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21wanderer · 17 days ago

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Buyer's remorse?

You froze when you saw the transaction on your bank account. It was ten times as much as you'd thought. Frantically you look through your mailbox looking for the invoice, but to your horror you discover, that the same ludicrous amount is written there. All you wanted was a good-quality Spiderman suit, just for a bit of escapism, but now you were almost broke. Looking over the invoice again you finally realise the mistake - it said Spiderman Suit Deluxe. You don't remember choosing a Deluxe, and now that little word had cost you a minor fortune.

Finally you calmed yourself, telling yourself it's going to be alright. You get the package, then just use the return label and get your money back. It took excruciatingly long for the package to arrive, the webshop had no phone number nor chat function, only an e-mail address, and though you wrote multiple mails explaining your situation and the obvious mistake, you received no answer. You feared that you had been duped.

Then finally three weeks later, the package arrived. Getting it home from the package shop was an ordeal, as the package was much bigger, heavier and unwieldy than you expected, and yet you still felt the concern of being scammed, the thought of the box containing some cheap - or in this case - expensive knock-off.

You carefully opened the box, being extremely cautious, trying to make sure that you didn't bruise or dent the box or its content the slightest. There it was the iconic red-and blue suit… the white-eyed mask, the intricate black web-pattern. It wasn't just a cheap knock-off, this could pass for the real thing. The fanboy in you really wanted to put it on, but your common sense said 'no' - any sign of use and the suit might be unreturnable.

There was no visible delivery note on top of the costume, so you carefully began to pick up the pieces and place them gently on the floor, making an internal note of which order they would have to be put back in. As you removed the components of the Deluxe-Spiderman suit looking for the delivery note, you began to wonder how this suit alone could justify such a big box, once you removed the suit itself from what you assumed was the last piece, you expected to find a ton of packaging peanuts filling half the box, but no, it was something else.

Your jaw dropped as a flesh-coloured mass revealed itself, at first you couldn't comprehend what you were looking at, but then you realised they were synthetic body pieces. There was a torso with arms, a pair of legs, feet, hands… and a face - Tom Holland's face. So this is what made the costume 'deluxe'.

As you picked up the pieces of the body, you forgot everything about the hefty price tag, this was way more than you have ever dreamed of. You could be the actual Spider-man, you could be the actual Tom Holland in the role of Spiderman. You found the delivery note at the bottom of the box, but that somehow seemed completely irrelevant now. You stretched one of the hands/gloves, it looked like skin, it felt like skin, it even smelled faintly human.

With an unparalleled eagerness and excitement you undressed, you held up the sculpted torso in front of you, still amazed at the detail, still beyond belief of how this could be real. You pushed your head through the opening at the neck, then pushed your arms through the sleeves, it was just like putting on a shirt, except this was something far more than that. You adjusted the shoulders and made sure they were in place, and marvelled at the result. You got Tom's tight pecs and athletic arms, you place a hand on your new stomach feeling the abs beneath the synthetic skin.

Having had a taste of what you could have only left you hungry for more - you felt insatiable and wanted it all. You slid on the legs like a pair of tight leggings, except padded with lean muscles, soon enough your lower half was covered with Tom's strong legs. Grinning you put on the hands like they were regular gloves. They slid right over your own hands and within moments they felt like they were. You stretched and flexed your new fingers, rubbing your face, your new pecs and abs. They felt real, looked real, right down to the fingerprints, which you imagined were identical to the real Tom's - everything else seemed to be.

You put the feet on like a pair of toe socks, pushing each toe into place and wiggling them as they stretched over your own. With the feet perfectly in place, you stand up to get a better look at your new body. You look astonished at yourself in the mirror, the face still your own, but the rest of your body unmistakably Tom's - athletic, smooth, lean and all yours. You pick up the Tom Holland mask, so incredibly life-like, from the lush hair to the soft cheeks and the strong chin, you almost lost yourself in thought, maybe you could just keep this on - permanently. Out of the corner of you eye, you notice a little tub at the bottom of box, you put down the Tom mask.

You read the label of the little container and opened it to reveal a bright pink substance, it was a sealant, to cover the seams of the suit, effectively fusing them together. Without hesitation you dipped your fingers into the thick pink goo and immediately applied it to your wrists and ankles, the bright colour faded soon after, the seems that before were near-invisible were now completely gone. With a delighted smile on your face, you apply the sealant to the seam at your waist. The bright colour faded again, taking a natural skin tone, and you felt the skin tighten, the seam was gone. With the replica Tom-body under your command and firmly attached, you slip on the mask.

The face snapped into place, and you stepped in front of the mirror. It was unmistakably Tom staring back at you, every facial feature flawless and indistinguishable from the real one . You lost track of time exploring every inch of your new body, and you've already decided, this was simply too good. You pulled on a pair of underpants, letting go of the elastic with a pleasing snap.

You put on the Spiderman suit, though it almost feels almost secondary now. You're already wearing a "Spiderman-suit" and this one, you are never taking off - however this is the true fanboy dream, you aren't just the character, but also the actor who brings it to life.

With expected ease you slip on the Spiderman-costume, it was tailored to perfectly fit Tom's/your body, and it did. You smiled at yourself in the mirror, brimming with confidence, looking like a hero, feeling like a hero, having the body of a hero.

Before you slipped on the second mask, completing your costume, you glanced over at the little tub of sealant on the table and chuckled, knowing there was still a handful left. You had a feeling, that in the very near future, you'd be applying it to your neck, making the fantasy complete.

And soon enough you did. The mask sealed in place. Tom's body and face were yours, and you're never going back.

#male bodysuit #male body suit #male body transformation #male transformation #male skinsuit #male masking #male skin suit

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koiukiy-o · 3 months ago

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orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 003. the framework.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 2.4k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: well well well... this took a long damn time. apologies, apologies, but the science had to be figured out. these two are absolute NERDS, i fear. oblivion is absolutely delicious on those who claim to possess and pursue the knowledge of the universe. i fear you will be suffering for a WHILE if youre not into the slow burn HAAHAHAH. also,, if you guys ever want to see the actual equations and notes i took to write some of the science for this chapter, i could post it as well,, hehe,, -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

Hushed voices, the occasional shuffle of papers, the muted hum of thought is all that fills the air in the library. You sit at your usual table, papers strewn before you. The assignment has consumed your thoughts since it was given to you—an open-ended challenge demanding structure, logic, proof. Model something that physics refuses to acknowledge.

Your notes are chaotic, an evolving web of connections scrawled in the margins, crossed out and rewritten. A familiar frustration gnaws at you—the feeling of standing on the precipice of understanding, just shy of articulation. You run a hand through your hair and exhale sharply, staring at the mess of your own making. You need structure, a foundation to hold onto. If the soul exists, then it cannot be an anomaly—it must be governed by laws, patterns, something definable. If every human mind is unique, then what makes them so? The answer cannot be randomness. There must be an underlying form, a universal template from which all variation emerges.

You tap your pen against the page, mind turning. If identity is not a static entity but a recursive function, shaped by initial conditions and iterative transformations, then no self is ever fixed. The soul would not be a singular essence but a structure in motion, a process of becoming. And if this process holds, then consciousness cannot be isolated. The soul, then, is not merely a singular phenomenon—it is networked, existing not only within itself but through its connections. But what is it that determines it?

If this recursion is real, then it must not be a property of human existence but a fundamental principle of consciousness itself, a universal law.

It isn’t proof. It isn’t even a complete theory yet. But it is a start. A framework, a way forward. You stare at the words in front of you, pulse steady but intent.

Your fingers ache from gripping the pen too tightly, your vision blurring as you stare at the same lines of text, reading and rereading without truly absorbing them. The library’s stillness, once a comfort, has become suffocating—a static silence pressing in around you, the air too thick, the rows of bookshelves seemingly endless, as if space itself is closing in.

You lean back, dragging a hand down your face. A glance at the clock startles you. How long have you been here? Long enough that the lamps cast long, slanted shadows over your scattered notes. Long enough that exhaustion has settled into your limbs, dull and insistent.

You need air. Movement. A change in surroundings before your thoughts begin looping endlessly in place.

Gathering your papers into a loose stack, you shove them into your bag with little care for organization. You rise, stretching the stiffness from your spine before heading for the exit. The fluorescent lighting of the library hums overhead as you step out, the cooler evening air brushing against your skin like a quiet relief.

Minutes later, you find yourself at the café, drawn by the promise of warmth and caffeine. As the quiet hum of the city presses in, you click a few buttons on your phone and lift it to your ear.

–

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, grounding you. You wrap your hands around the ceramic cup, letting its heat seep into your skin. You sit near the window, coffee cup nestled between your hands, eyes skimming the notes spread haphazardly across the table. The light overhead buzzes softly—old wiring, probably—but the sound fades into the background as you focus.

You’re not here to have a breakthrough. You’re here to map the boundaries.

The problem with studying the soul—if you can even call it that—isn’t just defining it. It’s figuring out where to look. If it exists as more than a philosophical concept, then there have to be parameters. A framework.

You flip to a blank page in your notebook.

What is the soul?

A real question. Not in the poetic sense, not in the way people speak about it in hushed tones and late-night confessions, but as a function. A thing with properties.

You write:

— The soul is not isolated. If it were, it wouldn’t interact with the world. People change. Learn. Influence each other. Whatever the soul is, it isn’t locked away inside a single person.

— It has persistent traits, but it is not static. Memories shape behavior. Experience alters perception. The thing that makes you you isn’t a fixed point, but it also isn’t random. There’s continuity, even through change.

— It extends beyond individual experience. Connections leave an imprint. People carry each other—sometimes in ways they can’t explain. If the soul exists beyond metaphor, then its effects should be traceable.

You take a slow sip of coffee. These aren’t conclusions. They’re places to start.

At the very least, if you’re going to chase something this impossible, you have to know what it isn’t–

"Trial and error."

The voice is measured, almost idle, but it cuts through the noise of the café like a well-placed incision.

You jolt, pen slipping from your fingers. Anaxagoras is standing beside your table, hands in the pockets of his coat, gaze flicking over your notes with mild interest. His presence isn’t overwhelming, but it shifts the air in a way you feel immediately. Like a variable introduced into an equation.

"You can’t just—appear—like that," you say, exhaling sharply as you retrieve your pen.

He lifts a brow. "I used the door. Perhaps you weren’t paying attention." His gaze drops back to your notebook, reading without asking, though you suspect if you told him to stop, he actually would. "Trial and error," he repeats, as if the phrase itself is under scrutiny. "A method you seem to be employing."

You sit back slightly, fingers curling around your coffee cup. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"Not at all," he replies, voice as even as ever. "It’s an honest approach. Just an unpolished one."

You huff a quiet laugh. "Practicality aside, it’s the only thing I can do at this stage. I'm defining parameters, not solving anything." You tap your pen against the page. "Or would you rather I skip to the part where I give you something half-formed and empirically worthless?"

His mouth curves—just slightly. "I appreciate the restraint."

"High praise."

Anaxagoras doesn’t acknowledge that, but his gaze lingers on your notes a moment longer before he straightens. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t ask to join, but he also doesn’t leave immediately.

Instead, he says, "It’s getting cold."

You blink at him. "What?"

"Your coffee," he nods toward your coffee cup, still mostly full. "You’ve been holding it for minutes without drinking."

You glance down at it, then back up at him. "I didn't realize you were keeping track."

"Well, far be it from me to disrupt your... inefficiency." he remarks, stepping back.

You glance toward the door. "I'm actually waiting for someone."

Anaxagoras tilts his head slightly.

"A friend," you clarify, though you're not sure why it feels necessary to do so.

He makes no move to leave, and you take another sip of coffee, not minding the silence that settles between you. It's surprisingly comfortable, even in its brevity.

Then, the door swings open.

Ilias strides in, scanning the café—then stops dead when he sees the two of you. His eyes flick between you and Anaxagoras, narrowing with immediate, delighted suspicion. And then, with exaggerated slowness, he pivots on his heel, turning straight back toward the exit.

"Oh, for—come back," you call, exasperated.

Ilias replies, raising his hands in mock surrender but grinning as he turns back around. "Please. Continue your—" he gestures vaguely, "—whatever this is."

Anaxagoras exhales, barely more than a breath, and finally steps away from your table. "I’m leaving."

Ilias watches him, expression far too entertained. He mutters just loud enough for you to hear, "I can't believe you invited me to your impromptu date."

You glare at him, but before you can retort, you catch the faintest shift in Anaxagoras' posture—nothing overt, no reaction beyond the briefest pause in his step. Then he continues toward the door, leaving without a word.

You groan, rubbing your temples.

Ilias collapses into the seat across from you like a man overcome by the sheer weight of his own amusement. "That was," he announces, "the single most deliciously awkward thing I have ever witnessed."

You mutter a quiet curse under your breath, flipping to a fresh page in your notebook.

"And yet," he sighs, folding his hands under his chin with a smirk, "here I am—like the universe itself has conspired to place me in this exact moment.”

Ilias is still grinning as he leans back in his chair, stretching lazily. “You know, if you ever need a chaperone for your secret intellectual rendezvous, I’m available.”

You roll your eyes, gathering your notes with more force than necessary. “It wasn’t an—” You stop yourself. There’s no point. Ilias seemingly lives for provocation, and you won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you shake your head and lean back in your chair, stretching your arms with a sigh.

Ilias, ever the dramatist, makes a show of settling in across from you, propping his chin in his hands. “You’re unusually quiet,” he muses. “Brooding, even.”

“No.”

“Hmm.” He taps a finger against the table. “That was an awfully long pause for a simple ‘no.’”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance out the window, watching the people moving along the street, the steady glow of passing headlights. The café hums around you—low conversations, the occasional clatter of a cup against its saucer. It’s late, but not late enough to leave just yet.

Ilias orders something sweet, drumming his fingers absently against the table while he waits. You sip the last of your now-cold coffee, your mind still lingering elsewhere. A glance at your notes does little to pull you back. The thought won’t let go.

You don’t even realize you’re frowning at your notes until Ilias nudges your cup with his own.

"Thinking about your not-a-date?" he teases, grinning.

You glare at him half-heartedly, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Thinking,” you say simply.

Eventually, Ilias finishes his pastry, brushing crumbs from his fingers before stretching with a yawn.

The two of you step outside together, the shift from the café’s warmth to the crisp night air making you shiver. The city has quieted, the usual rush of movement settling into a steadier rhythm. You walk side by side for a while, boots clicking against the pavement, the hum of distant traffic filling the spaces between conversation.

Even as Ilias chatters on about something inconsequential, the ideas still linger at the edge of your mind, waiting to take shape.

By the next morning, the café is a memory drowned out by the quiet rustle of students filling the lecture hall. The usual pre-class murmur settles into a steady rhythm—books thudding against desks, the sharp clicking of laptop keys, the low hum of voices exchanging half-hearted speculations on today’s topic.

You slide into your usual seat at the front, your notes open in front of you, though your pen remains idle between your fingers. The thoughts that have followed you since the library refuse to resolve, circling just beyond reach. There’s something missing—something foundational, yet frustratingly unformed.

At the lectern, Anaxagoras sets down his drink with practiced ease, the cup making a soft, deliberate sound against the wooden surface. The hall quiets.

He surveys the room with that same composed intensity, his gaze flickering over the assembled students before settling briefly—too briefly—on you.

“Continuity,” he begins, his voice carrying effortlessly, “is a deceptively simple concept. We assume that when two systems interact, they influence each other only at the moment of contact. That once they separate, the interaction ends.”

You straighten slightly. A slow prickle of recognition runs down your spine.

Anaxagoras picks up a piece of chalk and sketches a familiar equation on the board—one you’ve seen before, but never in this exact context. Your fingers tighten around your pen.

“But,” he continues, underlining a key term, “this assumes a linear, local model of influence. What happens, then, if we acknowledge that certain interactions leave something… persistent? That even after separation, a trace remains?”

The rustling of papers around you barely registers. Your thoughts lurch forward, bridging gaps in ways they hadn’t before.

You shift, almost without realizing, and Anaxagoras glances in your direction��briefly, but with intent. He knows.

A student two seats over raises a hand. “Are you talking about quantum entanglement?”

Anaxagoras tilts his head slightly. “A useful analogy, but not a perfect one. Entanglement suggests an instantaneous connection regardless of distance. What I am asking is more fundamental—does influence itself persist, even outside direct interaction?”

A murmur ripples through the hall. A few students exchange looks, some hurriedly scribbling notes, others frowning as they try to grasp the implications.

Your heart beats a fraction faster as the pieces align. The answer should be simple. If two variables are no longer in contact, the influence should end. The system should reset. But—

“They don’t go back to what they were before,” you murmur, half to yourself.

Anaxagoras sets the chalk down. “Louder.”

The words form before hesitation can stop them. “Even apart, they still retain the effect of their interaction. They update each other, whether they remain in proximity or not.”

The silence that follows is the kind that shifts the atmosphere of a room. Not an absence of sound, but a space filled with quiet recognition.

Anaxagoras watches you, his expression unreadable, but you swear something flickers in his gaze.

You grip your pen tighter. “There’s a kind of imprint,” you continue, voice steadier now. “An effect that doesn’t disappear even after separation. A persistence beyond time or proximity.”

He nods once, the movement precise. “Nonlinear. Nonlocal.”

A slow breath escapes you.

The clock on the wall ticks forward. A student coughs. Someone flips a page too loudly. The world presses back in, indifferent to the shape of revelation.

Anaxagoras turns away first, back to the board, where the equation remains half-finished. He picks up the chalk again, his voice returning to its usual cadence, folding the moment neatly back into lecture.

His gaze flickers back to you for a moment—steady, contemplative, threaded with something unreadable. Interest, perhaps. Amusement, restrained but evident in the slight tilt of his head. And then, just low enough for only you to hear:

“You were closer than you thought.”

You exhale, staring at the marginalia scrawled in the edges of your notebook—sharp, decisive, yet somehow restrained. Outside the window, the campus air carries the crisp scent of rain—not quite fallen, not quite gone. And yet, the thought lingers, refusing to leave you.

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette @hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom @yourfavouritecitizen @somniosu (send an ask or comment to be added!)

#❅ — works !#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn reader #hsr x reader #anaxa x reader #hsr anaxa #hsr anaxagoras #anaxagoras x reader #guys a/n 2 #if you guys have any suggestions for a playlist for this series pleeeeasseeed drop it in the comments <3 #i have 7 songs so far but unfortunately my taste is too corrupt for this series :sob: ANY recs i will take them all HAHA (desperate)#if something isnt linked right pls lmk !!

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ryzheling · 2 months ago

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*ੈ‧₊༺ II. SPIDERVERSE AU!

characters: spiderman!itoshi rin x gn!reader contents: spiderverse, sfw, college setting, isagi cameo, ooc? one mention of seggs but nothing explicit wc ~ 500

a/n: some leftovers from my spidy rin au ! not much and kinda unfinished but it’s been marinating in my docs for like a year now so here u go

spiderman!rin who’d taken it upon himself to always swing by (literally) your rented place every morning without fail. He’d chill on your windowsill with one leg crossing inwards while the other swaying leisurely in the air as he dutifully waits for you to get ready before you two head to class together. Sometimes he’d hop inside your bedroom just to fiddle around with your things, nosing around your room like he hadn’t been there a thousand times already.

“You know you can just go on without me, right?” You’d always say time and time again. You knew how he’d usually go anywhere all by himself, no transport whatsoever because really, all he needed was his own superhuman abilities; his webs. He didn’t need to accompany you to and fro anytime you had a class together.

He’d even offered to give you a swing a couple times before, though you’d declined every time lest you want to arrive at school with a bad case of wind-blown hair.

Rin, who was previously looking over your old albums, turned to you with pinched brows as if genuinely offended from what you’ve said. Throwing you a light glare, he gives three simple words as an answer, “I’m your boyfriend.”

spiderman!rin who loves helping you whenever you ask him to get you stuff, subtly showing off his abilities. Also loves pulling you closer and catching you by surprise by attaching his webs at you, reveling in the way your breath hitches at the sudden proximity as his lips curl upwards at the corners in a small, barely noticeable smirk.

Going to spiderman!rin’s place for a hangout only to freeze at the threshold when you find another man sitting at his desk, your boyfriend nowhere to be seen as you and the stranger stare each other down like deer caught in headlights.

Rin appears at the door behind you a few seconds later with a bag of takeouts in his hand, a look of irritation crosses over his face. “What the hell are you doing here?” he glares, daggers shooting from his gaze towards the guy. They seem to know each other, you’d wonder.

“Rin, you sneaky bastard! You never told me you have a partner! An attractive one at that!”

“Hah, the hell did you just say? As if I’d ever tell you anything about that. And you didn’t answer my question, stupid Isagi.” Rin grumbles, leading you further into the room with a warm hand splayed on your lower back. You follow suit, amusedly watching the two interact as Rin drops the bag onto the nearby coffee table.

“You asked me about that insect guy-villain-thing or whatever, remember? I’m here to help!” Isagi perks up, a wide grin on his face as he points to himself in what looks to be pride. Your boyfriend deadpans, “It was one question and I know the answer to it already. Now get out, you’re an eyesore.”

“Wait, what?! I thought I’m like, your Guy In The Chair or somethi– I SAID WAIT!”

spiderman!rin who'd use his webs as restraints during sexy times if you’re freaky enough… maybe while he’s a little bloody and bruised and still in his spidy suit.

would've written something about the upside down kiss if i wasn't so braindeadge :l

©ryzheling. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else!

#writings ˙⊹ 「 🖋️ 」#itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi fluff #rin itoshi x you #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk fanfic #divider by enchanthings

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https-lvesick · 4 months ago

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⌕ LYING WEBS, a mark smau

❝ toronto has never been this chaotic. crime surges, tension rises, and yet, the city still sleeps soundly—because the spiders are watching. spider-man and silk have become more than heroes; they’re legends, trusted even by the police to keep the streets safe. but behind the masks, they’re just teenagers, juggling school, friendships, and the messy business of growing up. between late-night patrols and last-minute assignments, one question lingers: what’s harder—admitting you have a crush on your new best friend or revealing you're a mutant superhero? ❞

pairing ⋆ spider!mark x silk!reader

genre ⋆ social media!au, angst, fluff, suggestive, friends to lovers

content ⋆ violence, mentions of death, some angst between ningning and jisung, mark and reader are kinda stupid, death and sexual jokes, a lot of cursing...

status ⋆ ongoing!

taglist ⋆ open! (pls fill out this form)

★ finally she's back! my first smau! i'm so happy to announce it's back :( now, with a proper plan! hope you enjoy it guys <3 ps. had to use the old banner bc i couldn't make a new one... this post was supposed to be out days ago

winx club ⋆ city's hope

[00] coffee date

[01] female experts

[02] study group goes terribly wrong (written)

[03] mr. moon bear 🧸

[04] jisung's issue

[05] ningning's issue (written)

#nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct smau #nct scenarios #nct social media au #mark imagines #mark fanfic #aespa imagines #aespa fanfic

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zoieru · 2 months ago

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Half Measures ~

After an accidental and messy reunion with Dazai after two years, you - like you suspected - ended up with your clothes off. But when your tryst had an unexpected imaginary cameo by a friend of yours, you realised some things really never do change - and Dazai and Chuuya's competitiveness really does transcend time and space.

NSFW CONTENT - Dazai my little content warning 𖹭 alcohol mentions, reader n dazai n chuuya grew up together in pm, pm!reader - ada!dazai, droplets of angst, fluffy, cockwarming, f!reader riding, reader had chuuya-sex-tm during the years they weren't together, basically Dazai is competitive and gets off on reader talking about chuuya-sex-tm while they fuck :3 It's sweet really, I promise you. My pussy wrote this while I was sleeping. She kinda a good writer fr. 5.2k~

a/n ~ while I wrote this from my own hyperfixated horny brain, it's come to my attention that this fic is actually very similar to this one written by @/osarina. This was completely unintentional, but if you came across mine first and happen to want a longer exploration of this sort of theme then go read that one after~ it's a super fun idea.

Perhaps if you and Dazai Osamu had a slogan, it would be no half measures. It was the same two years ago, and the same now. While he loved to weave his webs, leaving those none the wiser to find out later that he had a grand plan all along, there, ultimately, was nothing subtle about it.

Your impromptu reunion was no exception. The man had left to become a 'good guy' as it were, two years ago. Even the thought had you huffing breaths of joyless laughter when it crossed your mind as you brushed your teeth. Not because he had no good in him, oh no, he had tonnes of good. Shit covered gold is still gold, right? You'd always seen the gold, always cherished it, reminded him of it when he forgot. That's what you gave to the boys as you grew up in the mafia, dealing with shit storms of violence all day. You were their safe space, their reminder that no matter what they did, were ordered to do, they still had that gold inside. You seemed to find it effortlessly.

Did it mean you weren't mad, though? Mad at Dazai fucking Osamu of all people for being able to weazel out of the mafia at the behest of a dead friend and have a happy good guy life? No it fucking didn't. You were mad, pissed, angry and...heartbroken. but not because he didn't deserve it. Just because...that life wasn't with you.

Now all of this was discussed in no uncertain words, raised voices and snarks and huffs and tears, the last few hours, after you bumped into eachother underneath one of Yokohama's bridges. You didn't think Dazai bumped into anyone. But he seemed genuinely shocked to see you. Your filled out body, your beautiful face that made his heart ache uncomfortably in his ribcage, that scar he knew definitely hadn't been there before. His safe space, the only one that saw all the good, nourished it. The only thing he had never wanted to run from. You, that he left behind in the darkness.

They were a mess, these hours, because of course they were. Words weren't enough to express both your feelings, even if either of you were good with expressing them. But you managed. You had to. Because you never thought you'd see him again, before this.

So that's how you ended up in your apartment. He hadn't seen it, yet. Hadn't met your cat, either, who - despite hating strangers - hopped into his lap happily the moment he sat and curled up as if he belonged there.

Over lumpy throats, tight chests, and a two year old bottle of whiskey, more talking was done. And now you were in his lap.

I think you probably see where this is going, right? No half measures, always some grand finale. The point is, Dazai didn't plan any of this. But you, both of you, even before, even growing up, were never subtle. Always intense and a beautiful gorgeous mess of chaos.

So as you replaced the cat in his lap, clothes strewn across the sofa beside you, his cock nestled deep inside you after a round like it belonged there - like it never fucking left - you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Even as the hurt feelings lingered. They would, for a while, you knew. He knew. But it didn't change the way you felt about eachother.

Dazai's head was spinning as he came down from your combined high. He could barely focus, fingers still trailing idly over your bare back, tracing patterns mindlessly onto your skin. He hadn't thought he'd see you again either. Not like this. Not anywhere but from an aching distance with you none the wiser.

He just needed you close, needed to keep feeling you, and not let go. He whispered, that hum of a tone you knew used to be reserved for you, soft, gentle.

“You’re...still amazing.”

You chuckled breathlessly as the words reached your ears, planting a soft wet kiss on his neck just above his bandages. Your heart felt warm. Tired, but warm.

"You thought I'd have lost my edge? I've only grown up, Dazai~" you murmured, fond, teasing gently.

He let out a soft scoff, and his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling your lips and breath against his skin.

He shook his head as you spoke, dark hair falling into his eyes a little. “Of course not..” he breathed softly. “You've not lost your sharpness, either.”

It was one of the reasons you just worked. It was as though you spoke in another language, a communication of smartass snark and wit that left others confused and bewildered when they tried with futility to keep up.

He closed his eyes as he spoke again, as close to reverent as the man could get. "I don't think I realised how much I missed your body until now."

The words made you clench a little around him, involuntarily, your walls tightening in a brief squeeze as you were reminded of your position. You let out a soft huff of pleased amusement, fond and sleepy sated.

"Mmh~ Others didnt quite match up?" You weren't sure why you asked, in fact you kinda wished you hadn't when it plopped out your mouth. But there was that lingering anxiety curled up in your chest that would take a while to ease. Thinking about him being with other people while he was gone made your insides writhe uncomfortably, albeit reluctantly, even if his cock was comfy inside you.

He felt the slight clench and let out a soft noise of pleasure, his mouth moving to your neck, trailing kisses on your skin. Each one a tiny message of affection. Of course there were other people. But no one like you. No one ever matched you.

He spoke against your neck, his voice soft and tired. “You know they didn’t.”

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders a little as he trailed a kiss moistened path down your neck, your eyes fluttering closed as you tried to focus on the sensation rather than the thoughts.

Perhaps each kiss was a small apology, for all the pain he'd caused as a result of his actions, his inability to bring you with him, and his incapability to handle contact with you the last two years knowing he'd break if he had.

"It didn't mean anything."

"I know."

Your own language again. Speaking in half complete sentences, picking it up as if he'd never left. You used to find it funny how others used to look at you, seemingly reading each others mind quick fire.

You did know. Your heart still didn't like it, though.

He hummed against your neck, the vibrations gently lulling. He knew you knew. His own heart was conflicted too. Filling the you-shaped void was never successful, of course, even if the physical act itself was somewhat pleasurable.

After a gentle teasing comment about you feeling the same inside, and you wiggling a little on his lap in response, his hands came to hold your waist tighter to keep you still - his dick stirring inside you with the subtle overstimulation.

After a moment, he paused, those brown eyes glinting in the dim light with a subtle hint of mischief and curiosity. "And...what about you?"

You knew what he was asking. Frankly, it was a conversation you'd rather avoid, but you'd been the one to bring it up because you were a dumbass, apparently. You always seemed to lose a few braincells when it came to him. He had too many to count.

You felt a blush creep up your neck a little, no clothes to hide behind, and huffed a bit indignant.

"A...bit. not as much as you, almost certainly," you said with a small chuckle. He always was a bit of a slut.

He chuckled at your blushing, ever finding your flusterment amusing, and his hand slid slowly along your hip. His gaze lingered on your body, taking you in. Re-memorising you. The achingly familiar, yet subtly new, curves and marks.

"You're not going to say who was in your bed while I was away?"

"What, you want a hit list?"

You asked the question rather dryly, raising an eyebrow with amused scepticism. It was a joke...mostly.

He barked out a laugh, and rolled his pretty eyes. You always were a smartass, and he loved that about you.

He gave you a small tap on your hip, and answered dryly, his tone mock-offended. "Yes. Is there a problem with that?"

"A little, sure," you chuckled. "I don't wish to be the cause of death for those who might suffer your wrath~"

His fingers dug lightly into your hips, and he bit back a moan at the way you were moving.

"Oh, come now...you're underestimating my self control," he teased. "You forget, I'm a model citizen."

"Oh yes, how could I forget. You're the good guy now, and I'm the one in the mafia~" the last word was emphasised with a spooky lilt.

He smirked, ever charmed by your sarcasm.

"Exactly. So you shouldn't doubt me, mafia princess~"

It earned him a grumpy huff and narrowed eyes, which was rather undercut by the fact you were cockwarming him while chatting idly.

After a few moments, him nuzzling and running his nose up your neck, he paused and raised an eyebrow at you slowly with a playful curious smirk. "And...a list, is it?"

You blushed again a bit, tucked into his neck, and let out another indignant huff. You really wished you'd kept your damn mouth shut.

"No...not really," you admitted. There weren't many people. It was rather who...

"Come now, you can tell meee~"

Dazai's tone was playful, amused. But he was genuinely curious, he did want to know. You'd said there were others. Who were they? Were they a one night stand or was it a repeat thing? The idea of anyone else touching you made his chest ache a bit, though he was fully aware he didn't have much of a right to it. It was understandable, you were eachothers person.

Another thing about Dazai, he didn't often let things go, especially with you. Realistically, you did not want to have this conversation with him still nestled deep inside your pussy. But this was you two. Stupid and messy and ridiculous.

You sighed, deeply, and looked up at him through your eyelashes, heart doing quick thumps in your chest.

"Chuuya."

He couldn't say he was surprised. You three had been inseparable in the mafia, and Chuuya - while being a grumpy old chibi about literally everything else - had a soft streak for you a mile wide. But it didn't mean his heart was totally happy with it.

His eyes found yours again. "Chuuya, huh?"

Time to explain.

Your eyes searched his for his feelings, fingers drawing soft and idle patterns on his collarbone.

"Well... When you left we were both pretty shaken, fucked up. We only had eachother, y'know?" You paused for a minute, gaze tracing his face. "His wine might have had something to do with it~"

He was trying hard to keep his expression and his voice steady, his fingers tightening on your skin. The thought of you in bed with Chuuya, touching you, kissing you, having you was making him more than a little possessive.

Still, he couldn't deny that it made sense, that at the time when they were both so in pain, it was only natural that they'd seek comfort in each other.

He gave a soft scoff, his voice still somewhat even. "The drunken hatrack, I must question your taste~"

Your ability to read him was still sharp, despite the subtle rust on the edges from the time apart.

"Don't...be sad about it," you said, softly, lifting a finger to trace down his nose gently. "We all grew up together, explored together, yknow. It was...likely, I guess."

"I'm not sad. I'm just... not thrilled."

He felt a shiver go through him as your finger traced down his nose. The feeling was so familiar, so familiar it hurt. And it was exactly that. They'd grown up together, they'd explored their bodies and the world together. It made sense that they would be together in that time. But it didn't mean he had to like it.

"I know." You said. Soft, reassuring. And a touch guilty, despite it not being a fault or misstep.

"But...he's not the one inside me now, is he?~"

Had you forgotten he was still nestled deep inside your walls while you talked? He almost had, comfortable. But your comment, the discussion, that subtle intoxicating tease to your tone amongst the gentleness saved for him...it made his cock twitch with renewed interest. Your words had inadvertently triggered, awakened, something you knew all too well.

His eyes gleamed in the muted light, and he gave you a devilish smirk. "I'm more interesting than Chuuya, anyways."

He gripped your waist tighter, his eyes darkening in the dim lighting. His fingers trailed up your stomach achingly feather light, and came up to your chest, tracing lazy circles. His touch was more possessive than he intended. Not that he cared.

"I bet I feel better too~"

You made a soft sound of pleasure mixed with exasperation, and rolled your eyes, shooting him an unimpressed look that said 'seriously?' The comment was hot, and so damn him. This guy, honestly. Always the same.

"You're so..." You chuckled. "Ridiculous."

But you hadn't caught on yet, had you. The danger you were walking into? The way his cock started to stir more than before, filling itself slowly as it stayed nestled deep inside you. His smirk grew cockier, cheekier, and he nipped at your neck.

"Ridiculously charming, you mean~"

His fingers wrapped around your waist, tighter. He pulled you down a little further onto himself, sighing a pretty breath through his lips as you felt even tighter around him.

He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his tone turned teasing again. "Don't deny it. I bet Chuuya couldn't make you feel this good."

You let out a soft sound of pleasured surprise as he shifted you deeper, fingers gripping a little tighter onto his shoulders. You were sensitive, having had sex and then cockwarmed him for like 20 minutes already. But it felt so good all the same.

"Dazai, I don't really want to discuss the details of sex with Chuuya while I'm sitting on your dick," you said, as if that wasn't rather obvious.

He let out a soft sultry chuckle, and his hands wandered more, firmer, his touch soft and yet so possessive and greedy. You could hear and feel his breath shake slightly as he breathed you in. He felt needy for your body, for your attention. And this was only making it worse. Or better~

He leaned in and nipped gently at your neck again, his voice a low, teasing tone. "Oh? Why not? Scared I'll out-perform him?"

You whined quietly, hoping this wasn't what you thought it was. You knew that look, those eyes, that voice.

"Are you seriously getting competitive with Chuuya when he's not even here?" You asked, in a little breath, feeling his now much harder cock poke your insides almost playfully as it twitched. It was so him, so them. They just had to one up eachother even if one of them was balls deep inside you and the other had no idea.

He gave you a soft bite, chuckling against your skin. He always loved it when he riled you up a bit, when you got all flustered. And he was getting excited...

His hand slipped under your thigh, fingers tracing along your skin. He rolled his hips languidly upwards and pulled you closer against him deliciously. "I'm just curious, don't get all annoyed~"

He paused. He was deliberately provoking you, poking gently, he just couldn't help himself. He let out a another sigh, a bit of neediness, and his voice was playful - but also serious. "I want to know everything about what you did with him."

That's what gave it away.

Your hand in his hair paused it's idle patterns briefly as the few braincells you had left untouched by the lustful haze rubbed together to realise what was happening.

You pulled back just a little to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown out a bit, brown honeyed pools half lidded and a little hazy with affection but also this conflicted lustful glint, not dissimilar to when you used to see him get a little sadistic.

"Dazai..."

His expression turned just the tiniest bit sheepish, his cheeks lightly dusted with a hint of pink, but his eyes still held that playful glint. He knew what you would say, what you'd ask, what this was. He leaned in again, nuzzling against your neck.

"Maybe~"

You felt the tips of his long fingers trace over the bumps of your spine, down from your nape gorgeously slowly over each one. He knew he was pushing it, but he couldn't help but feel territorial, jealous, thinking of Chuuya. You and Chuuya. And well...he'd always been a little masochistic. "What of it?~ he murmured, giving you a small bite on your shoulder to gently rile you.

You let out a whine at his bite. His words and that beautiful soft melodic tone seeped into you and curled deep in your tummy around where his cock still stuck now achingly hard inside you. He and Chuuya, all three of you, always had tonnes of sexual tension. Among other types. So it wasn't so far off that he could be a bit aroused by this...that you could be a bit aroused by this...

"mph, you're weird," you breathed in a sigh into his neck, your warm breath running over his bare and bandaged skin as you closed your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

He could feel you squirming in his lap, and a soft moan escaped his lips. Dazai's fingers gripped your waist, holding you still. He leaned against you, his body moving to grind his hips up into yours.

His voice was a bit breathless, but there was a smirk to his words. "You already knew that. You always liked it, anyway~"

He couldn't help but be a cocky little bastard, even now. He was feeling playful and way too turned on, and he wanted to tease you a little bit. He knew he was being a bit much, but it was fun.

His fingers retraced their steps and cupped the back of your neck, his teeth lightly nipped at your jaw, and hummed. "It's hot, thinking of you with him."

A soft moan from your lips. A shuddered sigh. A lift and gentle roll of your hips so his cock peeked out just a little to shift back in through your folds achingly slowly. His words were unravelling any reservations you had about this weird mental cuck chair he had himself in. Replaced with arousal curling in your gut and making your skin hot where he touched it.

"mmh, you think so?" You hummed, face turning and burying in his hair. It was ridiculous. A messy heart-aching reunion after two years, hours later ending up like this. But it was so you.

"even if you're jealous?"

As your hips rolled he let out a breathy groan, and he tightened his grip on you. This was crazy. You made him crazy, and the way your body felt against his after so fucking long was making him a bit desperate.

"That's what makes it fun.~"

He could feel you slipping, starting to play along with it. He adored that about you. You'd always put up with and indulged in his little kinks and fetishes as no one else would. You went along with him in just about every aspect of life. It just spurred him on. That's his girl.

"It gets you going too, doesn't it?" He murmured, his lips brushing against your own in a parted smirk. He ran his nose up the side of yours, teasingly. "Thinking about Chuuya touching you..."

A shaky pretty sigh escaped your parted lips, brushing hot against his - eyes fluttering closed. Your mind, at his words, unwillingly but conveniently provided flashbacks of the nights you'd ended up pressed against the wall, red hair tangled in your fingers, leather gloved hands hungrily running over your body as if they couldn't get enough.

"Mph...a little," you mumbled. "He was kinda good, y'know~" A rather gross understatement. Another roll of your hips, languid, achingly slow, cock sliding out just a few inches to press steadily back in. You could play along. Tentatively. Seeing that he was enjoying it.

He felt something tighten in his chest at your words, like something was clutching at his heart a bit, but he was still enjoying himself. He wanted to know the details, wanted to know everything, see it through your eyes.

His fingers dug into your hip, keeping you moving, his own hips starting to respond. He thrusted upwards into you a little harder, his tip kissing your cervix pulling pretty breathy noises from his mouth. He moved his head to your neck again, his favourite place, his nose nuzzling the skin. A soft hum, tone huskier, lower. "Good, huh?"

"Sometimes it was kinda lazy," you murmured into his ear. You could tell he was struggling to muster enough focus to talk, one of the only times Dazai was rendered more speechless. So you did the talking, working with him as he rocked you up and down, your clit touching and sticking gently to his pelvis with each descent. You wanted to give him some more ammo. You didn't mind talking if he was getting worked up, after all.

You bit into his neck softly, leaving a little wet stripe over the sting as your hands drifted over his chest. "But sometimes it was like...pissed off, stressy, aggressive. Y-you know how he gets...if something pissed him off during the day~"

Dazai moaned again as you bit him. Despite the softness of your quickening movements, the languidness, his head was spinning with need. He nudged his nose bridge into your jaw, breath brushing across the skin on your throat. "Oh I know~" He pulled you closer, your breasts against his chest, pressed closer, closer, closer. "A little rough sometimes, too, huh? That sounds like him."

He couldn't help it, the idea sent thrills up his spine. This heady mix of slightly possessive jealous teasing arousal combined with the feeling of you again, a feeling he had missed for fucking years, was driving him a little insane. He wouldn't apologise. He knew you wouldn't ask him to. "mmph...you like rough."

You moaned in response, eyes fluttering closed once more as your hand slipped into his hair, steadying yourself in his sensual rolling that was just as perfect as it was overstimulatory.

"S-sometimes. Ngh - I did more, then. I was pissed that you we-re gone and, pissed a-at mori for making me do your fucking jobs. We got our anger out l-like a-ah that."

His chest ached with guilt, but also with this weird possessive need. He loved you, and he was glad you had someone.

His fingers dug into your thighs as he fucked up into you with a bit more speed, more force. His eyes heavily lidded with lust watched your breasts bounce prettily, your kiss plumped lips apart and panting softly.

"Did he leave any marks?"

You whined as he leaned forward and started kissing along your neck and collarbone with renewed hunger, as if he was determined to leave some along with the ghosts of those Chuuya had potentially left. He didn't care how pathetic he sounded, he needed to know. He was letting this side out, this small masochistic possessive side that wasn't present very often. And he was nothing if not competitive.

"Fu-ahh," your eyebrows drew in at the centre as he shifted his angle ever so slightly to hit deeper, each push of him through your spongey walls making you huff and moan. It was hard to keep talking at this point. But you did your best. "Ngh-he...he liked leaving hickeys on the...nginside of my thighs."

He cursed through a moan into your neck, his mind instantly going to Chuuya leaving those marks there, spreading your legs and trailing his tongue over the flesh. He hated it, needed it. He nipped hard on your neck, as if in response, outdoing him.

He thrusted up harder into you, still sensual rolls but harder, more needy, more hungry. With each one his arms and hands now cradling you, holding you like you were precious and gorgeous pulling you down onto his weeping cock that was nearing its fucking limit. He wanted you shaking and breathless when he was done.

"I bet you looked pretty, all marked up for him."

You whimpered into his mouth. A mess. You were both overstimulated, whiney, breathy messes. But this was you. Never in moderation, never a half measure. Some things never change.

He was close. You could feel it. Hear it in those gorgeous fucking sounds coming from his lips, higher pitched, breathy, into your neck as he rested his forehead there. His long cock twitched over and over, your walls automatically responding by squeezing gently, trying to coax out his high.

He loved your cute little sounds. His brain was mush. "Mmph...f-fuck. You're so-ah-good~". Seeing the ever composed Dazai come undone and needy for you was always unreal. He had one final question, murmured strained and raspy into your skin.

"Did...ngh- did he come inside?"

The mixture of the question, being with him again after all this time, the Chuuya bullshit, and his fingers finding themselves between you, rubbing gorgeous circles on your sensitive nub, had you crashing over the edge and falling into bliss. You whined and buried your face in his shoulder, his arms snaking further around you as he kept the now stuttering pace as you rode out your high, leaking, squeezing his cock. "y-eah...yeah ngh."

That was all he needed. With a broken throaty whimper he felt a hot rush of ecstasy, and release, starting to fill you, spilling into you as he couldn't maintain the rolls of his hips anymore. Your arms came around, still coming down yourself, essentially cradling him as he worked through his orgasm, feeling your tummy warm up with him spilling inside you.

His body was shaking a little, just clinging to you, head buried in your neck with panting breaths slowing with the time and as both your orgasms receded like the tide. His weary and pleased, overstimulated, cock gave a few last gentle spurts as it nestled and softened once more comfortable inside your walls.

He always had been a bit of a mess after sex. You could only take it as a compliment. It made your heart swell with affection wildly, even as the reality of what you both just did came down over you both like a light rain shower.

"Did we..."

"Yeah...yeah, we did." He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at your question, kissing your neck lazily as his head began to clear and the clouds revealed how ridiculous that was.

He was a little embarrassed, but also didn't care all that much. He rested his cheek on your shoulder as he looked up at you with a sleepy sort of grin. "That might have been a bit much."

You could have burst out laughing, but you managed just a sleepy exasperated chuckle, shaking your head as your hand came to run through your hair. "Yeah, no shit."

He laughed softly, his hand tracing down your spine lazily. He gave you a cocky grin, his expression lazy and satisfied.

"You're going to be feeling that for a bit, I think~"

He sounded rather pleased. Of course. Though he'd probably be sore as well. He pulled you closer, settling you into him as he leaned back against the sofa.

"Suppose I should have gone easier on you~"

That earned him an amused huff across his chest as you settled comfortably against him. You would need to get off soon, deal with the inevitable mess between your thighs. but for a moment you just...wanted to be close to him. seemed like he needed the same.

"I never thought you could... get off on thinking about me with Chuuya." You said, eyes lifting to his with an amused look of curiosity.

He let out a short amused scoff. "I wasn't exactly planning on it."

Dazai didn't really have the energy to try to defend his actions. Though he might not have anyway even if he did. You always did accept him for his quirks, like he did with yours albeit you having less. Safe space, even for this.

A dramatic wistful sigh left his lips. "Chuuya truly brings out the worst in me~"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. He really was ridiculous. Though your expression was filled with rather too much affection to be healthy. You'd had a good time, even if it was freaky.

"We are not telling him about this."

"Definitely not."

The thought was a rather horrifying one. For Dazai at least. The man would never hear the end of it if Chuuya found out that he'd essentially cucked himself in his mind with an imaginary version of him as he fucked you. Even if it was for competitive one-uppery. No thanks.

He let out a soft tired sigh, nuzzling into your cheek affectionately. "Our little secret."

He pulled away a little, eyes lifting to yours with that mischievous glint. "You know... If you ever mention this, I'll be forced to silence you with aggressive and enthusiastic methods. You likely wont enjoy it~"

You huffed, lifting an eyebrow. Two could play that game.

"I suppose I'll have to hold it over your head as blackmail material just in case you get any cute ideas about abandoning me again."

He chuckled at the idea, and his hand drifted up higher, lightly trailing over your ribs. A smirk played at his lips, his tone soft and lightly playful. "As if you could ever get even with me."

Though his expression sobered, then, eyes following his hand almost thoughtfully as it travelled over your beauty he knew so well. "I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore."

At the shift in tone, your heart did a gentle flutter, eyes softening along with it. Though before you could let the emotions linger, maybe say something soft and loving back, he smirked a little.

"Besides...can't go off somewhere and let the chibi have you can I?

Your mouth dropped open in an exaggerated display of offence, and you huffed. Honestly.

"You're such a dick."

"I know~"

"You can't meet me again after abandoning me for two years and then make a joke about you only staying with me to beat Chuuya."

"Why not? You like me when I'm a dick~"

Legend has it people can still hear you bickering around Yokohama at all times of day. You were a chaotic gorgeous ridiculous mess. And you never did anything in half measures.

Thankyou for joining me for...whatever this was >:3 ~ reblogs and interactions are always cherished deep within my soul !! 𖹭

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