns in your embrace, his eyes meeting yours with a love that lights up his face. A smile of pure affection curves his lips. “Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

You nod, a gentle squeeze in return, your gesture a quiet testament to the comfort he brings you. Moving to the counter, you pour yourself a steaming cup of coffee, cradling the warm mug between your hands. The heat from the cup seeps into your fingers, chasing away the last vestiges of the morning chill and wrapping you in its comforting embrace.

“Thanks to you, I did,” you reply, your voice soft and filled with gratitude. “And you?”

Jihoon’s gaze turns back to the stove, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken affection. “Always better with you beside me,” he says, his tone a mix of warmth and adoration. “Breakfast will be ready in just a minute.”

While Jihoon tends to the pancakes, you set the table with practiced ease; placing down plates, and cutlery, and adding a bowl of freshly cut fruit alongside a pot of maple syrup. Their movements around the kitchen flow seamlessly, a choreography of shared routines and unspoken affection, each gesture a silent declaration of your love. 

As Jihoon approaches the table with a stack of pancakes, you greet him with a warm, anticipatory smile. He pulls out your chair with a graceful gesture, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary, and you settle into your seat, feeling the subtle brush of his leg against yours as he takes the chair across from you.

The table is soon graced with a generous serving of pancakes, each one a masterpiece adorned with vibrant, fresh fruit and delicately drizzled with syrup that glistens like liquid gold. Jihoon’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction as he places the plate before you.

“Eat well,” he murmurs, his voice low and tender, carrying a note of affection.

You take a bite of the fluffy pancakes, the sweet syrup mingling with the fruit’s tang, and savor the deliciousness. Looking up with a playful glint in your eye, you tease him gently. “I was a bit disappointed to wake up alone this morning, but these pancakes make it all worth it.”

Jihoon chuckles softly, serving himself a portion as he takes his seat. “I had intended to bring you breakfast in bed, but you got up before I could,” he admits, his gaze warm and sincere. “I wanted to make sure you fully enjoyed your day off.”

You smile, a sense of contentment settling over you. “I’m sure I will,” you promise, your voice imbued with a mix of gratitude and anticipation, “especially with you by my side.”

You eat in comfortable silence, the morning light filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow upon your faces. Your smiles spoke volumes, each glance exchanges a silent reassurance of your bond and the happiness you find in each other’s company.

“So.” Jihoon puts down his fork and pushes away his empty plate. “What’s the plan for today?”

You tilt your head in mock consideration, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Well, how about a leisurely walk in the park, a visit to the little bookstore we passed yesterday, and a cozy movie night at home?”

“That sounds perfect. I’ve been curious about that bookstore too.”

“Since when?” you question. “I haven’t seen you read since… I honestly don’t know.”

“I read your last article, don’t you remember? And I’ve been interested in the bookstore since you said that you’re interested in it,” he admits and shyly looks down at his empty plate.

A gentle warmth blooms on your cheeks, curling into a soft, loving smile. As you and Jihoon clear the table together, the morning unfolds like a tender embrace, filled with the harmonious sound of your shared laughter and lighthearted banter. The rhythmic clink of dishes and the hum of the dishwasher become a soothing melody that mingles with your voices, creating a symphony of domestic bliss.

Jihoon, with a playful sparkle in his eyes, splashes water towards you as he rinses a plate. You retaliate with a mischievous flick of soap suds, and the kitchen is soon filled with your shared laughter, echoing with the joy of simple pleasures. The routine of washing dishes and tidying up is transformed into a dance of affection, each gesture and glance deepening the bond you share.

As you finish the last of the dishes, Jihoon’s arms wrap around you from behind, his embrace enveloping you in warmth and security. His chin rests gently on your shoulder, and his breath, warm and intimate, caresses your ear as he murmurs, “I love mornings like these.”

You lean back into his embrace, savoring the comforting presence of his body against yours. “Me too,” you whisper, your voice a soft caress.

His lips brush your skin with a loving, delicate touch. As you gaze into his eyes, your heart swells with a profound affection, each moment together weaving a tapestry of love and connection. “I’m so grateful for you,” you say, your voice filled with deep emotion.

After finishing the morning cleanup, you both decide to embrace the tranquility of a park walk. Since your marriage, Jihoon has significantly reduced his public appearances, choosing to protect your shared privacy. This careful balance allows him occasional escapes from the spotlight, like now, avoiding the relentless attention of fans and paparazzi despite being in public. With enough money to ensure a comfortable life, the reduced pace of his music career is a manageable trade-off for both of you.

As you wander through the park, the world outside seems to melt away. The air is cool and invigorating, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. The soft breeze glides over your skin, like a gentle caress that refreshes and revitalizes you with every breath. Above you, the canopy of trees forms a verdant mosaic, their leaves rustling softly in the wind. The play of light and shadow creates a dappled pattern on the path, enhancing the serene atmosphere.

Jihoon’s hand slips into yours, his warmth a comforting presence as you walk side by side. The rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant murmur of a babbling brook are soothing sounds that blend harmoniously with the peaceful ambiance of the park. Birds chirp melodically from the branches, their songs adding a natural soundtrack to your leisurely stroll.

The park seems to embrace you both, the landscape a serene backdrop to your shared moments. Each step you take together feels like a celebration of your connection, the conversation flowing effortlessly as you revel in each other’s company. The simple joy of this walk through nature, with its refreshing breeze and gentle rustle of leaves, deepens the bond you cherish, making it a cherished escape from the usual hustle and bustle of life.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Jihoon starts, his hand gently squeezing yours as you walk side by side. “We should visit that new art gallery downtown this weekend. I heard they have a fantastic exhibit on impressionist paintings.”

You nod enthusiastically, a smile lighting up your face. “That sounds wonderful! And maybe afterward, we can try that little café you’ve been raving about.”

“I haven't been raving about it" Jihoon playfully rolls his eyes, but he can't hide the red glow on his ears. “I’ve been dying to take you there. They have the best pastries in town.”

Your conversation flows naturally as you stroll through the park, seamlessly shifting from weekend plans to dreams for the future. The soft sounds of nature—birds chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze—create a serene backdrop for your discussion.

"How about a trip to Japan?" you suggest, your gaze following a butterfly as it flutters gracefully by. "We could see the cherry blossoms in full bloom and stay in a traditional ryokan."

Jihoon’s eyes light up, and he nods with a smile. "That sounds perfect. Maybe next spring?"

"Definitely, next spring," you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "It’s a promise."

You pause beside a serene pond, nestled like a hidden gem among the trees. The water’s surface is a flawless reflection of the sky’s soft blue, only disturbed by the occasional ripple created by ducks gliding smoothly across. Their gentle movements create a tranquil, rhythmic pattern that seems to harmonize with the rustling leaves overhead. Nearby, a charming bronze sculpture catches Jihoon’s eye—a whimsical figure of a child with outstretched arms, captured in an eternal moment of joy.

Jihoon’s eyes light up with a nostalgic twinkle, the warmth of his gaze reflecting his fondness for the place. “Every time we come here, it’s like discovering a new layer of this park’s personality. It feels like it holds little secrets just for us.”

You smile, letting out a soft, affectionate chuckle. “It’s one of those places that seems to change every time you visit. There’s always something new to notice.”

Jihoon’s expression turns contemplative, a trace of nostalgia softening his features. “Do you remember our first visit here?”

Your smile deepens as a tender warmth fills your heart. “I remember you managed to get us completely turned around, and we ended up racing home in the pouring rain. You kept insisting we were just ‘exploring new paths.’”

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “I didn’t get us lost! We were ‘exploring new routes.’ And besides, the rain made it better. We were drenched, but you still managed to look incredible.”

You nudge him playfully, a playful grin on your face. “Right, I was the epitome of soaked chic... But it was worth it. We came back home, took a hot bath together... I still have the photo of you wrapped in towels, you know?”

Jihoon groans, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You kept that?”

“Of course I did,” you reply, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s right next to the one where you’re wearing that ridiculously oversized apron.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh, don’t remind me! I had no idea flour could cause such chaos.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand with a shared sense of amusement. “It was one of the few times I was actually grateful for the fire extinguisher. But honestly, those moments are some of my favorites.”

Jihoon shakes his head, still chuckling. “I should be offended by your collection of embarrassing photos. But I have to admit, they do make for great stories.”

“They do,” you say, leaning in closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “And you looked incredibly cute in both of them.”

Jihoon’s cheeks flush a tender pink at your compliment. He tries to mask his embarrassment by leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The kiss is gentle and filled with a sweet affection that sends a flutter through your heart.

When he pulls back slightly, his eyes sparkle with a playful warmth. “Well, if I’m cute, I guess I’ll just have to accept it,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

You reach up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, the touch intimate and affectionate. “You’ll have to accept it, and maybe start avoiding those memorable disasters.”

Jihoon laughs, his hand finding yours again, their fingers intertwining with ease. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I think you secretly enjoy our little escapades.”

You squeeze his hand, feeling the strength of your connection grow deeper. “Maybe I do.”

You lean in for another kiss, savoring the warmth and softness of his lips against yours. As you pull away, both of you laugh softly, the sound blending with the peaceful ambiance of the park. The vibrant surroundings seem to echo the joy and affection between you, creating a perfect backdrop for your ongoing journey together.

Later on, as you meander through the cozy aisles of the bookstore, the atmosphere envelops you in a nostalgic embrace. The scent of aged paper and ink fills the air, mingling with the subtle murmur of pages being turned—a soft, soothing symphony that enhances the serene ambiance of the space. Shelves upon shelves of books create a labyrinth of literary wonders, each volume whispering its own story.

Jihoon, his eyes alight with curiosity, reaches for a book with a richly embossed cover and pulls it from the shelf. “Look at this one,” he says, holding it out to you. “It’s a collection of Greek myths. This is the book you used to love, right?”

You take the book from him, feeling the textured cover beneath your fingers. The spine creaks gently as you open it, revealing the delicate pages within. “Yes, I did. My grandmother used to read these stories to me before bed,” you reply, your voice tinged with fond memories.

Jihoon leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. “To think you were obsessed with me even back then,” he teases with a playful smile, peering over your shoulder at the illustrations and text.

You smile, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “Shut up,” you mutter with a playful tone. “Besides, I liked the Pegasus myth the most.”

He chuckles softly, a hint of mock exasperation in his voice. “Are you going to make me compete with a winged horse? What do you see in him that you don’t see in me?”

“Oh, stop it!” you laugh, flipping through the pages with a light-hearted gesture. “I just always found these stories fascinating. They were comforting, somehow.”

Jihoon’s playful demeanor softens, and his gaze turns tender as he gently places his hand over yours, his fingers lightly brushing against yours on the fine pages. “Then let’s get it. We can read them together… maybe pass on the tradition?”

You nod, your heart swelling with warmth at his thoughtful gesture. “I’d like that.”

The notion of starting a family has gently hovered on the periphery of your conversations, like a delicate, unspoken promise. It's a subject often delicately sidestepped in favor of addressing more immediate concerns, with the complexities of melding mortal and divine lives remaining a largely unexplored territory. Yet, Jihoon’s casual mention of passing on traditions stirs something deep within you—a whirlwind of dreams and possibilities wrapped in the warmth of tender, hopeful light.

As you both continue to browse through the bookstore, your thoughts drift to the future and the idea of nurturing a family together. The image of little ones running around, their laughter echoing through your home, begins to take shape in your mind. You envision how magical it would be to pass on stories of ancient myths, like the ones in the book Jihoon holds, to a new generation. These children could grow up hearing tales of gods and heroes, their lives intertwined with the rich tapestry of both mortal and divine worlds.

You imagine the joys and challenges of parenthood—how Jihoon would be a loving, albeit perhaps somewhat protective, father. You picture him sharing stories of his own experiences, creating a blend of wisdom and wonder for your future children. You think of the warmth of family gatherings, the shared laughter, and the little traditions you might create together, all grounded in the love and unity you share.

Jihoon's offhand remark about passing on traditions feels like a doorway opening to new possibilities, each one more enchanting than the last. As you both select books that reflect your shared tastes and interests, you feel the excitement of these future possibilities growing. The weight of the books in your arms seems symbolic of the future you're envisioning—a future that feels rich with potential and brimming with love.

As you head home, the golden rays of the afternoon sun filter through the trees, casting a warm, rosy glow across the sky. The gentle caress of the sun’s embrace wraps around you both, infusing the day with a serene and hopeful atmosphere. With each step, you find yourself daydreaming about the life you might build together—a life where the love and dreams you share become the foundation for a new chapter filled with the joy of family and the fulfillment of long-held aspirations.

As the evening settles into a serene hush, you and Jihoon find yourselves cocooned together on the plush couch, enveloped in the soft embrace of a cozy blanket. The room is bathed in the gentle glow of a muted TV screen, its light casting a warm, amber hue that mingles with the soft illumination of a nearby lamp. The air is filled with the subtle hum of background music, creating a soothing symphony that underscores the tranquil ambiance.

You and Jihoon, having eagerly awaited the release of this new movie, now savor the comfort of this intimate moment. You lean gently against him, your cheek resting against the steady rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic heartbeat beneath your ear is a familiar and comforting pulse, grounding you in a sense of profound contentment.

In the quiet intimacy of the dimly lit room, Jihoon’s touch is tender and affectionate. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head. The kiss is a silent promise, a gentle reassurance that transcends words. His hand moves with practiced ease over your arm, tracing delicate, soothing circles that seem to erase the day’s fatigue and envelop you in a cocoon of serenity.

The world outside seems to blur and fade, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of love and peace. The movie plays in the background, its muted colors and subdued soundtrack a mere backdrop to the profound connection you share. You are wholly absorbed in the simple joy of being together, relishing the quiet and precious closeness that defines this moment.

Every shared glance, every unspoken word, deepens the bond between you. It is in these small, tender gestures that you discover the true depth of your affection—an understanding that goes beyond words, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. You realize how deeply you cherish these peaceful evenings, where time slows, and all that matters is the warmth of Jihoon’s embrace and the serenity of being together.

“I love you,” Jihoon whispers, his voice a gentle caress that fills the space between you with a tender warmth.

You lift your gaze to meet his, your eyes reflecting a world of emotions that words cannot capture. “I love you, too."

As the movie’s credits roll and the room grows dim, you and Jihoon linger on the couch, savoring the last moments of your quiet evening together. The gentle hum of the TV becomes a soft murmur, blending seamlessly with the soothing sounds of your shared breaths and the rhythmic thump of Jihoon’s heartbeat.

Jihoon stretches lazily, wrapping an arm around you as he begins to stand. “Do you want to head to bed?” he asks, his voice a tender murmur, his eyes still reflecting the warmth of the evening.

You nod, your smile a silent agreement as you rise from the couch. The blanket drapes over your shoulders like a comforting embrace as you follow Jihoon toward the bedroom. The walk is slow and unhurried, each step infused with a peaceful contentment.

Once in the bedroom, Jihoon turns down the covers with practiced ease, his movements gentle and considerate. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm light over the room, creating a haven of tranquility. You slip into bed first, savoring the cool, crisp sheets that contrast with the lingering warmth of the evening. Jihoon joins you shortly after, his presence a comforting weight beside you.

You both settle into the bed, your bodies naturally aligning as if they’ve done so countless times before. Jihoon wraps his arms around you, pulling you close until you can feel the steady, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. The proximity is intimate, each touch and sigh a testament to the deep connection you share.

“Goodnight, my love,” Jihoon whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

You turn slightly in his embrace, your face nestled against his chest. “Goodnight."

The world outside fades away, leaving only the cocoon of your shared warmth and the soothing cadence of your breaths mingling in the quiet.

As sleep begins to take you, Jihoon’s fingers gently stroke your arm, each touch a silent declaration of his love. “I love you,” he whispers again, as if to make sure that you really know it, his voice barely audible as he too begins to drift off.

“I love you, too,” you reply softly, your words merging with the soft sounds of the night. “Always.”

Wrapped in each other’s arms, you both surrender to the peaceful embrace of sleep, the world outside remaining distant and irrelevant. In the stillness of the night, you find solace and joy in the certainty of your bond, drifting into dreams with hearts full and souls entwined.

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