#frozen typhoon

[dandelionandkrindle]

WORLD OF WARCRAFT • LOCATIONS (59/?) Dragonblight

[dangermousie]

2023 End of Year Post - cdrama edition

Yes, we have a lot of December left, but I don't think anything else I want to check out will air before 2024 hits (it's cdrama so caveat is - you never know.)

This is only going to cover cdramas that aired in 2023; if I watched it but it was made in a different year, it's not on the list. This was a pretty good cdrama year, all in all.

DRAMAS WATCHED

(In order of liking from least to most as opposed to pure quality; I am including if I’ve seen enough to make up my mind; yes I realize that’s inaccurate, but that’s my list)

30 legend of twin flower - Not dignifying that drama with capital letters, as the only capital that should be associated with this is capital punishment - which is what watching this feels like.

29 Dominator of Martial Gods - sounds like a bdsm gay porn title. Would probably be better acted and written if it was.

28 Beauty of Resilience - you'd need a lot of said resilience to sit through this incoherent, barely acted mess. The thing that I remember the most other than my annoyance is all the jingly-jangly head gear on JJY. Perhaps they could have sold some of them and spent the money on a better script.

27 Divine Destiny - if you think you have too many brain cells and want to get rid of some, boy do I have a drama for you!

26 Wanru’s Journey - honestly it's probably tied with SEL - I mean it's worse but it has actors who are nowhere as well known and a fraction of SEL's budget. Still, this is a big fat nope. I will not say what I think of Aoi Rupeng's "acting" or I'd have to put money in the curse jar.

25 Snow Eagle Lord - Gulinazha's stone face, nonsense plot, terrible CGI. Take your pick as to why this is terrible.

24 Scent of Time - it was uneven but fun but then that ending was dumb enough to destroy the whole thing. Show me on the doll where common sense hurt you, makers!

23 Royal Rumors - Jeremy Tsui and Meng Ziyi are utterly wasted in this nothing trifle of a drama.

22 Legend of Anle - I had high expectations but alas. This is the drama version of color beige. There is nothing offensive about it but nothing good either. Mediocre actors are mediocre, good actors become mediocre, this is just a waste of our finite time on planet earth.

21 Romance on the Farm - it's not you, it's me in action. I can see why people would like this wholesome slice of farming family life, but it's tailored to trigger every one of my "nope" opinions.

20 Back from the Brink - if I were 12, it would be my favorite thing. I am not 12.

19 Journey of Chong Zi - objectively a terrible drama with plot holes the size of Mars and a leading lady whose face has apparently frozen when the wind changed. But I am a total sucker for the trope of upright shizun falling for his demonic disciple and going mental so here we are. Objectively, garbage, subjectively my precious!

18 Love you Seven Times - just call poor Ding Yuxi "Atlas," he carried this mess so hard.

17 Blooming Days - trashy dogblood harem fight fun throwback. It's not that great (and the fact that it was shredded doesn't help) but it's probably the last gasp of that genre for the foreseeable future, so I am grading on a curve.

16 The Starry Love - a fun fantasy where the secondary OTP stole the thunder but overall a really solid fantasy xianxia romance.

15 The Longest Promise - it could have been better - the secondaries were unbearable and there was too much of them and what they did with Alen Fang's character still gives me rage fits, but the main couple was impeccable and lovely and I rooted so hard for them.

14 Chang Feng Du/Destined - visually gorgeous, solidly acted, impeccable first half. Bland as hell second half. Win some, lose some.

13 Circle of Love - this drama is a nonsense trash heap on fire. After a typhoon hit it. It was also the most entertaining, addicting drama on this whole list.

12 Hidden Love - the sole modern on this list, this story has barely any plot but it made me care about the young, decent lovers so hard.

11 Choice Husband - starts out wacky, continues with angst and blood and happy ending. I loved it, but I've always had a soft spot for melo and schemers turning devoted.

10 Pledge of Allegiance - bromance, super solid acting, visuals, a really dark take on officials and the world. Insanely underrated.

9 Provoke - a truly fun Republican revenge and love tale, showing that short format can be wonderful.

8 Gone with the Rain - some of the secondary characters are rage-inducing (hi there, cardboard boy!) but the scheming, ruthless, vulgar FL is amazing and her slowburn with her age gap general who is delighted by her out-there-ness is great!

7 Wonderland of Love - Fei Wo Si Cun goes wholesome and the result is surprisingly entertaining. Battle couple, glorious visuals, a fast paced plot. It's the first Xu Kai drama I enjoyed in years (and he plays a rare cdrama ML it would be pretty neat to pair up with in rl.)

6 My Journey to You - that ending is infuriating (and I am OK with open endings if done properly) but what a visual feast, probably the most gloriously shot drama on this list, and that's a tough competition. Also it packs a hell of a lot of couples and familial and adversarial relationships into its slim running time; assassin lady won over by a gentle man is my favorite trope and so this is extra great.

5. Till the End of the Moon - the ending is a rage-inducing disaster for me, but this drama was the most incredibly emotionally intense, visually eye popping experience. It was deeply flawed but when it was amazing, it was like nothing else in its visuals, its characters and its narratives. It took insane risks; some paid off and some did not, but it was glorious.

4. Story of Kunning Palace - I don't often care for reverse harem stories but this one was such fun - the main OTP was glorious (strong FL, unhinged ML) but honestly everything about this was just so excellently done.

3. The Ingenious One - the most adult drama on this list. Smart protagonists, intelligent plot, emotions that felt true, this is a revenge and a mystery and found family and goes into so many directions you do not expect (Su Mengyu's PTSD after his first kill - that is something you never see in dramas, definitely not prolonged and profound - not like this.) If I was to say which drama was objectively the best on this list, as opposed to favorite, it would be this.

1 (tie) Lost You Forever 1 - this is an exquisite emotional jewel of a story about damaged people moving forward, with damage always present - their past informs their present and always will. The narrative about Xiao Yao and three very different men in her life makes me think that it's an equivalent of a neutron bomb going off right before the main narrative starts and now we are watching the survivors wander in the wreckage. This is very high fantasy setting but it's one of the most emotionally human narratives out there.

1 A Journey to Love - everything I ever wanted - assassins, ride or die adult OTP with genuine believable conflicts, great and complex secondaries, beautiful fights. Oh, and yeah Liu Shi Shi domming the hell out of every man in a ten mile radius, as she should.

FAVORITE DRAMA

It's a tie between Lost You Forever Part 1 and A Journey to Love. LYF1 is a bona fide art piece but it's only part 1 and who knows if part 2 will be any good (seeing the huge ep number cut, I have my doubts) and so it's incomplete. AJTL is an old school wuxia romance with incredibly competent, adult people in love and great cast of secondaries. I can't pick.

WORST DRAMA

romance of twin flower - this is a drama that should not exist. If I could hex everyone involved with it, I would. It's a terrible, stupid, shrill, badly acted drama to start with, but where it really is catapulted into stratosphere of horror is that is took my very favorite non-danmei web novel of all time, a smart and complicated tale with incredible protagonists and turned it into that barftastic abomination. Peng Xiao Ran kept making horrible drama after horrible drama but I kept giving her a chance because of Goodbye My Princess but after this disaster, I've had to accept GMP was a fluke and she is on my "if she's in it, I am out” list. Ding Yuxi is not that far yet (his performance in Seven Lifetimes was the one thing carrying that mess afloat) but he's on freaking thin ice. Anyway, I like to pretend this drama does not exist.

FAVORITE MALE CHARACTER

It was hard because there were so many I loved this year - Deng Wei's traumatized, gentle Seventeen from LYF1 (if someone told me I'd swoon and weep for a character played by Deng Wei, I'd have told them to examine their brains asap), Liu Yuning's incredibly capable, deadly, contained Ning Yuanzhou from AJTL, Zhang Linghe's unhinged Xie Wei from SoKP, Chen Xiao's schemer with a heart Yun Xiang from TIO.

But ultimately, it couldn't be anyone else but Luo Yunxi as Tantai Jin/Demon God/Ming Ye/Cang Jiumin in Till the End of the Moon. He was everything - a demon, a saint, a martyr, a monster, a tormented abuse victim, a savior, joyful, unhinged, smart, pitiable. It was the cdrama performance of the year for me. Luo Yunxi even in a mediocre role is impressive but in a complex (series of) role(s) designed for his strengths, he is a force of nature.

FAVORITE FEMALE CHARACTER

Xiao Yao (Lost You Forever Part 1). Once again, there were runner ups - Bai Lu's smart a little evil FL in Kunning, the gloriously unhinged assassin domme Liu Shi Shi in AJTL, Esther Yu's assassin longing for a different life in MJTY etc etc etc. But Xiao Yao's damaged, difficult, very self-aware woman stole my heart. I was skeptical going in because I haven't enjoyed a Yang Zi performance in a long time, but she was the wounded beating soul of this incredible drama.

NEEDS TO BE MURDERED

Where do we start? How about all of Seventeen's (LYF1) monster family? His brother, who tortured him for years physically and emotionally to such a degree his body is a horror map and his personality is permanently altered because "mommy liked you better." Psycho mother who created a situation where the kids were going to turn on each other and "let's get my grandson raped" grandma. Where is a well-placed meteorite when you need one.

FAVORITE SHIP

Xiao Yao/Seventeen, LYF1. Yes, a ship of characters played by Yang Zi and Deng Wei is my favorite. Leave me alone, I am on my tenth helping of crow already. They are both incredibly damaged, barely functioning survivors who find what they need in the other - he finds a savior and someone who sees him as a man and rebuilds himself around her and she finds someone who will always put her first and only, and subsume himself in her. Is it healthy? No. Does it make sense for them and is it making them slowly functional? Yes.

Runner up: Ren Ruyi/Ning Yuanzhou, AJTL - two adults, so competent, so chemistry full. She has so much damage and so little normalcy but is so strong and he is oddly gentle (in between murders) and incredibly self-reflective. They are each other's mirrors and I love them.

FAVORITE SECONDARY OTP

Su Mingyu/Ke Menglan, The Ingenious One - the idealistic merchant who wants to join jianghu until he sees its horrors firsthand and a slave entertainer who wants security but decides she wants him more. They are gorgeous and glorious and wholesome and I adore them.

Runner up: Liu Gong Quan/Ming Zhu, The Ingenious One - that drama was a shippy gift, especially impressive considering it wasn't even romance-centric. He's the officer who has to bring down her treasonous father but loves her. Delicious.

Another runner up is Chao Feng/Qian Kui, the angelic good girl and the scheming bad boy in The Starry Love. They stole the drama from the main OTP for me.

NOTP

Scent of Time endgame. What the hell was even that. It made NO sense.

FAVORITE SCENE

So many good scenes this year - Tantai Jin taking apart Li Susu in prison in TTEOTM, the OTP fighting in perfect sync and insane rhythm in the gorge battle in AJTL, Chen Ruoxuan's character stopping the execution in Pledge, Yan Lin's coming of age in Kunning, the poison/antidote "gamble" in MJTY, Cang Xuan detoxing in LYF1. But I think ultimately, me being who I am, my favorite scene is Xiao Yao kissing Seventeen's damaged, scarred knee to show he is in no way inferior for her. AAAAA!

In terms of pure jaw dropping visuals tho nothing will ever beat Ming Ye’s battle against the Devil God in TTEOTM.

BIGGEST CRUSH

Ning Yuanzhou, AJTL. He's sexy as hell (that height, that way he moves in battle) but he's also so incredibly competent, so adult, so self-reflective and so attracted to a woman for her strength. He also gets whumped on the reg. Anyway, my hormones are ready.

BEST SCENE STEALER CHARACTER

Gong Yuanzhi (My Journey to You) - I loved the unhinged, brocon poison boy. He was everything. Also Yan Lin (Kunning) - talk about sunshine; I totally got why all these people felt they needed to save him.

NEEDS A SEQUEL

My Journey to You - what the HELL was that ending?

NEEDS SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

legend of twin flower - that is, stab it with scissors like it stabbed the novel until it's dead.

TOO MANY SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

Till the End of the Moon - they clearly cut stuff to fit into the new regs about runtime and it made the last 1/5 rather abrupt. Gimme!

TROPE THAT NEEDS TO DIE

The emperor cannot be irredeemable. WTF, China, you are a communist country!

FAVORITE TROPE WE’VE SEEN A LOT OF

This is the year of a ML who yearns to be dommed by his FL. Long may it continue.

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT

The Legend of Anle - the novel had a great plot, the cast were all actors I either enjoy a lot or somewhat and we got - whatever that soggy piece of wonderbread toast was.

BIGGEST GOOD SURPRISE

LYF1 - I only checked out to mock because nobody could explain the story to me and nobody in the cast did anything I like either ever or in years. And then I fell utterly and completely in love and had to eat so much delicious crow.

2023 DRAMAS I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT I MOST WANT TO WATCH

Ancient Love Song is the only one on that list. It looks really good, I just need to brace myself.

BEST NON-2023 DRAMA I’VE WATCHED IN 2023

The Imperial Doctoress - best slowburn and pining and glorious character development and adult leads.

MOST ANTICIPATED

Anticipating any nonaired cdrama is a mug's game but if they air, I will definitely check out all the Fox Matchmaker dramas, LYF2, JoL2 and The Last Immortal. If Prisoner of Beauty ever is allowed out of the vault (dubious), it goes on the list too.

[benkeibear]

⋆꙳✧༄ Tear you apart

❖ Characters: Vash, Millions knives

❖ Reader: female | AFAB

❖ Wordcount: 2.4k

❖ Summary: Millions knives wants to hurt his brother by taking you away, using you to make him submit

❖ WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT! Abuse, violence, torture, nonconsensual sex (rape), forced creampie, fingering, forced orgasm

❖ A/N: thank you for @awkwardchick87 for helping me come up with this (and for making me actually write it) 🫶

Loving Vash was never easy. Trouble seemed to follow him with every step he took but no matter how bad things got you always stayed at his side, helping him escape or bandaging him up when things took a turn for the worse. When his head was resting on your chest, this old motel bed creaking with every move, he gently wrapped his arms around your torso and closed his eyes. The sound of your heartbeat in his ears was peaceful, helping him forget all the hardships that came with being the humanoid typhoon because he could be just Vash with you. “I wouldn't know what to do without you, mayfly” he mumbled into your soft skin before pressing a kiss to your naked chest, a little reminder of the way you two just shared a little slice of heaven. “I’d go crazy if I ever lose you” he added and looked up at you with a worried expression but the moment he saw your sweet smile it all seemed to evaporate. “The entire world would need to end for you to lose me, Vash. I love you” you reassured him, not planning on ever leaving this man's side until your final breath - which would come sooner than you'd think.

He never told you much about his brother except for the fact that he has one and you should never go look for him, even if the world is ending. He wouldn't mean anything good for you should he find out how dear you are to Vash, yet you found yourself face to face with the infamous Millions knives. Vash tried his best reaching you before his brother could but it was to no avail, his hand tightly around your throat, your feet no longer touching the ground beneath. “What do we have here? A little human lover?” He asked amused and squeezed your throat a little tighter as his gaze slowly shifted from your pitiful face to his brothers, smiling at how horrified he looked. “Please” Vash’s voice cracked when he saw you hanging there, your hands clawing at his brothers arms and hands, slowly getting weaker and weaker until you were dropped to the ground, unconscious from the lack of air. “Awh… is she dear to you? That fragile little human?” He cooed and lifted your limp body up by the arm, waving it at Vash while laughing menacingly as the humanoid Typhoon just stared, frozen to the ground as he had to watch his worst nightmare become reality right in front of him and all he could do was watch - unbeknownst to him, your fate was much worse than a simple death by his brothers hands, much worse than any nightmare he ever had that involved you.

Dragging you along behind him on the sandy ground, Nai took off, his brother following like a lost puppy and trying to reach you but each time he reached his hand out for you, his brother tugged your arm harshly so he wouldn't quite touch your ragged body. “Let me at least carry her” Vash begged but his brother didn't listen, lifting you off the ground effortlessly until he heard your shoulder crack, laughing a little at the noise “she's so fragile” he mused and watched you wake up from the pain your dislocated shoulder gave you, still hanging in the air, held by Nai. You couldn't even scream from how it hurt, the pain knocking you back into the unconscious state until you were tossed onto the ground at what Nai called his momentary home, staring his brother down. “Don't even think about touching her. I’ll make her suffer if you do” he threatened Vash and chained your ankle to some rubble of the broken facade of the building.

Shaking, he sat there, just out of reach of you and thinking of a way to get you out of here. Vash would do just about everything if it means saving you, even if it meant joining his brother and going against his own morals if you could walk out of here with only the wound on your shoulder which he couldn't prevent. When your eyes fluttered open you wanted to crawl to your lover, whimpering in pain as the tears brimmed your eyes and all you wanted was to be held by the blonde but each time you crawled forward, Vash took a step back “don't… hold still. Don't come closer… please” he pleaded with you, not wanting you to suffer the consequences that were unknown to you. “Oh, is the little girl awake? Good morning, doll” Nai hummed when he stepped in front of you, a look of pure hatred on your face. Seeing Vash freeze up the moment he saw his brother close to you made you want to protect your lover - even if you were the one needing protection at the moment. The older twin quickly sweeped you up by the dislocated arm, laughing when you grit your teeth in order not to make any noise, knowing it will only hurt Vash further and he suffered enough. You were strong. You wouldn't let him break you, no matter what.

Staying silent proved difficult when he pushed your joint back to its rightful place, giving you a pat on the head “there you go, I fixed you all up. Is that what my little brother did? Fix you? Perhaps your broken heart?” He asked amused, not having expected that Vash would actually love a human in this extreme way but Vash made the mistake of speaking up. “I didn't. She healed my heart” he admitted, having told you before that you're soothing all the wounds on his soul by loving him unconditional, that you let him be who he is without ever once using him for anything and for loving him despite the baggage he carried. His little comment made your captor laugh bitter. “Oh please. Did she suck your brain out of your dick?” He asked rhetorical and roughly squeezed your jaw which made you involuntary open your mouth to which he chuckled “looks like she wants to have a taste of me too, don't you think, brother dear?” He asked with a sick grin and stuffed his thumb into your mouth but you were dumb enough to bite him as hard as you could, angering him further. “You fucking-” he hissed, slapping you hard across the face, almost breaking your jaw with the sheer force behind the hit. Instead of tearing up you only glared at him, holding onto your bright red cheek and Vash moved to stand between the two of you, ready to fight his brother or risk his own life for you. You held onto his coat and pulled yourself up so you were standing, clutching onto him like a lifeline but Nai simply took the chain your ankle was secured to and pulled you closer as he laughed. “Hold onto her and I might rip her entire foot off. You know I'll do it” he warned and you let go of Vash to keep your limb. Only when you winced in pain he let go of you as well, a defeated look on his face when he realized that he couldn't even fight for you without risking your life.

Back in Nai’s clutch you kicked the hand that held your chain, making him scoff “don't kick the hand that's feeding you, little one. Your life is in my hands” he reminded you stern and fisted your hair to make you look up at him. “And you're mine now” he spoke cold to which you closed your eyes for a second and taking a deep breath before you had the courage to speak up “I'd rather be dead than to be yours” you spoke just as cold, hoping he’ll simply break your neck or slit your throat since you meant what you said but he started laughing at your words. “Oh darling I know. But that would be far too easy” he cooed and gave your head a pat again, not taking you serious - after all you were nothing to him and no matter how many times you kicked, scratched or bit him, nothing would change your pitiful position.

Your lover watched helplessly as the scene unfolded in front of him, regretting that he allowed you to get this close fo him, blaming himself for what you're going through and before he knew it, his hands were quite literally tied, making him unable to fight if he ever got out of this frozen state. It humiliated him that he couldn't save you but he knew his brother well enough that he wouldn't hesitate to give you the most gruesome death if he even tried to do anything. “I’ll do it. Just let her leave” he eventually spoke up when he couldn't take it any longer and Nai looked over to his younger twin “you'll do what?” He asked amused, wrestling you to the ground as he spoke without any effort, your body weak and bruised from the beating you had to take. “Everything. I don't care” Vash answered simple, willing to end humanity in exchange for your life but his brother was already a step ahead “then I want you to come over here and take her life. Watch how her life leaves her eyes by your own two hands” he states with a sick grin, knowing he won't do it. Vash's eyes widened at this and his jaw tensed up “spare her life. I don't care about anything else” he said serious but there was this crack in his voice which only showed just how weak he got because of you, making his older twin laugh loudly as he ripped the pants off of your almost lifeless body, Vash shaking his head “don't… please” he begged, unable to watch any further. It physically pained him to see you suffering like this - because of him. At this point you were far too weak to even attempt to fight back, even if Vash tried his hardest to free himself from the chains holding him back, screaming in anger and frustration when all he could do was watch you gasp for air as his brother parted your folds to spit on your entrance before sinking himself into you. You didn't mean to make a sound, wanting to spare your lover's heart but the pained cry of the way another man just forced himself into your velvet walls left your lips, a single tear slipping out of your eye and slowly rolling over your bruised cheek before landing on the dusty floor. All you could do was close your eyes, your cheek brushing against the floor with each thrust you had to endure, forcing yourself not to scream or cry but when Nai fisted your hair and forced you to look at Vash, a cry of pain slipped out and you could hear the amusement in his brothers voice when he spoke up “did you hear that, Vash? I think she's enjoying it” he grunted, only thrusting harder into you. Your body jolted with each impact of his hips against yours until it finally came to a stop, the spurts of cum inside of you made this situation so much more real - you were no longer Vash's mayfly, you're tainted by his brother, you belong to him now.

Passing out was the only reasonable thing to do so you allowed your body to succumb to its weakness, vision slowly turning black as the seed of another man slowly ran out of your abused hole. Silence took over and the last thing you could hear before you finally lost your consciousness was a ragged sob leaving your lovers lips who felt entirely helpless when his brother carried your limp body away, making sure you won't be seeing the daylight any time soon. “You're mine now… we’re going to have so much fun, little one” Nai hummed and patted the small of your back which was flung over his shoulder. “You're going to love me just like you love my brother and maybe I let him have you again. I need to train him first, make him listen” he continued and somehow he sounded like he really cared for his brother and he's only doing it for him. One thing was clear however, loving Nai would never happen. You weren't sure if you could act like you remotely tolerate him after he violated your body the way he did. The image of having Nai resting on your chest as you caress his back and hair in the most gentle way made you heave, glad that the lack of food prevented further things from happening when you felt his rough hand rake through your hair, a sick grin greeting you when you finally opened your eyes. “My pretty little thing. You're going to behave, don't you?” He asked in a sickenly sweet voice before prying your legs apart to take a good look at his seed smeared all over your folds. “I won't stop until I hear you scream my name this time and he will hear” he hummed, a finger gently massaging your clit now, not even the way you pushed your legs together stopped him from breaking you, enjoying the struggle on your face as you tried to hate it but your body started to betray you. “Listen to this, sweetheart” he chuckled and pushed two fingers into you, ramming them against your sweet spot which caused your slick to coat his fingers, squelching noises filling the room so you could listen to your own betrayal “you can let go now, allow yourself to enjoy it. You have no choice anyways” he pointed out, venom lacing his voice and he was right - he knew exactly how to get your body to betray your mind, velvet walls fluttering around his fingers when his thumb came to rub your sensitive clit. No matter how much you held it back, the orgasm that soon followed was inevitable, his loud laugh echoing off the walls as he kept going, drowning out your mewls of forced pleasure until you moaned his brothers name, his eyes darkening. “You ungrateful bitch” he hissed and slapped you across the cheek again but you laughed as the blood left your mouth. He could break your body but your mind was one thing he could never break. Your heart belonged to Vash and he would never have it… or will he?

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez @planetonet

[beanibon]

vash and wolfwood when they're drunk AND jealous?

Drunk & Jealous Trigun Boy x Reader

TW: drinking & smoking, drunk behaviour, vomiting (Vash), Wolfwood getting a bit handsy

I coded this oddly 98/BLR versions, but Roberto is mentioned so feel free to translate however you wish!

When Vash drinks, he drinks. Not even Roberto can keep up with Humanoid Typhoon as he chugged pint after pint of beer, sighing in content as he slouched over the bar.

The poor guy had forgotten why he began downing alcohol like it was the end of the world, until your form appeared in the corner of his eye.

Your smile was addictive, even more beautiful in his drunken stupor. The way your shoulders bounced as you... laughed?

Vash raised his head slightly, oblivious to way his body protested the action, eyes squinted to catch what pulled such reactions from you. Wolfwood leant against the bar, cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he spoke, shirt unbuttoned just that one button more. The way you teased Wolfwood back, hand placed against his chest as you playfully shoved him away, had Vash pouting.

A bitter taste that overpowered the flavour of alcohol rose in his throat, coating his tastebuds as he watched the scene unfold. Hands forming fists as Wolfwood leaned in close, just that little more daring than before.

Without even realising he had moved, Vash slumped against the unaware priest, nonsense spilling from his lips. Wolfwood reacted fairly, struggling to claw the blonde off him while threatening to kick his ass.

The scene was extremely humorous, causing you to giggle. Such angelic sounds had Vash frozen, eyes lovesick as he drank up every noise you made, only to snap out of it when Wolfwood landed a punch to his jaw.

"Ow ow ow! That was uncalled for!" Vash cried, rubbing the swollen jaw.

"You asked for it, Needle Noggin." Wolfwood seethed, leaning back against the bar with a fresh cigarette. Vash witnessed as he passed you the lighter, shamelessly asking if you would do the honours.

Dignity thrown out the window at this point, Vash clung to your legs the moment that small flame flickered, eyes wide and begging. The way he was acting surprised you, face rubbing against your leg as you became unbalanced.

Thankfully Wolfwood caught you, scolding the blonde gunman once more. But the moment Nicholas stopped speaking, waiting for some kind of sign that Vash understood, his face turned a worrying shade of green. Both you and Wolfwood panicking as Vash emptied the contents of his stomach on the floor.

As expected you were kicked out. Wolfwood was livid, urging you to leave the borderline unconscious Vash on the side of the road, which you politely refused.

Hauling Vash to the hotel he had booked, you couldn't make sense of the nonsense he was mumbling. Every step he'd murmur something quiet, shifting his weight against you just that bit more.

It was weirdly strange, not to mention concerning. Perhaps he was trying to apologise? But what for? Sure you were kicked out because of him, but you couldn't find it in your heart to blame the poor guy.

Once inside the room, you awkwardly dropped Vash onto the bed, cringing at the way it creaked under his weight. As you were making sure everything was sorted for the next morning, Vash called for you, reaching out while making childish grabby hands at you.

You'd be lying if the sight didn't make you laugh, Vash could be incredibly sweet when he wanted to be. Obliging you sat besides him, giggling as this giant man child wrapped himself around you, nuzzling into your side.

"I'm sorry," He mumbled against your waist. "Wolfwood-"

"I know Vash, you were jealous weren't you?" The answer was obvious, Vash tended to act a fool when jealousy consumed him, and at times it took you a while to catch on. "You don't have to worry about me, I'd never leave my favourite gunman for a priest."

Vash could feel himself getting all giddy, warmth spreading all over his chest at your words. Sounds akin to purrs echoing inside the room as your fingers combed through his hair, humming as it lulled Vash to sleep.

Wolfwood tends not to over indulge in things such as alcohol consumption, but he will let loose once in a while, finding solace in a good drink. Besides drinking with company was his preferred option, and what better way to relax than alcohol poisoning and cards?

He was convinced Vash was cheating at this stage, throwing down yet another royal flush with a victory cheer. Damn blonde bastard was good after a few drinks, leaving Nicholas taking another shot of foul tequila at his loss.

The insurance girls were dutifully keeping score, simply enjoying the scene of Wolfwood losing his winning streak to a drunken Vash the Stampede.

As Meryl began shuffling the card deck once more, a sweet laugh brought his attention to you.

You were suppose to be ordering your coworkers drinks, yet it appeared someone had distracted you. The lawman had you enraptured in every word spoken, putting on ridiculous theatrics so your attention remained on him.

Wolfwood was focused on you despite the room constantly spinning, so he wasn't paying attention to the game, frustratingly losing once again due to his negligence. Vash once again rubbed it in, pouring him his next shot. Nicholas downed the foul liquid, grimacing as it burnt the back of his throat, coughing into his fist.

More drinks were placed before Meryl and Milly, the priest noticing that you'd finally broken away from the lawman, who watched you from his place at the bar. Once you approached Wolfwood, now back in charge of pouring the shots, he made sure everyone knew what was rightfully his.

The moment you bent over, carefully pouring the disgusting tequila into their respective shot glasses, Wolfwood cupped your ass. Relishing in the way you squeaked at his advances, spilling the alcohol onto the wooden bar table in your flustered state, his hand squeezed the soft flesh.

"Wo-Wolfwood!" The way you stuttered his name was satisfying, face red as he forced you onto his lap.

Vash childishly cheered, making embarrassing comments in regards your predicament. It had you hiding behind your hands, silently begging for your mentors to rescue you from the drunk, touchy priest. Yet both Meryl and Milly dared not get involved, flashing apologetic glances your way.

You stayed there for the remainder of the night, Wolfwood playfully towing reactions from you every chance he got, shooting smug glares towards the lawman who watched on. Yet he wasn't satisfied there, no Wolfwood needed to make it clear that no one else was allowed to touch you.

He purposefully lost, throwing his cards down in faux defeat. Yet as he reached for the glass of slightly tinted tequila, Wolfwood brought the glass to your lips, tipping the liquid into your mouth before smashing his lips against yours.

Everyone at the table gaped at the sight, Meryl dropping the pencil she used for scoring, Milly who sooned gasped in delight, and Vash staring on in complete shock.

Peeking from behind his shades, smirking against the kiss the moment that pathetic bastard left in an embarrassed rush. Only then was Wolfwood satiated from his drunken jealousy, releasing you to return to the game as if nothing happened. Leaving you in flustered, embarrassed state to make heads and tails of what just happened.

[joshleyson]

summer 2023 on film

El Nido + Puerto Princesa

shot entirely using Fujifilm Simpleace 35 mm camera

☾

“Some of the earliest memories I can recall are of my mother instructing me to always “save ten percent of yourself.” What she meant was that, no matter how much you thought you loved someone or thought they loved you, you never gave all of yourself. Save 10 percent, always, so there was something to fall back on. “Even from Daddy, I save,” she would add. Stop crying! Save your tears for when your mother dies.”

- Crying in H Mart, Michelle Zauner

This was a part of my 10%. To be able to disconnect. To breathe. To try to heal and maybe, that would be the last thing that can save me.

So happy to finally go back to the majestic islands of Palawan for the third time after a year, this time specifically in El Nido (and a side trip in Puerto Princesa). The last time I’ve been to El Nido was 5 years ago when I flew back to Manila with a copy of my leg X-ray and prescription meds after my first vehicular accident. But this time, amidst the Betty super typhoon, I and my friends were still able to pull it off safely and enjoyed wandering from one island to another, relaxing on the beach for hours, and having lots of mango shakes! This trip I also finished which I feared to be my Book of the Year which is that quote from above. Michelle Zauner literally took me on a surprisingly, meaningful journey which was a great accompaniment for my 6-day vacation trip. Also, I’m planning to compile my “recent book list” of the year just to break the usual “travel beach photos” trend on this page (I know 😅). I still have a lot to post from this trip but this dump of photos captured on a Fujifilm summarizes the beauty of nature and the summer season that’s so real, quaint, and frozen in time, but will always hit me with a wave of comfort and familiarity.

Goodbye, summer. See you next year ☀️

J.

🎥 watch the short mood film here:

//

FOLLOW ME:

Instagram/TikTok/Twitter: joshleyson

(Music by GIVEON. All rights belong to him and his publishers. For personal and non-commercial use only. Stream his great music on Spotify and Apple Music.)

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

last day at the battle of red cliffs, and i am the coalition's top general in charge of the land assault. it is eerily quiet in the mountains, an easterly wind blows hard and cold. the skies over the river glow pink, like the blooms of a peach orchard in spring, but the sight brings me no joy, for i know it is fire that stains the heavens. tonight the red cliffs are ablaze with burning ships. the rivers run with the blood of brave men. after so many years of bitter fighting, we have finally struck a decisive blow against the Usurper and halted his war of conquest. tonight we emerge victorious from the quagmire, but my heart grows heavy at the cost.

Glaive in hand and sitting astride my steed, I lead five hundred crack troops towards the narrow mountain pass of Huarong Road, racing to cut off the Usurper's escape. the people say he is a vicious monster whose hunger knows no bounds. They are wrong. He is just a man, capable of love and honour--and is all the more dangerous for it. you cannot call a typhoon or earthquake evil, but it does not make it any less destructive.

I had tried to help him, once upon a time, but some men cannot be changed, only stopped. there will be no peace as long as he draws breath. the war must end here. he must end here. We might have been allies once, almost friends, two beans side-by-side in the same pod, but I will put aside our shared history for the sake of duty, bitter though it may be. I have sworn a sacred oath to my Liege Lord and Elder Brother, I will only live and die by his side.

hark! the enemy approaches. i order my men into formation and ride out to meet them. a tiger is most dangerous when it's teeth are broken. i must show no weakness or he will eat my heart.

an old man on a lame horse rides out to meet me.

"I trust you've been well, General, since we've last met," the Usurper croaks, swaying unsteadily on his saddle, and then; "might i trouble you for a drink of water?"

he bares his teeth in a rictus of a smile. while he has never been handsome, he had at least been stately, now exhaustion and desperation have robbed him of even that.

his soldiers fall to their knees at the sight of me, weeping and trembling piteously. I ride through a sea of haggard, mud-covered faces. half the men don't have saddles, most don't have weapons, one is, rather absurdly, clutching a clay cooking pot--none of them look capable of putting up a fight. all look ready to drop dead.

once upon a time, a foolish, kindly man found a snake on the ground, frozen and half-dead...

i give the Usurper my water-gourd. his hands are shaking, so I take it back and unstopper it for him. it is for the sake of expediency. our hands do not touch. i had half-suspected he might have been stalling for time, but the gourd is empty when he hands it back.

"I often dreamed of you, Yunchang--" he hiccups, and then continues in the strong, resonant voice i know so well, his words amplified by the stone walls, "we'd sit under the trees and drink a toast, for old times sake. How the years have flown. it is the greatest tragedy of my life that we are doomed to be on opposite sides of the battlefield, never crossing paths except to exchange blows. Oh, woe, to be dealt such a hand by fate. To be seperated from the man you desire most." To be continued

notes:

ok! so in the middle of cao cao's Yackey Sack Chase Scene he stops and lets his men cook dinner...which implies that at least ONE guy was carrying a fucking pot with him. one of those heavy as shit honest to god terracotta pots. up and down hills while running for his life. i respect NO ONE except Random Wei Soldier and his pot. this man is my spiritual brother.

watch 2010 san guo tv show. that is all.

[disneyparksattractionstournament]

Stats for Round 1

A little less than a day til the end of Round 2! In the meantime, here are super late stats for Round one I should have made a week ago!

Highest Participation:

689: Submarine Voyage vs Enchanted Tale of Beauty and the Beast

415: MuppetVision 3D VS. Mickey's PhilharMagic

348: California Scream' vs Indiana Jones Adventure

342: Star Tours VS. Millennium Falcon: Smugglers Run

328: Beauty and the Beast Live on Stage vs Tower of Terror (any version)

Lowest Participation

139: Typhoon Lagoon Wave Pool VS. Polynesian Volcano Slide

140: Jumpin' Jellyfish vs Maliboomer

155: Disney's Aladdin: A Musical Spectacular VS. Frozen – Live at the Hyperion

158: The Casey Jr. Circus Train VS. Storybook Land Canal Boats

164 Heimlich's Chew Chew Train VS. Food Rocks/Kitchen Kabaret

Biggest Sweeps:

Big Thunder Mountain Railroad 93.8% vs Astro Orbiter 6.2%

Space Mountain (any version) 92.6% vs Aquatopia 7.4%

The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh 91.7% vs Armageddon – Les Effets Speciaux 8.3%

Big Thunder Ranch 89.1% vs Doug: Live! 10.9% 

Living with the Land 88.2% vs Circle of Life: An Environmental Fable 11.8%

Parks by winners

Disneyland: 24 (out of 41)

Magic Kingdom: 19 (out of 28)

Tokyo disneyland: 18 (out of 25)

DCA: 12 (out of 21)

Epcot: 11 (out of 23)

Disneyland Paris:11 (out of 21)

Hollywood Studios: 10 (out of 19)

Shanghai disneyland: 6 (out of 10)

Hong Kong Disneyland: 6 (out of 14)

Tokyo Disneysea: 6 (out of 10)

DAK: 4 (out of 9)

Walt Disneys Studios Paris: 3 (out of 7)

(Edited/added!) Parks by winners with percentages:

Tokyo disneyland: 18 (out of 25) 72%

Magic Kingdom: 19 (out of 28) 67.86%

Shanghai disneyland: 6 (out of 10) 60%

Tokyo Disneysea: 6 (out of 10) 60%

Disneyland: 24 (out of 41) 58.54%

DCA: 12 (out of 21) 57.14%

Hollywood Studios: 10 (out of 19) 52.63%

Disneyland Paris:11 (out of 21) 52.38%

Epcot: 11 (out of 23) 47.83%

DAK: 4 (out of 9) 44.44%

Hong Kong Disneyland: 6 (out of 14) 42.86%

Walt Disneys Studios Paris: 3 (out of 7) 42.86%

[fifthpilot]

Episode 9 explains so much about why Vash behaves the way he does. Why it seems that he's turned away from his plant abilities for so long, why he doesn't use them in general until he's backed into a wall in the last episode.

His first experience with his plant abilities beyond simply healing his sisters in ep9 was catastrophic and beyond his control in everyway. Opening his gate so suddenly and unintentionally, for what we can assume is due to intense emotion.

He was absorbing dead bodies, people, objects, an intense typhoon he unwittingly started and can't stop. He's hyperventilating, terrified, frozen- until his arm is sliced off before his gate could consume everything.

It's traumatizing, it violently forced vash to see the true extent of his powers, its destruction. Left him scared of his own body and himself. & to think of what could have happened if Knives wasn't there to stop it, how bad the damage have been? Could he have killed Luida too?

So Vash keeps his emotions in check, his actions controlled and as small as possible. Consequently, widening the gap between him and his own kind. Pushing him farther away from himself as he squeezes into a mold so much smaller than him out of fear of what he really is.

And he suppresses and suppresses and suppresses. Meanwhile something in him longs for release, to protect him. and this could explain the enormity of his gate's explosion, not only because of its unstable form, but because of the years upon years of suppression.

Which could also explain why Vash knew what he could do, what he could make with his powers, unsteady but instinctual, absorbing his branches, sprouting his wing, flying, his movements becoming a thousand times faster.

He's a plant and every fiber of himself knows it despite how hard he's tried to push it away. The short display of his abilities in episode 12 leave terrifying implications, if this is what he can do within only a few minutes of testing his abilities again- what is he capable of doing with a lifetime of experience? Vash after years of pretense and sickness, essentially at his worst state, out-bested Knives, who'd spent his entire life in truth and practice of his abilities and identity.

Vash is a terrifying force, a mass of infinite energy and output. His worst fears become reality. But it's hard not to wonder if it was his own doing that had led to that, or if he knew better than anyone else what he was truly capable of.

We can't expect that his attitude might change in the final phase either, after the destruction of July, Vash will recoil into himself again, that is if there's anything left of him to recoil into. But his fear of himself, of what he's capable of, won't subside. And if he really has forgotten everything, this might be one of the few things he still feels certain of, that he's a monster.

[unsoundedcomic]

Senet beast in general are going extinct right? What group is the largest in numbers left? I imagine the stormboys and typhoon whales, because of their habitat distance from humans, and not easy to kill?

Spindleworms. They are very large silkworms that produce First Silk. They're protected and tended by humans around the world and their number is pretty stable.

Stormies probably do come in second place, yeah. These days they're most populous up north. No one sails up there anyway since the water's frozen over. Northern stormies are insulated with fat and arrogance and spend most of the day sleeping.

There are only two typhoon whales left, but there were never very many of them anyway. They're living hurricanes, and the world only needs so much chaos.

[greetingfromthedead]

C27: Playing Doctor

For more information on the series (tags, CW, etc) click the banner!

Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 27/84

Words: 2.2k

No particular warnings for this chapter.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Your feet hit the cobblestone, and you have to force yourself to not run. You can't afford to attract unwanted attention. You look out into the main streets, seeing people gathered around cars, engines blaring, and some heading out into the desert. You can only assume they are looking for Vash. Eyes scanning for something that looks like a hospital or anything similar, you stand frozen, hidden in the shadows. Your nerves are strung tight, and your body feels like it will explode. The rustle behind you forces you to move. Quietly and calmly walking into the lit street, you try to avoid the gangs and cars, still desperately looking for a place you could get medicine from.

"And what is a girl like you doing out and about at a time like this?" You hear a voice from above you.

Immediately, you spin around and see a very tall and burly figure towering over you. The wide brim of his hat casts shadows on his face. You quickly scan over him; he looks like he could be in his thirties, tanned, and tough-looking. His clothes are ripped and dirty, leaving his muscles exposed for all to see. You see his gun in the holster on his hip, and his hands are free. As you raise your chin to look at his face again, the shadow moves, and you see him grinning, a toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Same as you, I suppose." You try to stay calm, not wanting to make a scene, and just get away. "Trying to bag myself a Typhoon."

"Ah! You're a funny one! You're hunting for the legendary gunman?" He laughs and takes a step closer. His movements are quiet; no wonder you didn't notice him until he was right behind you.

"I'm not playing around. I suggest we go our separate ways." You don't take your eyes off him, and you feel your anger rising. You don't have time to deal with idiots like him. You need to act fast to get back to Vash.

"Oh, don't be like that." His body shifts, trying to take another step closer, but you have already grabbed Vash's gun from its holster and pushed the barrel into the soft tissue under the man's chin. His head instinctively moves up, away from the cold metal, but you just follow him.

"As I said, I'm not playing around." You cock the gun, and he looks down at you, moving his head minimally. He sees the burning fire in your eyes and lifts his hands in defeat.

"I didn't mean to cause you trouble. I can respect a fellow bounty hunter and their hustle. I was just hoping for a good time. But if you rather keep a watchful eye out for that illusive gunslinger and get killed, be my guest." He takes a few steps back, his hands still up, and you keep aiming the gun at him.

"See ya later, missy!" He tips his hat to you and turns away before you safely put the gun back. Your eyes scan over the street, and it seems like some of the people by the cars are glancing at you. Taking the opportunity, you walk further along the street, positioning a large house between yourself and the other people.

You check out the buildings one by one until you get to one where the lights are still on. Above the doorway, you see a cross hanging, and through the window, you notice a nurse tending to someone. You walk closer, making sure the street is empty, and slip into the alley by the clinic. You only hear two quiet voices from the inside, one probably belonging to the nurse and the other to a different woman, likely the patient, as they are having a conversation about a wound one of them has. You notice another window, but no light comes through it. Pulling yourself up enough to look through, you see the dark room behind it. You don't notice any shadows moving inside, but there seem to be large cabinets. This has to be it. Trying to open the window, you feel that it's locked. After closer inspection, you see the hook holding it together. The construction is poor quality, and you take your knife that fits through the little gap between the two sides of the window. With a flick, you manage to unhook the mechanism and push the windows open. Should you wait a bit in case the nurse needs something? Better not; she might not leave. With that, you climb in and rush around a table to the high shelves. You can barely make out anything that's there. Luckily, you were smart enough to grab a flashlight with you before you left and shine it over the bottles and bags behind glass doors.

Paranoia tries to fill you with panicked thoughts of getting caught and then not being able to help Vash, but you restrain them to a deep part of your mind. Quickly, you find suture kits and bandages. Luckily, whoever manages these supplies is organized, and all other wound care is close by too. Reading the tubes and bottles, you find some cleaning supplies and wound treatments with antibacterial features. You stuff anything you might need into your pockets before moving on. After another quick look, you find pain medication and fever reducers. Just as you close the cabinet, the door opens, and a ray of light creeps into the room. Before the nurse can flick on the overhead lamps, you shine your flashlight into her eyes and run towards the table, tossing a cloth from it into the air to cover your escape so she won't see you that well. With another quick move, you pull a bundle of doubledollar notes from your pocket and throw them out into the room before jumping from the window just as the lights turn on.

You book it as fast as you can, but not towards the inn; instead, you run where you believe the edge of town is closest. You duck into alleys as soon as possible and are happy to find a ladder. You climb up onto the rooftops, finding a spot where you can lay low and assess the situation without being seen. To your surprise, you don't hear any commotion—no yelling or shouting, nobody chasing after you. Trying to listen for quiet footsteps is hard, as all that echoes in your ears is your heart. Feeling safe enough, you get up again, running quietly over the rooftops towards the inn, careful to avoid detection and staying away from the edges and crowded streets. You don't think anyone would think too much about it, even if they did see you. The town is filled with strange people, all looking to nab a hefty bounty. What is one more seeking a better vantage point?

You see the roof of the inn and identify your open window. You slow down, checking around to make sure there are no curious eyes, before jumping across the street to grab the edge of the roof and swinging yourself into your room. You land on the floor and freeze for a moment. The space is still, and you look over to the bed, where you see Vash. He is mumbling something incoherent. You take this as a bad sign and get on your feet again, closing the window and drawing the curtains. Turning the lamp on reveals that Vash has been thrashing in his sleep, the covers thrown off. His face is red and glossy.

You immediately empty your pockets, lay out your loot, and take the fever medicine and painkillers. You pick up a drinking glass and crush the tablets before pouring some water on the powder and mixing it up. As you sit Vash up and place the glass on his lips, he refuses to take it, sleepily turning his head away.

"Please, this will help!" You plead with him, but he pushes his lips tight as you try to pour the drink into his mouth. "Damn you!"

You can't keep him upright and pry his mouth open at the same time while holding the glass, so you sip the medicine into your mouth before putting pressure on his jaw with your newly freed hand enough to unclench his teeth, and you press your lips against his, forcing the liquid into his mouth. Some drips out, but you hear him swallow painfully before coughing. You take off his arm and shirt again and see the bloody bandages.

Quickly, you wash your hands and unwrap the wounds. The stomach one is seeping blood and some yellowish liquid. You give the whole area a clean and rinse with the supplies you have found and start to stitch up everything that has come loose, also replacing the rest of the stitching, this time with a proper suture kit. Once again, you are thankful he is knocked out and hopefully doesn't have to endure your awful attempt at being a doctor. With the wound stitched up again, you smear the ointment all over both the stomach gash and the bullet wounds that seem to be almost healed. You breathe a sigh of relief again now that his wounds are tended to and his face looks to be less in pain. The moaning and mumbling have stopped. You leave the wounds unwrapped as you go and get a bowl of water from the tiny bathroom and another washcloth.

You sit down at the edge of the bed and get the cloth wet. You gently glide the towel over his sweaty skin, over his forehead and cheeks, over his neck and shoulders. You wipe away the sweat and blood. You clean the cloth and put it over his forehead, hoping it will offer him some comfort. You pick up the other rag and clean it in the water before continuing to gently scrub his body. You are careful when you wash over his scars and any augmentations. You change the water as it gets murky and continue on over his arms and chest, not getting any of the water too close to the wounds. You go all the way to the waist of his pants before carefully pushing him onto his side to wash his back from the sweat. His body doesn't feel as hot to your touch anymore, and you hope the meds are working. As you settle him back, you swallow and hesitate before removing his pants and continuing to clean him. You hope you aren't going too far as you move his legs so you can get the bloody mess off them.

When you get to his waist again, you notice his underwear is bloody too. The image of the puddle of blood on his lap creeps into your head as you hold the washcloth awkwardly and look up into his face.

"I would really prefer it if you told me what you want me to do. But then again, it would be the selfless option, where you either push yourself too much or let yourself suffer. So I guess I have to take matters into my own hands. I'm sorry; believe me, that's not how I intended to do it the first time... You are welcome to be angry at me for everything once you can stand on your own two feet again. I just don't want you to feel dirty and possibly get another infection." You look carefully into his face, but you don't see even a hint of a reaction.

"Again... I'm sorry it has come to this!" you say as you hook your fingers under the waist of his underwear and pull them off, looking away, hoping it will lessen your sins and his embarrassment. You feel awful for invading his privacy in such a manner, but you try to act quickly and peek minimally. Once you are done and give his legs a once-over after getting some new blood on them from the underwear, you get him clean underpants and loose bottoms. Dressing him without looking too much is a bit of a struggle, but you manage. After that, you put some extra ointment on his wounds and wrap them up in clean bandages.

Your heart is a lot lighter when you look at him now. His complexion is already better, his forehead feels almost normal to you, and the sweat has let up too. You feel comfortable enough with the state of things to clean yourself up, taking a quick shower, and putting on clean clothes. You are surprised at just how much of his blood has previously gotten on you.

Instead of cleaning up the room, you get into bed and lay on your side, facing him. You tucked him in, his right arm towards you, over the blanket, as he didn't seem to like having it under. You keep a little light on all night, so you can check on him better. Occasionally, you reach over to touch his forehead, and every few hours, you give him medicine and water. As you lay on your side, eyes closed and mind racing, you don't notice Vash's hand slowly inching closer to you, his pinkie finger touching yours before hooking over it. You open your eyes to look up as your hand slithers under his and lets him intertwine his fingers weakly with yours. His eyes are halfway open, sleepy, and unfocused as his head turns towards you. His lips part for a moment, but he falls asleep again. Still, you are happy to feel his hand in yours.

For more information and chapters, check out the MASTERLIST.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

[charmercharm3r]

Body by Heart

LMH

Masterlist

wc: 12.9k (it's killing me I couldn't get it to 13k)

Synopsis: Fate is twisted in so many ways, but that doesn't really apply when you're frozen in time.

warnings: smut, sexual explicit content, demon!minho, they're both switches by now lol, implied past minsung, gets really sappy and I love it, not really proof read I'm really sorry if things get confusing

Part 1: Heart by Heart

Part 2: Soul by Heart

Part 3: Body by Heart

-

He’d rather be anywhere but here, surrounded by anyone other than the three demons that stood in front of him. Two centuries hadn’t been long enough when Minho had last told them to go to Hell, metaphorically and literally. At least they did what he asked.

But besides the never ending feud with himself, second on Minho’s “to kill” list was the one “brother” that just happened to be front and center of his commando show. Steam practically shot from his ears, “you’d better have a good reason for dragging me from—“

“Your human fleshlight?”

A triumphant smirk was sprawled across the younger demon’s face. Still bare and aired out, Minho took two powerful strides to stand in front of his face. Through his teeth he said, “from my soulmate, Jisung.”

Jisung, a loud, scattered demon that Minho purposely avoided. There was a reason he refused to acknowledge his brothers, and he happened to be it. Minho occupied the storms while Jisung ruled over the seas, a deadly combination that when met, created typhoons and hurricanes that could wipe out civilizations. It just so happened that Jisung loved the rain.

The smile on his lips refused to disappear as he tipped his head at the silver haired demon. “There was a long period of time where you called me your soulmate. Things can always change.”

Minho’s eyes were dead set on the younger who couldn’t take his own off the body that stood before him. “I’ve been wrong before. My eyes are up here.” Jisung turned his back, pretending to look around the room before nonchalantly gazing over his shoulder, “sorry. Old habits die hard, hm? You always did like eye contact.”

“Why are you wet?” Another presence Minho chose to ignore asked, bringing his attention back to the other two demons. Jeongin, the youngest of his seven brothers whose specialty lies as messenger between the heavens and Hell. Translation, he doesn’t do much now that gates everywhere are closed. He had Minho to blame for that. It was a dumb mistake where he accidentally set a storm on the same day as the god’s gathering and drenched every single attendee. Gods being gods, they threw a tantrum and have kept the heavenly gates shut for almost a century.

“He’s standing there with his dick out and you’re wondering why he’s wet?” Changbin, right hand man to the guy in red himself who also happened to have the power of influence— even on demons, which is what made him so special. He could talk anyone into doing whatever he wanted. 

Anger coursed through every one of Minho’s veins. “If you aren’t going to tell me why I’m here, I’m leaving,” he turned to walk towards his front door.

“You broke the one rule,” Changbin called out, making Minho stop in his tracks. “The one rule we have.”

He didn’t look back, everything in his body telling him to just make a run for it. “To be fair, we have many rules. Whatever I did couldn’t have possibly been so bad that you three had to show up here.”

The silence was deafening, worse than when he spent twenty years by himself. But when everyone refused to answer, Minho faced his brothers again. Seldom, disheartened expressions cradled their faces, looking anywhere but him. “No,” he affirmed strongly. The lack of response made him second guess his confidence. “I didn’t.”

Jisung took the initiative to speak again, “two kisses,” he twiddled with his thumbs as he regained his place next to the two demons. “One in front of the heart, one behind.”

“I did not condemn her. That’s impossible.” Minho wanted to be mad at Jisung for the smug smile that never faded and the way he seemed to be enjoying his ex-partner’s suffering. However he was beginning to be more angry at himself. “There was twenty years between the two–“

“Twenty years for you, brother.” Changbin was telling him things he already knew, but still refused to accept.

The realization hit him like a freight train. The sound of his own blood running through his undead veins echoed in Minho’s ears louder than the consequences that his brothers were explaining to him. One of them emerged from his bedroom and tossed some clothes at his chest while another led him to the couch. Everything moved in slow motion, words became gargled together as Minho zoned out.

He remembered everything about that night that Chan granted his wish, everything except for what he actually wished for. But he knew it wasn’t to be turned into a demon– hence the resentment for the older.

That also meant he remembered the physical agony, every little tweak of his muscles and scraping of his joints rubbing together. Minho could practically hear his hair growing right from his skull, feeling the blood pooling under his skin with no heartbeat. That was the most jarring part of the transformation, everything he felt was so human. He knew his body still technically worked the same except for his heart that laid as deadweight in his chest. Part of him knew he would survive, but he also knew you. He wasn’t sure his human-shaped glass sculpture could take it.

Changbin continued to talk to him as he slipped his pants on, but Minho couldn’t register a single word until your name fell from his brother’s lips. “We need to get her here before she goes on a killing spree.”

“Take me back,” he whispered, eyes boring into the brother in front of him.

Again, the three other demons went quiet at his request. Even Jisung, who ghosted along the edges of the room, had no words. Changbin squinted his eyes, “did you hear anything I just said? You’re being summoned by Lucifer himself, you can’t leave.”

“Lucifer can kiss my ass,” he stood angrily, slipping the shirt over his shoulders without bothering to button it up. As he trekked towards the front door again, a hand strongly gripped around his bicep. Jisung looked up at Minho, eyes big and pleading. That look brought back a lot of memories for him again. It was an expression that used to have Minho falling to his knees, willing to do anything for him.

He had to remind himself that that was a long time ago. Jisung was no longer the same person and history will always be just history. As the younger stared up at him, he fought the urge to push him away. “If you go,” he whispered, “we can’t help you.”

Minho didn’t take himself as someone that needed saving, he was kind of insulted that Jisung would even suggest such a thing. Shrugging Jisung’s hand away, he snarled, “I never needed your help.” It was a cheap shot, but as icing on the cake, he shoved the younger back by his chest and made him stumble. Changbin and Jeongin stood, warning Minho with their eyes not to leave. “Try to stop me and I’ll leave all three of your asses in the mirror dimension.”

Shooting daggers, he looked down at Jisung, “especially you.” Ignoring the obviously pained look on his face, Minho left.

The water pounding against your body hurt, like millions of bee stings that just kept coming. Sandpaper scratched against the inside of your skull and could barely open your eyes, the white light of the bathroom suddenly feeling all too bright. Rose overpowered your sense of smell, something you could briefly recall loving now being too sickly sweet and making you feel nauseous. You felt stuck in your own skin, trying to claw your way out by dragging your nails over your arms, chest, stomach, everywhere. But to no avail, all you could do was leave deep red scratch marks that were on the verge of drawing blood.

With shaking hands, you reached up to scratch at your scalp, pulling your hair so hard that absolutely would’ve been ripped out if you could feel your fingers. Then through the sound of your nails dragging along your skin, the water hitting the shower floor was like someone beating a drum next to your ears, rattling and pounding you further into the floor. It took all the strength you had to reach up and shut the water off.

It was relieving to an extent, as if you could finally catch your breath. But as you sucked air in to fill your lungs, you coughed it out just as quick. You tried again, ribs restricting you from taking in the oxygen and forcing it back out. You reached a numb hand up to your neck, erratically feeling for a pulse only to find that there was none. There was no thumping of your heart, no rise and fall of your chest as you attempted to breathe. Yet, you were alive somehow. In unbearable pain, but alive.

Aching all over, you pushed off the wall and rolled onto your knees. Your hands against the white of the shower floor were so similar in color, pale and wet and… glittering?

Uncoordinated and feeble, you got yourself to your feet and wiped away the water that you were sure was playing tricks on your mind. You rubbed your skin raw until there was no moisture left, but the shimmer never drifted from your skin. Every stumbling step you took to reach the bathroom mirror was like walking on needles. You swiped away the fog on the glass to find your reflection.

What stared back wasn’t you.

An entirely new person was in your home, standing where you stood and looking straight at you. This new person was beautiful, plump skin that was glowing, full rosy lips, and eyes that were pitch black.

Your voice caught in your throat, fingertips running along this new version of you in the mirror. Was this another one of Minho’s tricks? Was he playing mind games with you? Why did he leave you again? Who are you?

The steam that filled the bathroom started to subside, condensation on the mirror beginning to drip. The clearer the room became, the more disorientated you felt, your head spinning in tighter circles. Amidst your nausea, you noticed a slight shadow over your shoulder in the open doorway, turning and coming face to face with a man who’s name you didn’t know.

The intrusion didn’t frighten you, perse. It was absolutely something you should be concerned about, people entering your home uninvited, but a raging energy coursed through you. The figure stepped into the frame of the mirror, big and bulky and towering. For some reason, they didn’t feel threatening the nearer they came, finally coming into the light. His eyes were the same as Minho’s– now yours, as well– but almost instantly, he blinked them away. The stance he took made him seem as though he tried to be intimidating, but his face was soft, gentle.

He came closer hesitantly, maintaining eye contact as he blindly draped a towel over your shoulders for decency. His fingers accidentally brushed against your skin, instantly raising goosebumps and a low almost growl rumbled at the back of your throat. There was a flip in your emotions, aching disappearing and suddenly surging with the strength of ten thousand men. You couldn’t figure out how to make it stop as rushes of adrenaline made your veins pump erratically. Part of you wanted to bare your teeth at the man, fighting against the urge to rip out his spine all because he’d barely touched you.

Almost inaudibly, he said, “you’re okay.” His words made the hairs on your skin stand even straighter. You tugged the towel tighter around you, trying to ignore how scratchy it felt.

Tears almost flooded your eyes as you powered through the painful vibrations of your vocal chords, “what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” the man raised a hand over your shoulder, but you flinched and he paused, “I’m trying to help you. If you’ll let me.” When you didn’t respond, the palm of his hand just barely rested over the top of your shoulder. Almost immediately, all the viciousness and uncomfortable feelings disappeared, somewhat feeling normal again. You just about relaxed into his hand and let out a sigh. The man watched your eyes close, hoping that when you opened them, they’d be back to normal. But as his hand guided you to slowly turn and face the mirror, you were met with the same demonic being wearing your skin.

“Not sure if your boyfriend mentioned me before,” his hand didn’t leave you, keeping his volume level to a minimum to compensate for the sensitivity. It didn’t necessarily register how he’d described Minho, but you were sure it’d be brought up again later.

You shook your head, no. “I’m Chan, his… oldest friend.” You didn’t respond, the adrenaline starting to make your body shake again, slowly but surely. “He’s sort of being reprimanded at the moment, probably doesn’t even know what’s happening to you. But I owe him a favor. A lot of favors, actually.” Chan’s features softened more than you realized they could, as if he was wrapped in some sort of sadness.

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you. God knows what he’ll do if something does.” A shortened laugh puffed from your lips, sarcastic at the way he didn’t consider this feeling to be that “bad.”

Chan ignored your scoff, gently trailing his hand down to yours and pulling you out of the bathroom, into your bedroom. The cold air wafted painfully against your skin, like you were stuck in the north pole butt naked. Whatever relief you felt from the first few seconds of his touch was fading quicker now, pinpricks stabbing the bottoms of your feet with every step.

Your wet clothes were ripped apart and strewn in various places of the room alongside Minho’s, piled on top of one another as evidence of his existence. The vague memories of the past moments with him ran through your brain again, almost being able to feel his hands on your body with your new overactive imagination. It was like Chan sensed this, taking his hand away from you and rushing to pick up the soggy clothes, tossing them into the bathroom then shutting the door. He rummaged around your room, finding a shirt and pair of shorts for you to put on, turning to face the wall while you changed. You had asked him to wait outside, but he was reluctant, “can’t have you going on a murder spree in the two minutes I take my eyes off you.”

You didn’t know what he meant by that, you didn’t feel like wanting to murder anyone let alone want to even talk to someone else while in your current state. But you complied anyway, avoiding touching your own skin as you let the towel drop to the floor and slip the clothes on.

The buzzing of the lamp in the corner was annoying, you almost threw whatever was in arms reach at it just to make it stop. There was also the urge to rip the air conditioning unit from your wall just to turn off the freezing atmosphere. Then on top of that, it felt like your tongue was too big for your mouth and there was no way to let it rest comfortably. Everything was too much. 

“I feel like…” your voice was weak, but still made Chan jump and face you in an instant. He waited for you to continue. “Do you see that?” Chan looked around, trying to spot what it was you were referring to.

“No? You alright? Look like you’re about to–“

You practically floated to where the clock on your bedside table sat. The red lights flickered in a way that made your pupils dilate rapidly, unable to focus on anything but the flashing numbers. Before either you or Chan could react, you were slamming your fist onto the top of the electronic clock, smashing it.

The flickering stopped, but your eyes couldn’t focus any better. Chan stood just as still as you, watching as you lifted your fist from the now crumbled plastic. 

“Feel better?” There was a moment of silence as you contemplated his question. 

Your ears perked at the sound of your next door neighbors turning on their shower, their footsteps stomping loudly from behind the wall. “No. It’s too loud.” You were about to raise your fist again, every intention of putting a hole in the wall, but the other demon grabbed your wrist before you could. 

“Maybe don’t…” he suggested, keeping the grip on your arm as you tried to pull away. The longer you fought against him, the less you wanted to throw the punch, beginning to feel just as relaxed as you did the first time he laid a hand on you.

“How do you do that?” You shrugged yourself out of his grip, pacing around the room to turn off the lights, shut off appliances, get rid of anything that felt like a sensory overload.

“The same way you’re able to feel the electricity buzzing through the floor.”

“I couldn’t until you just said it. Thanks.” Sarcastic, you let your body fall back onto the bed, trying to ignore the vibrations from said electricity that dully tickled your toes. 

Chan smirked to himself, only able to see the way you covered your face with your arms through the little light that shone through the open door. “What you’re feeling right now,” he pushed the door closed ever so slightly, making it easier on your eyes.

“I think we’ve figured out your perk.” You didn’t respond, not caring as the bed dipped next to you. “I could ease all your emotions with a single touch. Neat, right?” He laughed to himself, but the sort of laugh someone does when they feel like they’ve been given the short end of the stick. Sorrow and disbelief.

“We don’t know how we get our perks. Not everyone gets one, they just sort of happen. Our brother, Changbin, has a theory that it has to do with aspects of our human lives. Once you come to terms with it, you’ll be able to control it.” Chan didn’t raise his voice more than he needed to, the whole time he’d been with you he spoke at no higher level than a mumble. But even that was almost too loud.

In your head, you thought of all the ways that Minho had touched you, his skin against yours. The smell of him was still so present on your bed sheets, you wanted to flip over and smother yourself in it. But it was riddled with rain, smoke, like something burning and you couldn’t escape it.

Just stop, you thought, exhaling as deep as your lungs would allow and letting your darting eyes close. 

Although you didn’t need the air, it didn’t stop you from being able to take in scents. It felt strange, only taking in short puffs of air enough to feel it in your nerves then release it immediately. Such a humanly habit that was only natural to continue doing. 

When you tried to look for the scent of him again, there was nothing. It was as if all the scents in the room disappeared. Your eyes shot open, looking frantically around the room only to see Chan staring at you with caution. Nostrils flaring, you almost resembled a bloodhound with the erratic way you were sniffing. “What is it?”

“I– I can’t smell anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know! It’s all gone, I can’t smell him anymore!” You yelled louder than intended, making Chan tense beside you. But he didn’t shy away, staying true to his word and reaching his hand out again to ease your anxiety. As soon as the calm flooded your body you gripped tightly onto his hand that rested on your shoulder, eyes starting to water.

You were scared, now. Not by the strange intrusion from someone you weren’t sure you could trust, not by the fact that Minho had vanished into thin air, but of yourself. All you did was think about how much your blood curdled at the rotten smell and suddenly your entire sense of smell was gone. If that was all it took to rid it, what about your other senses? “Stay calm,” Chan reassuringly squeezed your shoulder, like he knew something you didn’t. “Think. How did you do it?”

The question rang in your ears. All you did was think. Think, think, think.

Rotting and smoke suffocated your nose again, sickening coughs escaping your chest. “Of all things, superhuman fucking sense of smell?” You spoke more to yourself than Chan, disappointed that that was your prominent human feature.

“Don’t underestimate yourself.”

His words reminded you of a bittersweet memory, when he’d done that exact thing. It left a sour taste in your mouth until the rest of that night ran through your mind. The savory touches, flittering kisses and the taste of his skin. But with every wonderful remembrance was accompanied by the twisting of a knife in your gut, pulling your head from the glittering haze of him. 

The demon beside you did his best to ease you, but the only other thing your mind could process besides the worsening body buzz was Minho. “You said he’s in trouble. I thought demons don’t follow rules.” The darkness in the bedroom wasn’t enough, shutting your eyes again and staring at the back of your lids.

“Minho doesn’t follow rules. Which is why you’re… going through some things right now.”

“You call wanting to rip my own skin off ‘going through something?’” Chan didn’t mind the sarcasm that dripped from your words, seeing so much of his friend in you just by the way you spoke. He was beginning to understand why he’d made such a big deal about the soulmate factor.

“I’ll admit, your case is a bit strange, a lot more sensitive than normal demons during the transformation. You sure you don’t feel like tearing someone apart?”

“The only thing I want to tear up is your tongue from your mouth if you don’t stop shouting at me.”

“Not shouting— if anything, I’m barely speaking. But I see why he made such a big deal about you,” he smiled, a sort of proud grin that a mother makes at their child.

Just then, an almost silent woosh slurred in the corner of your bedroom. You’d almost had half the mind to think nothing of it, probably just another earthly sound that just happens.

But then it got louder, only ever so slightly but enough to make you sit up and stare pinpoint at the mirror in the corner of the room. There was a strange tinge to it, something like a ripple that there was no way anyone else could’ve caught, including Chan. He followed your gaze, squinting as he attempted to see what you saw. You felt entranced by it, feet unconsciously carrying you to stand before your reflection.

You could see Chan, still sitting on the bed, you could see the mask of your previous self, but there was another thing that lingered behind the glass. The mirror shuddered the teensiest bit again, making you tilt your head at the movement that happened just above your stomach. When you peered up slowly to look straight on, there was a flash of him. Just a glimpse, the silver hair and black attire that made his skin glow disappeared in a millisecond. Your throat tightened, lifting a hand to place onto the mirror. It rippled again just under your palm as soon as you’d touched it.

It happened so quickly, you were standing in your bedroom then the next moment you were being suffocated by the smell of him. Your face was being pressed into a searing hot chest and arms locked you in place against the body. There weren’t any other words that needed to be said, you knew who it was. Your own arms flew to embrace him, feel every inch that you could and engrave the softness of his skin into your brain. You could do that now, truly feel him. One of his hands caressed your hair while the other stayed firm on the small of your back, almost shielding in a way. Nonetheless, you felt safe.

But the joyfulness of his presence was short lived, the uneasy stirring in your bones resurfacing and making you lightly push him away to see where it was you were. It was the hyper awareness that made you look everywhere except his face. Your bed was on the wrong side of the room, lights just slightly dimmer, there was no humming of any household appliances, peaceful if you could call it that. There was a slightly more fabricated smell to the room, like fake sugar, the kind that made you nauseous if too much was consumed. Without the touch of Chan’s powers, you were relaxed.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful,” the same chocolatey voice rang like harps, symphonic and pure. His hand on your back slid up, bringing you chest to chest while the hand in your hair gently cupped your cheek. It raised goosebumps, but in a more euphoric way rather than uncomfortable, his skin on yours.

His fingers guided your eyes up to meet, falling onto the black abyss he had to match. It was like the puzzle pieces fell more into place, completing a picture you didn’t realize was being drawn. You could see stars, glaciers, oceans, solar systems that all reflected back to the two of you, hidden deep within his eyes. It wasn’t adrenaline, like before when you were together, but something much greater than that. Electricity was nothing compared to the urge you felt, the overwhelming need to protect him, shield him from any harm. What made it even better– you knew you could now.

You could see every detail of his face, smooth skin and perfectly plump lips, the endearing little mole on the tip of his nose that just added to his modelesque features. There were no thoughts in your brain as your fingers found themselves gently running over his cheekbone, trailing down to his lips and letting the pads just linger there. Minho softly smiled into your touch, relishing in the way your body temperatures were now the same. “You’re so… pretty,” the words fell from your mouth before you realized.

“Was I not before, doll?” Minho toyed, knowing exactly what you meant.

“It’s just,” both hands came up to cup the sides of his face, brushing back his hair and exposing his forehead, “I can see you now. Really see you.” Lines formed at the corners of his eyes as his smile grew larger, slipping the handle on your cheek to tangle in the back of your hair and pull you in. When your lips met, there was an explosion of emotions, feelings that jarred your body and made you internally buzz. Love and lust were the two most prominent, together they made you want to just take a bite out of him.

Minho didn’t rush the kiss, didn’t move too fast or too slow, letting you feel every muscle beneath his skin collide in sync with yours. He was much plusher than you recalled, but that was just because of the transformation. Everything he did felt sweeter, ecstasy as he left closed lipped pecks all across your face and made you giggle in return. It was as if he was all you needed to feel okay.

“I can feel you,” you whispered, “everywhere.” His lips made their way down your neck, tugging you lightly by the hair to expose more. The burns his kisses left behind were amplified that much more by your sensitivity, body melting into his. You were so close to entirely forgetting about the outside world, until you heard the faintest woosh again. “M– Min, I think–”

“No, no. Don’t think. No thinking,” he said as his hands traveled anywhere on your body he could get to.

“There’s a–” Minho’s teeth nipped into the crook of your neck, a quiet moan interrupting you, “the mirror.” He stopped instantly, head snapping and turning you so you stood behind him. You saw the short ripple again, but much less than when it was Minho behind the glass.

“Where?” His eyes darted all around the frame. He could see Chan on the other side, with the perk of his powers, but was confused as to how you could as well. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, waiting for it again.

You saw the movement, so feather light across the glass, “there.”

Minho had no idea what you were seeing, sure it wasn’t the same thing he was witnessing, looking back and forth between you and the mirror. “How do you see that?” When you shrugged, he tilted his head at you. “You amaze me,” so casually rolled off his tongue, as if he said it every day.

He placed another gentle kiss to your lips, “stay put.” Brushing your hair from your face, Minho looked into your pitch black eyes with his own. “I mean it this time. I won’t let them put a hand on you, but you need to stay here.” You drew a cross over your heart with your fingers, kissing it then putting the digits to his lips, to which he followed and pecked as well. As reluctant as you were to let him go, Minho left you with one last reassuring smooch on your forehead and stepped into the mirror, leaving you in this offputting dimension by yourself.

In the middle of your actual bedroom stood Chan, who was still waiting and wondering how it is you disappeared. When he saw Minho emerge into the plane, it made sense. As soon as the two made eye contact with each other, Minho’s head fell back in an exasperated and sarcastic laugh. “Please tell me you were here to steal her from me and not to try and ease your conscience.”

“I’d be lying to you if I did,” the older demon crossed his arms over his chest, finding his feet interesting.

Minho thought back to all the times that Chan had been there for him, sticking by his side even though he knew that he’d get caught in the fall out as well. It hurt his heart, the same man who’d done him so wrong could also do so right– for him. “I thought you said you couldn’t help me.”

“No, I said I could only do so much.” Chan looked back up at his brother, the two caught in a moment of sadness, regret, carefulness as they tiptoed back and forth around one another. Minho wanted to address it, his reason for existing and all the other times that his brother saved his ass from punishment after punishment.

But in reality, to him, there were no words that could do his gratefulness justice. Chan being there for you today was just what he needed to realize that. So, in Minho-like fashion, he gave his brother a smile, light and quick but still heartwarming. “I’d really rather prefer it if you were trying to take my soulmate from me.”

“Actually–”

“I also would prefer if you didn’t start sentences with, ‘actually.’”

“You’ve got a bit of a bounty on your head. Nothing a few decades of hiding can’t fix but…” Chan looked over Minho’s shoulder at the mirror. “Is she really worth it?”

His breath caught in his throat, surprised his brother would even ask such a question. “You know my answer.” 

Nodding and smiling at the floor, Chan started walking towards the door. “I guess I’ll see you later then?”

“I’ll probably see you before you see me, brother.”

Chan winced at what he implied, knowing well the extent of Minho’s perks. “Please don’t show up in my mirror. That’s terrifying.” They laughed, both of them chuckling at the memory of antics Minho used to do as a newborn demon. When the laughter died down, Chan spoke again, more serious this time. “After this is over, I don’t think I can pull any more weight for you.”

Immediately Minho shook his head, “you won’t have to. I have everything I need.” He thought of you waiting in the other dimension for him, probably twiddling your thumbs and exploring his little hide away bored out of your mind. He knows this because that’s exactly what he’d be doing if he were in your position. 

There was a brief moment of silence while Chan contemplated what he’d do. His eyes went back and forth between Minho and the mirror, ultimately smiling and nodding again before taking the door handle and leaving.

It wasn’t so much a sigh of relief that left Minho’s lips when his brother was out of sight, but anticipation. There was no way he nor you were going to come out of this situation unpunished. But for now, he had time– so much time. And with you, alone and untouchable.

Minho turned off all his useless overthinking for now, he’d deal with the consequences later. His dick had a mind of its own when it came to you, already sporting a half chub just at the thought of the person waiting for him on the other side. So he’d given himself a few moments to check out his hair in the reflection, touch up his appearance and hype himself up. He knew he didn’t need to do this, but Minho was just always so giddy around you, needing to collect himself and be the soulmate you needed him to be. 

When he’d worked up enough courage to step into the mirror space, you were sprawled out on the bed, eyes closed. Whether you heard him enter or not, you didn’t move. Another fond smile spread across his face at the sight of you, smooth legs out on display in the tiniest shorts, shirt riding up to expose just a bit of your stomach while your hair covered the pillows like a halo. Minho wished he could’ve taken a picture of you, just to remember the moment where he finally had you all for himself.

The sound of your voice pulled him from his trance, “your walk is so cute.” The compliment took him aback for a second, smirking wider and padding to the edge of the bed, kneeling at your feet. “I can hear every step you take.”

“Should I be thanking you?” You giggled, feeling him climb higher up the bed between your legs with his hands running up them, fingertips just barely touching your skin. It still raised goosebumps.

“You never have before,” the joke came out sounding more serious than intended, you hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way.

But Minho knew you better than anyone. He gently took the undersides of your thighs, scooting closer on his knees and lifting them to wrap around his hips. Taking his time to respond, Minho couldn’t help but want to feel every bit of you, cheekily slipping his hands under the legs of your shorts as well as your underwear, kneading the skin of your love handles. “Maybe I should. You should know how much I appreciate you.”

With your eyes still closed, you focused on every movement he made, every caress of his hands and how hard he tried to calm the tremble in his bones. You’d felt all of it, buzzing through the bed springs. “You appreciate me?” It was playful, you just wanted to rile him up— not like you needed to do much. “Hm, I was hoping for a little more than that.”

“What else do you want me to say? You won’t even look at me,” his voice dropped an octave, teasing. It wasn’t a command, but you obeyed anyways, opening your pitch black eyes to stare up at him.

You felt at ease upon seeing he didn’t put up the human facade anymore, letting the darkness take over his pupils. Minho towered over you, complacent with his hands still attached to your hips beneath your clothes. He was just barely near your core, but it still sent little shocks through your body in arousal.

“My good girl,” the corners of his mouth tweaked, “you want me to praise you? Thank you? Tell you I love you?”

“Tell me you love me,” you requested embarrassingly fast. You’d felt small under him, but veins coursing with the strength of gods. The buttons of his sheer shirt were still undone, showing off the smooth planes of his abdomen. There was a scar across them, faded and undetectable to human eyes. You spotted it now, mentally slapping yourself for not doing so earlier. It was endearing, reminding you that he was once human, too. But none of that mattered if he didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.

Minho tipped his head down, tracking his eyes from yours, to your lips, down your neck and chest until he came to the exposed flesh of your belly. He snapped the leg bands of your underwear before pushing your shirt higher, stopping just under your breasts for decency, if that’s what he thought.

His palms were warm against your stomach, sneaking their way behind your waist as he dipped his head in to drag his lips over your belly button. “No, I don’t think I will, doll. Wanna know why?“ He asked, eyes peering at you through his lashes. Your hands found themselves carding through this hair, tugging softly as you nodded, yes. “Because we have forever together.” Kisses peppered themselves over the expanse of your midsection, his soft lips tingling your skin wherever they touched.

Your eyes threatened to close again, this transformation making you feel overwhelmed in sensation. Everything from his touch to his soft puffs of breath, the sheets beneath you and the vibrations of his words, all made your head spin and stomach twist.

“I have forever,” Minho continued smothering your belly in kisses, using his arms snaked around you to pull you impossibly closer, “to feel you. Forever to hold you, please you, worship you. Make you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He forced himself back up, stripping the shirt from your body to finally free your breasts. Immediately, he used his thumbs to tweak over both nipples, circling them before lowering his face in the valley of them.

His hands ran up and down your entire upper body now, engraving you into his brain like a map to follow. All you could do as he laid more kisses up the center of your bare chest was shut your eyes and let your head fall back, letting the smallest groan escape. Upon hearing you, he used one hand to trail down the center of your belly again, getting to the waistband of your shorts and doing nothing but play with them. “Minho,” you breathily called out.

Dipping below your shorts and underwear, he snuck around to grip the flesh of your ass, biting into your chest, “that’s not my name.”

“It is until you tell me you love me.”

Minho stopped dead in his tracks, coming up face to face with you. When you opened your eyes, he was staring with the utmost devotion, longing, and desire. His lips almost quivered, “I won’t tell you I love you.” 

Your heart wanted to shatter, knife twisting in your chest as he continued to look into your spirit. “If I tell you I love you, you’ll say it, too. I don’t think I can handle that.”

That was the icing on the cake, the final nail in your coffin as you took his face in your hands and pulled him in close. You searched for any reason why you shouldn’t feel this way for him, why he shouldn’t for you. Just as you could feel everything in the natural world, it was like you could feel his soul, as well. There was a warmth to it, like freshly made bread or a puppy running to greet you. Something of an epiphany washed over you, a film reel passing through your memories and suddenly, you understood everything. How he’d “heard” you that first storm, how he knew everything you’d fantasized about, it made sense. Because now, it was almost as though you saw right into his very soul, as well.

“Minho,” your thumb smoothed over his lips, gently pushing him to lay on his back and take over on top. His hands snuck under the back of your shorts again, lightly gripping your ass as you sat on his aching crotch. Just the pressure of your body weight on him had Minho groaning quietly. But your touch electrified something within him, nerves amplified in a way he’d never felt, even before when he was with you.

“I don’t care if you like it or not,” the protective way you caressed his cheeks made the fire in his heart burn brighter. “I love you. And Chan, Lucifer, God– whoever be damned if they try to take you away from me again.”

Every slide of your skin on him made Minho crumble into you. You could feel him simultaneously relaxing and anticipating your next move. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of one of your hands finding solace in his hair while the other trailed down to wrap around his neck gently. Lips parting and letting out a shaky breath, Minho whispered, “I can feel you, too.”

Your hips grinded slowly into his, friction of the clothes both of you still wore being uncomfortably delicious. He used the handle on your ass to push and pull your core along his restrained dick, so close to biting his lip to contain any moan that wanted to slip. Whereas you let your cries of pleasure out, sighing as your arousal seeped through your underwear. 

As badly as you wanted to focus solely on Minho, his comment stayed etched into your mind, unable to shake the way he’d suddenly been able to understand what it was you were physically feeling. Keeping your hands steady in his hair and on his neck, you leaned down to place a quick kiss to his lips before bringing up your concerns. “You should know,” he chased after you for more kisses, eyes still closed. “Chan mentioned something,” more quick pecks in between words, “about a perk.”

Minho muttered a mindless, “mhm,” as he dug his fingernails into your skin. The more he guided your hips along one another, the less you were able to put your thoughts into words. It took you a few more moments of grinding and soft kisses to remember what it was you were trying to say.

“I think–” 

“What did I say about thinking?” He pushed his hips up while pulling you down to rub harder through the fabric, sending shocks of pleasure through you. Your hands somewhat spasmed in his hair and neck, clamping around both and causing him to cry out in pleasure with you. “God, you feel so good,” he mumbled. It seemed as though he was completely oblivious to what you were trying to hint at, not that he’d have understood immediately anyways.

It was dawning on you that there was much more to your perk than you’d initially understood. The unusual way you’d been overly sensitive to the elements of the natural world began to make sense. Being able to lose and regain your sense of smell couldn’t have just been a random fluke, not when even Chan found it strange that you could feel the smallest of sensations. Maybe, there was more to it. The way Minho was practically purring and writhing beneath you made you want to experiment.

You forced yourself to part from his lips, letting go of his throat to bite into it instead. As soon as you did, Minho had moaned the loudest you’d ever heard from him. 

He felt as if he was on fire within his own skin, but in the most pleasurable way possible. Every touch, lick, kiss, bite, it made him feel as though he was drowning in ecstasy. As soon as he’d let the moan escape, Minho’s own eyes shot open at the sound that he emitted. It shocked the both of you, to say the least. You pulled away from him and sat up straight in his lap. The two of you stared at one another with wide eyes and surprised expressions. Minho looked as if he was about to burst into flames while you smiled, wanting to hear him moan like that again. “Baby,” you quietly said.

“Mhm,” Minho all but choked.

“I think I have a perk you’ll really… really enjoy.” A look of confusion spread across his face now, the gears finally turning.

“That was you? H– how the fuck did you do that?”

“I’m not totally sure,” you replied honestly, letting your hands run mindlessly through his hair and up his chest. Even as you did just and only that, Minho’s eyes struggled to stay open, his stomach contracting beneath you. “I can feel every one of your movements,” your voice dropped to a whisper now, coming back down to nibble on his ear lobe. “Can smell the pheromones dripping off of you,” the hand not tangled in his hair circled around his nipple, not doing any more than that and he was already trembling. “I can hear how you’re trying so hard to not scream my name.”

As you detached yourself from him long enough to fumble with the button of his jeans, Minho found the strength to open his eyes again. However he couldn’t help but fall victim to the euphoric feeling of your fingers just barely brushing against the skin of his pelvis. “Some sort of sex perk? That would make sense why your pussy is so good,” he joked, even during such a heated moment.

You’d gotten the button undone and unzipped, coming back up to face him. “I don’t think that’s what it is, but I appreciate your love for cunt.”

“No, no. Not cunt. Your cunt, doll.” The lewd compliment made you smile, assisting him in removing his pants as you connected your lips again. However, you were still covered. Just to show him you weren’t still just a delicate human, you quickly ripped the material of your shorts, earning an approving smile and laugh from Minho.

“Aw, you’re so cute, doll. So strong now, aren’t you?” He was still teasing you, even though he was the one on his back. As sexy as it was, his playfulness fueled your urge to just eat him up, make him beg and plead for you and your body.

Minho kept a firm hand on your hip, toying with the waistband of your underwear while the other dryly and lazily pumped his cock, angry and red. You could tell he was needy with how hungrily he looked at your soaking cunt, arousal messily spread to the front of your panties. “More than you think,” his tongue poked out, licking his lips. “Do you trust me?”

The question caught him off guard, making Minho snap his head up. Although he narrowed his eyes at you in suspicion, he still said, “with my life.”

You giggled deviously, kissing him again and running both hands through his hair. Gripping the roots, you tugged his head back, “good boy.” The praise and your hands on him again sent blood rushing straight to his cock again, twitching against the inside of your thigh. “Do me a favor and take these off for me,” you guided his hands to the band of your panties. Minho ripped them apart as well, throwing them along with your destroyed shorts and other clothes. He smiled up at you proudly. However, his smirk was wiped clean from his face immediately.

A light smack was sent across his cheek, making him whip his head to the side in confusion. He couldn’t think of a response before you said, “that wasn’t what was asked. And after I had just called you my good boy.” He let out a short whimper, still stunned as he faced you again. “Was that good of you? Ripping my panties like a horny little school boy?”

Minho was confused, for sure. No one had ever treated him this way before, so used to be the dominant one in bed. However, you had a knack for surprising him.

He suddenly felt the overwhelming need to please you, shaking his head, no. You looked down at him, tilting your head in the cat-like way he’d do to you. Staring into his glazed over eyes, you sat yourself fully onto his erect cock, feeling the heat from his body flush through your core. Just barely, you began to slick up and down his shaft and spread your arousal. Both you and Minho threw your heads back, your hands running up his chest for stability. You felt as though you were on fire and drowning in his scent.

You’d insulted him by calling him a school boy, but the way the two of you animalistically grinded and humped into each other resembled just that. It was sloppy, uncoordinated, and so lustful that neither of you could truly control yourselves. If you’d had just a little less of a mind than he did at the moment, both of you could’ve come from that alone.

However, the tingling in your fingers as they scraped down his abs and had Minho mewling reminded you of the new powers you held. Halting your brainless humping, you brought a hand to cup under his jaw, squeezing his cheeks and making his lips pucker. You gave him a hardly satisfying kiss, having to force his head back into the pillow as he tried to chase after you again. “You trust me, but don’t listen. How does that work, baby boy?”

The corners of his lips perked, “I don’t listen to anyone, doll. You should know this.”

“You will if you wanna see my new party trick.”

Minho hummed, looking at the ceiling in false contemplation. He’d known all night he was going to do whatever it is you wanted, planning from the very beginning that it was going to be all about you. But if what you wanted was for him to submit, he’d make you work for it just a little. “Okay, love. You’ve piqued my interest.”

You smiled down at him, cupping his face again with both hands and leaving a sweet kiss to his lips. This one, you savored, keeping it soft and sensual by starting out closed-lipped. He just felt so plush against you, it was almost dizzying. So slowly that he barely noticed, you slid your hands around the back of his neck and pulled at the nape. It began to get more heated, running your tongue along his lower lip as he whined softly into your mouth. The feeling of your nails against his scalp was both calming and arousing, making Minho grip harder at your hips.

It was almost inaudible when you pulled away from his lips, Minho reluctantly obliged as you kept him in place by the hair, “sight.”

He’d almost missed the word as he shut his eyes to blink. It wouldn’t have made any sense to him if he opened them to find you looking back, but he didn’t. All Minho could see was black, darkness while his eyes were wide open. For a second he wanted to panic, start calling out for you even though your entire body weight sat on his leaking cock.

With the loss of one sense, the overpowering of another started to arise. Minho could feel every fold and crevice of your sopping cunt wetly rubbing against him ten times that of how much he could while he could see you. He wanted to jump out of his skin at the tingling of your hands running down the lengths of his arms, intertwining your fingers. “Steady, baby,” your voice was loud and clear in his ears.

“How did you— where—“

“I told you, you’re gonna like this. Now,” you started leaving gentle kisses to his cheeks and forehead, working your way slowly to his lips again so as not to startle him. ”Let me take care of you.”

You kept one hand locked with his, releasing the other to track up and down his torso, slowly inching your way further south. “Have I ever told you— fuck!” The feeling of your fingertips coming in contact with the tip of his cock cut Minho off mid sentence. His eyes rolled back and shut completely. “Tell me what, baby boy?”

You began to shimmy down his body, leaving light kisses on his chest, sometimes dragging your tongue just to give him a different sensation. It rose goosebumps on his skin, making you smirk proudly— not that he could see it. You just toyed with his cock, swiping the leaking precum from his slit. That alone made Minho shiver, physically and fully recoil in stimulation. Another whimper left his lips loudly. Just as you’d gotten to the V-line of his lower body, his hips bucked up and almost hit you. To keep him in place, you let go of his dick all together and pushed firmly into his pelvis but not without a fight.

“How f— fucking unreal you are?” The stutter in his words made you temporarily forget about his spasming hips.

“Funny. I remember you telling me otherwise.” Minho couldn’t concentrate much on your words, too lost in the feeling of your teeth now sinking into the skin around his cock. You bit and sucked and licked everywhere except for the place he wanted most. Though he couldn’t see it, you were leaving nasty red marks all across his pelvic bone and base. The fluttering in his gut only grew along with his desperate attempts at rutting into you. 

His moans grew impossibly louder, higher pitched the closer your mouth got to his cock. You continued to hold onto his hand, squeezing it reassuringly when Minho started to get riled up. Like now, he was having trouble controlling the twitching of his dick and hips, making it difficult for you to continue leaving hickies on his skin. At a particularly hard nibble, Minho squeezed your hand hard as he simultaneously let out another whimper. You paused, looking up at his face to find his eyes still screwed shut and his lips between his teeth. He looked so cute, already fucked out and lost to the pleasure you’d hardly had to work to give him.

But to keep him grounded you squeezed his hand back, coming up for a second to place a peck to the back of it. The muscles of his stomach relaxed for a moment as he readjusted his grip. You stole his comfort from him too soon, unexpectedly kitten licking up the length of his cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” was all he could manage to say— or rather, cry.

With your other hand you managed to keep his dick upright by the base, also keeping him pinned to the bed. But when you restricted his hips, Minho’s thighs began flexing instead, twitching and threatening to clamp closed with you between them. Not that you were necessarily opposed to that, his thighs were just as delectable as the rest of his body. When your tongue finally reached the tip, he did just that.

You were trapped between his legs, what would’ve been crushing for a human was perfectly comfortable to you. In fact, you could feel his muscles beneath the skin struggling to keep from contracting harder. “I’ve hardly touched you and you’re already a mess. What am I going to do with you, baby boy?”

“Please, please,” Minho whined. You were almost worried that he’d draw blood at how hard he was biting his lip.

“Please what?” You flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, running it up and letting the tip of the muscle trace the vein underneath.

As you got to the head, you continued to tongue at the ridge where it met the length. “Nghf—“ he muffled his cries. “More. Please, more— too much.”

“Be specific, do you want more or is it too much, baby?” The heavy lifting and falling of his chest was still a natural response, even if he wasn’t fully breathing.

“More! God, more!”

“Hm, god?” You smiled up at him, feeling Minho squeeze your hand tighter. “I kinda like that.”

“For fucks sake, Y/N—“

Before he could finish, you took the head of his cock into your mouth, lapping your tongue over the slit lightly. Minho’s whole body convulsed in pleasure, marinating in the feeling of your hot, wet mouth surrounding him. Every one of his nerve endings were scorched, the loss of his eyesight heightening everything else within him. By now you were sure that it was your touch projecting his sensitivity, afraid that if you let go of his hand he’d lose the sensation. 

How could you take that away when he looked so pretty on the verge of tears?

Your tongue circled his tip for a second, letting him get used to the feeling before sinking further onto him. The lower you got the tighter he squeezed your hand. You’d somehow managed to bottom out, lips reaching his pelvis as you moved to grab at his thigh. Minho’s own free hand found its way into your hair. He wasn’t pushing down, but rather fighting the urge to.

Guttural groans roared from him, clearly overwhelmed and loving every second of it. The lack of need for air made keeping him lodged in your throat much easier, not to say that the position was necessarily comfortable. However, hearing him cry the way he did made it all tolerable.

The clamping of his thighs around your upper body made it hard to direct Minho, having to pry his hand from your hair so that you could pull it into a ponytail for him to grab. You could tell he was holding back, fingernails now digging into the top of your hand that stayed entangled.

It didn’t take him long to understand your intentions behind pulling your hair together. Almost immediately, he took hold of your makeshift ponytail and lifted your head up slowly. You used his thigh as an anchor while he guided you. Slowly, Minho relished in the feeling of your lips and tongue surrounding him, eyebrows furrowing as he dragged you up and down. When you moaned with him completely sheathed in your mouth, he lost all resolution.

His hips rutted up while his hand kept your nose pressed to his skin. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat harshly, causing you to gag and almost cough. With the handle on your hair, Minho guided you faster on his dick, thrusting up and meeting halfway. Saliva dripped from your mouth and made a mess over his V-line. If you were still human, the impact might’ve hurt. But all you could hear were his sweet sounds echoing back. 

Minho used you for a bit longer, but his stomach began contracting harder and you knew he was close. He’d suddenly pulled you off his cock entirely, grunting deeply and reluctantly as he did so.

“Fuck— give me my sight back. Need to fuck you now,” he said before you could even wipe the drool from the corners of your lips. Just as you raked your nails over his thigh, you whispered the command again. Minho’s eyes snapped open to the sight of you with your own spit dripping down your chin.

Using the grip on your hair, he tugged you up his body, all but falling onto his chest as he messily connected your lips. That was when Minho was finally okay enough to let go of your hand and caress both your cheeks. Somehow he’d managed to roll the two of you over, slotting himself between your legs and leaning onto his knees.

The smell of your arousal was incredibly strong, much more than Minho’s, practically soaking the sheets beneath you. Without leaving your lips, he ran his hands down your torso to hook under your legs. He held the underside of your thighs for a few moments, kneading the flesh of them as his tongue took in the taste of his own cock. Your hands on him kept the sensitivity of his body at an all time high, never ceasing even now as he was able to see you. The accidental swipe of his length against your untouched cunt made you moan into his mouth.

Hungrily, Minho pulled away from your mouth only to reattach at your neck, roughly biting and pulling at the skin. He did that all the way down your chest, leaving a rather dark hickey in the very center of the valley of your breasts. It was carnal, the intensity at which his tongue lapped at your nipples and teethed the nubs. You couldn’t stop yourself from arching deeply into him. “Your fragile little human isn’t so fragile anymore,” you said dreamily, almost hazy as Minho continued to leave teeth marks down your stomach. 

He continued to nip lower towards your core, hiking your knees up and chomping at your fleshy thighs in the gentlest yet most primal way possible. “Really, now? Mind if I test that theory?” You giggled, lightheaded. 

“I thought you said you wanted to fuck me.” When he’d come to face your cunt, he took in as deep a breath as his constricted lungs would let him.

“I do. You just smell so fucking good, even better than before. I don’t even know how that’s possible,” he purred into your pussy, nose just barely nudging your clit. “Just a taste.”

Minho licked one single stripe up the center of your cunt, taking his time over the bundle of nerves. The feeling had your toes curling, chest rising from the bed and back bending at an unholy angle. If Minho thought what he was feeling was as good as it got, you were absolutely ascending. And all he did was lick you.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the euphoric feeling of him suckling at your clit, suctioning you in and slurping noises bouncing off the walls from the slick. For some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes off him, ravaging your cunt like it was his last meal on earth. The fact that he stared back only added to the tension, piercing black eyes almost looking right through you as your jaw slacked. Minho’s hands keeping your legs up allowed for you to take full control of his hair, pushing his face deeper into you as you attempted to grind your hips harder against his tongue. He let you use him, let you smother him into your core as he held you to the bed. If it were anyone else, Minho would’ve hated the assertiveness, always opting to be the one in control. But there was something so sexy about you taking what you wanted, mewling out like you were in heat all because of him.

He doesn’t know why he did it, maybe because the cute aggression he felt when looking at you made him want to take bites out of you. But Minho lightly teethed at your clit, hardly grazing them when you screamed the loudest you had all night, orgasm suddenly taking over your body at the strangely wonderful feeling. It caught him off guard, letting your thighs slip from his grasp and trap his head between them as your body convulsed. It felt as if your orgasm lasted forever, feeling as if your vision would never return from the bright white and body never stopping its spasming. Not that either of you minded, Minho was more than content with staying with his nose to your cunt for as long as you’d let him.

Your moans turned into whines as you finally began to come down, though Minho couldn’t pull away even after you’d released him. His tongue was smoothly running through your folds, overstimulation kicking in as the tip ran over your clit. When you recoiled, he smirked into you, tracing circles around your entrance. That alone was enough for the sensitivity to turn into pleasure again. Minho was gently kneading at your thighs again when you yanked him up by the hair– so hard that he almost winced.

His body fell on top of yours again, lips crashing and teeth knocking. The lustful kisses soon turned sultry as you both regained your composure. It only took you a handful of seconds to get distracted by how soft his lips were, even more now that he was covered in your essence.

Minho made the kisses sweet somehow. Despite him lifting and tossing your legs over his shoulders, his still throbbing cock sweeping across your pussy, the pecks he left didn’t feel anything but sensual. There was no more rush to get the deed done and no urgency behind his lingering touches. Your arms snaked around his neck as his large palms calmingly held onto your love handles for the nth time that night– another part of your body that he just couldn’t stay away from.

But he paused, stopping his kissing attack and bringing up one hand to tip your chin higher. “So beautiful,” he whispered, “and all mine.”

Your fixation with his lips was just as present as ever, hand coming around to press your fingers to them. “All mine,” you repeated back, unable to think of anything besides how warm he was against your skin. 

It felt like hours before either of you moved again, just staring into one another’s deep black eyes. There didn’t feel like a need for words anymore, until your hips twitched up and smacked against his cock. That was when Minho’s eyes rolled back, the aching in his lower region suddenly coming back to him. 

You almost wanted to whine for him to take you, trying to find friction against him as you aimlessly and pathetically rutted up. “We have all the time in the world, doll,” Minho whispered as if he could read your mind. “Let me appreciate you.”

“There’s that word again,” you grunted, teasingly pinching his bottom lip between your thumb and pointer finger. “I don’t want you to appreciate me. I want you to fuck me.” 

His mouth slightly dropped in disbelief, giving you the opportunity to shove your thumb in. Immediately his lips wrapped around the digit, tongue circling it while lightly biting down to keep you from moving. “Good boy,” you cooed, pushing your thumb deeper. Minho watched you intently, noting the way the praise made him shiver as you bit your lip in adoration.

When you pulled your hand away and held your palm open, you commanded, “spit.” How quickly Minho complied made even his head spin. Eyes never straying from his, you reached between your bodies with a smirk for his cock. His eyes fluttered at the feeling of your wet hand around him again and lazily pumping the length. You didn’t necessarily need the extra slick, but it was such a turn on seeing how easily he followed. Aligning the blunt cockhead with your core should’ve been enough for him to enter, but Minho awaited your orders.

“What are you waiting for?” You’d already known the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Permission,” the octave his voice fell to was almost a growl, deep from within his chest as he restrained from bucking into you.

“So cute. You’re so strong, aren’t you?” His own words being thrown back at him made Minho whimper ever so slightly. As if against his will, he nodded. The condescending smirk that played on your lips made him twitch, “go ahead, baby. Use me.”

He sunk into you then, head falling to the side of yours as he did. The stretch of your walls had your mouth dropping and letting a stifled groan sound. It didn’t take much effort for him to reach his hilt against your clit, but used every ounce of strength he had to not physically cry from the pleasure. He’d felt every little pulse of your cunt engulfing him, almost as much as you could feel him halt in your gut. After a moment of just feeling one another, Minho gathered the energy to lift his head and rest his forehead against yours, looking down at your tummy. Just as a gag, he shoved himself deeper into you– if that was even possible. The tip of his cock jumped from under your skin, proof of how far inside he was.

Minho let out another animalistic groan, barely pulling out just to stuff you full again. And again. And again. Shallow thrusts in a grinding motion had you clawing at his back as he kept his eyes open in search of his bulge inside you.

You followed his gaze down to where your bodies connected, seeing exactly what it was he couldn’t take his eyes off of. “Fuck– so big.” Your words made him go practically nonverbal.

He’d been trying so hard not to take advantage of your kindness even though you’d given him the okay, holding himself back from focusing solely on himself. But he couldn’t stop it, readjusting to sit up straight on his knees and tower over you. The loss of his weight on you made your mind slip a little, wishing that he’d stay. However he reassuringly kissed the inside of your knee as if to apologize for the wreckage he was about to leave on your cunt.

The grip on your love handles slid up to the tops of your thighs as he pulled out all the way, pausing for a second to meet your eyes before slamming back into you. Minho didn’t look away for a second as he repeated the action, loving how your face contorted in heightened pleasure. He could still feel the sting of your scratches across his back even now as your nails dug into his forearms, grabbing any part of him you could reach.

Even when you struggled to maintain eye contact, eventually your eyes rolling back and shutting, Minho couldn’t look anywhere else. He was in love with every little thing you did, every small twitch of your lips, scrunch of your nose, and incoherent slur of your words, he was helplessly enamored. If there were an explanation for the feeling in his chest as you cried his name, he’d become a fucking poet. But there was none. No words could have possibly described how awfully light you made his deadbeat heart feel, yet still so heavy with fascination.

In that moment as he watched you lose yourself to him again, Minho wondered if there truly was a connection between a demon and their perks. Before you, he knew his strengths, how attractive he was and how he could easily get what he wanted on looks alone. Perhaps that’s why he was blessed– if that was the right word for it– with influence over the reflective space. Before you, he was obsessed with his own self preservation, even if he broke every rule in the book that contradicted that.

Now that there is you, frail and precious and definitely not in need of his protection, he wanted nothing more than to be your suit of armor. Maybe you were just what he needed. He’d put together in that moment that you held a physical perk, not an interdimensional one like his. Whereas Minho’s allowed for surface level evaluation, yours emitted something deeper. Being able to control his senses showed him everything he wasn’t paying attention to in this frozen life. Even before your transformation, your touch was all he needed to feel complete again. There was something worth surviving for.

Your walls pulsed around him harder, overwhelmed by your two scents mixing together in the air. He’d come to his senses, overcoming the initial carnal desire to pound into you and falling back onto his knees. Gently, Minho slid your legs off his shoulders and wrapped them around his waist, locking himself between them. His hands roamed all up and down, settling on your ass by lifting your hips for better access. Not once did he look away, he couldn’t. When your eyes focused on him again, neither could you.

Your eyebrows knitted tighter together as his hammering slowed to a rhythmic grind. You wanted to feel him, need him to be closer somehow. As Minho stared down at you, occasionally letting his eyes wander to your jiggling breasts, you clawed at his forearms. He’d picked up on this eventually, letting you tug him down so you were chest to chest, but still keeping a firm grip on your ass. It was lazy how you wrapped your arms around his neck while he buried his face in yours, not letting more than a centimeter of space fall between the two of you.

“Doll, you’re so needy– crushing me,” he lovingly joked into you. If he hadn’t spoken up, you wouldn’t have noticed how tightly you held on.

But you didn’t care, only barely loosening your grip. “Not close enough,” the words fell before you could truly comprehend them. That seemed to happen a lot around Minho, heart speaking louder than your brain.

His hands slid up at your confession, laying you into his lap and continuing to slowly wave his hips into yours. The length of his arms came around your back, also coming to the conclusion that you’ll never be close enough.

There was no more lingering adulterated lust, just the pure need to feel one another as deeply as physically possible. But that was more than enough as you started feeling the heat in your core building brighter. Every little ridge of and ripple of your impending orgasm, Minho could feel along his cock, tugging him closer to the edge right alongside you. But it was your words that sent him head over heels off the cliff, “you’re like a dream I never want to wake up from.”

Minho wasn’t a hundred percent sure you even realized you’d said it, probably too lost in sensation to put two and two together. Not until he was biting into your shoulder and groaning did you feel him sheath completely inside you and release. The warmth of his seed and rubbing of his pelvis to your clit oh so nicely made you cock your head back and let your orgasm take over your body for the second time. He continued to rut into you sloppily and in short strokes, prolonging both of your highs as you melted into one another. Minho couldn’t think of a single word to say as your walls milked him for everything he had. One of your hands stayed glued in his hair while the other grounded you both, running soothingly up and down his back.

He didn’t want to move from his position on top of you, feeling content and weightless. Post nut clarity was a very real thing, however. So Minho sat up, bringing you with him so you were perched on his lap and looking down at him. From between your shoulder blades, he traced a hand upwards to cup your cheek. The only indication that you were alive and, well– you, was the blush that made your face glow. “If I’m a dream, you’re a drug,” it came out almost inaudibly, a whisper. “Medicate me until there’s nothing left.”

You couldn’t help but brush your hand through his hair, exposing his entire face for you to admire. The stupid smiles and comfortable silence that followed was more than enough for you, wanting to stare at him forever in his post orgasm radiance. “Can we stay here?”

“We can stay for as long as you’ll let me love you.”

The four letter word rolled off his tongue so nicely, “so you love me now?”

Minho jokingly rolled his eyes, “was I not obvious enough? Need me to show you again?”

Exhaustion started to take a toll on your body, the overwhelming of your new being finally hitting its mental limit as you slumped your body into him. Minho noticed, gently laying you back into the pillows and nuzzling at your side, not letting you go for a second. Your eyes started to close as he brushed your hair from your face, placing soft kisses all along your cheeks, forehead, and lips. The plush of them was sweet, comforting like a lullaby. Just as you were about to drift off, Minho shifted and rested his head on your chest, laying his ear over your heart.

“I won’t tell you I love you,” you were able to catch him muttering, “I could say it a million and one times, in a million and one lives and it will still never be enough.”

“Good thing you’re stuck with me for a million more lives,” was the last thing you found the energy to say before letting the drowsiness fall over you.

This time, he was able to as well. Minho could sleep knowing you’d be there in his arms when he woke up. “A million and one.”

-

A/N: aaaand that brings this miniseries to an end!! I had so much fun writing this and seeing all the reactions to the (shitty and mean) cliffhangers that I didn't expect people to want more from. I'm ending this on another open-for-interpretation-ending only because I don't think anything I write past this could do them justice.

I know I've been kinda IA for most of this summer but that's cus I've been working a butt load lol. Most of the inspiration I get has been from music and recently I saw skz during their concerts and had the privilege of getting barricade for the shows I attended! They're all seriously so much prettier in person and I hope everyone gets to witness it at least once in their lives.

anyways this outro is getting long so leave feedback and let me know what you think! My asks are always open for requests or just chitchatting hehehehe. Much love!

-momo < 3

[the-canary]

high ground [vash the stampede]. 07.

Summary: Snippets of the little moments in between the chaos of traveling with one Humanoid Typhoon. [Vash/Reader]

prompt: chains.

A/N: Practice for the larger series I have in mind and practice on how to write Vash’s character, so this will be on the short end. 2nd part of mc’s sort of background. 

Time is a concept that Vash has come to accept, but with a bitter sweetness that comes with the understanding that he stood out of it. In the time he had lived on this planet, maybe even in the year that he had spent with Rem, he came to understand that humans lived short lives. They were born, experienced love and loss, and died over and over again while he still stood out looking the same -- a never aging stranger. Yes, there was a way to slow this down on Ship 3, but in the handful of years he came back, there were fewer and fewer people that he knew.

It was even worse in the barren desert of No Man’s Land. There were places and people he knew that struggled to survive and be remembered, but in the end, the people passed away or the small town didn’t have the necessary resources and no matter how much he tried, they were either destroyed or abandoned. He was the only one left to remember them.

There are times where Vash wants to spend as much as he can with the people he meets on his journey and there are other times, like right now, where he just sits and observes. He sits on the sidelines and watches the world pass him by.

“ Achraf ,” a low-pitched but strong voice grabbed his attention. Blue eyes turned to look at a pair not too far from him. The person who is speaking is hidden by a large, brim black hat that is turned to Vash’s side, but this other person, Achraf, is in perfect view.

The tall, dark-haired man laughs at whatever the other person is saying, as said person’s shoulders move up before falling back in their place dramatically as if annoyed. They continue walking within the small plaza as his eyes keep following them as if he is waiting for something to happen. Vash can tell that they do not belong to this town.

Their dark-colored clothes mark them as being travelers, but he could not tell if they were the dangerous type or not. The man by the name of Achraf keeps talking and moving his hands, but the hat-wearing person does not speak again. And that’s when it happens --

“Miss, watch out!”

It happened in an instant that both Vash and the man named Achraf moved and tried to grab the ball, but it was already too late because it had already hit the hat and it would have kept moving, but a pair of gloved hands grabbed it an instant. Vash freezes at the sight, as Achraf pauses and waits to see how she will react. Blue eyes took in the face that had been hidden from his view -- a frown etched on such a pretty face as cold eyes turned to stare at the boys who had been playing. They stand there frozen, waiting for the pin to drop, only for the young woman to throw them the ball back.

“Watch where you are throwing that thing!” her gravelly voice echoes throughout the plaza, as the kids nod before running away. She shakes her head, as Achraf looks at her before laughing. She frowns once more before telling him to be quiet, as they move along to where they are going once more.  

Vash keeps standing there, chained to never knowing what would happen to the pair.

VAAASH!

Cue getting hit with a ball to the face.

He falls as the kids and a familiar figure come running to him. Today was one of the days that he chose to play and interact with the town’s children, only to end up getting distracted by something else entirely. The figure stands next to him with her hand outstretched, as the children stand a little ways off and watch.

“Are you alright, Vash?”

"Yeah,” he lets out an embarrassed laugh, “Just got distracted.”

“Oh, well…I’m sure the children don’t mind taking a break if you need it,” she remarks and as if anticipating their disapproval, turns to look at them with a smile. It must've been a scary smile since they all nodded with a response, “I’ll buy them some ice cream too.”

They all exclaim happily as he takes her hand and gets up. The group runs ahead of the local store. She stared at them for a moment before turning to look at Vash, who was just staring at her the entire time.

“Is something wrong?” she questions. Her voice was louder than the last time he had seen her talking to children and while she didn’t interact with them as Vash did, she was still kind while watching from a distance. She even treated them to things every now and then.

“No, but I don’t think we keep them waiting any longer than we should,” he remarks, as she nods in agreement.

She ends up walking a bit ahead of him, as the children wave her over while remarking on what sweets and ice cream they want to get. She doesn’t seem to say much, but listens and nods to all the responses they have to give her. As he keeps watching, Vash can’t help what changes that came with time made her change.

He can’t help but want to know more about her.

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

TES Summer Fest Day 3: Starlit

You'll Be In My Heart

Summary:

I will tell you the story of the traitorous Dragon Priest who ever truly served one single dragon and no other—the woman he fell in love with; his own Dragoness, the sun-eyed bride of flame, the one who redeemed him from a death everlasting. But in every tale, little one, this one has also a twist: it was he who was first destined to rescue her from a demise, even if they both found out many years later.

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ Guided by the moonglow and a starlit sky, the First Dragonborn comes to realize that not even the confines of Oblivion can prevent his spirit from finding its evermore destiny.

Rating&Warnings: Teen And Up Audiences. Some (mild) descriptions of the near-death of a newborn child, and some fleeting references concerning changes in Miraak's physical appearance/emotional state in Apocrypha.

Wordcount: 2,006 words

@tes-summer-fest, thank you for this lovely event! 🥰

This one-shot is below the cut and you can find it posted in Ao3, too!

There are no stars in Apocrypha.

Miraak, the First Dragonborn of an Aedra and the First Servant of a Daedra in equal measures, knows this all too well. Much to his despair, he has conceded to it for eternities unending now—or is it perhaps hours, minutes, or mere heartbeats of a second ever since a reel of obsidian-black ink engulfed and swiped him forever from a place asunder in two and smeared in blooded snow? This, he could never really say; time is a thing most whimsical in Oblivion, anyhow. When he is courageous enough to raise his eyes from the intricate filigree full of scattered pages below, to this caricature of a sky aloft, all he damns himself with is a canopy green and swirling, like a poisoned typhoon, like a polluted abyss, and in the place of the moon and stars he once marveled, named, and dreamed under somewhere in Frostwood's ice-sprinkled tundra, now there are only the boneless limbs, and the demon-like, sleepless, ever-watching eyes of the Woodland Man, as his fellow Atmorans called him; the Gardener of Memories, of Knowledge, of Fate—the Gardener of Men, is his most precise name.

His body does not function in Apocrypha; his heart does not beat, and so the blood in his veins does not flow—instead, it lies stagnant with no other option but to adjust with the ink puddles beneath his feet, altering him into a Seeker clad in the tainted flesh of a death-pale man, little by little. His body does not hurt in Apocrypha; if he ever felt any sensation, it was nothing more than the phantom pain one feels upon a limb they have already lost. His body has no need for sleep in Apocrypha; his eternal damnation is to always remain awake, watch how everything changes around him, and how it remains the same.

But, why now, does Miraak feel something changing? 

For the first time, a pain keen and penetrating and endless rends through him. It reaches the very depths of his dragon soul that wails its reverberating suffering across Oblivion, it carves him like a razor with a scalding and rusty tip, and it knocks his breath out. As he falls to his knees that crack under the weight of his body, his heart thunders like the drums of a tribal war dance beneath his chest, down his ribs, in his ears, in his face, in every fiber of his being, everywhere, everywhere, setting his blood alight and moiling. 

On his knees as he is, his neck and head jerk up against his will as though in a forced slumber, in a trance, his hood and mask slipping and clattering to the stale floor, freeing his waist-long all-tangled hair, and before his bottomless eyes roll in the back of his head, he manages to catch a thing most curious: the evermore swirl of Apocrypha's sky has now ceased, the immense double-pupils of Herma-Mora nowhere to be seen, and everything is frozen and standstill and put out.

_____________________________________________

The extinguished light slowly returns to him, and Miraak is on his feet, feeling no pain this time—on the quite contrary, all he feels is an unexplained calmness, that sort of peace one makes with themselves when they have a clear purpose to fulfill, an inescapable destiny written in the skies before they are even born. Though, there is a more crucial difference now: that light growing its sheen above his head, is not of Apocrypha, its sick green shade is no more, neither on him nor anywhere about. 

That light is a delicate, silken caress, limning and bathing him in a milky luster; it reflects flawlessly on his marble skin, burns up the ebony pools of his eyes with a silver flare like a celestial fire, and mirrors his ashen-white hair like an iridescent halo, until it becomes one and whole with his very being, and he looks like—like a lokzii, the eternal entourage of the Divines in Aetherius.

That light, is the light of a starlit needlework, embellished with smaller and larger seams, each representing a distant luminary and various constellations connecting the galactic dots between them. The starglow mingles with the radiant rays of a moon so full that, for an instant, Miraak thinks it is not a mere moon but the heart of an Aedra, expanded and centered inside the night sky's velvet embrace.

And there are stars anew. 

Real ones, he then realizes in awe.

Is he—is he back to Nirn? So soon? He has just set in motion his pursuit of enchanting the Skaal Stones with his Bend Will, so his hypnotic influence on the people of Solstheim in toiling them all day and all night long, fueling his return with the sacred ancient power of the All-Maker could have been... not nearly enough to help him escape the confines of Oblivion yet!

"I am lost and adrift," he looks up at the moon and speaks to it as if it were a living person, a fleshed guide. "It has been millennia since I last marveled at the sky, you see, and I cannot recall how it is to follow the path of the stars. Care to show me the way?"

And as if heeding his plea, a moonbeam flashes above him and starts to forge the route—or maybe it is his feet that begin to move first, and he becomes an astral walker with a destination untold but predestined and familiar-to-soul all the same, damning on the boundaries of his hellish prison and spanning through Nirn. As the case may be, the stellar canopy overhead will burnish brighter, as though all the stars together suddenly went supernova, momentary converting the night into day, the moon into the sun, when Miraak finds himself by the heavy, wooden gates of a building—a mead-hall that has the shape of a lavish... longship, a shield-adorned one at that, exactly like the ones once swayed upon the sun-shimmered seawater of Jylkurfyk's harbor; like the ones heroes-of-old sailed across the Sea of Ghosts to meet their coveted plunder at the other side.

He cannot help but recognize the midnight firmament's apparent signal to him, and so Miraak passes through these gates, stepping inside the mead-hall. Like an intangible specter he wanders within, and even though his view continues to be softly wreathed by the white-blue moonglow that escorted him to this place, he is completely indiscernible by every person dwelling there. His hands may graze against theirs as he glides his way amongst them, though he is naught but a whispering zephyr to them, a wisp of shadow, and they are but scarcely limned figures, fleeting forms in his eyes. 

Everyone and everything, ephemeral thready presences all around. Except—

Except for a newborn girl, her mirage so clear to his vision as though he faces his reflection in a grand soul gem; a girl with few red tufts upon her delicate crown, set in an oak-timbered cradle chiseled into wolven motifs, next to a bed that smells of blood, wolfsbane, and primrose. A girl that does not get to be held and protected by her mother's loving arms, nursed from her breast, and put to sleep by her soothing lullaby; all because—because Arkay claims her first.

Death has stretched its bloody talons towards the child who just met the world outside the womb, though earlier than she was meant to—always so hasty, always so impatient, the little fool, Mother Mara have mercy on her—and thus she bears a tiny and too-frail body, a listless surrender on her limbs, an ill pallor on her cheeks. A lily, she is; an ivory bud on the edge of withering.

This infant will be dead before the night is done. 

Be not afeared, soothes Miraak as he bends over the crib—it is his very dragon soul that it is speaking at this moment, while his human voice does not make a sound, his lips, not even a stir—death's darkness shrinking aside, life-light prevailing. I will tell you the story of the traitorous Dragon Priest who ever truly served one single dragon and no other—the woman he fell in love with; his own Dragoness, the sun-eyed bride of flame, the one who redeemed him from a death everlasting. The knuckles of his hand brush the child's soft cold cheek in the most feathery caress. But in every tale, little one, this one has also a twist: it was he who was first destined to rescue her from a demise, even if they both found out many years later.

And then, silent like a prayer and thunderous like a battlecry, he says: Whatever Light I have left in me, let it pass to her; let her be saved and live.

If the stellar-burst he saw by the time he found the gates of the mead-hall was like a supernova of all stars exploding as one, the forceful blast he sees after these very words leave his dovahsil is equivalent of— 

Realms crashing together, galaxies spinning in interstellar dust, nebulae forming new stars over and over again—

Newborn constellations—a shimmering crescent with a fraction of its disk slowly illuminated by direct sunlight, until all Miraak beholds is the moon and the sun united, bound together, rising up up up the starlit sky, finding its place amidst the constellations of the Ritual and the Lord— 

Uncreated Light that blinds and redeems him all at once— 

And in the end?

In the end, two eyes previously sealed shut, now open wide.

Two eyes, of pure molten sun. 

_____________________________________________

A violent inhale plunges down Miraak's lungs, chest heaving and falling by vigorous turns, and he blinks his strained eyes. For some unfathomable reason that he cannot recall no matter how much cognitive effort he puts forth, he is not standing on his feet; instead, he is sprawled upon Apocrypha's moist pages, his body numb and drained, his muscles aching and shaking as though he'd just traversed miles and miles away. His hair is free, his face is uncovered, hood and mask gone, even if he always made sure to conceal his countenance—no, his shame—ever since he set foot in this nightmare.

He bares his teeth and glares at the familiar abyss floating above his head, to his left, his right, behind, in front of him, and everywhere all at once. "Why am I like this?" He croaks, trying to get himself up, but the effort goes in vain, his legs giving up and falling to his back again. "What have you done to me, you foul bastard?"

And while Miraak would have expected some ambiguous but no less sharp rejoinder, Herma-Mora merely narrows his prominent gigantic eyeball in a way that makes him appear infuriated, as if... as if he likewise does not know what to respond to Miraak's demand. As if he is just as baffled as his Servant. 

"I am the Demon of Knowledge, Guardian of the Unseen, Knower of the Unknown. No knowledge can evade me forever," he rumbles in the end, almost like he's struggling to assure himself, of his own influence on his very sphere; one would even say he sounds fretful. "Have no fear, dear Champion, and this one shall reveal itself, sooner or later." 

Twenty-six years later, a woman will read a Black Book and fall into Apocrypha. She will be stunned by the Dragon Priest's spells in what they both thought to be their first encounter, and down at his feet as she is, she will raise her face and look at him straight in the eye—and for the second time after five millennia, his heart will beat once more. Twenty-six years later, she will kiss his lips and confess her soulful love with a bard's ballad. 

Titles, triumphs, praise, power, and pain. All in the shape of hers.

A woman so different and yet so same as him.

Death-grazed, fire-blessed, a clawed-and-teethed spirit.

A Dragoness—

Sun-eyed.

[bonetrousled]

also i heard abt the disney typhoon lagoon accident and to preface i am absolutely on the side of the woman affected and she should get every penny from the park that she deserves bc that SHOULD NOT have happened w due inspection/upkeep etc and what DID happen is horrific. but i really hope this doesn't motivate the park to completely retheme the waterparks bc they're like. the only relatively untouched areas w the Eisner Theming Charm. there's basically no ip in them aside from a VERY small frozen section in blizzard beach and it's like a beautiful little time capsule and i Really hope they keep them that way while improving them for proper guest safety to avoid incidents like that in the future

[beauregardlionett]

my self portrait is a mess (you framed it anyway)

AO3 Link

The surface of his countertop provided a stark, lukewarm contrast beneath Shen Yi’s icy fingers.

Distantly, Shen Yi knew the reason his palms were clammy and fingers frozen was because his body had shifted into fight or flight. His sympathetic nervous system was diverting blood from his extremities to his heart. An instinctive attempt at support as it beat a frantic rhythm against the backside of his sternum. It left Shen Yi’s limbs cold and trembling, his breathing erratic, and his head spinning.

It was such a ridiculously detached and clinical thought that Shen Yi huffed a weak laugh as he leaned his weight wearily against the counter. The sharp edge pressed back, biting against the prominence of his hipbones. Shen Yi pushed a little harder, trying to ground himself in reality.

He looked up at the green, faintly glowing numbers of the clock on the microwave as Shen Yi attempted to wrestle his emotions under control.

02:43

Just over three hours until Shen Yi had to leave for work and he had no shot in hell of going back to sleep. Flashes of the nightmare that woke him struck every time he blinked, the back of his eyelids a canvas for terror. His skin itched from underneath, an impossible desire to crawl out of his existence burning at the back of Shen Yi’s throat.

Hands still shaking, Shen Yi pushed roughly away from the counter and spun on his heel toward his art studio. He needed to draw, or paint, or sculpt, or create something with his hands in any available medium—anything. Whatever kept Shen Yi from digging his fingernails into his palms until he broke skin.

Whenever Shen Yi felt big emotions, things he could not possibly process and file away within mere seconds, he drew. Sometimes his coworkers would find him curled in a corner of his office, a sketchpad tucked so close to his chest it was a miracle Shen Yi could draw at all. When he didn’t have a sketchpad, Shen Yi turned to canvas—something sprawling and blank and bordering on not big enough to contain Shen Yi’s multitudes.

With mindless, frantic motions, Shen Yi flipped open a large sketch pad and propped it on an empty easel. He grabbed at his charcoals and came back with a stick he snapped in half and set to the paper.

Shen Yi’s creation began without thought. The lines of a rough, meaningless sketch bloomed on the paper of their own accord. Shen Yi was merely the vessel for their creation, a blank canvas in his own right as his thoughts quieted. There was no room for terror, no space for roots to catch, when everything was funneled out of his thoughts and into haphazard existence.

It had always been like this for Shen Yi. He picked up graffiti as a child because it was freeing—an endless flow of colors and ideas not bound by the borders of a canvas. It was an escape from the crushing weight of burdens too big for a child to bear. Then, Xu Yiduo had come along and given that outlet direction, meaning…purpose.

And then M had swept into his life with all the force of a typhoon and ruined everything. She set the metaphorical fire and Shen Yi followed suit.

No one knew this, but it had taken Shen Yi a couple of years before he held a pencil to paper again without panicking. He only found the courage to continue drawing at all because he realized the very thing that had been used against him could also catch those responsible.

Shen Yi’s fingers fumbled against the paper. He paused his work to breathe, shaky. Glancing up, his neck screamed in protest of the hunched posture Shen Yi had been sporting. It was still dark out, the heavy blanket of pre-dawn hours still firmly settled on the world. His studio space was a scattering of organized chaos, as per usual.

Golden warmth always bathed the studio Shen Yi grew up painting in. Encompassed by a comforting hue of burnt sienna nostalgia bracketed by the warmth of a compatible palette of colors. Staring out at his dimly lit apartment studio now, he physically ached at the contrast. The room was shrouded with muted grey where scarce light spilled through the window from down the alley. Shen Yi knew the day would highlight it with watered down sunlight and lethargic moonbeams on cloudless nights, a constant cycle of monochrome. It ached with emptiness and echoed with hollow loneliness. There was something fundamental missing from the picture, and Shen Yi couldn’t fill it on his own.

The charcoal slipped from between his fingers and smeared a scar across his unfinished sketch.

Fumbling for his phone, hands only slightly steadier now than they had been earlier, Shen Yi pulled up a familiar contact. He pressed his phone against his ear with more force than necessary as he collapsed into a corner and pushed his head into the wall for stability.

“Hello?” Du Cheng’s sleep thick voice grumbled through the speaker.

Shen Yi said nothing, but his tremulous exhale spoke volumes in the stead of actual words.

“Shen Yi?” Du Cheng called through the phone, distinctly more awake now than a few seconds before. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Shen Yi managed, sounding anything except convincing. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

There was a weighted pause over the line before, “why did you call?”

From anyone other than Du Cheng, it would sound irritated. Shen Yi knew him well enough by now to pick up the genuine undercurrent of concern beneath the interrogation.

“I don’t know,” Shen Yi whispered. A bold-faced lie.

“I needed to hear a voice.” Close, but not quite the truth. Shen Yi cleared his throat and pressed a little more into the wall for courage.

Du Cheng was quiet on the other end of the call, giving Shen Yi the space to navigate whatever was happening.

“I needed to hear your voice.”

“Okay,” Du Cheng said, softer and gentler than Shen Yi had ever heard him. “I’m here.”

“I know,” Shen Yi breathed out. “You always are.”

Du Cheng didn’t seem to know how to respond to that as they lapsed into silence. The steady white noise of a call in progress hummed against Shen Yi’s eardrum and he sank into the unwavering quiet. Shen Yi had never been to the mountains before. But he imagined this kind of stillness was what it felt like to be lost among the ancient peaks and aged trees. There was a certain security that came with knowing when silence meant safety.

“Do you want a ride to work?” Du Cheng spoke up, his voice soft with sleep again.

Shen Yi took stock of himself. Pressed into a corner, a messy sketch on an easel, and broken charcoal at his feet, and faintly trembling in the aftermath of nightmare induced tension. He felt mentally anchored but physically unsteady.

Once upon a time, Shen Yi would have packed all this away and let no one know it had ever come to the surface. He would have gotten dressed and rode his bike to work despite the danger and gone on with his day. Shen Yi would have allowed himself to drown in silence beneath the weight of another unresolved night. He would smile pleasantly through the whole unknown ordeal, too.

But now, Du Cheng was tossing him a life preserver. He stood on the sanctuary of a metaphorical ship, a miraculous presence in Shen Yi’s metaphorical storm.

“If you don’t mind,” Shen Yi heard himself whisper.

“Sure,” Du Cheng answered. He grunted softly, the sound accompanied by the distant rustle of movement. Shen Yi glanced at the clock on the wall, startled to find that it was now just past five in the morning.

“I’ll be there in about an hour,” Du Cheng said, words muffled through a yawn. “We’re stopping for coffee on the way and you’re buying.”

Shen Yi sniffed a grin as he stretched out his legs, slowly uncurling. His muscles screamed in protest, but the ache was almost as pleasant as it was uncomfortable.

“Sure,” Shen Yi agreed. He had woken Du Cheng before sunrise, after all. A cup of coffee and maybe something to eat was a small price to pay for his gratitude. Shen Yi could never repay Du Cheng for all that he owed him.

Du Cheng made a noise of acknowledgement as he yawned again. “See you soon.”

Shen Yi was still grinning to himself as they hung up. He took another minute or two to stretch out and regain the feeling in his legs. Pushing to his feet, Shen Yi wandered through his apartment as he got ready for work. Xiao Xuan pushed against his shins and wove through his legs, meowing loudly for breakfast. Shen Yi crouched to pet Xiao Xuan’s back, scratching between his ears.

“I hear you,” Shen Yi murmured with a smile. “I’ll feed you soon, I promise.”

A few minutes later, Shen Yi was putting the cat food can into the fridge when there was a knock at his door. Opening it revealed Du Cheng on the other side, looking tired but put together. Xiao Xuan had abandoned breakfast to stand at Shen Yi’s ankles and meow for attention before Shen Yi could say anything.

“Good morning,” Du Cheng said, looking down at Xiao Xuan.

Shen Yi scooped his cat into his arms and gestured into his apartment. “Let me grab my things and put Xiao Xuan inside. Then we can go.”

Du Cheng nodded, poorly hiding a yawn behind his hand. Shen Yi smothered the stab of guilt in his chest and turned to head into his apartment. He went to his studio to grab his bag and make sure the necessary supplies were inside. His sketchpad still propped up on the easel made Shen Yi pause mid-stride, gaze pulled toward the haphazard charcoal lines. The paper bowed slightly from the angle and the force Shen Yi had applied, appearing to sag under the weight of the drawing. A confusing coalescence of Shen Yi’s features and M’s stared at him, with a heavily lined human skull transposed over the strange portrait.

Shen Yi walked over and flipped the sketchpad resolutely shut before putting it into his desk, choosing not to examine the drawing further.

When he came back to the front door, bag slung over his shoulder, Du Cheng was standing inside the entrance, leaning against the wall and appearing half awake. 

“Du Cheng,” Shen Yi called softly, stepping up to him and ghosting his fingers over Du Cheng’s arm. “Are you alright?”

Du Cheng blinked, turning his focus to Shen Yi and yawning all in one motion. Shen Yi opened his mouth to ask if Du Cheng was okay again, if he was truly okay to drive. He faltered, however, when Du Cheng raised a hand and cupped Shen Yi’s jaw. Du Cheng squinted sleepily down at him as he traced the pad of his thumb over the skin beneath Shen Yi’s eye.

“You look tired,” Du Cheng muttered.

“You’re one to talk,” Shen Yi whispered, voice unsteady from the sudden proximity. The trail of Du Cheng’s finger against his face burned like fire, a pleasant heat beneath the skin, a reminder that tenderness was an option. Without thinking, Shen Yi leaned into Du Cheng’s palm, holding eye contact as he did.

Du Cheng’s eyes flicked from the skin of Shen Yi’s face to meet his gaze. There was a moment of silence that weighed between them the way the air hung heavy before a storm. Shen Yi exhaled, a shaky and strung out noise. Du Cheng blinked and pulled his phone from his pocket, keeping his hand against Shen Yi’s cheek.

“We’re taking today off,” Du Cheng said, thumbing at his phone. Shen Yi blinked at him, stunned.

“Du Cheng, we can’t take off so suddenly.”

“Sure we can,” Du Cheng said, looking at his phone even as he kept contact with Shen Yi’s face. “Call it a sick day.”

Shen Yi reached out and wrapped his fingers around Du Cheng’s wrist, squeezing lightly. Du Cheng paused, glancing back at him.

“Du Cheng, I’m okay,” Shen Yi said, soft and insistent. “Let’s go to work, and we can rest later.”

Du Cheng blinked at him, slowly putting his phone back in his pocket. He reached up and pulled his fingers through Shen Yi’s hair once, settling his fingers at the base of Shen Yi’s neck. Du Cheng’s other hand was still against Shen Yi’s cheek and he almost melted in the warm sanctuary of Du Cheng’s steady hands. He wavered for a moment, about to give in to Du Cheng’s wish to stay home. But they had a team waiting for them, a city relying on them, and a paycheck to earn.

“I’ll drive you home, too,” Du Cheng said, leaving no room for bargaining. “And you owe me dinner for it.”

Shen Yi smirked and nodded, knowing this was Du Cheng’s not-so-subtle way of inviting himself to spend the night.

“Deal.”

As they left Shen Yi’s home and stepped into the warming dawn, Shen Yi breathed in the fresh air and smiled at Du Cheng as they went to the car. His nightmare and shadowed studio felt like a lifetime ago with Du Cheng at his side.

[thegrandlinesimp]

Hiiiiii Line 🥺🥺🥺

Can I have.. can I get... can I. *sob* Can I have a Killer realizing he's in love with his s/o while in the middle of the battlefield scenario please? Like, everyone is screaming and there is blood everywhere and his s/o is kicking ass and being so badass that he can't help but stare.

I know you write more spicy things but please, I'm desperate. (You don't have too if you don't wanna, of course) Bye bye! See ya! ❤

Ah yes, I may be a self titled smut queen but I’ve been writing fight scenes for just as long, just never thought I’d get asked to do a reader insert one. I just “they” for the s/o to make it as inclusive as possible.

Warning: violence, blood, death of random marines, kinda gory but horror anime (Parasyte, anyone?) have made me desensitised to that stuff so I don’t know

Killer knew all too well his lover could handle their own in a fight, he’d seen the bar scuffles they’d thrown themselves into (most of which had been started by his captain), always walking away beaten up but victorious. He knew their strength wasn’t something to scoff at, even if it wasn’t on par with his own. He knew they could dismantle a gun almost as quick as his best friend. He knew they were impeccable with a throwing knife.

He knew.

But…this…

It had caught his attention in the middle of raiding a marine outpost, something had bumped the side of his boot. Looking down he saw it was a severed head, the marine cap still secured on the top, expression frozen in shock. Killer swung his blades, dispatching another foe, and looked in the direction the head had come from.

A battle cry - more of blood curdling screech really - echoed across the courtyard. He watched as a knife slit the throat of a marine, blood spraying over the man’s killer. Eyes burned with sheer determination as they whipped around, firing their flintlock before they’d even finished turning, hitting a charging enemy between the eyes, the body stumbling and falling forward from the momentum it had while alive a second before.

A force of nature. That was what Killer saw before him, a raging typhoon with no mercy to simple beings of flesh and blood.

Killer sucked in a deep breath, not realising he’d even stopped til his lungs began to ache. Though as his breathing returned, ragged and deep, the ache in his chest remained. A raw, vast emotion that he couldn’t find a word for. He felt the urge to run to them, to stand and fight right by their side.

That…what…

His throat tightened, teeth gnawed at his lower lip and the world seemed to sway for a moment as his heart skipped a beat or two.

Suddenly there was a marine in his vision, confusion riddled his mind as he tried to snap back into reality. Yet he knew the reality before him.

He had no time, barrel of the rifle pointed right at his chest.

The marine suddenly jerked and gagged, eyes bulging, grip on his gun loosening, letting the weapon fall to the ground as blood seeped out the corner of his mouth. That’s when Killer noticed the tip on the knife blade sticking out of the man’s throat, coated in his own blood. The blade was removed, and the marine crumpled to the ground.

“Oi!” a familiar voice snapped, and Killer blinked dumbly at his lover, “Keep your head in the fight, Killer!”

Even the sound of their voice made his heart want to burst out of his chest, made him want to hold them and never let go. Instead he just nodded and off they went, tearing and slashing their way through the courtyard. He looked on as they kicked an enemy in the gut before stabbing them in the shoulder, followed by a pistol whip to the head that sent the man tumbling and Killer’s heart fluttering.

He licked his dry lips and shook his head, making the decision to go further into the outpost in search for his next target, away from what was a dangerous distraction considering the current situation. Much to his dismay he saw his Captain watching him from a short distance away, a knowing, shit-eating grin on his face.

“You’ve got it baaaaaaad, Killer,” Kid sniggered as he walked away, the fallen rifle on the ground dragging after him for a few meters before flying up to join the accumulating metal surrounding his left arm.

Killer swallowed, face flushed beneath his mask and heart pounding in his chest and ears. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, not yet anyway, but…

Kid, for once, was right.