#Countless lovers under cover of the street

[iamtheansweringmachine]

use somebody by kings of leon is such a dreamling song it makes me cry

[reidmania]

use somebody | spencer reid

part two

summary; spencer doesn’t believe someone like you could ever like someone like him, but he would do anything for a chance.

warnings; fem!reader, reader is described as being really really kind, bau!worker reader, fluff (slight angst bc spencer doubts himself) reader is a bundle of joy idk, spencer is absolutely disgustingly in love with reader. reader has a dog ( a golden retriever ) reader IS A BOOK LOVER, reader is shorter than spencer., no love confession but like there basically is. maybe a part two coming idk!

an; this is based off use somebody by kings of leon bc that song just AHHHH

‘I've been roamin' around, always lookin' down at all I see, painted faces fill the places I can't reach. You know that I could use somebody, you know that I could use somebody, someone like you and all you know and how you speak, countless lovers under cover of the street, you know that I could use somebody, you know that I could use somebody. Someone like you, off in the night, while you live it up, I'm off to sleep, wagin' wars to shape the poet and the beat. I hope it's gonna make you notice, I hope it's gonna make you notice someone like me’

If there was a single light in a room, it would be your smile. Spencer had decided that the minute you introduced yourself to him on your first day, your wide smile was the first thing he noticed, then your kind voice — ever since Spencer Reid’s heart had your name written all over it and you had no idea.

You had been talking to Emily, your hands flinging around the more excited you got about whatever it was you were talking about, you were still smiling when Spencer approached with furrowed eyebrows after Emily had noticed him in the doorway and called him over to introduce himself to the team newest member.

You had introduced yourself with probably the widest, and sweetest grin he had ever seen. He almost forgot about the amount of germs spread through hand shaking when you offered him yours. He was pretty sure he felt the most embarrassment and disappointment when he didn’t forget — and turned down your handshake with his name and a silly ramble about what your name means historically.

He didn’t miss the way your smile never dampened — not even after his rejection of your offered hand, not during his embarrassingly long ramble, not as you listened intriguingly and then told him how cool it was that he just knew that off the top of his head.

That was a year, forty three days, 16 hours and 27 minutes ago — not that Spencer was counting. But he definitely was.

Your kindness won his heart from that moment. Your smile became his moral support during a particularly tough case. It seemed all the less tense when you would meet his eyes from across the room and offer him the sweetest smile. Your small gifts you left around for each member of the team became what he looked forward to and the end of every week — each more thoughtful than the last.

Spencer had kept the collection of small gifts you had given him on the shelf of his bedroom. Each one was specific to him. If someone on the team had mentioned wanting something or something they liked — at the end of the week it would be sitting on their desk with a little pink sticky note and a small ‘I hope you like it!’ in your hand writing.

He noticed that a lot of the time your gifts for him reference whatever he had rambled about the most that week, because he never explicitly told you he wanted anything or liked something because he knew you would go out of your way to get him it — you however found a way anyways.

Doctor who figurines, books, dvd’s. one week you had noticed him fidgeting more than normal and on the friday evening you had left a small collection of different fidget toys for him, with the same pink sticky note that wrote, ‘Picking at your skin is bad!! it can lead to infections and sometimes if you do it too much you could end up needing surgery. (I dont know if thats true, doctor google wasn’t helpful!) I hope these help’

He hadn’t picked at his skin since, if he was fidgeting it was with one of the small metal fidgets you had gifted him.

“Good morning!” You chirped — suddenly the room seemed brighter as you walked into the bullpen, your bag was slung over your shoulders as you made your way towards your desk. You turned your head to offer Spencer a sweet smile.

He returned it, lifting his hand to wiggle his fingers in a gentle waving. A habit he had picked up from you. You never just waved like everyone else did, instead you just held up your hand and wiggled your fingers. When you were asked about it you had smiled and shrugged and said it seemed like your fingers were dancing.

Spencer was pretty sure it was the sweetest reasoning for something he had even heard, but maybe that was just the fact it was coming from you.

“Did you like the dvd I gave you on Friday? The documentary one — if you have even watched it yet! I thought it was interesting!!” You said as you placed your bag on your desk. He thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest at the way your hair fell over your face when your head dropped down to look at your desk.

He shuffled slightly at his desk to sit up a little bit straighter. “I watched it.” He stated. Any dvd you gave him he watched the night he had got it. This one particularly — he had known all of the information that was in it, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying it any less — because you liked it enough to recommend it to him.

“I thought it was interesting.” He nodded, you lifted your head and smiled and he started to wonder at what point that sweet smile would stop having an effect on him. He partly hoped it never would. “I watched another one yesterday. I think you’d like it.” He said, not mentioning the fact he had paid extra attention to all of it, making sure it included something you were interested in, just so he could recommend it to you then talk to you about it the next day.

You grinned, leaning against your desk as you looked at him. He was thankful your desk was so close to his. That you were so close to him. Close enough to have a conversation without having to talk across the room, close enough that he could lean over and help with whatever you needed if you asked.

“The documentaries you watch might be a little above my expertise. I think I’ll just be confused the entire time” You giggled out, tilting your head slightly to the side. He shook his head instantly, eyes following the hair that fell the way your head tilted, down your shoulder.

“You’re smart, you’d understand.” He said.

You smiled and raised your eyebrow slightly, “I’m not smart like you’re smart, Spence.” You shook your head, just as he had a few minutes ago.

He shrugged, “Not many people are” It came out cockier than he intended, he was about to apologise for how it sounded before he heard you let out a gutty laugh. A real laugh. “If- If you’d like.. We uh- We could watch it together and I could explain to you whatever you don’t understand” He added, then he realised he had basically just invited you to hang out with him. Just you and him, in an unprofessional setting. Now his mind was fuelled by the fear of rejection.

That fear dimmed when your smile widened. “Really? That would be great! I’d love that.” You had said.

Spencers mind went to almost a million different places in that moment. He thought about curling up with you on his couch, the documentary playing on his tv as you focused intently on whatever information was being said, he would admire you, he would ache to pull you closer and kiss your smiling lips.

Then he remembered how kind you were. The memory was both a blessing and a curse because then he remembered that your acceptance was probably an acceptance from your kind heart and want to spend time with your friend, opposed to wanting to spend time with him.

You smiled at him sweetly again before you were rushing off to greet JJ and tell her about something silly or maybe talk about whatever the two of you did on the weekend. He knew you often went out with the girls of the team on weekends.

Those nights he would lay in bed and wonder what you were doing, what you were wearing, how your hair was done, if you were laughing at a strangers jokes — you probably were. He knew that because you laughed at everyone’s jokes.

if all the joy in the world was wrapped up into a bundle and forced upon a person — that person was you. Spencer didn’t know if he had ever seen you not smiling and honestly his heart ached for the day he would have to.

“Hey Spence?” His head turned instantly towards the sound of your voice, he looked around to see you on your tiptoes trying to reach a file from a top shelf. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. You didn’t need to say anything else before he was standing and walking over towards you.

He reached up, fingertips skimming along the files, “Which one do you need?” He asked gently, his eyes dipping away from the files to meet yours as you returned flat on your feet, a grateful smile on your lips, staring up at him.

“Um” You paused, eyebrows furrowing before a laugh left your lips, “The.. second one- I think” You paused before nodding.

He smiled “You think?” reaching up to pull out the second file nonetheless. He heard you sigh dramatically — he didn’t need to look at you to know you were smiling still, probably pushing hair behind your ear.

“Yes, I think.” You stated. He pulled out the file, handing it to you. You took it gently, flicking through it for a moment, your eyes dancing along the words on the page before nodding.

You scrunched up your nose a little when you looked back up at him. “— I thought right! Thank you Spence. You’re amazing and great and awesome” You rambled, flooding him with praise. He felt his cheeks warm at your never ending compliments despite how often you gave them. You constantly reminded him how amazing you thought he was — when he was doing the most minimal things.

He wanted to take it as a sign that maybe you felt the same way he did but then you’d flood someone else with the same praise and that flame of hope would dwindle down just as fast as it came alight.

“You’re welcome” He settled on as his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, your cheeks were a warm shade of pink and he wondered if that had anything to do with him rather than the fact the room was just a little bit warmer than normal.

You grinned and turned away. He followed as you walked back towards the desks. He sat down at his desk, swivelling his chair to face your desk. “I was thinking — if you wanted, this weekend we could watch that documentary at mine, my dog gets a bit excited around new people but he could stay outside if it makes you more comfortable— Oh and theres a new take away shop near my house if you wanted to get dinner” You rambled about your plan’s absentmindedly as you looked over the case.

Spencer felt his heart pull for a number of reasons, one because he didn’t even know you had a dog. He couldn’t help but wonder if everyone else did and this was just a piece of information he had missed out on. Secondly, at the fact you were serious about watching the documentary with him. You actually wanted to.

He had partly assumed you had just agreed because you were kind and didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and it would just be plans you two never really followed through with. He should’ve known better — because it was you.

“You don’t have plans with the girls?” He asked, eyebrows pinched together because he could clearly remember this morning hearing you and Emily talk about where you guys would go this weekend.

You let out a gentle laugh, shaking your head. “Im making plans with you actually. I go out with them every weekend, I’m sure they will survive without me for one.” You smiled sweetly at him, and his heart felt like it was being clenched by someones tight hand.

He tried to hide the fact his cheeks had turned an ugly shade of pink, and that his eyes had blinked away from your captivating gaze for a moment. “That- Yeah- Yeah. That would, thats fine. Your dog is fine. We can get dinner.” He stammered out, because apparently your kindness took away his ability to think straight. Although he knew that already.

“Great!” You smiled. Suddenly Spencer hoped this week would go fast. He turned his gaze back to yours as a question weighed on his tongue, a wonder.

“What type of dog do you have?” He asked, his tone laced with curiosity as he watched you reorganise your desk. How you were smiling while doing something so mundane had his stomach filling with an ache of longing.

You raised your eyes back to his, a gasp of excitement leaving your lips at the opportunity to talk about your dog. “A golden retriever!!” You said, before going into a ramble about your dog.

He grinned as he listened to every word. He couldn’t help but think, a golden retriever. That was so fitting.

What Spencer wasn’t expecting at the end of the week, was a book sitting on his desk. The book wasn’t the surprising part. It was the pink sticky note and what it had written on it that sparked his curiosity.

‘I read this last week and I know romance novels aren’t usually your style but I thought of you. Its annotated. The key is on the back. Have the greatest night <3’

You had already left for the night after dropping everyone’s weekly small gift off around their desks and waving goodbye. Spencer knew you left a little earlier than anyone else to get the bus. You knew how to drive, you had a car. When he had asked you why you got the bus everyday you had told him you just enjoyed people watching.

He constantly worried about what may happen with the dangers of public transport and with how kind you were — well you would be an easy target. How could he tell you that he worried about you when you gave him the sweetest reasoning in the world? How could he tell you he worried without pouring his heart out to you.

Spencer went home that night and in bed he read the book you had gifted him — you were right, romance novels weren’t necessarily his favourite but it didn’t stop him from reading it with just as much interest because it was you that recommended it.

His eyes danced along the key on the back for your annotation. Pink was things you found sweet, green was moments you found interesting, yellow was things that moments that made you sad. — that one made Spencer’s lips pull into a tug because how dare anything make someone so sweet so sad?

But what really caught his interest was the blue. ‘things i want you to know’ It made him wonder what things in this book could possibly be something you wanted him to know.

When reading, he came across many colours and lines highlighted, most in pink and green, a few in yellow, but there was only one part highlighted in blue, it was lines in a conversation in the middle of a particularly mushy love confession between the two characters of the book.

‘You smile a lot.’ was highlighted in blue,

and then, “When you’re around, its hard not to’

Spencer didn’t know what it meant — thats not true. He knew what it meant, he knew what you were saying but he didn’t know what it meant about how you felt about him. His mind swirled with the possibility that you might feel something for him.

How it was possible that someone like you, could ever feel anything for someone like him had his mind in a frenzy.

That didn’t matter when Spencer finished the book and added it to the collection of items you had gifted him, he kept the sticky note and placed it back on the book. He looked over the collection — each gift partnered with the sticky note you had written when gifting them.

Spencer Reid loved you, and if he played any part in making you smile — That was enough for him.

[sunboki]

— HELLION INN. (TEASER) a Stray Kids fiction

🌖 : Lee Minho x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. dystopian! au, enemies to lovers, monster! au, apocalypse! au, “we have to get along to survive” au, angst, high stakes

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 5k - 10k words

WARNINGS. gory descriptions, cursing, descriptive violence, implied intercourse, death, murder, usage of guns, injury, knives, reader and minho are “hunted”, mature themes

AUG'S NOTES. hi everyone! say hello to my long-rotting draft, turned fic! i tried something a little spooky for the october season, hopefully it’s to your satisfaction! i’m really looking forward to finishing this piece :)

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Receiving an ominous letter in the mail, a monster invades Seoul minutes later, carrying an uncanny sense of smell despite its blindness. Countless people have been slaughtered already, and with your letter as the only meager explanation to this madness, you find your feet leading towards the one place it said was safe: Hellion Inn.

or alternatively :

Minho won’t let you die. Not if it means letting this Monster get him or hell’s dawning itself. You’re going to survive. Together.

Run, something is coming. Go to Hellion Inn, you’ll be safe there.

Something? What is something? A terrorist attack? War?

Never had such a letter arrived at your doorstep other than this Tuesday, with the morning sunlight peeking through half-opened blinds casting your pajama-clad frame in its cascades.

And again, you reread and reread, questions raging in a distorted frenzy amidst your once just-wakening mind. 

Little were you aware what would come. What already roamed Seoul’s streets, approaching closer, closer. 

One objective resides in too many possibilities. 

Find Hellion Inn. 

.

.

.

Stuffing the letter in your pocket serves as the most sensible solution while you go over your options. If you didn’t have a clue about what dishes would be cooked, you’d check the ingredients first.

And yet, upon turning on the TV, you find your meal already served. 

On a platter, dripping with blood.

“This just in, an unidentifiable entity is making its way through Seoul in a rampage. The creature is highly dangerous. It appears to lack vision, and speculation has deemed it relies upon its smell to discern other beings. The creature has not been detained at this time. Under no circumstances should citizens leave their residences, and in the case you’re on the street, please evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately. Further information will be released.”

Your blood runs frigidly cold, enough you swear you could’ve turned to ice.

All of a sudden, war or a terrorist attack doesn’t sound nearly as daunting as before.

A monster. Ruthless, bloodthirsty. 

Monster. 

Instantaneously are news sites everywhere exploding, posting footage, pictures, and accounts of the creature each second. 

More and more and more until-

It all goes dark, your home plunged into a black abyss meagerly sustained by the sun’s rays, phone in hand ultimately powering off. 

Electricity down. Fully.

This isn’t like a usual predicament of a public threat, not something you’re prepared for, nor something anyone was prepared for. There’s no drill for a monster, no tsunami shelter or high rise building to reside upon. 

Was it obliviousness? Or were you all simply sheep to a ravaging wolf?

The latter seemed most convincing.

An exhale. No, a growl is what breaks your train of thought. Like the chuff of a tiger, curdling in its throat. 

Above. 

You can’t even bring yourself to move, can’t bear to breathe in fear you’d give yourself away as a shadow covers that once hopeful sunlight.

No shadow, but a thing. A monster. 

How did it get here so fast? How.. how the hell is this happening?

The sound of tiles shifting on your roof makes your fingers twitch, eyes stuck wide. 

The worlds apex predators turned into the prey. 

Each pound of your heart lies evident in ringing ears, listening to those low, horrendous gurgles, repeating that same chuff before it shifts again.

Again and again, and you’re unmoving.

Leave. Run. Anything. 

Yet, you can’t move a muscle, glued in place.

Until you do, and your legs act before you can process a thing. Grabbing for items, whatever it may be. Mind unable to process in its frantic state.

No. No.

A plea as your hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning down the apartment complex’s stairs in rapid descent, listening to the slow growls of the creature.

Don’t look behind, just go.

A mistake you find yourself making even when a life is on the line.

Your life is on the line.

And when you spare that single glimpse, murky lifeless eyes stare blindly back at you, bulging from its skull as if they never were intended to be there. Skin a hallowed, fleshy tone — ligaments hung awry. 

Disorderly, distasteful. If you look close enough, you swear you could’ve seen a beating heart, watched the oxygen cells rush through a pumping bloodstream. 

Gaping jaws hold copious teeth, ant-like incisors residing on either side of a ceaselessly smiling mouth, the corners of what appears to be lips ascending all the way up to nonexistent ears. 

Four legs, two antennae atop its head. At least two times the size of a human.

Horrific.

Never had such a thing appeared so terrifying.

With the letter clutched in one hand and your powerless phone in another do you run, praying that nonexistent vision truly is nonexistent.

Well, until a car alarm begins to ring, and you feel your stomach climb to your throat simultaneously.

Because it twitches. Not even a glance-sort of reaction. The entirety of whatever neck that monster hones twitches to look at you with a nausea-worthy crack! of its ligaments. Those jaws parted, a flattened nose breathing in.

And then it lurches, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran as fast as you did now.

Far, far. As far as you can go. 

It’s futile listening to gargled cries for help amongst rubble, the reaching of hands for your feet you can’t even spare a moment for as those scraping claws continue their perilous dance after you, scavenging on people as they go. 

So the second an intact person comes into view—a boy, looking about your age (and freakishly calm at that) with fluffy hair and rounded cheeks retaining such youth—you’re racing ahead before you can even think, ramming through those convenience store doors in a flurry of panic and fear.

“Monster— Monster- there’s a monster we have to go-“

“Do you like grilled cheese?” He mumbles, and you wonder if he’s talking to himself or you, no less asking such a question during this downright apocalypse.

“No, no there is—“ A shriek pierces the air in the distance, the clutter of debris alerting the monster’s proximity.

You, in a frantic attempt to redirect his attention, place either hand on his shoulders.

“A monster. There’s a monster out there and if we don’t hide, it’s going to kill us.” 

The boy licks his lips, cocking a contemplative brow before looking toward the freezer section. 

“Freezer?”

At this point the creature might as well be turning the corner, and you don’t need to respond for either of you to go running as fast as your legs will carry you, stuffing yourselves into the biting cold just as the bells above the entrance door ring.

Scariest part is this customer is intelligent enough to open doors.

This customer isn’t human. 

Like slow-motion you hear it. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, the lack of air in such a tight space, the monster’s rumbling.

Your hidden counterpart lodged himself into a freezer opposite to you, eyes squeezed shut the nearer clicking footsteps on tile sounded.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you open them, met with the monster’s face, hundreds of razor-sharp teeth lining its mouth, stretched into that same, chilling smile while it stares at you through the glass.

It can’t see you. It can’t see you. It can’t see you, You internally plead like a mantra, suffocating on the scream rising in your throat.

The loud clanging of a soup can the boy throws has the creature’s disfigured face whipping around, and you wordlessly communicate through mere terrified-eye-contact what either of you are thinking:

Run.

Without conscious you go flying, ramming past discarded groceries and tormented bodies into Seoul’s open roadway, void of any vehicle whatsoever.

Except for one.  

It’s a tow truck, key still lodged into the ignition, window broken with streaks of blood lining the door where a middle-aged man’s body had been dragged out. He rests lopsided below the front tire, abdomen severed in half.

Grotesque. 

“Car- Car!” You cry out, wildly gesturing for him to follow suit while you pry the driver’s door open, the monster’s frustrated growl enough motivation for the stranger to throw himself in as well.

In the nick of time you press down on the pedal, winding the wheel in a quick motion just as the hell-sent smashes itself from the shop, evidently angered.

“I’m Han!” The man occupying the passenger seat shouts, the hole through the windshield causing enormous amounts of wind to soar through the car and synonymously blur your senses.

“What?!” 

“My name is Han! Han Jisung!”

Squinting whilst looking through your mirror at the wickedly approaching Monster, you veer past as many obstacles as possible — most being corpses — as fast as the engine will let you.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Y/N!”

Han nods, grasp clutched onto his seat the more you speed increases, recklessly maneuvering left and right as if dodging a crocodile. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a crocodile, but a blood-thirsty beast wanting nothing more than to behead you. How sweet.

“Do you… Do you know how to drive?” He yells, and you raise your eyebrows, narrowly shifting past a shopping cart.

“If you count Mario-Kart as driving, I’m a pro!”

Han audibly squeaks his fear in response, eyes squeezing shut as if to not stare at the monster’s face nearing the mirror.

The speedometer cries out, vehicle shuddering as you near train tracks just at the edge of the city. 

Hopeful. 

Fleeting hope when the roar of a train’s whistle soars through the air, the look Han gives you doing little to sustain your already thinned sanity.

Perhaps you’ll die getting hit by a train than this monster.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

“We’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make i—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP—-“ You screech, foot slammed as far down on the gas pedal as possible, the rumbling of the train’s engine deafening. 

“HOLY SHITTTT—“ The man screams, mouth ajar as you soar over the tracks, preparing for impact only for a hair of the train’s front barely brushing over the car’s bumper. 

Currently realizing you’re still breathing and not dead, you floor the brake, either of you launching forward in your seats while the endless train keeps the monster at bay on the opposite side. 

Both panting hysterically, you place a hand on your chest, hoping to slow down the terrifyingly fast pace of your heart — close to bursting out of your chest. 

Your passenger, Han Jisung, turns to look at you, eyes wide as saucers, a gradual open-mouthed smile growing upon his flushed, sweat-stricken face.

“That was.. sick.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[polarisjisung]

MOTORBIKES & MELATONIN

synopsis: sleep doesn't find you in the comfort of your own home or under the covers tucked safely into your bed— sleep finds you in the warmth of park jisung's arms

wc: 1.1k

pairings: jisung × fem!reader, established relationship

genre: fluff

warnings: insomnia + mentions of using sleeping pills/supplement use of the word drug (literally once), speeding (follow the speed limit 🙏)

notes: emosung brainrot is in full swing (though there's not a lot of emosung mentioned) mostly self indulgent so probably not my best work since I was all up in my head but 🤷‍♀️

you're laying on your bed, aimlessly bouncing the soft tennis ball in your hand against the empty space of the wall just above your headboard. sleep never came easy to you and tonight is no different.

you'd tried it all, counting sheep, drinking warm milk, even meditation but nothing ever worked. instead you spent nights tossing and turning restlessly despite being tucked into the warm covers of your bed, chasing sleep.

just as you reach for the purple bottle that lays next to your bed, ready to pour half the jar of supplements into your hand and gulp them down with a glass of water, you hear it.

your perfect form of melatonin and serotonin mixed in one— your drug, your purpose.

the rumble is distinct. it comes with the soft vibration beneath your feet and the deep reverberation in your ears. the roaring of the v twin engine has you shooting up into a seated position as realisation washes over you

there's a dim red glow cast across your room by the break lights as you grab the loose fit leather jacket that rests over the back of your study chair. the woody oriental cologne still lingers through its material as you place it over your shoulders and run out of the front door.

there he is, helmet gripped loosely in his left hand, his right arm open and ready to welcome you into his embrace.

jisung's black hair flows in the wind, his forehead on show— paired with the soft smile he flashes you, you can't help but think he looks perfect.

"didn't even give me a chance to sneak into your room" he sulks taking you in between his arms, giving you a quick spin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead

"can't blame a girl for wanting to see her boyfriend" you sigh, taking in his warmth with a smile

"yeah?" he pulls back to get a better view of your face, "miss me that much angel?"

"you know it sung"

his laugh is deep yet gentle, eyes sparkling at the sight of you

"well I'm here now"

jisung takes a quick step around you, his touch feather light as he gathers your open hair into a low ponytail, reaching for the hair tie on his wrist to tie it back

"too tight?" he says, voice full of worry and concern— when you shake your head he smiles, placing his helmet over your head

you wonder how people could ever think jisung was anything but the sweet, kind and warm hearted lover you knew, who wouldn't dare let you move an inch to do something he could do for you, like how he gently takes ahold of you in his arms and places you onto the seat of his bike, eventually taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist

"hold on tight" he whispers in that caring tone of his, that's reserved solely for you, ready to whisk you away for the night and you do just that, gripping his waist securely, but not before lifting his visor and pressing a quick kiss to his temple

jisung drives off, wordlessly but with a smile that speaks volumes

there's a warmth that radiates from jisung's body, the only thing keeping you from freezing as the wind rushes past you, blowing with harsh whistles, tyres screeching against the ground as he takes sharp turns through the streets leading towards the countryside

you'd snuck out before, driven way too far over the speed limit, done countless things that would define your reckless youth and yet nothing had your veins coursing with quite so much adrenaline as this, driving way too far, way too fast, with jisung, the person you loved way too much

like always, you find yourself in jisung's lap, god forbid he let you sit on the grass, wet from the fresh morning dew that rests over it, warm hues of orange and light pinks taking over the sky as you hold one another close, the wind still blowing strong gusts your way, your hair blowing in your face until jisung decides to take it between his fingers and hold it back in his palm

"I like this" you whisper, just loud enough that jisung hears it, his lip rising just enough for his teeth to come on show

"I like you" he responds, watching the warm glow of the sun reaching over the horizon through your eyes

"you do?" you smile, wider than you previously had been, it's a smile that reaches your eyes and jisung's unwavering gaze grows brighter at the realisation

"you're my girl, of course I do"

this time it's his turn to press a quick kiss to your forehead, but jisung's greedy, especially so when it comes to you and he can't help but want more, honey brown eyes resting on your lips

"give me a kiss and I think I'll love you forever" you can't help but giggle at the tickling feeling of jisung's hair against your neck as he pouts up at you

"yeah? didn't know my boyfriend needed kisses to do that" you tease with a roll of your eyes

"didn't know your what?" he asks, and you know exactly what jisung's doing, so you whisper the answer with nothing more than a shy smile straight into his ear

"my boyfriend"

"present" jisungs hand is raised and his voice is confident when he looks at you again, it's like he's begging you to tug at his shirt and crash your lips against his, and who were you to say no to him

"you're so cute" you let out between kisses, the bridge of your nose resting against jisung's, who now wears a look of faux offence

"yeah?" he asks, hoping you'll change your mind, though you don't let up, reaching out to ruffle his black hair "only for you"

somewhere between the late hours of the night and the early hours of dawn, between the quietus of your bedroom and the roar of his engine, between gazing up at the stars and watching the sunrise by the harbour— jisung hears your soft snores replace the quiet whispers of awe you once breathed out.

despite it all, jisung's smile remains all the same, radiant, warm and masked by the matte black helmet resting atop his head

[ilovejeongintoo]

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕃𝕒𝕟𝕖

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Enemies to Lovers?, Racer Seonghwa x afab Reader Warning: Betting!, Illegal Racing!, Posessiveness! Overstimulation!, Fingering (fem rec.), Squirting Wordcount: 3810 Not proofread

Racer Seonghwa has been living in my mind rent free, that's it.

Summary: Your journalism career is hitting a slump and as a last resort you decide to interview famous underground racer Seonghwa, he doesn't seem too keen on making it easy though.

You slammed your car door as you step out, absolutely fed up. Nothing has been working your favor lately, nothing has been happening in this city, making it nearly impossible to cover any stories for your local newspaper. People weren't interested in reading about the parking lots at the mall being renewed.

People wanted to read something that's new, something exciting. Your boss had been nagging you about the articles that had been released under your guidance, he had made your whole team turn a blind eye, when you were tasked with writing a new one (that better be satisfactory, or else)

With basically nothing to lose you decided, if he wanted a story, he would get one, one that people would remember for weeks maybe even months to come.

So here you were with your little tote bag with you notepad and a few random pens shoved in. Your source had said that this place is in charge for a few secret racing events. Racing, something that noone had ever covered on paper, at least the underground kind. It was deemed too dangerous to get any interviews or even shots of said races. At least this wasn't some car spectacle but peole with motorbikes were stood all around.

Countless ones, there had to be at least 50 people just gathered here near the empty streets. You could tell that not many prefered to come out here on their own time, the location situated on top the citys high crime site. It was surprinsingly bright for a area that people described as the scariest part of Kuroyama.

The orange neon signs illuminated all the random posters and little shops that ran along the streets.

You weren't here for just an article about some underground motorbike affair. You were here for a specific thing, or more like specific individual.

Known on the streets as "Mars" he's one of the most renowed and admired for his capabilities. Cutting lanes and curves so thight that he gave off a supernatual kind of strength.

Though people feared him more than idolized him, as rumors said that he was in close quarters with illegal fights before this and got his support from his earlier connections.

You were here to finally get some light on him, as the population was highly interested in the danger of "Mars".

You were walking around the place trying to spot him anywhere, his bike is the only his own symbol of importance and had others looking out for.

You were looking for exactly that, other bikers gave you lingering stares that clearly told you how out of place you looked. The coat and skirt did nothing to hide the typical journalist uniformity and you cursed you chief for implementing said thing.

Before long you heard some hooping and yelling in the distance and knew immediately who it was. You pushed through the crowd that had gathered and almost flew on your face. When you were at the front you were greeted by a long figure. Helmet on, orange-black racing gear covered him. A planet symbol that ran across his arm and the same one on his bike had you confirming his identity even more. He waved at a few people clearly enjoying the attention and drove slowly to a designated spot on the concrete, it was outlined with his color.

People seemed to get the hint and back of a little, some men just as tall as the man of the hour came up to him though and started talking with him.

He adjusted his gloves and some things on his outfit, pulling his zipper down a little and revealing a black wifebeater underneath. You guessed those outfits came with the disadvantage of getting hot even in the night.

When those men also dispersed in multiple directions and he was finally left alone, you decided to walk up to him. Slow steps, boots clicking he looked up when you were right in front of him. Right away talking rather dismissively: "I don't do autographs, no matter how much or what you offer me." He waved you off a little, you got your business card out and thrusted it right into his face, a little annoyed that he mistook you as one of his fans.

You wouldn't approach him if it wasn't for your job. Before he could get another word out "I'm not here for an autograph, I'm here for some questions."

You couldn't gauge his reaction because of the helmet but he tilted his head a little at your statement.

"What are you? The police? I don't answer questions if they don’t benefit me in some kind of way sweets."

The helmet was starting to annoy you and the name that he gave you, just ticked you off. "Look I'm sure that you could use the publicity, at least it would be more of the positive kind."

He continued looking at you, waiting for your next argument to somehow convince him. Clearly, he wasn't satisfied with that. You decided this was where you would have to use your trump card already.

"I know that this underground scene is exhilarating for you, but legal racing would make you more money, much safer."

"That's something you want, to get out of this illegal ring that you've been caught in and I'm here to help you with that"

It grew oddly quiet. "You know absolutely nothing about what I want." The teasing lilt from before was entirely gone, replaced with a cold and sharp voice.

"You need to move along, I’ll forget this conversation happened and you leave."

There was no way that you were just going to leave like this, without anything. After coming all this way.

Before he could even turn his engine on to drive away from you, you grabbed him by the collar of his undershirt making him to make you next point.

A lot more harsher than was probably necessary you got in his face. "I don't know what kind of complexes you're dealing with, but I'm your ticket out of here, I don't know if your head is so far up your ass that you can't see that or if you're choosing to ignore it."

"Do what you want, but I was here, giving you the chance to make it big in the racing industry."

You let go, making him slump back onto his vehicle. You knew it wouldn't be easy but straight up being rejected without a second thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You would have to think of a different topic now. You sighed before turning away, already walking back to your car.

After a few steps, you heard that voice call out to you from behind. "Hey! Okay, wait!" That made you stop and turn around. You were expecting some kind of insult now, you mentally prepared for it. He reached up to the strap of his helmet, clasping it open and pushing it off his head. Shaking his head slightly to fix his hair and then he looked right at you.

Dark eyes, sharp eyes and an even sharper nose. Raven hair styled away from his face. You were momentarily distracted by the unexpected appearance, he didn't look much older than you, mid-twenties maybe.

"Okay, let's make a deal" He fully stepped off his bike, leaving his helmet back and making his way towards you. "If you still think that I'm such a person by the end of this race, I'll grant you lil wish and let you interview me" He gestured a little to himself and the lanes behind himself.

"Your little claim of me quote on quote "making it big" better be true" He threw up some quotation marks with his hands, he walked towards his back again with his back turned to me, sitting on top of it again.

"Cuz, you'll need it, you'll get a lot of backlash for this" I interrupted him before he could give another one of his smart comments. "I already decided that I wanted this, anything negative that happens after this all, I'll consider it to not be part of it" "Right" His response was dragged out a bit, like he didn't quite believe me.

"I'm Park Seonghwa, Mars is the name I use for my fans but you're not a fan of mine."

"I'm not"

He smirked, pulling his protection gear back on. Getting ready for the race. I watched him drive off a bit further along the road, getting in line with a few others and doing some final checks on his things. I moved myself from my rooted position to get to the viewer stage, that gave me sight of the lane. It seemed fairly simple, you drive the course three times and placing as high as you could.

You didn't know what to expect from Seonghwa, never having seen him actually drive. You had only heard stories about it up until this point.

When the start signal was received by the drivers, they accelerated straight away, making some stay further back and others taking the lead up front.

Seonghwa was right in the middle, everything seemed normal up until the last round. When you noticed some guys near Seonghwa driving a little too close to him, any person would think that would be a cause for concern.

One guy wanted Seonghwa out of the competition, picking his foot up and delivering a swift kick to the side of Seonghwa’s bike. It shook the vehicle quite a bit, almost making you think that it would swerve and crash.

This was when you wrapped your head around the fact that this wasn't your average sports channel show. This was it, this was the underground world, nothing here would be fair.

Seonghwa recovered rather fast, seemingly used to this kind of trickery. He moved his body further onto his bike, almost laying down on it. The next curve would decide if he could still make it to first place, any later and he wouldn't make it. He leaned his body down, his one knee scrapping the concrete below and making the turn as tight as possible, overtaking anyone that cut it in a wide way. It successfully landed him just behind a guy in first place. Your heart was racing, they were barely a few hundred yards away from the finish line.

Seonghwa, accelerated even more, however that was possible. The other dude seemed to notice him now, quickly looking behind himself and panicking when he saw who it was. They were right next to each other now; you couldn't tell who would win from the sight alone.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your own ears, making a drumroll for the results of this.

Just a few moments from the line away, Seonghwa gradually started overtaking him. Little by little the distance grew, until he crossed. Cheers erupted all around you, people jumping up and spilling their drinks. Your eyes were as wide in shock and astonishment, you were thinking that he was definitely more talk than game. Seonghwa came to a stop after a while there, taking his helmet off and running to the group of guys from the start. Getting crushed in a group hug and overall being very happy.

The other losers watched a little in disappointment at their failure to win or even sabotage the chances of him winning. He disconnected himself from the group and looked around, searching for something, when his eyes locked onto you stepping off the viewing stage.

Waltzing up to you with an air of confidence. "Still wanna interview me sweets?" His voice rang out, in all of its smugness.

You couldn't help but break a smile, getting dragged into the cheery atmosphere. "Absolutely, now even more that I know that the Park Seonghwa is a true winner."

"Alright, I'll do the interview, but I need you to promise something for me, consider it lending a helping hand, okay?"

He steeled himself "I need you to vouch for the safety of my brothers." He pointed his gaze to the group of men standing behind and watching the interaction between the two you.

His gaze was a lot softer, almost sentimental. Definitely not something you would expect from him.

You became stunned at that, whatever kept him in this dangerous had to do with protecting his family. Whatever it was didn't matter too much to you, you came here to get a story but now you had made it your mission to help him. Even with his difficult demeanor. "I promise." He relaxed at that. Before long you could soak in the relaxed air, another voice came from a few feet away, one of the guys that tried to make Seonghwa lose.

"What the hell was that huh Mars?!" "We had a deal that you'd lose"

What? Wait hold on.

Seonghwa didn’t break the eye contact with you, speaking to you but addressing what the man just said.

"The deal's off, I'm quitting here" He ripped the symbol off his jacket, throwing it at the dude.

"You- You were supposed to lose, this is gonna make us lose a lot of money. Boss won't be happy." He was in disbelief at the nonchalant air around him.

Like this was just a normal occurrence to him. Unimpressed Seonghwa spun himself to finally look at the man. "That's not my problem anymore" he faced you and took you by the hand, heading right for his bike. You were dragged and almost spilled you bag on the floor.

"Seonghwa what-, what are you doing?" You questioned him with furrowed eyebrows, he pulled his helmet over your head successfully ignoring your question.

He sat down pulling you towards him more and grabbed your thigh, signaling you to swing your legs over the machine. Which you did, although reluctantly. He grabbed your forearms with both hands and wrapped them around himself. You could feel the hard muscle underneath but before you could fantasize, he presses on the gas, smoke cloud coming out from under the wheel and before he drove off.

You could faintly hear the man from before yelling at Seonghwa to stop but it was quickly fading away when Seonghwa drove onto the main roads.

You squeezed him a little tighter out of fear, it was one thing to see him driving from afar, being in the middle of the action was absolutely terrifying.

He slowed the pace, sensing your anxiety. He put his hand over one of yours and clutched it tightly against him, trying to comfort you.

"Relax, I'm not gonna let you fall off"

You knew that hell he could probably operate down a mountain, and you would be totally fine. Your butt was starting to hurt from the constant pressure, and you told him to go to the side from here and let you hop off for a bit.

He pulled up to a small alleyway, planning to hide in case someone was following him, which you really doubted.

You stepped off and immediately relaxed onto a nearby wall, sitting down on the concrete there, pulling your legs to your chest. "I like the helmet on you, fits you." He said against the cool air. He leaned against his machine after turning the key in the ignition. You looked up at him through the thin glass, making everything look darker than it actually. You took it off, even after the weird compliment.

"I can see why you enjoy speeding down roads like that, gets your heart racing." Yours still hadn't calmed, though that might be for a different reason now, when you looked at Seonghwa.

His charisma was undeniable, his looks, the confidence, everything made him so much more attractive. And the equally contradicting duality, the split second where you saw him soften up.

It made you gulp in realization.

You dragged your eyes up his form, from his leather boots to the matching leather pants, followed up with that jacket that was now fully unzipped, up to his face.

He already had his gaze on yours "Take a picture, it lasts longer." He couldn't go two seconds without being insufferable it seemed. You stood up feeling more awake now and the pain in your butt lessened. You marched over to him, fully intent on leaving as fast as possible. He halted you when he stepped in your way, while you were trying to go around him.

It almost made you bump into his chest. "Oh, come on, I was just joking, you're just fun to tease sweets." He grinned from ear to ear, pretty teeth and grills on display.

"Stop calling me that."

"What?"

"Sweets, I don't know what made you think that that would be an appropriate name for me"

"Maybe I don't want it to be appropriate between us" He watched you with a dark gaze, caressing your hand that was hanging besides your body.

He moved his eyes from yours to your lips and then back up again. "You know… I still haven't gotten my price from winning. I think you could help me with that, no?" It was painfully obvious what he meant by that, and you would have been lying if you said you weren't interested.

Your work not giving you any time for any sexual endeavors and leaving you frustrated, maybe that's why you were so on edge today. "Yeah, I could do that" Your lids falling shut a little as breathy whisper escaped you and you leaned in to lock your lips together.

Pillowy that’s how they felt, and it sent a good spark of electricity down your spine. You threaded your hands into his styled hair messing it up more than any helmet could.

He too you by the waist and spun you around making your butt hit the bike a little. He wrapped his fingers around your thighs, lifting you up and setting you down on it, stepping right between your spread legs.

He moved one hand down still kissing you, making you lose your breath. He reached the waistband of your skirt and then he moved further not bothering to take it off. He pushed your panties onto your core a few times, massaging the sensitive flesh and the roughness of the fabric provided a delicious feeling.

You let out some quiet moans that were swallowed by Seonghwa’s mouth. He dragged the fabric down your legs pulling one leg up a little to get it off and let them rest on your ankle. Your legs naturally spread more with one leg propped up.

He groaned when he pulled away from you and looked down, your core glistening in your own juices. He attached his gloved fingers to you immediately, going up and down your slit a few times before he inserted two fingers into you. You easily took them, groaning and taking ahold of his shoulder with one hand and the other rested on the seat.

He pumped them in and out, in, out, the most repetitive motion but each time he got a little deeper. Those long fingers hitting your g-spot inside and scissoring your walls apart.

He didn't take his eyes off your pussy even once, completely entranced by the sight of you swallowing his fingers. When he added a third finger, you almost came on the spot. The leather on his hand made it so much more filthy, so much louder. He grinded the heel of his hand on your clit, watching you with a satisfied smile.

"Omg, Hwa-Seonghwa, I c-can't" You lost the words on your tongue, not being able to voice out your thoughts.

You were a garbled mess now, hair askew, sweat on your neck and face completely uncaring of being in a public setting. He just continued, making your toes finally curl and your body seize up. Your head going white for a few seconds.

"Yes, you can" he thrusted his fingers more, one thumb coming up to play with your clit, making you hypersensitive.

After a while he slowed the speed of his thrusts, working his wrist a little slower but not stopping.

Holy shit, he's not for real right now.

Your eyes rolled back a little.

You were no stranger for a little bit of kinky sex but getting overstimulated wasn't on your list of experiences. Though you weren't complaining in the least. Enjoying the way your slick leaked out onto your legs and the seat. Seonghwa's whole hand and wrist was wet.

"Give me another sweets, just one more." It was almost said in a begging kind of way. He angled his fingers even deeper into you, picking the speed of his thrusts up, slow, soft fingers on your clit. You were starting to feel like you were dying or floating?

You let out your loudest moan when Seonghwa dropped to his knees, hitting dirt, and attaching his mouth to your clit. Kissing and licking getting anything and everything in his mouth. Those same soft lips felt even softer on your pussy. It was making you clench and build up to your orgasm incredibly fast. He looked up into your eyes and you took the hand that you had on his shoulder off and dropped it onto his head, gripping his hair for dear life.

One more swipe of his tongue and you were bursting like a broken water dam. Squirting onto his face and tongue. Screaming your lungs out in a long almost pornographic moan.

He pushed his fingers up three or four times, making sure to pull the last bits of your sanity out of you. And just when it started to become too sensitive he stopped, pulling his fingers out of you.

And popping them…

into his mouth.

He groaned a little at the taste of you, the sight definitely straight out of your fantasies. Maybe this was one of them, part of your fantasy, your imagination.

"See, you could do it, good job" He caressed your hips, grabbing the flesh in a possessive kind of way and kissing your cheek. Which was strangely sweet, given what he showed you a moment ago.

He caressed your head, combing some hair back into place. "Let's get you home sweets." You were out of it, you barely registered what he said.

He drove you home with you clinging onto his back even more than before. The night ended with him leaving a passionate kiss onto you lips and a quick squeeze to your ass, your phone number now saved for future "interviews".

When he walked off, back to his bike from your doorstep he spun something quite familiar on his finger, your panties.

Waving them around like a price and then tucking them into his pants. And driving off looking incredibly smug.

[severinageto]

“The Last Supper” ——— drabble

November, 2017

Satoru sat at the far end of a small ramen stall, the collar of his uniform covering most of his face. He didn’t have to wait long for his bowl; the robust man already knew the albino and his order. He smiled weakly, watching the steam rise and form a dense mist that, for a moment—a precious moment—seemed to blur him along with the melancholy of his current life.

Suddenly, his six eyes sharpened, as they always did when that presence drew near, warning him to be cautious. His heart, like the bowl in front of him, had small cracks along the edge.

Suguru, hesitant as always when coming to that place, arrived a few minutes late. The hectic life of a leader sometimes worked against him, preventing him from honoring his impeccable punctuality. He cursed time and the impossibility of recovering it; losing even two minutes with him simply didn’t feel right. Silently, he took a seat, saying nothing. The air, thick with familiar spice scents, spoke for them of a past once filled with laughter, and a present where tension cut as deeply as the Arctic wind.

“Do you still get it so spicy?” Satoru remarked, trying with all his strength to smile. There was a blend of nostalgia and sadness in the sky of his eyes; he knew that these small details—the sneeze, the sweat on Suguru’s brow, the burn on his lips—were among the few pieces he still had of him.

Or rather, that Suguru still allowed him to see.

“And you still like it without flavor?” Suguru replied with a half-smile that quickly faded. What was the point in pretending everything was normal, as if he wasn’t at the edge of dying by his best friend’s hand?

“Best friend.” Who the hell believed that anymore? He wasn’t his best friend. He was his companion. His confidant. His lover. His reflection. The one whose absence would strip the blue from his life. And who can live without a primary color? He, at least, couldn’t.

He sighed and, letting himself be wrapped by the man’s familiar lavender scent and the warmth of the rising steam, split his chopsticks.

“To your health, Satoru,” he murmured, pouring himself a glass of sake.

“To yours, Suguru,” Satoru replied, a knot already forming in his throat.

They ate in silence, each submerged in their own thoughts.

Thoughts of what they had been, of a painfully distant past where, sitting in that same place, wrapped in the biting winter wind, they laughed at everything, no matter how absurd it was.

Thoughts of what they were, of a present where seeing each other was slowly becoming an impossibility, against which it was pointless to fight. Just as it makes no sense to think about living without air, it also made no sense to assume they could bear the weight of life without the other’s touch.

And thoughts of what they would be, of a future where words they’d said countless times would never be enough.

Caught in their throats? No, not yet. “Suguru, I love you.”

“At least curse me a little before the end.”

But no. Not yet.

Though there was physical distance between them, their hands found each other under the counter, a reflection of that connection that neither time nor their opposing paths could erase.

“This is… pathetic, isn’t it?” Suguru whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the sound of noodles and the distant bustle of the street.

Satoru didn’t respond; he simply focused on the bowl in front of him. He felt a weight, something that choked him but that he couldn’t—didn’t want to—let out. He held his hand tightly, very tightly, even at the risk of hurting him. He’d leave, just like he had in other contexts, his mark on him. Something told him he wouldn’t have another chance to bruise that youthful skin into a violet, but beautiful, bruise. Suguru felt the pain but said nothing. He knew that once those eyes were covered, he wouldn’t have another chance to get lost in them. His plan was already in motion, and he knew he’d be gone.

“I only want to feel pain if it comes from you, Satoru,” he whispered, voice barely audible and breaking.

Satoru sighed and tightened his grip.

“This is sick,” he said, seeking the curse-user’s gaze but not releasing his hand.

“Then let me go.”

Satoru didn’t answer, but he softened his hold. Slowly, gently, he caressed the bruised hand of the one true love of his life.

“I told you I…” Suguru began.

“What for, if you know what I’ll have to do?”

Suguru sighed. He was right. Gojo Satoru’s duty was just around the corner. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to let himself get carried away by his touch. Ten years ago, it was the only thing that kept him alive.

Or almost.

With stubborn and timid tears in his eyes, he returned the touch of Satoru’s long fingers. Ironically, a gesture that would hurt more than any pain he’d caused him.

Finishing his ramen, Suguru let out a long sigh, stood up, and left a few bills on the table without even looking at Satoru. Before leaving, he murmured something, almost inaudible, as if he didn’t really want the albino to hear.

“Satoru… I wish we’d never gotten here.”

“Suguru, wait…”

“I’ll see you in December.”

He walked away, and silence enveloped Satoru once more. He sat there, staring at the empty seat, wishing that space didn’t feel so eternal.

And so painfully real.

🍜🍲 fanart by https://x.com/ty824659?s=21

[moonleeai]

Journey Back to You

·𖥸·Fashion Photographer! Jin x Fashion Model! Reader  ·𖥸·AU: Childhood friends to lovers | FLUFF ·𖥸·Rating: PG ·𖥸·WC: 5460

Story written for Sara - Heathfritillary - as part of the BangtanWHQ Exchange Event “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats”

Summary: Bound by an inseparable childhood bond and a shared adoration for fashion, you and an old friend find your lives diverging across continents. Years later, fate intervenes as your paths unexpectedly reconnect at a high-profile fashion show. The dazzling lights of the runway become a backdrop for your reunion, igniting a nostalgic journey through shared dreams and forgotten memories. What will become of this rekindled connection?

Thank you Lucy @lo1k-diamonds and Jasz @downbad4yoongi for beta reading! 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·​​· ·

Strolling along the River Seine, the water shimmers under the moon’s glow; you can’t help but sigh in awe, “What a perfect night in beautiful Paris!” The Eiffel Tower stands tall, adorned with twinkling lights, captivating your gaze—beautiful structures of Gothic architecture line the street with elegance and uniformity, illuminated by soft moonbeams.

A cool breeze carries the scent of garlic and aged wine as you feel the uneven cobblestone under your feet. The towering, half-timbered buildings on either side seem to lean in, creating an intimate, almost secretive atmosphere. Gas lamps cast an ethereal glow, painting the street in soft, golden hues. Tonight’s fashion show theme–Beneath the Eiffel's Glow–showcases the magic of Paris under the moon’s tender embrace at the foot of the Iron Lady.

You confidently approach the check-in area, where the production team organizes models, designers, and staff. Velvet ropes line the entrance, and security personnel stand guard checking credentials. The assistant recognizes you and checks off your name, greeting you warmly and handing you a pass for backstage access. 

Backstage, crew members hurry by with headsets on, and stylists rush to prepare for the show. The models move with practiced ease through the chaos, making their way toward the dressing room. You’re met by the designer’s team, who usher you to your fitting area. Garments hang meticulously on racks, shimmering under the soft lights.

You inspect the outfit you’ll be wearing—a dress with a plunging neckline cascading in bold, voluminous layers of black tulle, its dramatic silhouette broken by vibrant splashes of magenta and teal. The colors clash yet harmonize with unapologetic flair. 

As you get dressed, you admire how the outfit commands attention, a statement of daring elegance and rebellion against the ordinary. Then you take a moment to prepare mentally– calm and collected– ready to transform the moment when all eyes will be on you.

With your chestnut hair cascading down your back, you adjust the diamond-studded choker resting on your neck and strut down the sidewalk-turned runway for the latest luxury fashion brand. Striking a pose at the end for the photographers, a face sticks out, and as your eyes lock, your heart jumps. 

Kim Seokjin, tall and brooding, stands with his camera pulled away from his face. His obsidian eyes held a hint of surprise as he recognized you. Childhood summers spent chasing fireflies in a small French village flooded back. Countless trips to this same Eiffel Tower, where you played while parents had meetings and business lunches. Jin has become a renowned photographer, capturing beauty through his lens, and you, a sought-after model, gracing magazine covers and billboards.

You regain your composure and finish the show, keeping an eye on Kim Seokjin. When everything is over, you don’t even bother to change, running off with the last outfit you modeled. Weaving through the masses of people, you hear a distinct laugh and let it pull you toward him. You stand just a few inches from Seokjin with a soft smile on your lips, eyes shimmering like the diamonds around your neck.

Jin whispers your name, his voice a velvet caress that sends shivers down your spine. “It really is you.” In his memory, you were an adolescent with hair like a wildflower meadow, always returning from your adventures with nature's offerings caught in its tangles. 

Your laughter fills the air, tinkling like wind chimes. “Shut up!?” Your laughter echoes through the air as you embrace Jin. His arms wrap around you tightly, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest. Laughter and chatter slowly die down, and the once-noisy crowd falls silent as you pull away and focus on him. “Jinnie!? What are you doing here?” 

He gestures to his camera bag. “I chose the photographer path. I travel the world capturing moments, but I never expected to find you here. Modeling at that.”

“Ah, I know, right. I was just doing it to make some money while interning, but,” you shrug your shoulders, “here I am! It’s been so long. I really can’t believe it!” You reach out and touch his arm, gently squeezing as if you’re making sure it’s not a dream. You take in his features, noting how they've matured yet still hold remnants of the boy you used to know. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, busy with fashion week.” He smiles at you warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wow… seeing you brings back so many memories. You look stunning, as always.” The way he looks at you makes your heart flutter, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed since the last time you saw each other. 

“Thank you. And you, you haven’t changed a bit. Still the same Jinnie I remember.”

“What about you?” A fluttering sensation spreads through your stomach as his voice lingers on your name. You can't help but smile and shift on your feet as he waits for your answer.

“I can’t complain. I live here full-time now and love every minute.”

“I guess some things never change. Do you remember those summers we spent exploring every corner of that village? Gosh, what was the name?”

“Chevreuse. How could I forget? Those were some of the best days of my life. I’ve missed you, Jinnie.”

“I missed you too,” your name falls from his lips gracefully. “Life took us in different directions, but it seems the universe had other plans for us tonight.”

A booming voice from a distance snaps you into the present with stylists and security guards rushing toward you. 

“We should catch up properly. Dinner and drinks…twenty minutes? I just need to change.”

“Still as demanding as I remember, too.” Jin smiles, “I’d love that. Dinner under the moonlight in Paris sounds perfect.” 

“Don’t leave! Let me change, and I’ll be right back out to walk with you.” You turn just as the guards reach you, and you raise your hands in surrender. Smiling and apologizing, you hurry to the dressing room to return the collection pieces, changing back into the dress you showed up in.

You step back from the vanity mirror to look at your outfit from multiple angles. A sophisticated yet playful olive green short dress with a tailored bodice accentuating your curves, while the flowing skirt adds a touch of elegance. The neckline is a delicate V-neck, showcasing your bare neck and delicate collarbones. 

To upgrade your look, you pair it with gifts from tonight’s designer—strappy black heels and honey-gold butterfly earrings. The wings are adorned in a cascade of nude and chocolate diamonds, creating a stunning contrast. 

You leave the dressing room and head back to where you left Jin. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the crowd. You spot him immediately, standing by the edge of the bridge railing. His tailored suit fits him like a second skin. The lights from the tower catch the rich fabric, highlighting its intricate weave. As your eyes meet his, time seems to stand still. His gaze is warm and inviting, and a surge of electricity courses through you. It’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only you and him. You feel a sense of peace and belonging that you haven’t felt since those summers in Chevreuse.

You watch his eyes roam your figure as you walk closer to each other. He offers his arm before asking, “Where to, beautiful?”

You grin and turn away before he can see your cheeks flush, then point, “There’s a nice place that way.” 

The cobblestone streets beneath your feet seem to pulse with anticipation. You can smell the intoxicating aroma of buttery garlic, roasted meat, and the distant strains of accordion music. With each step, excitement grew as you approached your destination.

An elegant restaurant awaits you. Intricate wrought-iron railings and ornate windows adorned its facade, offering glimpses of the luxurious interior. As you enter, the soft glow of chandeliers, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the murmur of hushed conversations greet you. 

You request an outdoor table and follow the hostess through the restaurant. The anticipation is palpable, and you can't wait to catch up with Seokjin. As you sit across from each other at the intimate candlelit table, the inviting aroma of sizzling steak and bubbling wine fills the air. Your conversation flows effortlessly, pausing only when a delectable bite or sip interrupts you. It’s as if time slowed down, allowing you to savor every moment together.

Your brows crease as you tilt your head. “So you did follow the music path but ended up in photography?”

Jin smiles and looks down. “Yeah, something like that.” He looks around before locking eyes and lowers his voice. “Well, sometimes I do voice-acting gigs. Did corporate life get too boring?” 

“Something like that…” you grin as you repeat his words and reach for your cocktail glass. “I just–being in an office all day was…” You pause to find the right word.

“Not you,” Jin mutters as he raises his wineglass to his lips, eyes remaining on you. 

“Exactly.” You smile, feeling some way that he knows you. Your belly flutters with nerves and excitement as his lips curve into a familiar smirk. Despite the years that passed, he still knew how to make you feel special.

The conversation continues to flow easily, as if no time has passed between you. You share stories—of heartbreaks, missed chances, and dreams deferred.

“I never forgot you,” Jin confesses. “Even when the world pulled us apart. I still have this.” Jin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple pearl-like bracelet with a tiny charm, both of your first initials etched into the metal. 

As you recognize the bracelet—the one you designed so many moons ago—you gasp. You may have lost touch, but the bracelet remained a cherished memory—a symbol of an unbreakable bond. Opening your clutch, you pull out a small jewelry bag. Inside is the same bracelet.

Jin’s smile lights up the evening around you. His eyes soften as he takes the small bag from your hand, removes the bracelet, and gently slides it onto your wrist. The cool metal feels familiar, a comforting touch against your skin, but not as comfortable as Jin’s soft fingers sliding against yours.

"I knew you’d still have it,” Jin says, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and joy. “It was always a symbol of our connection, no matter how far apart we were."

A wave of emotion washes over you. The bracelet, a simple object, had become a powerful testament to the enduring nature of your relationship. As you look into Jin's eyes, you realize that the bond you share is far stronger than any distance or time can separate.

You felt a tightness in your chest. “This night can’t end. We can’t stop here. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow… to go back to New York, but I have an open schedule for a few days. Do you?” You patiently wait for Jin’s response, hoping he can hear the desperation in your voice.

Jin pauses, his eyes scanning yours for a moment before he speaks. "My schedule is open for a few days too... let's stay. We have so much catching up to do." 

Relief floods through you as you agree, grateful that your time together can extend for a little while longer.

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The following morning, the soft glow of sunlight filters through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting a warm embrace on the room. You wake to the gentle symphony of car horns and birdsong. As you stretch, the aroma of coffee fills your nostrils. You breathe it in deeply before getting out of bed. 

Walking out of the bedroom, you notice Jin has already folded the blankets from his stay on the sofa.

“You’re awake,” Jin murmurs and his lips curl up. “I was going to bring this to you.” His hand swipes above a mug of coffee and some pain au chocolat in a tray on the marble countertop.

“You went out to–”

“To get what I hope is still your favorite pastry.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “I could never get sick of them! Let’s enjoy them at the table.” You walk over, carry the tray to the dining table, pause, and stare out the courtyard window, where the sun casts a warm glow on the lush green garden outside. “Isn’t this garden beautiful?”

You feel Jin beside you and look over at him, his coffee mug at his lips. You watch his throat coax the liquid down, and then your eyes meet his. His mug makes a clink as he places it on the table. Jin’s lips part as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. You raise your eyebrows as if asking what he wants to say.

Jin raises his hand to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “Yes, quite beautiful.” 

Heat is radiating from your body. You clear your throat to steady your unexpected, elevated heart rate. "I can't believe we're back in Paris."

Jin hums in agreement, his gaze lingering on your face. There is a softness to his eyes that makes your heart flutter again. He'd always been handsome, but now, there is an added depth, an allure that is undeniably captivating.

After a leisurely breakfast, you explore the city, wandering through the Louvre and marveling at the art. Strolling along the streets window shopping and soaking in the Parisian atmosphere, hands brushing occasionally, sending a spark of excitement coursing through your body.

As the day wore on, a comfortable intimacy began to develop. Picking up where you left off so many years ago, peeling back layers of the people you had grown into. Laughing at memories and finishing each other's sentences, conversations flow seamlessly from one topic to another.

As the sun descends, casting the city in a golden hue, you find yourselves on a bench in front of the Eiffel Tower. The exact spot where you shared your childhood dreams. Only this time, the atmosphere is different.

"Remember when we used to pretend this was our castle?" you ask softly.

Jin smiles, his eyes twinkling. "And you were the princess, waiting for your knight in shining armor."

"You were a terrible knight," you tease, though your heart is pounding.

"Hey!" Jin protests playfully. "I was the best knight a princess could ask for."

You share a laugh, the sound echoing in the still evening air. As the sun dips below the horizon, the Eiffel Tower lit up, a dazzling spectacle against the twilight sky.

You turn to Jin, eyes sparkling. "It's still magical, isn't it?"

Jin nods, his gaze fixated on you. "It's perfect."

A moment passes, filled with a charged tension. Your heart races as you feel a magnetic pull toward him. Taking a deep breath, you step closer.

"Jin..." your voice, barely a whisper.

Before you could finish, Jin's lips were on yours. It’s a soft, gentle kiss filled with a lifetime of longing and a promise of what could be.

The world seems to fade away as you lose yourselves in the moment. The Eiffel Tower, the city lights, everything else is irrelevant. There were only the two of you.

When you pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other. You were both breathless, hearts pounding in unison.

"I wanted to do that our last summer together," Jin admits, his voice husky.

You smile with a heart overflowing with happiness. "Me too."

You found yourself drawn to Jin in a way you hadn't anticipated. His intelligence and sense of humor were intoxicating. He was more than just a childhood friend.

Jin, too, was experiencing a profound shift in his feelings. You had blossomed into a stunningly beautiful woman, but it was your essence and spirit that truly captivated him. He was falling, and with every passing moment, his feelings grew stronger.

As you nestle into Jin's embrace, the city seems to sigh contentedly around you. "I can't believe this is happening," you murmur, your voice muffled against Jin's shoulder. "It feels like a dream."

Jin's arm tightens around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "If it is a dream, I don't want to wake up," he replies, his voice low and warm.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, finding yourself lost in the depths of his dark eyes. There is so much to say, so many years to catch up on, but at that moment, words seem inadequate. Instead, you lean in, brushing your lips against his. 

The touch sends electricity coursing through your body, awakening long-dormant feelings. His breath catches as you pull back slightly, your faces still mere inches apart. Time stands still as you search each other's eyes, volumes of unspoken history passing between you.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raises a hand to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and savoring the warmth of his skin against yours. When you open them again, you find his gaze has softened, a mixture of tenderness and longing replacing the initial shock of seeing you after so many years.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the warmth of newfound love and the magic of Paris at night. The city lights twinkle with possibility as if celebrating your reunion.

"You know," Jin said softly, breaking the silence, "I always wondered what would have happened if we had stayed in touch after those summers."

You lift your head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Me too. But maybe... maybe this is how it was meant to be. Us finding each other again when we were ready."

Jin nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "You might be right. We've both grown, experienced life. And now..."

"And now we're here," you finish for him, squeezing his hand.

As the night deepens, a cool breeze sweeps across the Seine, causing you to shiver slightly. Jin immediately shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment on your arms. The gesture was so tender, so reminiscent of the boy you once knew, that it made your heart ache with affection.

"Thank you," you whisper, pulling the jacket tighter around you. It smells of his cologne—a warm, spicy scent that you find instantly comforting.

Jin smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always looking out for you, just like old times."

You laugh softly, remembering how he used to fuss over you during your childhood adventures. A prince protecting his princess. "Some things never change, do they?"

"And some things do," Jin replies, his tone becoming more serious. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. "I never want to lose touch with you again. Whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I want us to face them together."

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After a beautiful few days together, weeks turn into months as you learn how to balance your new relationship with your separate lives. Your career flourishes, becoming the face of several high-profile brands. Jin's photography is in high demand as his work is featured in prestigious fashion magazines.

Your relationship became the talk of the fashion world, a fairytale romance that captures the hearts of millions. But for you and Jin, it was simply about two people who had found a way back to each other, a story as timeless and beautiful as the city of Paris itself.

Whispers and murmurs followed your every move as you stole precious moments from your chaotic lives, meeting in different corners of the world. Brussels–where fingers intertwined like vines while exploring an elegant art gallery. California–with a romantic late-night stroll on the beach, walking hand in hand as the warm ocean breeze mingled with the scent of salty sea air. 

After the bustling energy of the Met Gala, surrounded by fans seeking autographs and well-wishes, you found a peaceful sanctuary in the middle of Central Park, sharing a private picnic, basking in each other's company and the beauty of nature around you.

The initial euphoria of your reunion began to wane as the harsh reality of distance set in. Jin's career demands his presence in New York, while your commitments keep you grounded in Paris. The city of love, once a haven of intimacy, now felt like a gilded cage of loneliness.

Your days are filled with endless video calls, faces illuminated by the cold glow of the screen.

Chuckling, Jin says, “Remember when we got lost in the Louvre and ended up in the Egyptian exhibit?”

You laugh, “Oh, that was hilarious! We were so confused. And then we saw that giant sphinx and thought we were in a movie!”

“And then we found the Mona Lisa and got all excited, only to realize a crowd of tourists surrounded it.”

“We were so disappointed. But it was still fun,” you giggle through your words.

Jin leans closer to the screen. “I miss your laugh.”

You push out your bottom lip and blink rapidly, trying to ward off the tears that threaten to spill over.

Softly, Jin speaks again, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you. You know that?”

You bring the screen closer and pucker your lips, sending an air kiss. “And I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

Jin sighs, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. More than words can say.” 

“I'll visit as soon as I can, I promise.”

Every night ends the same, going over mundane details of your days and pouring your hearts out to each other. Yet, the physical distance was a constant ache, a void that no amount of virtual connection could fill.

The emotional toll of long distance was undeniable. You miss the simple pleasures of being together: holding hands, sharing a meal, falling asleep in each other's arms. The distance felt like a constant reminder of your separation, a painful reminder of what you were missing.

For now, you were two halves of a whole, separated by an ocean, your love a beacon of hope in the vast expanse of your lives.

But the strain of long distance began to wear on you both. A gnawing sense of longing and frustration slowly replaces the initial excitement of new love. Your schedules became increasingly difficult to align, with fashion weeks and photo shoots pulling you in opposite directions.

One particularly grueling day, after a 14-hour shoot, you collapse onto your hotel bed, fumbling for your phone. Jin's face appears on the screen, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "How was your day?"

You sigh. "Endless. I'm so tired, Jin. I miss you."

His expression softens. "I miss you too. More than you know."

A heavy silence fell between you, filled with unspoken longings and fears. You both knew this conversation was coming, but neither wanted to be the first to broach the subject. Finally, you took a deep breath and spoke.

"Jin, I... I don't know how much longer I can do this. The distance… it's killing me."

Jin's face fell, his eyes clouding with worry. "I know. It's been hard on me too. But we're making it work, aren't we?"

You bit your lip, fighting back tears. "Are we? Sometimes, it feels like we're just going through the motions. I want more than just video calls and text messages. I want you here, with me."

Jin ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his gesture. "I want that too. You know I do. But our careers... they're important too. We've worked so hard to get where we are."

"I know," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "But at what cost? We're living separate lives, Jin. I feel like I'm losing you, even though I just found you again."

Jin's expression softens, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You're not losing me. I'm right here, always. But you're right, this isn't enough. We need to figure something out."

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "What do we do? How do we make this work?"

Jin was quiet for a moment, his brow furrows in thought. Then, his face lit up with determination. "I have an idea. It's crazy, but hear me out."

You lean closer to the screen, intrigued. "I'm listening."

Jin's words tumble out in a rush. "What if I move to Paris? It would be a big change, but... I think it could work."

Your heart skips a beat, hope blooming in your chest. "Jin, are you serious? That's... that's a huge decision. What about your career in New York?"

He smiles, a determined glint in his eye. "My career is important, yes. But you're more important. We're more important. I can build my career anywhere, but I can't find another you."

Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and disbelief. "But... are you sure? I don't want you to resent me if things don't work out."

Jin's gaze softens. "I could never resent you. Look, I'm not saying it'll be easy. There will be challenges and adjustments to make. But I'm willing to face them all if it means being with you."

Your heart swells with emotion. "Jin, I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll have me," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Say you'll let me come home to you."

A tear slips down your cheek as you nod. "Yes! Yes, of course! I want nothing more than to have you here with me."

Jin's face breaks into a radiant smile, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Then it's settled. I'll start making arrangements right away."

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After months of planning and preparation, the day is finally here. Jin secures a transfer to Paris and is finally coming to the other side of the world to be with you permanently. The day he broke the news was met with overwhelming joy and relief. He finally found a way to bridge the physical distance between you.

Jin eagerly packed his belongings and said goodbye to New York, the city he could no longer call home. He was giddy at the thought that you were now his home. As he boards the plane, his heart is full with a mix of excitement and anticipation. He is finally on his way to be reunited with the love of his life.

You were waiting for Jin impatiently at the airport. Your flowy white dress swooshes with every turn you make, pacing back and forth in front of the terminal exit, holding a bouquet with soft shades of purple, ranging from pale lavender to a deeper violet. Their sweet, intoxicating scent fills the air, settling you briefly. You look at the small, delicate petals resembling tiny hearts–perfect for expressing love and affection.

The moment you see Jin, your heart wavers. Wearing a casual outfit of jeans and a button-down shirt, he offers a warm smile, and his eyes sparkle with joy. He’s pulling his luggage behind him, and in his arms, a breathtaking bouquet of lush, vibrant flowers. The arrangement is a symphony of pinks and whites. Dahlias dominate the center with their ruffled petals, surrounded by delicate sweet peas and smaller, more compact flowers. The overall effect is elegance, which is precisely the type of man Jin is. 

You both brim from ear to ear and laugh that you are on the same page. You rush into each other's arms, sweet tears mingling with your embrace. The airport may be full of the hustle and bustle of travelers, but your love shines brightly, creating a moment of peace and happiness amidst the chaos.  

Simultaneously, you both speak, “These are for you.” Giggles erupt again as you exchange bouquets. 

Jin raises them to his face and exaggerates, smelling them. “They're beautiful, just like you.” He winks and thanks you.

You press the back of your hand to your cheek, which flushes with color, “You're too much.”

Jin pulls you into another hug, his lips grazing your neck. “I'm so happy to be with you again.” 

With one hand, you lace your fingers with Jin’s, and the other weaves through the nape of his hair. “Let's go home,” you whisper.

Smiling, he replies, “I am home.”

Jin grabs his bag, and you walk toward the exit; sounds of announcements in multiple languages and murmurs of conversations all fade into the background, replaced by a palpable sense of euphoria. 

As you leave the airport, a wave of warm air hits you. Jin's hand slips into yours, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. Jin settles into the driver’s seat of your car, and the city turns into a blur of colorful tapestry as you weave through the streets.

When arriving at your new apartment, which you picked together through a video call, Jin is welcomed by a charming atmosphere. Golden rays of sunlight pour through the wide windows, flooding the living room with a warm glow. The air is alive with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, its rich scent beckoning from the kitchen where you had set the timer before leaving. Jin sets down his bags and turns to you, an adoring glint in his eye.

"Shall you show me our new home?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, your heart filling with anticipation. As you walk through the apartment, you can't help but feel a sense of belonging. This is where your new life together will unfold.

You end the brief tour by stepping out onto a private terrace, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Jin hugs you from behind and places his hands over yours on the railing, caging your body between his arms. 

Before you, the iconic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower stretches upward, a graceful masterpiece of iron latticework. The tower's every intricate detail is visible from your vantage point.

You twist around to face Jin, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently gliding them until your fingers interlock behind his neck. "I'm so glad you decided to take this leap," you say softly. "I couldn't imagine my life without you."

The corners of Jin’s mouth turn up in a gentle, playful arc, creating a soft, heart-like shape, causing your heart to flutter. "Me neither." 

"I have something for you," he said, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your heart races as he opens the box, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a pendant shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Embedded in the tower was a tiny diamond that caught the fading sunlight.

"Jin, it's beautiful," you gasp, touching the pendant gently.

"Turn it over," he urges softly.

With trembling fingers, you flip the pendant over. Engraved on the back are the words "our love story”.

As Jin carefully fastens the necklace around your neck, tears well up in your eyes. The cool metal settles against your skin, a tangible reminder of your journey together.

"I wanted to give you something to always remember this time, this place," Jin explains, his eyes shining. "No matter where our careers take us, we'll always have Paris."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. "It's perfect," you whisper against his mouth. "Thank you."

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, you and Jin sit entwined, watching the city come alive with twinkling lights. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly in the distance.

You stand there, nestled in Jin's arms. You couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had led you to this moment. From childhood summers filled with laughter and adventure to years apart, pursuing your dreams, and finally reuniting in the city of love. It feels as if every step, every decision, led you back to each other.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask.

His breath warm against your ear, he replies, "This is just the beginning."

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Sixty-One

The journey to the Sept unfolded against a backdrop of palpable grief in the streets of King's Landing. The usually bustling and vibrant capital was draped in an atmosphere of mourning. The stone walls echoed with the muted sounds of sorrow, and the air carried a weight that surpassed the everyday hum of life. Countless mourners lined the roads, their faces etched with expressions of sadness, paying homage to the departed royal children.

Inside the carriage, Maera and Aemond shared the quiet passage with a solemnity that mirrored the city's mourning. Throughout the journey, a profound silence enveloped them, as if the weight of the occasion transcended the need for spoken words. Despite the absence of verbal communication, Aemond's hand remained a steadfast presence on Maera's leg, a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could—a silent assurance that they faced the challenges together.

As the carriage navigated the grief-stricken streets, the unspoken exchange between Aemond and Maera spoke volumes. The city's mourning became a shared experience, and within the confines of the carriage, the couple found solace in the simplicity of touch and the silent understanding that marked this poignant journey to bid a premature farewell to little Jaehaerys and the tiny unborn baby girl.

After a brief public service at the Sept, the funeral procession wound its way through the city until it reached a nearby cliff, a place chosen for its somber serenity. At the forefront of the procession was a cart bearing the wrapped bodies of the children. Maera, unable to summon the courage to look upon the small, shrouded figures, had avoided glimpsing them since she stepped out of the carriage back at the Sept.

As the procession reached the cliffside, a hushed solemnity settled over the gathering. The noble mourners, clad in garments of black, formed a solemn line along the edge of the cliff. The wind carried with it a whispering lament, an echo of the collective grief that draped the scene. Maera and Aemond’s carriage came to a halt, and a profound stillness enveloped the cliffside.

The natural beauty of the scenery served as a poignant contrast to the somber occasion, as if nature itself paused to acknowledge the depth of the loss. The air was heavy with the weight of farewell, and as the figures rested against the backdrop of the expansive horizon, a profound silence descended upon the mourners.

Aemond was the first to step out of the carriage, a silent sentinel of support for Maera. Extending his hand to her, he assisted her in descending onto the grounds. As she alighted, his hand found its place on the small of her back, guiding her toward the dais of the procession, where the rest of the royal family stood.

Upon reaching the solemn gathering, Maera took in the sight of House Targaryen assembled before her. Little Jaehaera and Maelor, the surviving children, were under the watchful eyes of their nursery maids. Both stood in quiet contemplation, their gaze fixated on the sky, perhaps finding solace in the flight of birds above. Dressed in mourning black, dowager Queen Alicent stood with a veil covering her face, an emblem of her grief.

As Maera made her way through the gathering, she noticed Prince Daeron, Aemond's younger brother and ward of Oldtown, in attendance at the funeral. Beside him stood Lord Otto, his face etched with solemnity, focused on the funeral pyre ahead. Aemond and Maera walked past other members of the family before standing before King Aegon and Queen Helaena. With a respectful bow and curtsy, they greeted the reigning monarchs, paying homage to their regal presence on such a trying day. The silent exchange marked the transition from the private sphere of mourning to the formal acknowledgment of the royal family's unity in grief.

As Maera observed the royal couple standing together, she couldn't help but notice that the apparent distance between King Aegon and Queen Helaena had developed even further since the tragedies. Though physically close, their violet eyes carried vacant looks as they gazed upon the shrouded bodies of their children.

Once formal greetings were concluded, Maera stood by Aemond's side, a few steps behind the grieving King and Queen, during the solemn funeral ceremony. At the forefrond stood High Septon Eustace, a figure draped in ceremonial robes, attempting to offer words of comfort and be a voice of the Seven in the face of such dark times. The High Septon's voice, though steady, carried a weight of empathy as he sought to navigate the delicate balance between solace and reverence for the departed.

As Eustace concluded his sermon, Maera watched in silence as her husband stepped forward, a figure of strength and resilience. In that poignant moment, a large, dark shadow began to stretch over the gathering, gradually blotting out the sun. It was the unmistakable silhouette of Vhagar, Aemond's formidable mount. The gigantic green and bronze creature emerged from behind a rocky hill, a colossal presence that commanded attention. As the beast stomped towards the pyre, her enormous eyes, filled with an otherworldly intelligence, remained locked onto her rider.

Maera turned to look at the other funeral attendants, and couldn't help but discern the subtle currents of political foresight woven into the decision. She knew, with a shrewd insight, that the suggestion for Vhagar to lead the pyre-burning had originated from the Queen mother, Alicent. It bore the mark of her strategic mind, considering both the symbolic and practical aspects of the act.

Firstly, Vhagar was the largest and fiercest dragon in the realm, and her fiery presence during the funeral would serve as a potent symbol of House Targaryen's strength in the face of adversity. Secondly, Alicent, ever the astute observer, voiced concerns about Aegon's state. While the official reason was that she assumed he would be too distraught to command Sunfyre, Maera understood the unspoken truth behind her mother-in-law's words, alluding to a more likely scenario—Aegon's tendency to drown his sorrows in drink, a habit that rendered him incapable of safely commanding his dragon.

Maera's gaze locked onto Aemond, who stood a few steps in front of her, his singular violet eye focused intently on his dragon, Vhagar. In that moment, she couldn't help but marvel at the remarkable transformation of the boy she had once known—singled out for lacking a dragon—into the man who now commanded the mightiest of them all. The evolution from perceived inadequacy to the pinnacle of strength stood before her, a testament to Aemond's resilience and the formidable bond he had forged with Vhagar.

As the weight of House Targaryen's history hung in the air, Aemond uttered a commanding "Dracarys." The air crackled with anticipation as Vhagar responded to her rider's call. Her massive jaws opened wide, revealing a searing fireball at the back of her throat. With a mighty surge, she propelled the fire forward, a torrent of flames that engulfed the wrapped bodies.

The pyre alighted, casting a brilliant, mournful glow over the cliffside. The flames danced with an ethereal grace, intertwining with the winds of sorrow that swept through the gathering. As the fire consumed the shrouded figures, the heat radiated a solemn warmth—a final embrace for the departed. The alight funeral pyre became a poignant tableau, a visual requiem that illuminated the cliffs with the sorrowful beauty of the farewell to little Prince Jaehaerys and the lost unborn child.

After a fleeting moment following the pyre's ignition, Aegon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, was the first to withdraw from the cliffside. The subtle scent of spiced wine lingered in the air as he walked past Maera, a reminder of the means by which he often sought solace. Alicent, attempting to engage with her son, found herself ignored, as Aegon continued his solitary retreat, accompanied only by a retinue of guards.

Turning her gaze back to Queen Helaena, Maera observed her standing alone, her gaze fixed on the consuming flames of the pyre. A pang of empathy and longing for connection tugged at Maera's heart. It had been too long since she and her old friend had shared a proper conversation, and the desire to reconnect with Helaena welled within her. Cautiously, Maera stepped towards Helaena, reaching out with the intention of a comforting touch. However, the Queen, sensing Maera's presence, flinched before the contact could be made.

When Helaena turned to look at her, the pain was evident across her face, her violet eyes seeming distant, lost in the consuming embers of the funeral pyre. Maera, with a tender expression, spoke softly, “Your Grace.” The formality hung in the air as Maera wrestled with the words that followed, fighting the urge to apologise for the irrevocable loss or to offer empty assurances of brighter days ahead. Instead, she let her features soften, hoping to bridge the chasm between them.

“I am happy to see you,” Maera uttered, her words a fragile attempt to anchor the conversation in a moment of solace. Yet, Queen Helaena remained silent, her gaze fixed in an abyss of grief, a stark departure from the girl Maera had once known. The air hung heavy with unspoken sorrow, leaving Maera grappling with the weight of words that could never truly mend the wounds.

Helaena's sudden grip sent a chill down Maera's spine, her friend's urgency etched in the vice-like hold. The cryptic words, "Two dragon eggs are laid. One in the rivers, one in the maelstrom," echoed in the air, a foreboding revelation that seized Maera's attention. It was no longer a mere enigmatic phrase, it appeared to be a warning. Before Maera could unravel the meaning, Queen Alicent materialized, her presence accompanied by a sad smile, then a concerned brow. She delicately intervened, placing a comforting hand on Helaena's gripping arm.

"Come, dearest," Alicent urged, her voice a gentle command. "Let us return to the carriage."

Helaena's gaze remained fixed on Maera, jaw tense with unspoken weight. However, yielding to her mother's directive, she reluctantly shifted her focus to the floor. With a nod towards Alicent, Helaena released Maera's arm, and the mother and daughter began to move away, leaving Maera standing amidst the lingering echoes of ominous prophecy.

Watching the women leave, Maera also witnessed the mournful procession of attendees making their way back to the waiting carriages, a sea of black against the vivid green backdrop of the cliffside. The solemnity of the moment lingered in the air, carried by the retreating figures clad in mourning attire.

In this poignant aftermath of the funeral for Jaehaerys and the unborn child, Maera's thoughts swirled with a complex array of emotions. Grief and sadness weighed heavily on her heart as she reflected on the loss that had befallen House Targaryen. The funeral pyre's fading glow mirrored the ephemerality of life, and the scars of tragedy etched themselves into the fabric of the royal family.

Amidst the collective mourning, a shadow of fear crept into Maera's thoughts. The ongoing war cast a looming uncertainty over the realm, and the prospect of having to bury her own child during these tumultuous times stirred a deep-seated anxiety within her. Swiftly, she shook the thought from her mind, unwilling to entertain the notion, and looked ahead, past the funeral pyre.

Aemond stood beside Vhagar, his gloved palm gently stroking the massive dragon's face, the vivid hues of green and bronze scales shimmering in the sunlight, capturing the majesty of the creature. The juxtaposition of the formidable dragon and the prince created a visual dichotomy, akin to a mouse standing next to a towering human. Yet, the undeniable bond between Aemond and Vhagar transcended mere appearances.

Approaching with a mix of reverence and curiosity, Maera ventured into the space where the prince and his formidable companion stood, eager to witness firsthand the depth of their connection. The colossal dragon's fiery orange eyes bore into Maera as she neared Aemond, a low growl resonating from the creature's throat. Startled, Maera instinctively took a worried step back, a gasp escaping her lips. The immense power emanating from the dragon was palpable, stirring a sense of caution in her.

Aemond, sensing the tension, turned to face Maera, his silver hair catching the light. With a calm authority, he commanded his colossal companion to ease, and the dragon's trill signaled compliance. Facing Maera, Aemond offered a reassuring smile, breaking the tension that lingered in the air.

"You can touch her if you want," Aemond invited, extending the opportunity for Maera to bridge the gap between them and the majestic creature. Despite her apprehension, Maera hesitated, her gaze flickering between Aemond and the dragon.

With a tentative tone, she admitted, "She may not wish me to." The unspoken dance of trust and fear unfolded in the presence of the awe-inspiring beast.

Aemond's chuckle echoed in the air, a glint of mischief in his single violet eye. "I am her rider; she does as I say," he asserted, a smirk playing on his sharp-featured face. The hint of a playful challenge lingered as he continued, "Unless she thinks you wish to harm me, then that is another story."

Maera, unimpressed by Aemond's attempt to incite a reaction, huffed and rolled her eyes. "I shall try not to get annoyed with you in her presence then," she quipped sarcastically.

Taking the opportunity to bridge the gap, Aemond gently took Maera's hand, guiding it to rest on Vhagar's scaled face. His hand rested atop hers, offering reassurance. The initial apprehension gave way to a surge of excitement as her hand made contact with the formidable creature beneath Aemond’s guidance.

The touch revealed a stark contrast to her previous experience with Ēbrion. Vhagar’s scales were much harder, bearing the scars and stories of battles waged. The war-torn texture spoke of the dragon’s seasoned history and the challenges she had faced. Yet, despite the rugged exterior, Vhagar exuded a warmth that resonated with Maera. The colossal dragon blinked slowly before seemingly leaning into Maera's touch, the immense creature pressing her face forward until the entirety of Maera's body was nestled against the dragon's formidable form.

Aemond's simple hum in response to his dragon's behavior caught Maera's attention, prompting her to shift her gaze toward him. "She can sense it," Aemond muttered, his eyes meeting Maera's with a knowing look.

Curiosity sparked in Maera's eyes as she inquired, "Sense what?" Aemond's gaze, however, traveled down to her lower stomach, where the unborn child nestled beneath her skin. Though there were no visible signs of life yet, the dragon's awareness of the growing life within Maera left her astounded.

"Oh," Maera responded, turning her attention back to Vhagar. The revelation of her pregnancy still hung in the air, a realization she was grappling with. Aemond's genuine interest and the dragon's uncanny awareness brought a sense of comfort, easing the uncertainties that lingered in the wake of impending parenthood.

The remaining sunlight, veiled behind grey clouds, was momentarily blocked again by a large black shadow, casting a subtle gloom over the cliffside. Before long, the vibrations of a thump resonated through the ground, heralding the arrival of another majestic presence. Appearing over the rocks, Ēbrion emerged—a formidable figure, dark blue and black scales gleaming in the subdued light. Each of his gigantic footsteps sent tremors through the earth, and Maera couldn't help but smile at the sight of the dragon she had grown familiar with.

As Ēbrion wandered over to the group, Maera felt the magnitude of his presence, and a chuckle escaped her lips at a whimsical thought. She entertained the idea that the blue dragon might be experiencing a touch of jealousy, watching her give attention to Vhagar.

The giant blue beast stood beside Vhagar, the camaraderie between the two dragons taking an unexpected turn in an instant. With a powerful nudge of his head, Ēbrion inadvertently disrupted Vhagar's connection with Maera, moving the older dragon's head away from her touch. Vhagar, roused from the moment, responded with an angry roar that echoed through the cliffside. The air crackled with tension as the two dragons exchanged hostile glares, their eyes ablaze with fiery intensity.

Aemond, sensing the need to restore order, attempted to capture Vhagar's attention.

“Dohaerās, Vhagar. Lykirī,” Serve, Vhagar. Be Calm, Aemond commanded his mount with a stern tone. However, Ēbrion, protective and assertive, leaned his head down, emitting a warning growl that echoed with authority. The narrow pupils of the blue dragon focused intently on the prince, a clear declaration of his stance in maintaining control. The dynamics between the dragons added an unexpected layer of drama to the air, a reminder of the untamed power that existed within these formidable creatures.

Out of instinct and a surge of protective urgency, Maera grasped Aemond's forearm and swiftly yanked him toward her. In this sudden move, her body positioned itself protectively in front of his. Aemond, though not entirely pleased with this rearrangement, responded by placing his hands on her hips, fingers digging in as he attempted to reposition his wife to what he perceived as safety behind him. Sensing the need for a calming influence, Maera called up to Ēbrion in a commanding yet softly spoken voice.

“Rȳbās Ēbrion. Kelītīs, rāpirī,” Listen Ēbrion. Stop, it’s ok. The words drew the dragon's immediate attention. The mighty beast pulled his face back, covering his teeth, and his pupils expanded as he fixated on Maera. She keenly observed the subtle signs of relaxation in Ēbrion's muscles, a silent acknowledgment that her words had reached and pacified the formidable dragon. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the situation hadn't escalated further, sparing her husband from any potential harm.

With the immediate threat diffused, Maera stepped forward, feeling the absence of Aemond's hands on her hips. Approaching Ēbrion, she extended a hand to his face, a gesture of reassurance. Then, leaning against the dragon's formidable form, she pressed her face into one of his scales, finding solace in the heat of the creature with a smile. The unspoken understanding, the calming influence she held over the mighty creature, and the comfort she found in his presence all hinted at a relationship that transcended mere proximity.

As Maera caressed Ēbrion’s scales, she turned her head slightly, catching sight of Aemond staring at her in awe. His widened violet eye reflected a mix of astonishment and admiration, lips slightly parted in silent wonder. The tableau of admiration painted on Aemond's face spoke volumes about the profundity of the connection unfolding before him.

“You are bonded to him.”

Notes: I am genuinely so sick of being sick, this is week three! Doctors have said it’s viral so there’s nothing I can do.

Tags: @abecerra611 @blue-serendipity @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy @marvelescvpe

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[xylianasblog]

Frequency

Pairings: Agedup Human! Neteyam (26) X Fem!Human reader (22)

Summary: As a college student at Pandora University you worked hard during the day when you had classes, spending time with your best friend, and on the weekends sang at a popular bar to make money. Life was sweet and easy all you were missing was someone to match your frequency.

Warnings: small age gag, small praise kink (if you squint), nothing too crazy, feels kinda rushed. not proofread.

Next >

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It was Friday evening and you and your best friend were currently lounging around your bedroom. “Kiri you are coming to my concert tonight?” You ask her after a moment of silence.

“Of course!! I’ll be bringing my brother as well. You already know Lo but you haven’t met Neteyam yet. He’s a few months older than me.” She explained this caused you to let out a small hum. You’ve already seen pictures of him around her place along with other family pictures she has.

You spent a lot of time with Kiri, first having met when you both applied for this clothing store and ever since then you and Kiri have gotten close despite the four-year age gap. You adored her and thought of her and her family as your own, especially with how welcoming Jake and Neytiri are.

"That sounds cool. Will Lo be there too or just you and Neteyam?" his name felt strange with the way it rolled off of your tongue, a pleasant feeling ran through your body but you brushed it off as nerves for finally getting to meet the great older brother, the prince of the family as Lo'ak called him.

glancing quickly at the watch on your bedside table you groaned at the time. "I gotta get ready Kiri, ill meet you after the concert," you told her as you got up and hurriedly ran around your room gathering everything you needed to get ready.

After forty-five minutes you were pulling into the club, relaxing back into the driver seat as you looked into the rearview mirror checking your black-eye makeup and nude lipgloss. Looking down you let your eyes trail over your figure as you take in your white bralette that was covered by a netted black see-through crop top, dark distressed skinny jeans, and finally down to your black and white high top Converse. For once you let your hair down, knowing that even if it was up and styled perfectly it wouldn't last very long.

After another quick little once over you were ready to walk inside and take your place on the stage with your band. Looking back at everyone you gave them a big smile as you all took your place. Your eyes searched the crowd for Kiri, instantly landing on her you gave a small wink.

The band started playing, you bobbed your head a little feeling the music flow into your ears, taking over your body with its sounds. At that moment you began to sing letting yourself get lost in the music.

"I've been roamin' around, always lookin' down at all I see. Painted faces fill the places I can't reach. You know that I could use somebody. You know that I could use somebody."

Your voice was soft with the perfect amount of rasp, you opened your eyes letting them roam over the crowd.

"Someone like you and all you know and how you speak. Countless lovers under cover of the street. You know that I could use somebody. You know that I could use somebody... Someone like you"

Your eyes locked onto a pair of pretty amber eyes that seemed to be locking you in, you felt yourself become entranced. You couldn't look away, not that you wanted to that stare was addicting, like those eyes were calling for you.

"Off in the night, while you live it up, I'm off to sleep. Wagin' wars to shape the poet and the beat. I hope it's gonna make you notice. I hope it's gonna make you notice"

The song grew softer as you continued to sing, the lyrics seemed to go more passionate. Your eyes still locked onto those mesmerizing amber eyes.

Taking the mic off the stand you walked around it as you sang louder, letting the words carry into the crowd after you managed to finally break the hold those eyes had on you.

"Someone like you, Somebody. Someone like you, Somebody. Someone like you, Somebody."

Letting your voice soften as you sang the last line, your eyes once again found those amber eyes without your consent. As if you were singing to them, calling to the owner of those eyes.

"I've been roamin' around, always lookin' down at all I see."

applause and cheers lit sounded around the bar causing you to laugh as you thanked everyone before running down to greet Kiri. Finally standing in front of her you both hugged tightly before she pushed you back gently. "You did amazing! That's always been a good song but the way you sang it. I love it, your version is the best version." Kiri spoke and you knew she was as genuine as she always is.

"That was amazing, pretty girl. I'm very impressed." a new, deeper yet raspier voice praised, which made your face grow hot and your core ache with a feeling you've never felt before. Looking over your eyes locked onto those god-forsaken eyes. This time you let your eyes roam over his beautiful brown skin, sharp jawline, and nice soft-looking lips. Those eyes, however, fuck those eyes.

Looking down at his chest instead of his eyes you offered a sweet smile. "Thank you. I'm guessing you're Neteyam. I've heard good things about you." You managed to be polite as you greeted him and not make it noticeable that you were avoiding his eyes, however, he noticed and gave a quiet chuckle.

"You must be Y/n. Kiri has told me many things about you. It's nice to meet you, pretty girl." You watched his hand lift before feeling his calloused hand against your cheek, and you found yourself leaning into his touch.

It was as if you forgot how to breathe, the frequency of you two calling to one another through the invisible waves, crashing together in a powerful dance. As if they were becoming intertwined and making themselves one.

"I look forward to seeing more of you." He whispered but somehow you managed to hear him through the crowd. pulling your face away from his touch you nodded. "You as well Neteyam."

After the small interaction with Neteyam and speaking with Kiri that was the first time you've gone home alone. Your body slightly reeling from the soft remains of his frequency.

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Tag list: @otasia @blueslxt-primary @justasimps-blog @oceanstar19 @kxamtxomawteyam @avatar4life @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @ghostreadersthings @lauratstrange @manumanulau @shit-i-say-shit-i-think

(If you wish to be added to the tag list let me know!)

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Head Full of Ghosts: Chapter 2

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 3/? Read on AO3 (Will post chapters to Tumblr, as well.) Current Word Count: 13,050

Author Notes: I don't just post random Astarion and BG3 nonsense to this blog, I also have an ongoing fanfic! It's currently up to three chapters, and the fourth is in progress. You can read everything that has been written so far on AO3. If it's your cup of tea, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: Getting By

For all of his excitement over the revelation he was now able to survive in sunlight, Astarion would always be a nocturnal animal. 200 years of prowling moonlight-kissed streets and shadow-laden alleyways had ingratiated him to the night, and such longstanding habits were hard to break.

He’d never admit it out loud, and possibly had not even fully admitted it to himself, but he preferred the darkness of the night to the stark light of day. Daylight was a source of exposure. There was no room for secrets in the presence of radiant light, a person’s sins and perversions would be laid bare should they open them up to scrutiny during the day.

But, at night, the world was far more honest with itself. The night was indulgent and protective. Those who would chastise someone for their deviant tastes during the day often slunk off to participate in their own debauchery after dark. The night didn’t care. A person could be as hypocritical, underhanded and insidious as they pleased under the cloak of night. She wouldn’t reveal any secrets, the night was gracious in that way.

And, for that, Astarion was grateful. He would be happy to leave his sins to fester in darkness. There were so many nights he wished to forget. Countless lies whispered under the comforts of shadows, infinite promises broken, and the number of lives he destroyed beneath the cover of dark was untold.

He was a wretched thing, undeserving of the warm comforts of the sun. Wretched things were to be regulated to the night, unfit for the bright revealing light of day. His crimes were too numerous, his sins too horrific.

If he were being honest with himself, he’d admit he didn’t feel deserving of the abilities granted by the illithid tadpole. The day was no place for monsters. And that’s what he was, a monster who had committed countless monstrous deeds over the past 200 years.

So why had Eli’s little outburst bothered him so much? It wasn’t as if she’d said anything he didn’t deserve to hear. He’d been the victim of so many of Cazador’s tantrums. And those made Eli’s little hissy fit from earlier today look boringly tame. He’d endured screaming, yelling, beatings, flayings and so much worse. His mind flinched away from the darker memories, the ones that caused the familiar nausea to stir in his stomach. The nights Cazador had brought company to enjoy the services of his spawns…

He’d remind his guests the stakes and silver were off limits, but any other tools they wanted to use for their private time with the spawns were fair game. 

Astarion grimaced and shook his head, as if he could shake off the unwanted images swirling in his mind. Focus. That was behind him. He would never have to grovel for that heathen ever again. He would never be used again. The days of him being passed around like a carcass for Cazador’s vultures to pick at and have their way with were over.

He was the user now. He was the manipulator. He had to be to survive.

And it had all been going well, until today. Until he went just a bit too far and destroyed all his careful planning. All of his work to get Eli to trust him, to get into her circle of protection, to make her believe they were friends with the possibility for something more…he’d fucked it all up. Because of course he did. Because, apparently at some point during his miserable existence, he’d done something to piss off whatever cosmic entity controlled the universe, and now that entity got their rocks off by constantly giving him the proverbial middle finger.

Astarion frowned darkly as he picked through the forested underbrush. The woodland was grim in the bleak night, the moon only a sliver of white light in the dark sky. What weak illumination it did provide was consumed by the forest canopy before it ever made it to the ground. This provided exceptional cover for him to hunt, and for a while his hunger was enough to focus his mind on seeking blood. The forest smelled earthy and old, and Astarion was still adjusting to the cacophony of scents and sounds that were so different from the ones in the city.

Scents of pine and moss instead of perfume and liquor. The trill of a songbird instead of the drawl of a drunken mark. It was…foreign, but nice. Far less chaotic and busy, though sometimes he didn’t mind the chaos of the city. It helped keep him distracted. And distraction was a luxury he wished he had tonight.

But, no…no, the forest tonight was just beautifully serene and enchanting and he hated all of it!

He needed to keep himself out of his head, but with nothing to keep his attention, Astarion kept sinking inward, replaying the events of today and mentally cursing himself for his stupidity. He was disgusted with himself for how he’d responded today. He’d risked everything, his freedom, his protection, his only hope of figuring out what the hell was going on with these tadpoles in their brains…he’d risked all of it because he’d been upset.     

Gods below, how pathetic could he get?

How was he supposed to walk back telling Eli he’d celebrate her turning into a mind flayer? The thought of it made him shiver…all those tentacles. Bleh. Ceremorphosis sounded decidedly unpleasant, and there weren’t many people he’d honestly wish it on. There were a few, of course…but none of them were back at camp.

He wouldn’t actually be happy to see Eli turn. In truth, he’d probably be a bit devastated. She was the only one who seemed to be making any progress towards figuring out what these tadpoles could do for them. All the others had balked at the idea of exploring what other abilities their new little hitchhikers could gift them with – well, Gale hadn’t actually been disagreeable about it, but Astarion wasn’t wholly convinced of Gale’s mental soundness, so he didn’t count.

Lae’zel had looked as if she may actually try to set him on fire, sunlight be damned. Eli had to calm her down with reassurances that they were going to look for a creche, as well as a promise that Lae’zel could have the killing blow on the first goblin they crossed paths with that day.

Eli was also the one who’d convinced the rest of their mentally unstable cohort to give him a chance after his…condition came to light. Out of all the bizarre and unnatural things that had occurred over the past few weeks, that was still one of the most unexpected events to have taken place.

Astarion had fully expected Eli to drive a stake into him the night she woke up to him looming over her. He’d had every intention of biting her and drinking of her blood while she slept…perhaps even draining her, his hunger had been so painful that night. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, but even if he had the thought of asking her permission had never occurred to him. It sounded so farfetched as to be laughable. No sane person with control over all their mental faculties would ever agree to let a vampire drink from them. In the 200 years he’d had this condition, the revelation that he was a vampire only ever wrought fear in his victims.

None of them were willing after that…and their screams as he relinquished them to Cazador still haunted the recesses of his dreams and nightmares.

But she’d agreed. She’d let him. She’d put herself in an incredibly dangerous situation that held no benefit for her, and she’d done it for him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and he kept expecting her to bring it up as a bargaining chip, or to try and use it as a way to exact some sort of control over him. But she hadn’t, at least not yet. Which was why he’d been planning to proposition her soon with an offer of sex as a way to return the favor. He had no intention of staying in debt to her, and this was an opportunity to keep his plan in motion. If he could bed her, keep her happy and keep her attached to him, then he’d have a far better chance of surviving this insane misadventure.

Problem was, Astarion wasn’t the only person looking to cozy up with their fearless leader. Wyll drooled over Eli so much he was surprised the man didn’t walk around with a bib. There would be others, too. Eli was…

He frowned, trying to parse through the complicated stirring of thoughts that always seemed to crowd into his mind whenever she was the subject of his musings. She was interesting. Beautiful by any definition, her half-drow lineage gifting her with long silvery hair and skin soft and smooth as any he’d touched.

Astarion’s mind wandered, tongue sliding over the back of his teeth as he reminisced over the warmth of her skin against his mouth. The way she’d trembled beneath him when his fangs pierced her neck, her breath quickening against his ear. Gods, she was delicious. The taste of her was something that would be burned onto his memory for centuries, he was sure of it. Astarion wanted so much more than what he’d been given, but he’d agreed to let her be the one to extend the next offer. And after everything, he at least owed her that meager respect.

Except now, she likely never would make that offer. Hells, the next time he saw her he half expected Eli to throw him out of camp.

Astarion suddenly realized he’d been standing out in the forest, lost in his thoughts, for quite some time. He groaned, rubbing at his temple. He may just have to call it for the night, every animal for a mile would have tuned into his presence by now.

Hunt botched by his own hand, Astarion began trudging back towards camp. He was hungry, irritated and now he needed to figure out how to remedy his relationship with their wild-eyed I-will-Eldritch-Blast-you-into-oblivion leader.

Maybe she’d just forget what he’d said to her. Memory loss was kind of her thing, anyway.

“Astarion!”

The pale elf nearly jumped from the sheer amount of…excitement with which his name was called. He couldn’t recall a time when anyone had ever yelled his name with that much enthusiasm - sexual trysts aside, of course.

Astarion stood in the gloom near the edge of the stream that separated their grouping of tents from a nearby aged ruin. He had nearly made it back to camp, feet trudging over a path he had begun to know well due to his nightly prowling. His mind mused over how, only a few short weeks ago, he would not have been capable of crossing the running stream in front of him now. And then she’d called out to him, her voice echoing out from what sounded like a spot inside the battered and fallen down stone structure that had long ago been some grand building with grand purposes.

The voice was buoyant and earnest, and a twist of anxiety tightened in his chest. He recognized that voice as Eli’s, and Eli should be decidedly not excited to see him considering how their last chat went. The only excuse he could conceive of her having was that she wanted something from him. And if that was the case…then maybe the fallout from earlier wasn’t as grim as he’d thought.

He craned his neck to try and catch sight of her. The ruin wasn’t so much a building anymore as it was an ornament upon the landscape. Its walls had long since crumbled and the top of the structure now opened up to the yawning sky, roof rotted away. What little light the slivered moon reflected was hazy and weak, but his darkvision compensated as his keen eyes focused. She was standing near what appeared to be a bench towards the back of the decrepit structure, one hand raised in an over-enthused and slightly erratic wave while in her other hand she held…a bottle?

Astarion’s mouth crooked up in a sly smirk. Was their fearsome and bold leader - the woman whom he’d watched charm tieflings, decapitate harpies and reason with a grown-ass owlbear – getting drunk by herself in the middle of the night?

During his walk back to camp, Astarion had mulled over all the ways he could approach mending the tensions between them. In his mind, all of them had involved a very sober and annoyed Eli and there was a 50/50 chance that the discussion would end with her polymorphing him into a duck.

Zero of these scenarios, however, had involved her drunk, barefoot and knocking about in some rundown ruin like a restless poltergeist.

A practiced and easy smile snapped into place on his face, almost unconsciously, as Astarion made his way to Eli with all the swagger of a fox who’d found a little lost field mouse.

“Hello, my dear,” he cooed silkily, crimson eyes landing upon what appeared to be a rather handsomely embroidered red cloak that Eli had wrapped around her shoulders. He eyed the garment curiously and could not recall having seen it before, and the night was not particularly chilly.

“Now where did this lovely accoutrement come from?” Astarion asked, reaching out and rubbing the hem between his fingers.

It was extremely well made and he could sense the low and staticky undercurrent that tended to vibrate in the air around items infused with magic. This was not some cheap cape, and she certainly hadn’t purchased it from that halfwit merchant in Emerald Grove. The cloak was likely worth more than any of the junk that druid peddled to tourists.

Eli grinned, tipping the neck of the bottle she was holding towards him as he caught the faint scent of currant and cherry. “Would you believe me if I said my demon butler showed up this evening and gave it to me?” she asked cheerily, bringing the bottle to her lips for another swig.

Astarion blinked peculiarly at her, searching her face and waiting a short beat for a punchline that never came. Eli simply watched him with a quirky smile, listing slightly to the left as the alcohol continued to run its course.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, plucking the bottle from her hand and inspecting its nearly emptied contents. “How many of these have you had this evening?”

Eli squeaked in protest as the wine was usurped from her, hastily reaching to grab it back. “Not enough to begin hallucinating, unfortunately. I didn’t even know I had a butler,” she said as Astarion raised the bottle up and out of her reach, a wily smirk on his lips. “Give it back,” she asserted, like a child who just had a toy snatched from them.

Astarion chuckled and kept the wine just out of her reach as she leaned in to him in another attempt to grab the bottle.

“No.” He met her eyes, brow furrowed in a teasing challenge and expression coyly enticing.

It was so simple to slip back into his charming and roguish persona, like a well-worn coat that fit perfectly every time he put it on. All the little rips in the fabric from past misadventures had been patched as he learned from mistakes and reenforced the farce. He had spent decades learning, testing, crafting and perfecting in order to be whatever his target wanted in that moment. And he was very, very good.

Eli sighed, putting on a show of being frustrated as she leaned back and crossed her arms. “Okay, Withers,” her lips took on a small, self-satisfied quirk as she spoke and the tiniest spark of fondness fired off somewhere deep and distant in Astarion’s brain.

“Thou hast indulged sufficiently at present,” he said in his best impersonation of their grim and ambiguous undead camp counselor. Then, with an effortless smile he added, “Darling.”

Eli short-circuited.

She broke out into unabashed laughter, doubling over as her hands went to her knees for support. Astarion felt a pang of gratification stir in his chest, strangely pleased at having been the source of her laughter.

Taking a step back, Eli sat on the nearby bench, leaning her head up against the stone wall behind it and whiping tears from her eyes.

“Whew,” she breathed out, still grinning. “I haven’t laughed like that since…” her voice trailed off as the smile slowly fell from her face, eyes fixating on the sky above with a troubled and dour sheen to them.   

The realization crept up on him slowly that she was trying to recall her life from before the nautiloid and failing. That feeling of gratification now gone, Astarion chewed at his bottom lip for a moment. It was difficult for him to imagine being in the situation she was. His every waking moment was haunted by the memories of the past 200 years. He felt as if his eyes were constantly darting to the shadows whenever he entered a room, expecting to see Cazador or one of his lackeys lurking. A part of him envied her for the memories she no longer possessed, and with that the freedom she had to define her future. But another part of him wondered at the loss and the pain of not knowing one’s own self. Of having no internal sense of true north or identity. The thought of it caused an uncomfortable and tense sensation in his stomach, and suddenly the weight of the bottle in his hand felt a bit more significant.

Clearing his throat, he moved to sit beside Eli on the bench and tipped the wine bottle towards her in offering. Her eyes glanced from his face to the bottle, her expression softening as she took the wine from him.

“You know,” he said, staring at a spot on the ground in front of him with a somber and dark look. “I’d let the mind flayers put ten tadpoles in my brain if it meant ridding myself of some of the memories in my head.” His voice was quiet and held a sense of hesitancy, as if the words might flee from his lips at any moment.

“But, for all of it to be taken…” Astarion paused, collecting his thoughts, before he gave a light huff as a small smile pulled at his mouth. “Well, all things considered, getting drunk all by your lonesome in the middle of the night seems a perfectly acceptable way to cope.”

He glanced back to Eli, who was now staring at him with her head still propped up against the stone wall, light violet eyes flashing like purple fluorite in the underdark. Something was swirling in her thoughtful gaze as she considered him, and Astarion felt both curiosity and anxiety colliding inside his chest as he wondered what her eyes might be searching for.

Astarion had always known his value in the eyes of others was based on the superficial. His worth was measured in the pleasure he brought to partners, in how he made them feel while pressing sweetly whispered lies into their lips. He knew what people saw when they looked at him, always keenly aware of the wayward gazes of strangers as they lingered on his body, their fingers twitching to caress pale smooth skin.

Eli’s eyes, however, were not roaming his body and instead had settled into a calm stare he was finding it somewhat difficult to look away from. It was unnerving, in a sense, and for a moment an irrational fear rose up inside him that she would see past all his frivolity and find him lacking. See the truth behind the façade, that he was just a used up wretch looking to anchor himself to whatever barricade he could put between him and what he knew was coming for him. And then she’d cast him off, because who the hell would want to deal with that?

He didn’t allow the mask to fall, though, and held her gaze with his best come hither stare, tilting his chin down so he peered up at her through soft grey lashes.

“Like what you see, darling?” he asked, voice edged with a suggestive and gravely tone.

He needed to stay in Eli’s good graces, he needed the protection this ragtag group provided. And he’d charm the pants off of her, literally, in order to keep himself safe.

Eli, however, was apparently not on the same line of thought as he was. She blinked back at him, eyes widening and mouth forming into a small ‘O’ as if she were just remembering something. And then she was moving, popping up from the bench and darting past him, walking towards their camp as she tossed some clipped instructions over her shoulder.

“Stay here! I’ll be right back.”

Astarion stared at the empty spot on the bench where Eli had been only a moment ago, confusion and surprise knitting his eyebrows together. That…was new.

When it came to seduction, Astarion held no doubts in regards to his abilities. He was good, and as he perfected his craft it become more and more of a rarity for a mark to turn him down. In fact, in all of his centuries of manipulating targets and entrancing partners, he could not think of a single time when someone had literally fled from his presence while he was in the midst of laying his trap.

“What in the nine hells?” he muttered under his breath, before turning to call after her. “Where are you going?” His voice was a bit more shrill than he’d meant it to be, and he cleared his throat, working to collect himself and gain back some iota of control over the situation.

Eli was halfway across the fallen tree, which served as a makeshift bridge across the stream, when she turned around and threw up her arms, waving him off. “Shush! You want to wake up the whole camp?” she hissed.

And then she was moving off and out of sight, leaving Astarion to wonder how the fuck everything had gone so sideways. He was rather miffed, if he were being honest. No one just got up and walked off in the face of his adoring attention. And what in the hells did she think she was doing, telling him to just sit and wait for her to come back. Astarion didn’t wait for anyone. He wasn’t some bright-eyed eager prey to be toyed with.

Curiosity, however, was getting the better of him. So he sat, sullenly, brooding over how he should just get up and leave. Maybe she’d lied and that hadn’t been her first bottle of wine…it would certainly explain her absurd behavior.  

Astarion was still sulking over how offended he was when Eli returned and sat back down next to him on the bench, a new and unopened bottle of something held out towards him. He chuckled, mood lightening as realization dawned on him. Was she trying to get him drunk?

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” he crooned silkily. “But, I think the camp can only handle one drunken gremlin at a time.”

Eli just rolled her eyes and pushed the bottle into his hands. “You don’t have to drink it right now. I…um…” her jaw tightened for a moment, a look of consideration on her face.

Astarion frowned at her, confused, and then looked to the bottle which she had practically forced upon him. An icy and uncertain pang of surprise settled in his gut as he read the label. Barrel-Aged Callidyrran…a favorite of his. But…how had she…

“You mentioned your preference for it when we were in that apothecary cellar, while you were going off about the amount of ‘unconscionable swill’ being kept down there.” Astarion could hear Eli’s explanation, but he was having difficulty comprehending it.

Why had she remembered such an offhanded and silly comment from him? And why had she then acted on it? What was she hoping to achieve? He just continued to stare at the bottle, brows furrowing in confusion and slight frustration. He could feel her eyes on him, expectant and hopeful, but couldn’t bring himself to look up.

“So,” Eli continued. “When we got back to the Grove, I paid Mattis a few coin to find some bottles. I have no clue how he did it, that kid’s potential is highly underutilized at present, but he had two of them the next day. So, I added them to our camp supplies thinking it could be a nice surprise, but…” her voice trailed off and Astarion finally looked to her, expression guarded and hesitant.

He noticed the flush of her cheeks and could hear the quickening of her heart. He was suddenly very aware of the blood rushing just below her skin, his tongue rubbing at the back of his teeth as he recalled the phantom taste of her. If there was something she wanted from him, she didn’t need to try and bribe him with favors and trinkets. She already possessed something he dearly wanted, though he would never be so bold about blatantly saying so.

Eli held his gaze for a moment before glancing sideways and running a hand through her long silvery hair, pushing it back from her face. “Well, I noticed that you don’t seem to get into the camp supplies, which make sense because the whole vampire thing.” She shrugged to herself and then looked back to him, eyes focused with an edge of determination.

“So, I wanted to give this to you and also say that I’m really sorry for what I said to you earlier today. It wasn’t fair or right of me to go off on you like that,” Eli said, concluding her explanation and allowing a long moment of silence to pass between them.

Astarion’s mind was spinning. For one thing, it had never even occurred to him that the collection of supplies which they hoarded at camp could be used by anyone. He had simply assumed those supplies were managed by someone that was not him, and that he was not allowed access. A habit carried over from living under Cazador’s rules for so long. He had so few worldly possessions, and anything he did possess was either expressly given to him or acquired through more clandestine means. The thought that he could just take whatever he wanted from their shared stash was almost intimidating, and completely foreign.

What was even more foreign, though, was the act of being given a gift. The concept that someone had remembered something he’d said, and then cared about it enough to actually act upon that information.

His mouth had gone dry and an uncomfortable sensation was prickling between his shoulder blades. No, people didn’t just give him things without having expectations. There was always a cost, always a burden to be met. People weren’t kind just for the hell of it, and they certainly weren’t kind to him. Nor did they apologize out of the goodness of their heart.

No. Eli was playing at something and Astarion wanted to know what it was.

“What do you want?” It came out a bit more accusatory than he’d meant it, but he wasn’t going to balk.

Eli was under no obligation to apologize for what she’d said to him. If she were to cut him out of the group tomorrow, Astarion doubted anyone would miss him. Plus, with him gone the group’s odds of survival may rise given the fact that without him there was no threat of running afoul of any hunters who Cazador may have sent after him. He, on the other hand, very much needed to stay in Eli’s good graces. She had the upper hand here, so why was she acting as if she didn’t?

Eli, looking a bit taken aback by his blunt question, considered her next words for a moment before answering. “I guess…I want to make sure we’re still friends?” she asked, watching him carefully.

Astarion was not a man who often found himself without words. But in that moment, he was struck dumb. Friends? What a childish and idiotic concern. Surely, that wasn’t all there was to it?

He watched her quietly for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For her to end the charade and come clean. But she stayed quiet and simply looked back at him with a tired earnestness that wormed its way into his stomach and twisted it up in knots he wasn’t unsure how to undo. It was slowly dawning on him that, if Eli actually meant what she was saying, this would be the first gift someone had given him in over 200 years.

His eyes slid back to the bottle in his hands and his chest tightened, expression softening as something almost sad flitted across his face. His thumb traced over the deep green glass while his mind whirred and sputtered around what Eli had said. He honestly couldn’t think of the last person he’d considered a friend, and there was a small part of him that desperately wanted to reach out and cling to this offering of friendship like a man drowning.

He didn’t understand any of this. Didn’t understand why she cared. Why she’d remember his pointless offhand comments. Why she’d try to mend the rift between them when she had nothing to gain from doing so.

Why the tightness in his chest was suddenly making it hard to breathe.

He found he had to clear his throat before he was able to speak, and when he did his voice was reticent and soft, unable to mask the skepticism clawing at his thoughts.

“Of course, my dear,” was all he managed as he looked back up to her, the normally effortless and velvety tone of his words cracking ever so slightly.

His response seemed acceptable to Eli, because the relief that broke out on her face was noticeable. She smiled at him, and he could see the fatigue in the way her shoulders sagged and her eyes wavered while she held his gaze.

“I guess I owe you a thank you for this,” Astarion said, indicating the wine which he still held.

Eli stood, stretching her arms above her head as she replied. “You don’t owe me anything. But, it’s appreciated,” she said warmly as she began walking in the direction of camp. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. If that creepy butler of mine comes back, kindly tell him to fuck off.”

Astarion watched her leave and felt a small fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He quickly dismissed it and stood, feeling his own weariness beginning to take hold. As he made his way towards his tent, he kept a firm grip on the bottle of Barrel-Aged Callidyrran, carrying it as if it were something delicate and precious.

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Entrapment date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

“The artist once hoped to put the butterfly on a glass cover and keep it with him forever. But later, he discovered that even when he let the butterfly go, it flew back to him.”

“It gave him happiness he had never felt or imagined before.”

“I love you.”

“Everything about you, every time you approach me... makes my heart beat excitedly.”

“It makes me fall in love with you again and again... for countless times.”

Translation under cut

(T/N: VERY RECOMMENDED TO HEAR THE VOICE ACTING, ESP THE I LOVE YOU BC IT’S JUST *clenches fist* SO GOOD. BLESS XIA LEI FOR GIVING US THE MOST TENDER, LOVING, AND SEXIEST 我爱你. Anyway I subtitle this date on youtube(turn on CC!) and don’t forget to come back here if you want to read my rambling slash analysis about this date if you want to, I’ll put it on the bottom part of this post-)

[Part 1]

A breeze blew the balcony curtain, and the clear blue sky was intermittently visible through the gap.

The light and shadow of the lamp brushed over the meals on the table and also reflected on Lucien's clear and elegant profile.

I withdrew my gaze and gently rubbed my coffee cup. After a few moments, I couldn't refrain from sneaking another glance at Lucien.

I heard a soft sound of metal touching the porcelain plate. Lucien put down the knife with a faint smile in his voice.

Lucien: Seems like MC has been secretly watching me since this morning.

Lucien: Is there something you want to talk about?

My small movement got busted. I paused a little and calmly denied it.

MC: ...Nothing, I'm just a little curious about your current condition.

MC: After being together for so long, I rarely see you drink as much as you did last night…

[Flashback start]

Some time ago, our work at hand came to an end, and we finally had a chance to relax.

With the intention of unwinding, we arranged a vacation to the city where a classic romance movie was set.

It was Valentine's Day, and romantic decorations could be seen all around the small town. The hotel also sent flowers and local red wine.

After a day of strolling around the old streets, I pulled Lucien to sit on the balcony sofa and enjoy the scenery at night.

The smell of red wine diffuses in the night. Lucien picked up the decanter and swirled it, then poured the wine into the glass.

I took a few sips, and the mellow aroma of the wine spread in my mouth.

I comfortably exhaled, and my tense nerves became relaxed. I saw a book of Spanish poetry on the corner of the table and opened it casually.

After stumbling over a few lines, an unfamiliar phrase caught my attention.

MC: distancia íntima…

I didn't know why I repeated it, and I saw Lucien on the sofa, gazing down at the color of the red wine.

So I gently leaned my head, rested my chin on his shoulder, and dragged the tail notes.

MC: Professor Lucien, I don't quite understand this part.

Lucien put down his glass and glanced over the line of poetry that I pointed to. Then, his gaze fell on my face.

Lucien: It refers to an interpersonal distance of 46 cm, which is also the minimum distance for self-defense.

Lucien: Typically, it is reserved exclusively for family members… or lovers.

Lucien's fingertips fell to my lips, gently wiping away the faint red wine stains. I asked him a follow-up question.

MC: What will happen if we overcome this distance?

Lucien: Then both parties will unconsciously want to share… love.

As Lucien spoke, his face approached mine a little closer. I could almost smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.

There seem to be unspoken and heavy emotions between our eyes. I put down the glass, smiling, and hooked Lucien's neck.

MC: What is it?

Lucien bowed his head along with my force. His falling bangs brushed my face.

Lucien: I find that there seems to be something else more worth focusing on… I can't wait for this 'lecture' to be over.

MC: Pfft, why are you getting more and more straightforward?

Lucien: [chuckle] I prefer to describe it as something "uncontrollable" rather than straightforward.

Lucien: I've heard that when your heart feels excited, your words or actions will unconsciously show it.

Lucien: (whisper) Just like right now, when I think that MC is very cute…

A drunken kiss fell on my lips along with his words.

The unfinished poetry book fell to the ground with a thud, but no one bothered to pick it up. I clutched the corner of Lucien's coat and instinctively responded to his kiss.

The moonlight is gentle. Between our intertwined breaths, I heard a vague whisper on my lips.

Lucien: (whispering between the kisses-) ...I love you...

My heart suddenly beat a little faster. I pulled away from Lucien, slightly panting. I want to hear more clearly.

MC: Y-you just said…

My words were interrupted by his lips that were chasing mine. I don't know if it is because of alcohol, but Lucien is a little more irresistible than usual.

As the kiss deepened, I gradually lost my focus. I can only close my eyes and cater to his demands.

But that whispered phrase lightly tickled my heart, with little tickles appearing now and then.

[Flashback ends]

[Part 2]

Lucien: MC?

Lucien's voice came to my ears. I looked back and saw Lucien looking at me with interest.

Lucien: Your ears are red... Did you think of something?

MC: (blushing) ...No, it's probably because the coffee is too hot.

I pretended to blow on the coffee in my cup and spoke in a casual manner.

MC: Speaking of which, do you remember what you said to me on the balcony last night?

Lucien tilted his head and seemed to think seriously for a moment.

Lucien: [chuckle] I can't quite remember.

Lucien: It seems that a lot of things happened and many things were said last night.

Lucien: Which one would MC like to hear? Maybe you can give me a hint?

Lucien's expression reveals a little bit of innocence as if he really can't remember the whisper that brushed through his lips.

I opened my lips, and a jumble of chaotic memories accompanied by hot whispers flashed through my mind.

How does this remind us that at that time we were on-

After a moment of staring at each other, I blushed and changed the subject.

MC: ... N-nothing, let's talk about it later.

(they really did ‘that’ on balcony-)

Lucien didn't ask any more questions, as if he didn't notice anything unusual. But I couldn't help thinking, how can I hear him say those three words again?

My heart skipped a beat when I glanced at the book of poems on the corner of my desk.

When I was flipping through the book last night, I saw that there were quite a few love poems included in the book. Maybe… I can use this to create an opportunity?

Thinking of this, I naturally picked up the poetry book and raised it at Lucien.

MC: I suddenly remembered that I hadn't finished reading this book yet.

MC: How about this… Please teach me to read some poems for the occasion of Valentine's Day, Professor Lucien~

I put a little more emphasis on the word "for the occasion".

Lucien looked at me for a moment, got up like he understood what I meant, and then sat beside me.

As the other side of the sofa sank down, I leaned towards Lucien, watching him take over the poetry book as he carefully selected the titles.

I looked at him expectantly. However, I heard Lucien speak in distress at the next second.

Lucien: There are many masterpieces in this poetry collection. Which one does MC want me to read with you?

...Have I not implied enough?

I was a little stunned, and unconsciously spoke.

MC: It's the kind of confession that says I love you-

I abruptly stopped talking for a moment. My ears flushed a little.

... I'm obviously here to set up the conversation. How come I fell into the trap before Lucien did?

I blinked unconsciously. Lucien rested the poetry collection on his chin and thoughtfully looked at me.

A few moments later, a warm hand fell on my shoulder. Lucien hugged me and brought us closer together.

I could almost smell the faint scent of cedar on him- it was the same scent I had been deeply tainted with from last night.

(heh, 'deeply tainted from last night')

Lucien: There is only one copy of the book, so I will have to ask this classmate to read it with me.

His fingertips stopped at a page of the poetry book as he spoke.

Lucien: Aquite amo (Here I love you)… I think this is the one that you like.

Lucien: Andan días iguales persiguiéndose (Days, all one kind, go chasing each other)…

His low reading voice came like a soft evening breeze passing through the twilight-shrouded pine forest.

I held my breath and subconsciously turned my head to look at Lucien. I belatedly discovered that we were already so close.

His side profile is just a short distance away, as if I can drop a kiss on his jaw by just tilting my head.

Noticing my gaze, Lucien raised his eyes to look at me. His voice filled with a couple of imperceptible laughter.

Lucien: [chuckle] Fellow student, please pay attention.

MC: (blush)...I'm paying attention!

I blushed and looked at the page, but I didn't know where I should focus on.

There was a gentle, meaningful laugh ringing in my ears. Lucien raised his hand and held my fingers.

I felt the soft touch of the paper through my fingertips. He guided me across the paper and landed on one line.

Lucien: I have already read this far.

Lucien: Aquí te amo y en vano te oculta el horizonte.

Lucien: Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain…

The long-awaited words just suddenly came to my ears. My heart beat a little faster, and I instinctively responded to his voice.

MC: Te estoy amando aun entra estas frías cosas (I love you still among these cold things)...

The room echoed with our overlapping voices as we read it to each other. But my eyes gradually began to wander.

I snuck a glance at Lucien, and leaned closer to him. The idea of being "greedy" probes a little bit.

It seems that I want so much more than that.

It would be nice to hear him speak his love... in a straightforward way.

[Part 3]

I pursed my lips in distress.

I know that Lucien won't refuse if I ask him. But a direct request is not as romantic as being unable to restrain your emotions.

But under what circumstances would Lucien say love?

The sound of reading stopped at some point. I belatedly raised my head and met Lucien's gaze.

Lucien: I finished reading the poem that MC wanted to hear. Should I continue?

MC: No~ I want to arrange some other activities.

MC: When traveling, we can't stay just stay in the hotel.

Besides, it is easier to create opportunities in a new environment!

I planned to get up from Lucien's arms, but he caught me by the waist, and I fell back into the embrace behind me.

Lucien's chin gently rested against my shoulder, mimicking my affectionate actions from last night.

Lucien: I have an alternative plan. Would you like to hear it?

Lucien: When I checked in yesterday, the front desk recommended the nearby home gallery and said it would be a good place to visit.

MC: A home gallery?

Lucien: Um, it was converted from a personal residence. The gallery owner changes the theme from time to time and selects paintings for display.

Lucien: The works on display are not those of famous artists. But the personal touch is stronger, and the atmosphere is quiet. The theme in recent days happens to be "lovers".

That sounds like… a good place for creating an opportunity.

I hugged Lucien's arm and nodded with joy.

MC: Well, let's go check it out~

The gallery mentioned by the receptionist wasn't too far from the hotel. Lucien and I strolled along the street, sometimes pausing to look at the roadside scenery.

After about ten minutes, I saw a building with a "Galeria" sign. Curious, I went ahead and pushed the door open.

The room was full of paintings. The elderly owner got up from behind the board and said some words to us with a smile.

Lucien nodded his head in response; I tugged on his sleeve curiously.

Before I said anything, he explained in a low voice.

Lucien: He said that the art exhibition is open, and painting tools are provided to create your own paintings.

Lucien: If you don't mind the surroundings, you can do it in the living room. Or if you don't want to be disturbed, you can also reserve a room. You can decide after the exhibition.

The old man gestured kindly towards the deep corridor in response to his words. Then he sat back at his drawing board and continued to paint.

Not wanting to disturb the old man's work anymore, Lucien and I glanced at each other and lightened our steps in unison.

The daylight flows quietly on the varnished floor, and various portrait paintings hang on the dark vine-patterned walls.

The brush strokes are either smooth or rough, but the faces drawn out are filled with love. I leaned close to the painting frame and carefully examined it.

MC: It seems that not all the portraits here are made by professional artists.

Lucien: Indeed, it is more like a portrait of a lover painted by a visitor on a whim.

I can't help but think of the scene in the movie where the young artist is at a loss as to what to do with his beloved and smile gently.

MC: It is indeed very appropriate to leave this kind of painting for each other in the "holy land of love"~

Lucien: Then, can MC paint a portrait for me?

I blinked in surprise and suddenly thought of something.

Last night, Lucien said that the intimate distance would make people unconsciously want to share their love.

Maybe this can be used to quietly close the distance and create an atmosphere that makes Lucien open his mouth!

Having made up my mind, I nodded with a smile.

MC: Then I'll invite Professor Lucien to be my model this time~

The door of the room was closed silently.

The silence slowly spread, and I could hear the rustling sound of swaying trees from time to time. Lucien looked around and saw the narrow prop bed in the corner.

Lucien: As a model, I have to maintain a pose for a long time… MC, do you mind if I slack off in this way?

As Lucien spoke, he walked around the table and chairs, and sat on the side of the prop bed. I coughed and spun the paintbrush twice.

MC: Sure. So, does Professor Lucien have any ideas about the modeling?

Lucien bent his slender eyebrows.

Lucien: I'll leave it up to the artist to decide.

Lucien: I'm willing to work with you on whatever you need.

Our eyes met for a moment. I held my drawing board and went to stand beside Lucien.

MC: Then I would like you to take a more relaxed pose, Professor Lucien.

As I said that, I pushed Lucien's shoulder. He cooperatively fell back on the pillow and looked at me sincerely.

Lucien: Is this enough?

MC: Let's get a little more relaxed.

MC: I want to portray the way you look when you're at ease~

I explained solemnly and leaned down to unbutton his coat.

MC: ...You should also dress in a way that brings out your sensuality, don't be so tense.

MC: Imagine that you're in the bedroom at home.

His coat fell to the bed sheet, making the atmosphere a little quiet and charming. Lucien looked at me and slightly moved his eyes.

Everything is going as expected. I sat down on the chair beside the bed. And I was beginning to plan how to move forward when I heard Lucien speak.

Lucien: Is this enough for you?

Lucien asked as he lifted his hand and unbuttoned his shirt one by one while I watched.

The collar that was buttoned to the top slowly opens up, and the smooth lines outline the firm shapes, which are gradually hidden behind the bottom of the hem. My ears suddenly turned red.

MC: I-I...

Lucien: I just think it will be more in line with the state that MC wants.

Lucien: (whisper seductively) Or do you need me to relax a bit more?

Lucien's fingertips continued to move down; his tail note was slightly lighter. For some reason, I suddenly felt that the air seemed to heat up a bit.

I quickly averted my gaze and subconsciously tightened my grip on the brush.

MC: No need, this will do!

As I said that, I hurriedly sketched out some lines on the board.

Lucien's soft laugh came to my ears. After the rustling of the fabric, the room returned to silence, with only the rustling sound of the brushes stroking over the canvas remaining.

In addition to wanting to create an opportunity to hear Lucien say those three words, I also wanted to give him this painting as a memento of our Valentine's Day trip.

Dark hair, slender eyebrows… I depicted every emotion stroke by stroke, and the familiar outline gradually emerged on the paper.

It's just that every time I look up, I can see Lucien's smiling eyes.

My face was getting hotter and hotter, and I started to avert my eyes.

The artist's red face when facing the model in the movie came to my mind. I hastily withdrew my gaze and huffed in empathy.

…It turns out that the scene was not exaggerated.

Gazing at the person you like for so long, you really can't control your heartbeat.

I tried my best to maintain my composure and finished most of the painting. Then, Lucien's phone suddenly rang.

He helplessly blinked at me. Before he could say anything, I handed over the phone.

MC: Let's take a look. What if it's news from the research institute~

Lucien took the phone, but his body still remained in the same position as before. He just raised his hand a bit and looked at the message.

The screen's glow shines on his face, sharp and gentle, wonderfully distinguishing between light and dark. Lucien glanced at me, smiled softly, and spoke.

Lucien: Can Miss Artist continue like this?

Realizing this opportunity, I put down my drawing board and got up from my chair.

MC: The angle has changed a bit. Let me correct it.

I said and touched Lucien's cheek, and quietly guided him.

MC: But I didn't expect Professor Lucien to be so calm when he posed in front of me in such a "seductive" way~

Lucien cooperated and tilted his head. His soft bangs brushed against my palm.

Lucien: After all, the job of a model is to work with the creative process.

Lucien: And in the eyes of Miss Artist, now I should be no different from a… butterfly

MC: Now the positions are switched.

I smiled, seeing that Lucien also seemed to have lost in the memory, and then he opened his mouth.

Lucien: The artist once hoped to put the butterfly on a glass cover and keep it with him forever. But later, he discovered that even when he let the butterfly go, it flew back to him.

Lucien: It gave him happiness he had never felt or imagined before.

MC: From the butterfly's perspective, it also reaped the happiness that comes from being willing to stop… The artist and the butterfly are meant to complement each other.

MC: Just like now, you are a "butterfly" that complements me.

Lucien silently looked at me for a moment and bent the corners of his lips.

Lucien: That's right. As you said, painting is a two-way street between the artist and the depicted subject.

Lucien: So, now I will also do my best to assist.

Lucien winked as he talked, and his posture became more relaxed.

I went around in circles and didn't hear the expected response. I pursed my lips and took a roundabout approach to lead him.

MC: Professor Lucien is a very cooperative model. He's probably the ideal partner for any artist~

Lucien: Perhaps. But this kind of close observation is a privilege that belongs only to you.

My heart skipped a beat.

MC: ....Will Professor Lucien have a special feeling when facing the artist like that butterfly?

Lucien: I have.

Lucien said and looked at me.

Lucien: Facing you, I seem to have no way to restrain my heartbeat.

Suddenly, his drunken confessions from last night come to mind, intertwined with his whispers at this moment.

Lucien: (whisper) Just like now. By simply looking at you, I can't help but want to…

Lucien paused.

Amid the accelerated heartbeat, he held my hand that was touching his cheek and slowly rubbed it. The already close distance was shortened again, and my wrist was warmed by the heat of his breath.

Bathed in a faint soft light, he stared at me and spoke softly.

Lucien: (continuing his whisper) So, I'm also a little curious.

Lucien: (still whispering) Now that MC is facing me, what are the thoughts in her heart?

[Part 4]

The church bells rang in the distance, and the birds fluttered their wings and flew past the window.

The shadow of the daylight reflected on Lucien's profile, and the air between us seemed to be stained with lingering and deep affection.

I gazed into Lucien's dark eyes and picked up the painting I was about to finish from the chair.

MC: All I want to express is here.

MC: In that movie, the moment the main character saw the painting, they understood the artist's intention…

MC: So, can you feel my emotions by looking at this?

Lucien looked at the painting. His eyes lingered on every spot as if he was facing a priceless work of art, and there seemed to be some emotions surging in his gaze.

Lucien: Mm, every stroke is full of tenderness and… yearning.

Lucien: Did I get it right?

Seeing his serious expression, I opened my lips hesitantly.

I painted each stroke of the painting with love. How can Lucien didn't feel it…?

Or is my drawing skill so clumsy… that I can't even convey my emotions?

I doubted myself and forcibly raised the corners of my mouth.

MC: It's not wrong, but it's not the right answer either. What I'm trying to express is- ah, just forget it.

I sat back in my chair, feeling a little bit defeated, and sighed unnoticeably.

A very soft sigh came from behind me. Accompanied by the rustling of clothes, I was swept into a warm embrace.

Lucien wrapped me from behind and held the paintbrush together with me.

His faint cedar scent surrounds my body. Lucien leaned close to my cheek and spoke in a low voice.

Lucien: Remember what I told you about "intimate distance"?

Lucien: Within 46 cm, you can feel every subtle change in the breathing and temperature of the person in front of you.

Lucien: For me, you are the only person who can enter this distance.

The brush we hold lands on the canvas. Amidst the rubbing sound caused by the friction of the brush and the canvas, the unrefined half of the face gradually becomes clear.

Lucien immediately put down the paintbrush. He didn't let me go and maintained our hugging position. We looked at the drawing board together.

The canvas shows him lying on the edge of the bed with a faint smile on his face.

However, upon closer look, I find that although the brushwork is more refined later on, something seems to be missing in how the painting subject is portrayed.

I opened my lips but heard Lucien speak.

Lucien: You noticed it too, didn't you?

Lucien: Even I can't paint a true portrait of how I look in your eyes.

Lucien: (whisper) Relaxed, disorganized, and also perhaps a little bit of what you call "playing tricks"… Only in front of you, everything about me will be open without reservation.

Lucien: (whisper) This is a side only you can see… And when I put the brush to the canvas, I can't pour more love into it than you do.

I looked at Lucien, a little stumped for words. In addition to the full attention in his eyes, he also showed a little helpless smile.

Is it possible that he has already understood what I want to express?

So why did he keep avoiding the word "love"? It's like he was trying to bait me to say the word….

I suddenly thought of something and broke free from Lucien's embrace with a little effort.

Then I got up and pressed him down on the chair, unsurely asking him a question.

MC: Your reaction to many things seems to be different than usual today.

MC: …Lucien, are you also planning something?

Lucien: Hmm? 'Also'?

Lucien's voice hid a deeper meaning to it. I opened my mouth and finally admitted with a blushing face.

MC: I admit, I have indeed been trying to bait you to say something to me… What about you?

In the gradual acceleration of my heartbeat, I met with Lucien's gaze.

Lucien: Of course, I… have the same purpose as you.

I blinked in astonishment.

MC: For what reason?

Lucien: For what reason…?

Lucien gently repeated my question, and his warm breath close against my skin.

Lucien: At first, I just thought that the way you worked hard was cute, and I wanted to see more of it. But then I became "greedy" too.

Lucien: Rather than fulfilling your wish, I rather see MC's most instinctive desire for me being revealed in the intimate distance that only belongs to us…

Lucien: Together with the most straightforward expression of love.

Lucien: But looking at it now, it ended up backfired. So, in order to make amends, I'm willing to accept any punishment.

Finally, there is an explanation for this man's various "unromanticism" today. I snorted softly and suddenly thought of something.

MC: But speaking of which, did Professor Lucien remember wrongly?

MC: When we were reading the poem, I was "tricked" into saying I love you first.

Lucien spoke with a voice that was filled with inaudible grievances.

Lucien: But those are the words of the poet, not yours.

Lucien: What I want to hear is a straightforward confession from MC.

I was stunned. I couldn't help laughing when thinking about how I precisely thought the same thing as him. My fingers pulled on Lucien's tie, and I moved closer to him.

Our breathing is gradually intertwined. I asked him a question in a soft voice.

MC: So, is the distance between us now less than 46 centimeters?

Lucien gazed at me and suddenly grabbed my waist.

Lucien: (chuckles, then whispers seductively) I think… It can still be a little closer.

The hands on my waist tightened a little. I leaned over to get close to him and spoke in a teasing manner.

MC: Doesn't Professor Lucien want to take the initiative this time?

Lucien looked as if he was allowing himself to be captured, but his eyes weren't wavering.

Lucien: After all, it's punishment time. So, I'm going to hand over all the initiative to you.

Despite saying these words, his hand did not loosen up in the slightest. Instead, he caressed upward, bringing me closer to him.

I couldn't suppress my laughter. I whispered as I bowed my head.

MC: How cunning.

I kissed Lucien as soon as the words fell.

A slightly cool sensation comes through equally soft lips, and my heart trembles with each restless movement.

I sank into the seemingly passive yet irresistible demands of the person in front of me.

The strength of my body was drained away before I knew it. I half-kneeled, half-sat in his embrace, and couldn't resist closing my eyes.

Entangling, deeply penetrating… The tip of his tongue lightly swept my sensitive upper palate. I shuddered and instinctively wanted to struggle.

But I was firmly confined and had nowhere to escape.

…I don't want to stay away either.

Until every breath that reaches deep into my soul gradually becomes fully tainted with his breath.

I could hear the rustling of the curtains brushing against the window and the sound of people walking in the hallway, but I didn't care about it anymore.

My senses, my everything… All melted in this kiss and the depth of his eyes.

Between our melded breaths, I slightly pulled myself away from Lucien and instinctively opened my mouth to speak.

Lucien: (with the most tender and loving whisper between the kisses) I love you.

MC: (whispering at the very same time as Lucien) I love you.

Coincidentally, our unanimous whispers were intertwined in the air. In just an instant, my heart was filled with happiness, flying like a feather in the warm sunlight.

I raised the corners of my lips and stroked Lucien's cheek.

MC: Is Professor Lucien satisfied with my expression?

Lucien clasped my hand and interlocked our fingers together.

Lucien: (whisper) It's even better than I imagined.

Lucien: (whisper) Everything about you, every time you approach me... makes my heart beat excitedly.

His warm breath brushed against my ear. Lucien tilted his head again and irresistibly chased after my lips.

The spring scenery is deeply reflected in his eyes, and I also saw my figure reflected in them.

After those whispers, I heard him whisper once again.

Lucien: It makes me fall in love with you again and again... for countless times.

[Personal Rambles + Date analysis(?) corner]

I love this date. Personally, I would even say that I like this date better than last month’s SP and SSR. I think it is worth being the one date where it has ‘I love you’ in it. Not just ‘I like you’, or his ‘definition of love’.

There are many things I want to scream about this date- but to keep it simple, I’ll just talk about some parts that I think are really interesting this date.

[Here I love you]

Okay, so the first one is the poem, ‘Here I love you’ by Pablo Neruda. I like this part because their poem exchange reminds me of the scene from Lucien’s Blossoms date where they wittily quoted poems to each other (something that sadly, gets lost in translation:”).

But anyway, back to the topic of my interpretation of how some lines of this poem coincided with parts of the dates and their story in general.

First of all, I love how PG choose this poem that explores love and fear of losing someone you love, which is THE big angst theme for Lucien.

"In that hazy memory, he seems to have lost someone."

—In his dream, he also sat with a girl under a tall tree, painting. He never understood why but when they drew a seedling on the paper, he would draw a glass to cover it.

Until just now, after he experienced the moment of losing the only color in his life, Lucien understood his choice in the dream.

—This is a fear of losing someone again.'  - [R&S Eternity and a day.]

There’s a reason why PG chooses to torture this man by making him believe that MC is dead after chapter 18 [R&S Not Planned On] and making him watch her die again and again in [Main Story S2 chapters 13 and 14]. Because he already lost so much in life, he’s probably the one who fear losing MC the most.

Here I love you. The word here indicates that the poet is the one who stays and waits in one place. Just like Lucien, who is always waiting for her to take him home in S2. He doesn’t mind waiting for her answer no matter how long. It’s also something that’s highlighted in [Dating Reality Show Date]. Where we learn that he was the one who fell at first sight and waited for MC whose love is something that grows with time and his companionship.

This is a port. Here I love you. Just like ships that always come and go in the port, so do people. But ships can always come back to port after they parted. The butterfly can always fly back to the artist even after the artist lets her go. I’ll dive deeper into it in its own section ;)

I love what I do not have. It really reminds me of what MC said in the only color call. Where she said that to love someone is to love them as an individual, and there’s no requirement for a special relationship. You just want the person you love to be happy, not to ‘have’ them :”.

The moon turns its clockwork dream; The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. Lucien will unconsciously reveal his sides that he doesn’t even notice. Only in front of her, he will open up everything about himself without reservation. ‘The biggest star’ is the love in her eyes as she gazes at him as if he’s the only person she can see in this world.

“You noticed it too, didn't you?”

“Even I can't paint a true portrait of how I look in your eyes.”

And the opposite also true, because he too, always gazes at her as if she’s the only person he can see in this world.

The spring scenery is deeply reflected in his eyes, and I also saw my figure reflected in them.

[Distancia Intima]

This one is probably the shortest part ahah, but distancia intima or Intimate Distance is the nearest space around our body and is reserved for an intimate person like a family member or lover.

For Lucien, it’s a space that only belongs to one person. Only in front of her, he can show his most unreserved sides.

But on the other side, it also means that she’s the only important person left in his life. Whether as his ‘family member’ or lover :”...

[Reverse Artist and Butterfly]

OK BUT, this one is definitely an unexpected twist, but pleasant. I love how in the process of confessing ‘I love you’ we get taken back to his very first definition of love, the Artist and Butterfly.

“If you can meet that artist, tell him this for me. That he actually doesn’t love the butterfly, does he?”

“Why do you think that the artist doesn’t love the butterfly? If you love someone, aren’t you supposed to move heaven and earth to tie them to your side?”

“But that is too selfish.”

“Yes, even I find it selfish.”

“But if he doesn’t do that, it’s likely that the artist will lose the butterfly.”

“And then his life will be like how it was before, his whole world would just be black and white.”

“If he really loves the butterfly, then he wouldn’t want to see them suffer, right?”

“Maybe I’m too simple, but for me, genuine love is simply loving that person as an individual, and I wouldn’t need a special relationship with them. I’d just want them to be happy.”

“If you were this butterfly, and there was someone who wanted to confine you to their side so they could keep you together with them forever…”

“Would you be willing?” - [The Only Color Call]

For him at first, to love is to bind someone by his side, but for MC to love is simply loving the person as an individual and wanting them to be happy. It reminds me of the saying ‘If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.’

The artist let the butterfly go, but the butterfly flew back and decided to stay with the artist because it is happy to be by the artist’s side. This happiness is a two-way street because the butterfly’s willingness to stop also brings the artist happiness he never felt before… Their choice of being by each other side is the longest confession of love.

It is even more interesting that this date talks about the identity exchange between the artist and the butterfly. All this time, we usually thought that Lucien is the ‘artist’ while MC is the ‘butterfly’ but it seems that, the reverse also works.

Because Lucien also brings color to MC just like the butterfly to the artist. They color each other’s world.

Perhaps for everyone, the world was monochromatic at the beginning.

With time and encounters, the world gradually became stained with colors, giving value to different people and things.

Slowly, the whole world becomes colorful as it interacts with memory. It also has smells and sounds.

Until the most special existence appeared that makes the color of this world more distinctive.

It's as if the whole picture has been retouched so that everything has a new meaning.

While we quietly shared the cake, I looked at Lucien's face lit by the warm lights.

“Lucien, you’re colorful right now” – Lucien’s 3rd birthday date

-and because MC too, just like the artist, also greedily wants to keep him safe forever. But because she knew that she couldn’t stop Lucien from walking towards his aspiration, all she can do is let him go and try to catch up to him.

Both of them learn to let go as the artist and also choose to stay as the butterfly because it’s what makes them happy.

[我爱你]

From ‘Can you teach me how to love?’ to ‘I love you.’ LOOK AT HOW FAR HE’S GROWN. I can’t believe it’s been days since the date and the PV but I still sob every time I heard him say that. It’s been a long process, even though he’s been declaring his love in his own way, whether it is his wordless declaration of love in S1 chapters 35 and 36. Or the wheat field as the representation of his heart, with the ebbs and flow of the tide as his heartbeat in S2 chapter 34.

I love you is special as the most straightforward way to declare one’s love. I love how on this date these two fools tried to trap each other into confessing but ended up confessing instinctively at the very same time lmao. The situation is really funny, with MC who’s trying her best to create an atmosphere where Lucien would say I love you vs Lucien that knows all along about her plan, even manages to trap MC into confessing first but ends up feeling dissatisfied with the confession because it’s the poet words, not hers (-how childish-).

On this date, both of them ended up becoming greedy, wanting to hear the most direct love confession from each other.

I snuck a glance at Lucien, and leaned closer to him. The idea of being “greedy" probes a little bit.

It seems that I want so much more than that.

It would be nice to hear him speak his love... in a straightforward way.

-

“At first, I just thought that the way you worked hard was cute, and wanted to see more of it. But then I became “greedy” too.”

“Rather than fulfilling your wish, I rather see MC's most instinctive desire for me being revealed in the intimate distance that only belongs to us…”

“Together with the most straightforward expression of love.”

“What I want to hear is a straightforward confession from MC.”

-although both of their plans also end up backfiring as neither of them gets the straightforward love confession from their plans, MC was unhappy, and Lucien ended up taking the initiative to open up the first because he can’t stand seeing her in distress.

“It's not wrong, but it's not the right answer either. What I’m trying to express is- ah, just forget it.”

I sat back in my chair, feeling a little bit defeated, and sighed unnoticeably.

A very soft sigh came from behind me. Accompanied by the rustling of clothes, I was swept into a warm embrace.

It’s interesting sometimes how they sometimes mirror each other, having the same expectation and desires, while also opposing each other on the other occasion, like their belief and the way they see things. But one thing always remains the same, and it’s the fact that they’ll always yearn for each other.

In the end, they learn that they don’t need to go that far. They just need to follow their heart. Because whether when sober or drunk, the heart knows when to beat faster simply by the presence of each other. The most perfect explanation of this mutual eternal heartbeat is ‘I love you’. And he will keep falling in love, again and again, countless times simply by her close proximity or existence alone.

My final words; I’m very, very satisfied with this date~

[ariparri]

Hoshimatsuri

╭──────────────────────────────────► Hello

✦ Found some inspiration to write another ThoYu fic! Thanks to my friend @chrystabelleblaumferge for giving me ideas for this storyline! ☆彡

│││ Word Count: 1906

││✧ Pair: Thoma x Yuna (OC)

│✧ Tags: OC insert written in 1st POV (I/me/my), no use of Y/N or Yuna's name, fluff, established relationship, set before archon quest.

✧ Synopsis: It is believed that when a couple makes a wish during the Tanabata festival and a shooting star appears in the sky, it is a sign of their love being blessed for eternity by two star crossed lovers.

✦ Listened to Kiseki in the original Japanese, the acoustic cover and the English cover while writing this song (๑>◡<๑) But I feel like the acoustic version fits for this fic ♪( ´▽｀)

Kiseki by Greeeen

╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  ☆  ✮  ☆  ✮  ☆

Genshin Masterlist

❌ NO REPOSTING ❌

With summer finally in season, all of Inazuma gather to celebrate the star festival. Having the rest of our evening off, Thoma and I were thrilled to finally spend our free time together. The both of us strolled hand in hand through the bustling streets, surrounded by the vibrant colors of festival decorations and the cheerful chatter of attendees.

The summer night felt enchanting with lively anticipation. The air was warm, and the delicious scent of festival foods like yakitori and sweet dango were being carried in the breeze. Lanterns adorned with intricate designs cast a soft, colorful glow, illuminating the lively streets and bustling stalls. There's a gentle breeze that rustles the leaves of nearby bamboo trees, adding a soothing background murmur to the people’s chatters. The sky above is clear, sprinkled with countless stars that twinkle like tiny lanterns themselves.

The atmosphere is filled with a sense of joy as people of all ages come together to celebrate under the canopy of stars. Laughter and music mingle with the occasional sound of the taiko drums and flute performances, creating a symphony of festive sounds. The night was perfect for celebrating the star festival.

Street performers played traditional songs suited for the night, their instruments filling the air with festive melodies. I happily hummed along to the tune of children singing as Thoma and I strolled through the crowded street. While wandering between the stalls, something caught my eye, and I quickly pulled Thoma in its direction. He didn’t seem to mind; his smile widened as he watched me dart excitedly from booth to booth, admiring the colorful trinkets and merchandise.

“Thoma, look over here! They have little charms of Orihime and Hikoboshi!” I exclaimed, cooing over the adorable character charms. “Aren’t they cute?” Thoma took one from my hand and inspected it closely. “They really are. But, can you tell me who Orihime and Hikoboshi are?” At his question, I stopped in my tracks, staring at him with wide eyes as if he had said something shocking. Thinking he must have offended me, Thoma quickly tried to defend himself. “Well, you know, this is my first festival here! I’m not yet familiar with all of Inazuma's myths and legends!” He laughs awkwardly holding his hands up in defense.

“Oh that’s right. This would be your first Tanabata since you first arrived in Inazuma!” I sheepishly chuckled, “Sorry, I just get so excited for the star festival. It’s honestly my favorite out of all the festivals we have.” Thoma smiled warmly. “No need to apologize! I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself. So, tell me about Orihime and Hikoboshi.”

“Okay!” I clapped my hands, preparing to dive into a quick storytelling session. “You know how the star festival is called Hoshimatsuri? Well, this evening is also known as Tanabata, and it's celebrated in honor of two star-crossed lovers, Orihime and Hikoboshi.”

“The Sky King, Tentei, ruled over the heavenly river known as the Amanogawa. His daughter Orihime was known as the Weaving Princess. She was talented for weaving these beautiful cloth that her father adored and would always spend her days by the river weaving. Though, because she spent so much of her time on her craft, she never had time to find love and felt lonely.”

“Worried about his daughter’s loneliness, Tentei arranged for her to meet Hikoboshi, who lived across the Amanogawa herding cows. When the two met, they instantly fell in love and married shortly thereafter. But their newfound happiness caused problems—Orihime stopped weaving cloth for Tentei, and Hikoboshi let his cows roam free in Heaven.”

Thoma listened intently, his eyes tracing my animated gestures as I spoke. He could tell just how much I loved this story by how I waved my hands around as I spoke. He didn't seem to mind my dramatic storytelling; instead, he appreciated my expressive nature. Captivated by my passion, he wore a fond smile, happily engaged in the tale and occasionally contributing his own thoughts.

“In anger, Tentei separated the two lovers across the Amanogawa, forbidding them from meeting. Orihime became heartbroken at the loss of her husband and asked her father to let them meet again. Moved by his daughter’s tears, Tentei allowed the lovers to meet on the seventh day of the seventh month if she worked hard and finished her weaving.”

“And that would be Tanabata.” Thoma interjected, “the evening of the seventh day.”

“Mhmm, yes exactly!” As I nodded and chuckled along with Thoma, feeling his warm gaze fixed on me throughout our conversation, I couldn't help but admire how he always seemed to understand my excitement for these stories. Seeing the genuine interest on his face, I couldn’t help but feel my heart swell. He truly loved how passionate I was about anything.

“Though,” I closed my eyes and let out a quiet sigh, “the first time they tried to meet, they found that they could not cross the river because there was no bridge. Orihime cried so much that a flock of magpies came and promised to make a bridge with their wings so she could cross the river.” This was the part of the story that always got to me, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness. It breaks my heart to know they can only meet once a year. I could feel tears starting to form as I thought about how lonely they must have been throughout the rest of the year when they couldn’t meet.

“They say that if it rains on Tanabata, the magpies can't come because of the rising river, and the two lovers must wait another year to meet. The rain on this day is called ‘The Tears of Orihime and Hikoboshi.’” The tears in my eyes threatened to fall. “It’s so unfair, Thoma. They can only see each other once a year.” I let out a few sniffles and wiped my eyes. “Imagine having to wait so long just for one fleeting moment together. It's heartbreaking."

Thoma’s expression softened, and he gently cupped my face with his hands, replacing mine. His thumbs wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. “Hey now, seeing each other only once a year is tough, but it didn’t stop Orihime and Hikoboshi, right? They were willing to wait because their love for each other was that strong.” He paused, looking deep into my eyes with a comforting smile. “Their story is sad, but it’s also a testament to the power of their love. It reminds us that love can endure even the hardest challenges. Besides, you know I’d wait an eternity to see you if I had to.”

His words warmed my heart, and I felt a sense of reassurance wash over me. “You’re right,” I murmured, placing my hands over his. “Their love is a symbol of hope, not just sadness. You always know what to say to make me feel better.” Thoma smiled and leaned in, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “Anytime,” he whispered wiping away the rest of my tears. “No more tears now, we still have a festival to enjoy.”

“Ah!” I suddenly pulled away, excitement bubbling up inside me again. “Before we do anything else, we have to make a wish!” I pointed towards a crowded stand adorned with colorful slips of paper and decorations. People were eagerly writing their wishes and stringing them up on the bamboo nearby. Thoma chuckled and followed my lead, his eyes sparkling with the same enthusiasm.

As we wrote our wishes, I glanced up towards the sky, remembering a popular myth that came with the legend. "You know, there’s a myth that many people believe," I said with a twinkle in my eye, sighing dreamily. "If a shooting star appears on the night of the star festival, your wish will come true, and the love you share with someone will be blessed for eternity."

Thoma looked up at the sky alongside me, his expression thoughtful. "That's a sweet myth," he said softly. "I hope we see a shooting star tonight." We both finished writing our wishes and hung them together on the bamboo. A smile graced my face as the colorful slips fluttered gently in the night breeze. The act felt intimate and special, like a shared promise of our hope and dreams under the starlit sky.

Thoma gently led me away from the wishing stand, his voice a soft whisper in my ear. "Come on, the fireworks are about to start. We don't want to miss them, do we?" His question brought me back to the moment. "Oh no, I almost forgot!" I exclaimed, slipping out of Thoma's embrace and taking his hand eagerly. "Let's hurry if we want to find a good spot!"

"Don’t worry, I already have a spot in mind," Thoma assured me, gently pulling me back before I could rush off. Confused yet intrigued, I looked at him, but he just winked and led me confidently towards where the fireworks would illuminate the sky.

Following Thoma, we found ourselves in a cozy spot with an unobstructed view of the area. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw a blanket, cushions, and a basket already set up. "Of course you'd manage to find a secluded spot away from the crowd! How did you have time to set all this up?"

“Right before it was time to meet you at Komore Teahouse,” Thoma said as he sat down on the soft blanket, patting the space next to him for me to join him. “Since I finished my tasks early and got the rest of the evening off, I spent a little of my free time preparing all of this.”

I couldn't help but chuckle. "You're such a workaholic, Thoma. Even when you're supposed to relax, you're always finding something to do." He chuckled back and produced a small container, unveiling perfectly crafted tricolor dango. "I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you," he said warmly, offering the treat to me.

I smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at his thoughtfulness. “A picnic under the stars? How romantic~ You always go above and beyond, don’t you?” I teased, taking a bite of the dango. The sweet, chewy treat melted in my mouth, and I savored the familiar taste. Thoma watched with satisfaction, his eyes twinkling under the soft glow of the moon light. “You deserve the best,” he replied softly. “Seeing you happy makes it all worthwhile.”

We continued munching on snacks and chatting to pass the time before the fireworks began. As soon as the first firework illuminated the sky, we settled down to watch. My excitement grew with each new burst of color that joined the display, painting the night in vibrant hues. Amidst the dazzling explosions, a brilliant streak flashed across the canvas of twinkling stars and colors, its radiant light cutting through the darkness.

“Thoma,” I gasped, eyes wide with wonder. “Was that a-”

"A shooting star," Thoma finished my sentence, confirming the answer. He squeezed my hand, a smile spreading across his face. "Our wish," he murmured, pulling me close and resting his head on mine, "looks like the myth is true." I matched Thoma’s smile with one of my own, leaning into him. Together, we watched in awe as the shooting star disappeared into the horizon, a symbol of the promise for our future together, blessed for eternity.

[noxdont]

"the art of falling"

Cynolumi Oneshot

🌠cynolumi street performer au

🌠 3.6k words, romance

🌠 strangers to friends to lovers

🌠 love confessions

---

If one listens closely to the cautious whispers and words exchanged by merchants and mercenaries, they'd hear of the latest news about how the General Mahamatra seems to be visiting Caravan Ribat more frequently than usual. Theories and assumptions were thrown into the wind as the matra himself holds a powerful reputation. Who knows what business he was handling but if there's one thing that everyone could mutually agree on, Cyno was the kind of person that would leave ashes in his wake. Leaving no stone unturned and no crime unpunished on his trail.

Smugglers held their breaths as Cyno would walk into the town without much care despite how many eyes were glued on his back. He never visits in the mornings nor early afternoons. Only when the skies are painted in gold and the stars would slowly rise, then he'd make his appearance. Although the days he'd visit were not consistent, it still happened too often for the merchants' comfort.

"He must be handling an important business for one of the sages if he would be coming here this much?

"I heard that there was a big criminal hiding in Caravan Ribat and the General Mahamatra is taking his sweet time on hunting them down?"

"Well from what I heard, he's moving under the orders of Lesser Lord Kusanali."

Unbeknownst to them, Cyno merely has one purpose for his frequent visits. When a small crowd gathers by the stalls and a hypnotizing melody starts to play, Cyno would simply move to a more discreet location. Focusing on the subject of his frequent visits.

A golden haired woman danced as though she floated on air. Ever graceful and elegant as her body swayed in harmony to the beat of the music. The occasional jingles of her golden accessories were just as enchanting as the pink and scarlet silk which covers most parts of her body.

Amber eyes met scarlet ones. The young woman flashed him a knowing smile. Cyno held his breath just as she spun into a graceful turn, the flames' light trailing against porcelain skin.

A street performer, whose name reminded him of the evening stars, captured his attention on one peaceful night. While the desert slept and the fire burned awake, he couldn't tear his gaze away from the lone figure dancing fluidly to a familiar song. He never knew what it was called although he's heard it countless of times while passing the Grand Bazaar or walking through the lively streets of Port Ormos. He did not know much about the arts but he had thought of the song to be quite captivating, although he never expected himself to suddenly stop and watch someone dance along its rhythm, capturing its essence through polished movements and grace.

Since then, the image of her has stayed. A nameless street performer haunting even the corners of his mind until he was close to breaking while a certain forest watcher bore witness to his slow descent to internal madness.

"Why exactly are you hesitating? If it bothers you that much, you can simply just go back and ask for her name."

That had been the cause of the onslaught of visits. Cyno believed that as soon as he learned of her name then he would cease thinking of such trivial matters and things would go back to the way they were. Yet what he failed to foresee was his own actions– rather, lack thereof. Though the General Mahamatra had his fair share of troubled and frustrating experiences, it was never because he didn't know how to approach a woman.

"I hope I'm not being presumptuous but I've noticed you in the audience for quite some time now, am I perhaps in trouble? Or is there something you need from me, General Mahamatra?"

Cyno had to remind himself how the process of breathing worked when he finally snapped out of his momentary daze. Drenched in shades of blues and silver, the young performer walked up to him right after her routine before cautiously asking him that question.

"No, you're not in trouble nor do I have any business matters which may involve you." Her shoulders visibly relaxed and a pinch of guilt started creeping inside him.

Did she perhaps feel uncomfortable with him watching?

"I occasionally watched your performance, I do not know a lot of people who take on such art forms so I was a bit curious."

Something sparked in her eyes and before he could deduce what it was, she was already holding up her hand with a smile so sweet he could almost taste it.

"Lumine, although my stage name is Viatrix. Feel free to call me whichever you prefer."

Lumine. It suited her.

"Cyno." He gently shook her hand and mentally celebrated over the fact that his overdue curiosity has been finally sated.

"You mentioned you've watched a few of my performances, would it be alright to ask for your thoughts?"

"Unfortunately I'm not very familiar when it comes to the arts, would you still want to hear my thoughts despite my lacking knowledge?"

"Art has always been subjective and as a member of my wonderful audience, I would like to hear your thoughts."

"And is that all?" Somehow it didn't feel that way to Cyno.

"Hmm, maybe because I'm also curious what the General Mahamatra has to say about my dancing as well?"

He had not known the comment was playful or, in Kaveh's words, flirty until he hesitantly recounted the event to the architect who happened to be fond of different art forms. Curiosity practically oozed out from the blonde man and he even offered to provide any necessary aid if Cyno required them. The matra hadn't understood what he meant at that time.

Days passed and their short yet pleasant discussions became longer– venturing on to their personal interests, hobbies and eventually their lives. When Cyno wanted to know her name, he had no intentions of them being closer other than acquaintances. Though fate seemed to have other plans and in all honesty, he was not exactly against it either. Lumine was wonderful company. It's as if time became nonexistent when he was with her.

"There's no need to hold back yourself from laughing, I myself find the joke quite hilarious as well." Cyno gave her a reassuring smile just as he finished explaining the premise of the joke he had told her.

By the time he was done, Lumine's shoulders were shaking and her laughter littered the open air. Though he wasn't exactly sure if it was the joke that truly pushed her into a fit of laughter, knowing that he was able to make her smile during their time together still gave him a pleasant feeling.

~~~

Oddly enough he felt a bit nervous introducing her to Tighnari and Collei but as soon as he saw them get along so well, Cyno has never felt more relieved and ecstatic.

"When I said go ask for her name, I didn't mean that you should take her back with you." Despite Tighnari's words, Cyno could hear the smile in his voice as they prepared lunch. He liked her, Cyno could tell.

They both shared similar ideals and they were as open and unapologetic as the other. Maybe that's one of the reasons why it didn't take long for the matra to call her a worthy friend. Although the trait that stood out to him the most from their time together was the fact that Lumine was an attentive listener and freely expressed her own thoughts in a manner which everyone could understand.

"Dancing does not need to be precise and perfect all the time, it can be as simple as having fun. Although it can feel quite nerve wracking at the beginning but believe me when I say that it's normal. Here, why don't I teach you some simple steps?"

Collei looked ready to decline Lumine's offer but after a few encouraging seconds, she finally accepted. Cyno watched as Lumine patiently taught the young girl some simple steps which earned some curious looks from other forest rangers in the vicinity. One person came forward to join followed by another and another. Soon enough it seemed Lumine had gathered an interested audience as her students.

"She makes a wonderful teacher." Praises from Tighnari weren't rare but it feels more reassuring when it comes from him.

"She does." Cyno couldn't tear his gaze away. Even if she wasn't dancing, Lumine somehow manages to shine in her own way.

It didn't take too long for everyone to get up on their feet as they all swayed and danced to a familiar song in Sumeru. If Cyno wasn't mistaken, he's already seen a few people dance to this song especially on festive occasions. And surprisingly enough, even a few scholars secretly knew a few of its steps.

He watched the forest rangers dance with glee as the air filled with hearty laughter. From the corner of his eye, he noticed some rangers trying to persuade their fluffy eared watcher to join the fray. He could vividly feel Tighnari's pleading glances for help but chose to ignore it either way with a quiet chuckle. His silent amusement came to a halt when a familiar figure propped herself beside him, a knowing smile painted on her lips.

"I don't dance." Were the first words that came out of his mouth.

"We can change that." He begged to differ.

The General Mahamatra has never danced in his entire life.

"Just one dance, please?" But dear archons it was difficult to say no to her.

Lumine didn't have to ask a second time although Cyno did warn her how he knew nothing about dancing.

"Let's start with a few gentle sways then," the golden girl started, amber eyes shining in excitement as she started gently swaying them both to each sides.

Cyno tried to follow her lead and he could only assume he looked ridiculous on doing so. But soon enough, he found himself relaxing. Matching her steps while the music flowed around them until it eventually felt natural. Cyno may not know a single thing about the art of dancing but seeing Lumine's face light up in pure glee as he twirled her around and back into his arms was definitely worth all his stiffened sways and awkward stumbles.

She doesn't look down on others nor does she discriminate against those who are unfamiliar with her art form. Lumine was patient and careful when it came to explaining her love for her passion. She knew how to hold her ground and held it well. This has earned her commendable respect and admiration from multiple individuals, performers and even scholars she's come across in life. Cyno was simply one of the very few.

~~~

"You've been visiting more often, General Mahamatra, am I perhaps in trouble?" Cyno huffed at the familiar question, raising a brow towards the young dancer while she sat comfortably beside him on their usual seat by Gilded Dreams– the lone hotel in Caravan Ribat.

At this point, the question had become her usual greeting and a running inside joke to them both. The routine they've built over time was quite simple; he visits, she dances, they talk of various topics like how their day went or how their friends are doing until they need to retire for the night.

"You've done a wonderful performance today as well, a well deserved rest should be the one to greet you as soon as you're done," said Cyno while pushing the plate of Samosa towards the tired dancer by his side.

"But I love hearing your praises right after," She leans on to his shoulder before thanking him for the meal.

"If praises are what you seek then I'll simply have to compile a list and have them ready."

"I'd rather hear them directly from you." He pauses, Lumine's words echoing quietly in his mind.

Cyno never noticed when it started but conversing with her became frighteningly easy. It felt natural, listening to her voice, seeing her expressions and often getting caught off guard by her playful retorts. Lumine became a piece whom he instinctively seeks out when time permits or even when it does not. Mayhaps because she was another person he believed he could genuinely confide in without worrying about being judged. Cyno has never thought of her as anything more.

Not until he found himself wondering if her lips would be as soft as they looked when he caught himself staring at them while she rested on his shoulder. Or how he wanted to rest his arms around her when she leans in a bit closer before trailing his lips on her hair as he whispers the praises she seek.

Guilt tore through him mercilessly at such a thought and he wanted nothing more than to bury such thoughts as soon as possible. Like stone thrown into the undisturbed waters, the rippling effect caused his visits to lessen and excuses came pouring before he'd even begun to wonder how much he missed watching her dance under the starlit sky. Lumine didn't complain nor did she pry. Every time he tells her he can't go watch her for a while, he'll only see the quiet dim in her eyes before she tells him to always stay safe.

The growing distance drove him into what he could only describe as insanity. It did nothing to satiate the growing hunger to hold her closer and it stung every time she'd ask him if he'd come see her dance even just for a moment– even if he couldn't stay for the entirety of it.

Weeks passed and eventually one of them was bound to snap, Cyno genuinely thought he'd be the first to do so until Lumine finally came to approach him directly while he was dealing with a minor problem in the scorching desert of Sumeru.

"Lumine? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be traveling alone through the desert, the amount of risks and–"

"First of all, we both know full well that I am capable enough to handle a fight. Second, is that really the first thing you have to say after blatantly avoiding me for days on end?"

If looks could kill, Cyno would've already been long buried under the swirling sands. He tried finding the right words to say only to swallow them back down. Lumine had every right to be angry at him. He even went as far to ask Tighnari to lie for his sake and it earned him a very disapproving lecture from the forest watcher.

"If I did or have said anything that may have offended you then the least that you could do is tell me directly. I'm your friend aren't I?"

Her angered tone softened and her gaze eventually fell.

"Or have I made a fool of myself by thinking I was someone worthy enough to be called as one in your life?"

He didn't waste a second more as he heard those words and stepped closer, a hesitant hand reaching out to take her hand only for it to fall defeatedly on his side.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I," Cyno stumbled in his words, the same way he did when he first met her. The same way he did when she pulled him up to dance. It had been so easy to find the words when he spoke to her but now they can't even reach past his throat.

"A sudden thought came to me one day and it– I didn't know what to do. I was afraid that if I acted on it then it would break something that I have been cherishing. Because if I acted recklessly then everything would be irreparable."

"Break what? Me? If you're worried about my safety just because you're the General Mahamatra then I can reassure you that it's fine. See? I'm not hurt! In fact no one has dared to harm since you came into my life. I walked through the desert without anyone to look after me and I'm fine. Cyno, no matter how dangerous you believe it would be for me to stay by your side I'm not afraid to be with you."

"But I am."

The words came before he had the chance to think twice. Fear held his heart in a vice grip and he would rather she be angry at him for a while than for their relationship to be broken just because of his selfish desires.

How could he tell her? How could he look her in the eye and tell her how much he wants to gently trace his lips on her hands to her shoulders. To hold her close– close enough for her to finally hear the yearning in his chest. To kiss her, without guilt or shame. To just be with her without having any reason to.

How could he possibly tell her?

And yet as terrifying as it was, another part of him still wishes for her to know. Despite his fear, Cyno still wanted to take that risk and let all be damned.

"I'm not afraid of the people who'd come to know that you are dear to me. Lumine it isn't other people I'm scared of. It's myself. You have given me so much that I'm afraid that I'll start asking more from you."

"Then ask. I'm not someone who's blind enough to give anyone just about everything that's beyond my power but if it's something I am willing to offer, especially to you, then just ask. Because you are as dear to me as I am to you."

He hadn't noticed her stepping closer, her fingers smoothly slipping in between his while the other cupped his cheek. He allowed himself to succumb into her touch, taking in her warmth as she softly caressed his face. And it has never felt so divine to be held by someone like this. He caught the melting dusk in her eyes before they fell onto her lips. Since the day his thoughts wandered beyond being platonic, there have been moments where his mind remained on guessing on how her lips would feel or taste. Such wretched thoughts consumed him even on days when he kept himself away from the mere sight of her. And eventually he knew they were going to eat him alive.

"Cyno, I care for you more than you think. But I can only show you if you'd let me. So please let me."

He swallowed hard yet the lump in his throat seemed to remain despite his efforts to push it down. Cyno gathered every ounce of courage he could find inside as the stars rose above them before he was able to properly face her.

"I'm sorry. For suddenly making you feel as if you've wronged me because of my own cowardice and selfishness."

Despite his desire to keep all of those feelings buried, maybe all he needed was a reason for the dam to finally break.

"When I first saw you dancing in Caravan Ribat, I've always wondered how much a person could shine so brightly. As I got to know you, I also saw how mesmerizing you are as a person even after the music stops. I respected and admired you quietly, thinking that that was enough. But days with you have made me greedy."

A look of pure realization finally struck her and Cyno wanted to run. But he knew better than to do so and held his ground, hoping that the sand would be enough to keep him from doing anything more foolish.

"You've shown me a piece of your world and now I can't seem to escape it. No matter where I go and no matter how many days would pass, the urge to run to you never dims. I want you. I want you in my life not simply as someone I can admire but as someone I can love entirely."

Cyno could practically hear his own heartbeat drumming inside his chest while they both stood surrounded by the desert's deafening silence. Lumine has not once made the move to let go of his hand just as he didn't let go of hers. At the very least that gave him a sense of reassurance.

"I won't ask for an immediate answer, I know that it would take some time for you to weigh–"

Lumine stopped him before he could even finish with the deep press of her lips against his. It didn't feel impulsive or reckless and his chest swelled at the thought. Her hands had long found themselves caressing his cheek and neck just as he realized his own response. Kissing her back as deeply before snaking his arm on her waist and tilting her chin higher. Cyno felt like he was melting; into her touch, her lips and the entirety of her.

"You have no idea what you do to me." Lumine whispered as she drew back slightly, lips still touching while amber eyes meet scarlet ones in a tender gaze.

"I could say the same for you."

It's as if all those running doubts and fear in his mind finally came to a halt. This time, Cyno didn't feel the need to stop himself as he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. In the back of his mind, he could hear the song that played on the night he saw her shine with the stars. Cyno wasn't familiar with the arts, but he could understand the emotions it could call within a person. Since then he has sought that shining light and in turn he fell for a star that burned brightly amongst the desert sky.

[sunboki]

— HELLION INN. a Stray Kids fiction

🌖 : Lee Minho x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. dystopian! au, enemies to lovers, monster! au, apocalypse! au, “we have to get along to survive” au, angst, high stakes

WORD COUNT. 10k ⭑ 50min read

WARNINGS. gory descriptions, cursing, descriptive violence, implied intercourse, death, a dubcon kiss, talk of vomit/vomiting, lots of mentions of death, one mention of k*lling oneself, parasites, murder, inclusion of fire, injury, usage of guns, injury, knives, reader and minho are “hunted”, mature themes

AUG'S NOTES. it’s finished! i wanted to cry (out of happiness!!) closing the last part :) i truly love this piece, and, though it certainly isn’t all too lovey dovey compared to alternative fics of mine, i was so incredibly fortunate to be able to write for themes i adore! i hope my enthusiasm was able to be conveyed in the subject of monsters/apocalyptic au’s!! please enjoy<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Receiving an ominous letter in the mail, a monster invades Seoul minutes later, carrying an uncanny sense of smell despite its blindness. Countless people have been slaughtered already, and with your letter as the only meager explanation to this madness, you find your feet leading towards the one place it said was safe: Hellion Inn.

or alternatively :

Minho won’t let you die. Not if it means letting this Monster get him or hell’s dawning itself. You’re going to survive. Together.

Run, something is coming. Go to Hellion Inn, you’ll be safe there.

Something? What is something? A terrorist attack? War?

Never had such a letter arrived at your doorstep other than this Tuesday, with the morning sunlight peeking through half-opened blinds casting your pajama-clad frame in its cascades.

And again, you reread and reread, questions raging in a distorted frenzy amidst your once just-wakening mind. 

Little were you aware what would come. What already roamed Seoul’s streets, approaching closer, closer. 

One objective resides in too many possibilities. 

Find Hellion Inn. 

.

.

.

Stuffing the letter in your pocket serves as the most sensible solution while you go over your options. If you didn’t have a clue about what dishes would be cooked, you’d check the ingredients first.

And yet, upon turning on the TV, you find your meal already served. 

On a platter, dripping with blood.

“This just in, an unidentifiable entity is making its way through Seoul in a rampage. The creature is highly dangerous. It appears to lack vision, and speculation has deemed it relies upon its smell to discern other beings. The creature has not been detained at this time. Under no circumstances should citizens leave their residences, and in the case you’re on the street, please evacuate to the nearest shelter immediately. Further information will be released.”

Your blood runs frigidly cold, enough you swear you could’ve turned to ice.

All of a sudden, war or a terrorist attack doesn’t sound nearly as daunting as before.

A monster. Ruthless, bloodthirsty. 

Monster. 

Instantaneously are news sites everywhere exploding, posting footage, pictures, and accounts of the creature each second. 

More and more and more until-

It all goes dark, your home plunged into a black abyss meagerly sustained by the sun’s rays, phone in hand ultimately powering off. 

Electricity down. Fully.

This isn’t like a usual predicament of a public threat, not something you’re prepared for, nor something anyone was prepared for. There’s no drill for a monster, no tsunami shelter or high rise building to reside upon. 

Was it obliviousness? Or were you all simply sheep to a ravaging wolf?

The latter seemed most convincing.

An exhale. No, a growl is what breaks your train of thought. Like the chuff of a tiger, curdling in its throat. 

Above. 

You can’t even bring yourself to move, can’t bear to breathe in fear you’d give yourself away as a shadow covers that once hopeful sunlight.

No shadow, but a thing. A monster. 

How did it get here so fast? How.. how the hell is this happening?

The sound of tiles shifting on your roof makes your fingers twitch, eyes stuck wide. 

The worlds apex predators turned into the prey. 

Each pound of your heart lies evident in ringing ears, listening to those low, horrendous gurgles, repeating that same chuff before it shifts again.

Again and again, and you’re unmoving.

Leave. Run. Anything. 

Yet, you can’t move a muscle, glued in place.

Until you do, and your legs act before you can process a thing. Grabbing for items, whatever it may be. Mind unable to process in its frantic state.

No. No.

A plea as your hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning down the apartment complex’s stairs in rapid descent, listening to the slow growls of the creature.

Don’t look behind, just go.

A mistake you find yourself making even when a life is on the line.

Your life is on the line.

And when you spare that single glimpse, murky lifeless eyes stare blindly back at you, bulging from its skull as if they never were intended to be there. Skin a hallowed, fleshy tone — ligaments hung awry. 

Disorderly, distasteful. If you look close enough, you swear you could’ve seen a beating heart, watched the oxygen cells rush through a pumping bloodstream. 

Gaping jaws hold copious teeth, ant-like incisors residing on either side of a ceaselessly smiling mouth, the corners of what appears to be lips ascending all the way up to nonexistent ears. 

Four legs, two antennae atop its head. At least two times the size of a human.

Horrific.

Never had such a thing appeared so terrifying.

With the letter clutched in one hand and your powerless phone in another do you run, praying that nonexistent vision truly is nonexistent.

Well, until a car alarm begins to ring, and you feel your stomach climb to your throat simultaneously.

Because it twitches. Not even a glance-sort of reaction. The entirety of whatever neck that monster hones twitches to look at you with a nausea-worthy crack! of its ligaments. Those jaws parted, a flattened nose breathing in.

And then it lurches, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran as fast as you did now.

Far, far. As far as you can go. 

It’s futile listening to gargled cries for help amongst rubble, the reaching of hands for your feet you can’t even spare a moment for as those scraping claws continue their perilous dance after you, scavenging on people as they go. 

So the second an intact person comes into view—a boy, looking about your age (and freakishly calm at that) with fluffy hair and rounded cheeks retaining such youth—you’re racing ahead before you can even think, ramming through those convenience store doors in a flurry of panic and fear.

“Monster— Monster- there’s a monster we have to go-“

“Do you like grilled cheese?” He mumbles, and you wonder if he’s talking to himself or you, no less asking such a question during this downright apocalypse.

“No, no there is—“ A shriek pierces the air in the distance, the clutter of debris alerting the monster’s proximity.

You, in a frantic attempt to redirect his attention, place either hand on his shoulders.

“A monster. There’s a monster out there and if we don’t hide, it’s going to kill us.” 

The boy licks his lips, cocking a contemplative brow before looking toward the freezer section. 

“Freezer?”

At this point the creature might as well be turning the corner, and you don’t need to respond for either of you to go running as fast as your legs will carry you, stuffing yourselves into the biting cold just as the bells above the entrance door ring.

Scariest part is this customer is intelligent enough to open doors.

This customer isn’t human. 

Like slow-motion you hear it. The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, the lack of air in such a tight space, the monster’s rumbling.

Your hidden counterpart lodged himself into a freezer opposite to you, eyes squeezed shut the nearer clicking footsteps on tile sounded.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you open them, met with the monster’s face, hundreds of razor-sharp teeth lining its mouth, stretched into that same, chilling smile while it stares at you through the glass.

It can’t see you. It can’t see you. It can’t see you, You internally plead like a mantra, suffocating on the scream rising in your throat.

The loud clanging of a soup can the boy throws has the creature’s disfigured face whipping around, and you wordlessly communicate through mere terrified-eye-contact what either of you are thinking:

Run.

Without conscious you go flying, ramming past discarded groceries and tormented bodies into Seoul’s open roadway, void of any vehicle whatsoever.

Except for one.  

It’s a tow truck, key still lodged into the ignition, window broken with streaks of blood lining the door where a middle-aged man’s body had been dragged out. He rests lopsided below the front tire, abdomen severed in half.

Grotesque. 

“Car- Car!” You cry out, wildly gesturing for him to follow suit while you pry the driver’s door open, the monster’s frustrated growl enough motivation for the stranger to throw himself in as well.

In the nick of time you press down on the pedal, winding the wheel in a quick motion just as the hell-sent smashes itself from the shop, evidently angered.

“I’m Han!” The man occupying the passenger seat shouts, the hole through the windshield causing enormous amounts of wind to soar through the car and synonymously blur your senses.

“What?!” 

“My name is Han! Han Jisung!”

Squinting whilst looking through your mirror at the wickedly approaching Monster, you veer past as many obstacles as possible — most being corpses — as fast as the engine will let you.

“Oh! Uh, I’m Y/N!”

Han nods, grasp clutched onto his seat the more you speed increases, recklessly maneuvering left and right as if dodging a crocodile. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a crocodile, but a blood-thirsty beast wanting nothing more than to behead you. How sweet.

“Do you… Do you know how to drive?” He yells, and you raise your eyebrows, narrowly shifting past a shopping cart.

“If you count Mario-Kart as driving, I’m a pro!”

Han audibly squeaks his fear in response, eyes squeezing shut as if to not stare at the monster’s face nearing the mirror.

The speedometer cries out, vehicle shuddering as you near train tracks just at the edge of the city. 

Hopeful. 

Fleeting hope when the roar of a train’s whistle soars through the air, the look Han gives you doing little to sustain your already thinned sanity.

Perhaps you’ll die getting hit by a train than this monster.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

“We’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make it we’re not gonna make i—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP—-“ You screech, foot slammed as far down on the gas pedal as possible, the rumbling of the train’s engine deafening. 

“HOLY SHITTTT—“ The man screams, mouth ajar as you soar over the tracks, preparing for impact only for a hair of the train’s front barely brushing over the car’s bumper. 

Currently realizing you’re still breathing and not dead, you floor the brake, either of you launching forward in your seats while the endless train keeps the monster at bay on the opposite side. 

Both panting hysterically, you place a hand on your chest, hoping to slow down the terrifyingly fast pace of your heart — close to bursting out of your chest. 

Your passenger, Han Jisung, turns to look at you, eyes wide as saucers, a gradual open-mouthed smile growing upon his flushed, sweat-stricken face.

“That was.. sick.”

The flashlight flickers here and there, found in the tow truck’s trunk along with a med kit currently carried along by Han.

By chance did you end up in what remained of the red-light district, rubble dotting roadways as evidence of the Monster’s previous siege.

Amidst the held supplies, your pocket seems to ache with the weight of the letter, sitting there in its futile warning of what was to come, now arrived.

You hadn’t brought it up to Han yet, a persistent fear of blame lingering in the back of your mind. Was it your fault you didn’t react in time? Disregarded the letter?

No. There’s no time to regret now. Whatever past existed has been annihilated. 

Night is approaching, and with that comes rising unease and a desperate need to find shelter.

Seoul’s red-light district had always been a taboo for Korea’s upper class. A hushed word, quenched beneath harsh scolding and wrinkled noses at the mere mention.

As if their own well-off sons don’t get driven there on a daily basis, ignorant to their own affiliation as if it’s a genetically determined trait.

Quite funny how none of that matters now. Not when it’s the end of the world, that is.

Every (once) building looks the same. Rubble. Litter lines the roads, cars strewn awry, wrecked into buildings, run over people. 

A pattern lies in everything. 

This pattern consists of fear. 

Struck on faces, painted carelessly along torn apart surfaces and walls, splattering the cities ruby red.

Incessantly, you can’t help but fear. A natural biological response when in the presence of actual or perceived danger, inflicting sharp wounds throughout your body, mind on an endless neurological high of adrenaline-fueled paranoia. 

How could someone not be paranoid when they were being hunted?

“In here.”

Han’s voice pulls you out of your head, turning where he points to a brick building, multicolored beach towel draped over a window torn to shreds, soil from plants staining the cracks of tiles, floor a mixture of blood and bacteria. 

“It’s abandoned,” He notes, prying the creaking door open. 

Abandoned isn’t the word for it. The inhabitants left as most people did upon hearing the news of invasion, although they didn’t get far, you’re plenty aware of that. 

What a shame. Thinking they could escape, in their wake, slaughtered ruthlessly. 

Instead of abandoned, call it evacuated, barren.  

Inside, a radio runs in a constant string of white noise, the addition of broken air conditioning the only source of apparent life. Haunting, flickering lights cast the few rooms in an eerie, ghoulish green like that of a basement.

“I’ve been here before. There should be a mart nearby.”  

Allowing his remark to sink in, you pause, a slight grin drawing upon your lips. 

“You’ve been here before, in the red-light district?” 

Phrase lingering amusedly, he stops as well, shifting on his heel to grace you with a similar smile.

“What? Not everyone can stand high and mighty in this society. Plus, there’s no need to pretend anymore when death is so close by.”

Your smile drops, and you suck on the skin of your cheek, a loud breath through your nose enough to continue the descent.

Perhaps you should change the abandoned description. 

Just then, from the corner of your eye do you see a figure emerge, the glinting edge of a kitchen knife barely brushing your shoulder blade before you dodge to your left, the attacker colliding with an ironing board.

Mere seconds later the figure rises to their feet, identified as female, adorning lanky limbs and skin as pale and zombified as the surrounding room. Her lips are cracked and purple, eyes nearly black, blanketed with equally raven hair reaching the floor in length.

The girl looks like a creature, barely alive with the lack of coordination in her loose stabs, alienated stare vividly murderous. 

Only by narrowly pummeling into the wall do you manage to immobilize her, Jisung’s efforts stalled.

Liquid obsidian blinks back up at you from where you’ve caged her to the floor, her nostrils flaring in hasty breaths, your own panting ringing in your ears.

“Look kid- I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Now if you calm down and let me—“  

A third of the steak knife puncturing the side of your thigh veers your head back, choked scream jostling your nerves tenfold. Bubbling blood slips from the wound, trickling warmth dizzying you into a foggy spell.

It’s not until a low bang! sounds that her arm, raised for another strike, falls limp to the floor, looking behind you to find Jisung holding a pistol, silencer attached to the muzzle, aimed directly at the girl below you. 

Immediately, before you can release the unheralded screech compressing your lungs, Han hoists you up by your elbows, the jarring movement beckoning a squealed sob you bite your tongue containing.

Snatching clothing from a closet behind the door, the man rips the fabric using his teeth, returning to your slumped frame.

Reminding you to hold your breath, he aligns the makeshift bandage prior to tying it, your reaction becoming quieted as your eyes roll back.

And the world falls into a dark abyss. 

By the time your lashes flutter open again, searing light invades your vision, the urge to open your eyes aiding a roaring headache.

Although, it appears you’re still in the same room, alternatively relocated to a futon on the floor, leg propped up using folded pillowcases and books. 

“You’re up.”

Han enters the room, two metal cans of mashed spam and rice held in either hand, one of which he gives to you. 

“You were knocked out cold,” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, uncharacteristic to the fact he just shot someone.

“The shirt should staunch the bleeding. Eat.”

Staring down at your meal, you glance up, stomach churning in an unsightly manner merely considering food.

But you eat anyway, gulping the bites down despite the nausea.

“And the girl?” 

Han takes a bite, scraping every last grain from the noisy tin without so much as a shiver.

“I took care of it.”

It’s your turn to laugh, confusedly surveying the teenage-boy-looking friend of yours.

“What are you? A hitman?”

He clicks his tongue, eyes thoughtfully flickering to the ceiling. 

“I’m.. somebody who really wants to survive.”

All you do is return his tight-lipped expression.

Yet, truly accounting for your introduction, there’s a whole lot you don’t know about him. His past, his goals. What his life was like before. 

He comes off as cheery and good-natured, disposition claiming he wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

You’ve come to realize that isn’t the reality whatsoever. Because Han Jisung is exactly what Han Jisung said he was.

Somebody who really wants to survive. 

You can relate to that.

“So.. Random note, random warning, no location?” 

“Pretty much.” 

Seated beside you, Han surveys the letter, reading over the contents a few times before folding it back up and handing it to you. He’s redressed your wound, utilizing the medical kit’s antiseptic and gauze to wrap the skin.

“Hellion Inn,” Han repeats softly, brows knitted. “Never heard of it.”

You shrug once more from your place on the ground, leg still propped while he squats to your left.

“If anything, it’s likely it was destroyed if it’s an actual Inn,” He mumbles, tapping a puffy bottom lip with his index, earning your half nod before you pause.

“We can still try it though? We can find a stick or somethin’, I’ll use it as a crutch.” 

This time, it’s his turn to nod — rising up with a somewhat-assuring: “I’ll be right back” before leaving the room, returning after a few moments with a table leg, nearly comical in the proud manner he lifts the wood, jagged edges evidence of his severing with a knife. 

After copious laughter do you glance at him, brow cocked. “This is really all you’ve got?”

Asking from your place beside him, you brace more weight onto the makeshift crutch, granting Han a side-long glance.

“If I had more I’d use it,” He huffs, watching you hobble slightly but remaining upright with worried brows, hands poised to stabilize your steadying adjustment.

That’s most important, you deemed, no matter how puny. A drag to the team means death; you won’t be that drag.

Tomorrow morning you’ll head out. Find somewhere else to occupy whilst searching for Hellion Inn.

The one remaining routine amidst the apocalypse is time, and as the sun cracks above a horizon once able to be admired and not envied, you’re helped to your feet, gathering bags slung over each other's backs. Additional clothes, torn tablecloths. Anything of even insufficient use.

You don’t think these streets had been this quiet since your grandparent’s time, with bustling citizens and raging business overtaking wherever you look. Now, it might as well be a ghost-town. No more cries for help, no more groans and moans in agony.

And yet, it’s almost unsettling as it is reassuring. Suffering has ceased. Cries for help drawn to a close. 

Peace within death.

Trekking for only about a mile feels tumultuous, the ache already coiling in your bones like snakes seen slithering through rubble, waiting for rats to swarm decomposing carcasses in search of easy victims.

Seoul has become a jungle, eat or be eaten. It’s only a matter of time, a split-second ignorance, that can have you eaten. Perhaps by the true Monster, perhaps by your own kind.

The sight of broken columns and french doors parted in what looks to be a hotel in front of you redirects your focus, granting Han a hum of acknowledgment. His hand reaching for the pistol in a fashioned holster, yours coming to the kitchen knife held in your bag.

Wary, but slow steps paired with your hobbled ones make for the small bout of stairs, buzzing of flies caught in flurries littering goosebumps along your arms.

Something about this place is abnormal. That much is known. And if this is the so-called “Hellion Inn” (or what remains of it), your hope for sanctuary plummets in tandem with the temperature upon stepping in. 

Cold. That dead, stale kind of cold, warmth from the heart void, no longer beating.

Matchstick providing barely enough light, you carefully pry open the squeaking doors in the second doorway, blade wielded close to your being. The putrid odor of decay perplexes your gag reflexes, allowing Han to take the lead in his observing endeavor. 

Abruptly, your foot smushes against something below, and when you look down only to be met with a lifeless hand there, bulging, horror-stricken eyes staring back up at you, you hurriedly bite your lip to conceal the bubbling scream clawing from your throat, frothing like a brewing cauldron. 

Han can only grimace. 

It was here. You’re not sure when, but these wounds — these corpses mercilessly ripped apart — aren’t the doing of humans.

A bone chilling thought surfaces in your mind.

What if the monster is still here?

Your traveling companion spins around on his heel, hands placed on his hips. Honeyed irises momentarily flit between your paled frame to the obvious terror staining your features, his eyebrows raised.

“Hey, I know it’s scary, but the monster’s likely gone by now, and if we can find someone or a sign that’ll redirect us then maybe…”

His words trail off, suddenly all too familiar with the sound of chortled breathing ragged in his ears. Exhales stenching of rotted flesh, the scraping of sharpened claws on the floor.

And how you’re not staring at him, but above him. 

Your palms slowly reach up to cover your mouth, taking the tiniest step back manageable.

“..It’s right behind me, isn’t it?”

Yet, before the Monster can swipe a clawed hand and hack off a limb, deja vu strikes in the form of another gunshot, not silenced, booming,

It soars right past your shoulder with pinpoint precision to land within the Monster’s side, collecting a shriek in return. The beast flails wildly as Han races from its clutches towards the unknown savior of his.

Fluffy hair, a torn, mud-stained jean jacket over his shoulders, white undershirt equally unkempt. The four of you survey the monster’s descent deeper into the hotel, not appearing to execute anymore attack attempts.

For now.

No less, you’re helped outside in your wobbly state, the shot-gun boy leading, another seeming to take up the rear behind you and Han. His companion, maybe. Just as you and Han are.

Sharper features oppose the shotgun-carrying boy’s downturned eyes with inquisitive, apprehensive ones. Lighter hair, jeans bagging by his shoes, white tee’s once graphic design smudged, unrecognizable. His own weapon lies in spiked boxing gloves, nails seemingly ruptured through the cushioned layers.

And when his eyes meet yours, you feel fire in your veins. Blazing, warming you from your toes to your fingertips.

“You guys alright?”

Shot-gun boy, introduced as Kim Seungmin, speaks first, spinning on his heel to regard either of you. Though, it’s hard for your mind to stay attentive, the feeling of Seungmin’s companions’ eyes incessantly boring into your back causing a wary twitch of your fingers. 

“Lee Minho.”

His voice breaks you from that apprehensive spell, that watchful gaze of his surveying both you and Han with an unimpressed exhale.

“Don’t slow us down,” He scowls, shouldering past Han, lips drawn into a tight line. He heads for their own vehicle, a worn down truck narrowly resting in better condition than your earlier tow truck by the tracks.

Real friendly.

Seungmin, a tad bit more benign, gestures with a curt nod to the vehicle, ushering your injury-wielding self to sit in the passenger seat with Minho as driver, Seungmin and Han taking the truck’s bed.

Just then does the Monster make its return, bursting from the hotel in a seemingly rejuvenated spirit from before, gaping jaws aching to be filled.

You could only hope your flesh wouldn’t be the filler.

“This is why I hate introductions,” Minho, already slamming his foot onto the pedal, grumbles, not granting a response upon tires burning rubber over dusty roads as you speed off – a replay of your ride with Han on loop each time you see the Monster in your mirror.

Approaching closer, closer again.

It seems food becoming involved is a common theme, jarred when the truck swerves in front of a supermarket. Seungmin shouts from the back as he and Han race ahead, beckoning you two to follow them, your steps lightly hobbled with feeble help of the makeshift crutch.

“The hell do I have to be on babysitting duty for?” Minho, lifting your arm over his shoulder, grovels, and you fight the urge to whack him with your crutch, making through the desolate supermarket. 

Weapons in clutch, it grows taxing trying not to grimace hearing clattering glass, the mental picture of those bulging eyes doing little for your already queasy stomach.

“It’ll hear us!” 

With your horrible luck intact, this already dislikable stranger ends up being the same soul you're lodged into a bathroom stall with.

Minho hisses, furrow of his brows causing his face to scrunch with distaste, the loud clatter of soup cans and chip bags alike resounding from outside in the thick of the Monster’s carnage.

“No, it’ll hear you. More people means more death, and lucky for you, I’ll be off your hands in no time.” Now it’s your turn to retort, the man lacking of his usual boxing gloves, strap of Seungmin’s shotgun over a shoulder instead.

Wriggling yourself from his grasp, you hesitantly slide the notch to the door, movement only stopped by Minho’s lingering hand grabbing your sleeve. 

“And what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m repaying a favor.”

Weighing your ability to walk well, you snag the shotgun from his shoulder, granting the man a wink and a: “Thanks for the shotgun”, before slipping from the stall, leaving his starstruck figure in tow.

Ignoring the biting ache in your thigh thanks to a discarded crutch, you savor cool metal beneath your fingertips, watching the blur of the other two boys racing past the Monster’s attempts of attack. 

“Hey! Ugly fucker, over here!” You shout, chilled seeing blind eyes rip your way.

Cocking the gun, your eyes narrow, focusing the sight on its head and–

Bang!

Echoing around the supermarket does a copper bullet gnash into thin skin, puncturing straight through, shell casing crinkling onto the floor below in tandem with a low groan of the creature.

Minho bursts from the bathroom moments later, still sporting a starstruck visage. Han and Seungmin go thundering right past back to the truck, the wild goose chase persisting. 

What wasn't persistent was Minho’s arms wrapping around your back, hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of rice whilst chasing right after his counterparts.

As much as you’d like to thank him, your thigh still hurts like hell.

“Yah! That- hurts- asshole!” Shrieked between his hurried footsteps, you smack his shoulder blade defiantly.

Hopefully that serves as a thank you.

However, escaping is far from reach, and feeling presumably safe is equally residing far from grasp when, after finally being able to inhale without a stutter to your lung halfway down the road, the sharp snap of a tire blows.

And the truck flips over.

It was one thing maneuvering from the flipped car, shards of glass embedded in your skin beckoning pinpricks of blood, and another continuing on foot to wherever the two acquaintances planned to lead to.

The largest of things, however, was learning the name of this apparent destination.

Hellion Inn.

With Seungmin sustaining a minor head injury, Han luckily unharmed, and an also unharmed Minho reluctant to aid in being your temporary crutch, you’re given plenty of time for interrogation along the way — wondering just who the hell was responsible for the letter. 

As far as their replies go, not a soul knows.

And at this rate, you can’t bring yourself to care about pestering for answers anymore, not with Minho’s aggravating complaining and equally as irritating, stupidly good-looking side profile.

So, the torturous walk to this supposed ‘Inn’ prevails, which, turns out not to be an Inn at all. Instead, it’s this metal, bus looking contraption, like a trailer.

Silver of the exterior tarnished, it hides within a surrounding forest entryway, vines curling around door fixtures as if with time, what remained would be swallowed by the greenery.

From the bus two more men exit, and you can’t help but wonder if this so-called Hellion Inn has just as many residents as an actual Inn.

Christopher Bahng and Seo Changbin introduce themselves hastily, quick to rush back into the bus and retrieve a medical kit. After enduring both the painful removal of glass, your reopened wound stitched, and Chris’s heart wrenching smile of assurance (followed by a pat to your kneecap after, ensuring an imminent heart attack on your part), you’re finally invited inside, introduced to the others.

Three more. 

It’s a clown car. Definitely. 

Yang Jeongin, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix. Boys- no, men, with features you’d like to deem frustratingly attractive. 

Maybe photoshoot, not a clown car.

No less, the seven interact with ease, Han intermingling as if he’d been by their side for eternity. A bonfire, expertly lit behind the bus hidden amongst foliage to conceal smoke, provides warmth in the night.

Cold, just as it’s always been. Even more so with autumn’s presence.

Yet, you find your eyes falling right back to him.

Minho.

Man of fire, whose gaze on yours feels like your ribs cracking apart, as if his fingers bend your windpipe every which way, rendering no air into your lungs. He is fire, licking at your skin in the most deplorable of ways.

And you crave it.

If he were Hades, you’d eat the pomegranate seeds like a fool just to feel his eyes on you again and again.

Selfish.

When he looks at you, you feel selfish. Perhaps it’s the stakes, perhaps your heart has grown too weak, beat too fast it falls for any and all. Adrenaline-induced love.

You aren’t naive like Persephone, aren’t blindsided by curiosity.

That latter is a lie. Especially when you shift on the log, purposefully scooting closer to catch bits and pieces of his conversation with Jeongin, listen to the perfect pitch of his voice, aided by the crackling of flames before you.

You wonder if touching him would rival those white-hot flames. Scalding your fingers till you grew numb. 

You’d take that bet.

Fluffy fabric placed over your shoulders makes you flinch in place, sympathetic eyes of chocolate meeting yours.

Honeyed. Chris.

“It’s cold, stay warm,” He ushers, crouching to take a seat on your left.

Then do you register his actions. A blanket, the material a survivor of water’s toil and plenty of stains. But it’s warm, durable, and most importantly, sweet. Chris is sweet, you decide, a bit like this warm blanket.

Your nod of thanks doesn’t feel like it even slightly compensates for his kindness, though, for now, it’s enough.

Tomorrow, Chris, Changbin, Minho, and Jeongin will relocate the flipped truck. Haul it back, fix it up again. That’s what your sensible mind discerns, seemingly adopted into the group like any other as sleeping arrangements in the bus are modified for both you and Han.

Strays, huh.

A flickering gas lamp keeps your gaze glued to the ceiling where you lie, watching shadows twirl like a strange ballet along the walls. Near the front of the bus does Chris sleep, Changbin glued to his side, Felix tucked beneath his arm.

It brings a smile to your lips, watching them. Even Seungmin, with his more boundary-oriented persona, close to the others, his hand brushing against Hyunjin’s shoulder, Jeongin’s head. 

Human beings, after all. Even when it all falls apart. And maybe, maybe in monsters as well, there is human. The need to be close, to feel skin on skin. 

Counting heads, you find one missing.

“You should be sleeping.”

Minho flicks a lighter on and off, waiting to relight the gas lamp. He squats down in front of you, jeans stretched over muscular thighs.

Your brow furrows, wondering if he’d been here this whole time amidst your ignorance.

“Are you scared?”

His words dull your ability to reply, retort something smart. But, the tone keeps your mouth shut. Cool and calm, like when he spoke to Jeongin by the fire. Not taunting, nor instigating.

“No.”

The words are a lie, unveiled in the crease of a dirt-stricken face, chapped lips pulled taut.

His pinky finding yours verifies that fire theory. From the tips of your toes to the very top of your scalp you feel it. 

Scorching. Hot.

Your skin seems to melt from your bones, but only you can see it.

There are lots of questions to ask. Wondering, hope. Why?

But he beats you to it. It seems you’ll have to get used to that characteristic.

“Go to sleep. Nothing can get you here.”

A lie, you know it well. Any second that monster can stumble here. Smell you, turn the perfect corner to find the bus, sheen shimmering beneath a full moon. Ravage each and every one of you beneath claws and blood.

But the letter, no, Minho says you’ll be safe here. That Hellion Inn will be your safe haven. 

Tonight, you choose to believe that, falling asleep with his pinky twined with yours, his back to one of the side booths, focus trained on your features.

Safe.

“Hnn..” 

Insistent poking to your cheek abducts you from your dream, bleary eyes straining to open. Jeongin sits up, bracing himself with his hands, youthful smile stretched over his face watching you. Meanwhile, the hellspawn guilty, Hyunjin, can’t help but laugh cheerily.

“Wah— I wish I had a camera!” Ebony strands peek from beneath a white ball cap, his voice carries from the bus for Felix’s head to peek in, echoing Hyunjin’s laugh with his deeper baritone.

Similar to Chris are you met with Felix’s kindness, his lithe form slipping past the bus doors to gently smooth back your bed hair, utilizing a hair tie on his wrist to bind the unruly strands before patting your head.

It’s easy to ache for anyone’s touch, you discover.

In the early morning, the car was retrieved by Minho, Chris, Jeongin, and Changbin, the low chatter of voices outside evidence of their progress restoring the once flipped vehicle.

When you step out, Changbin hands you a tin of steaming soup as meager breakfast you’re quick to thank him for, bringing the spoon to your lips whilst lingering near the car, watching them flit about, handing each other tools and screws alike like busied ants.

“You just gonna stand there or help out? Last time I checked you weren’t worried about appearances.”

Instantaneously, Minho becomes his normal, annoying self with each snidely sarcastic remark, cocked brows urging you to retaliate.

Unfortunately, your barely conscious mind can’t formulate something smart back, so you resort to serving as the tool-supplier, handing different ones here and there from a stool near where the Man of Fire works on the popped wheel.

His new title, apparently.

Man of Fire.

“Wrench.”

“Did you just call me a wench?” You scoff, eyes wide with shock at the murmured comment. 

Perhaps you were blindsided after all by his nice face.

“Wrench.”

Or not.

Begrudgingly, you extend the wrench, scowl embedded in your expression he can’t help but crack a bemused grin at.

Attaching the wrench to a bolt to crank does his vein-littered forearms flex, and your throat feels unnaturally dry, forcing yourself to focus on something else in order to school an unaffected facade.

Nevertheless, by night, he’s.. different. Lacking cockiness, harshness.

Unspoken things, like when you’re stirred from sleep, dazed gaze settling on Minho across the bus, his fingers tenderly patting Changbin’s head when he stirs awake. They speak in hushed whispers alternative to Changbin’s boisterous presence. 

And sometimes, amidst the other seven, you’re the one beneath his comforting hand. Those times nightmares plague your sleep, his careful hands tracing your knuckles, slow circles over your skin urging you back into the solace of sleep.

To you he doesn’t talk, just hums a low melody, wipes unshed tears from your waterline. Seeing his face makes you want to cry more, so you can be scooped into his hug.

Though, you doubt you’d ever let go, so you never allow yourself more tears. Maybe that’s for the better.

Because while you’re so selfishly enamored as night falls and he becomes that doting figurine bathed in moonlight, Minho is endlessly selfless. Wordless, but selfless.

The guardian of the night, sustaining a semblance of care and safety that silently engulfs the bus each time a star twinkles within the sky.

Then again, risks are always present. Missions out for food, stashing of possessions in case of invasion.

Windows of the bus covered, the group convenes that evening, leant over a book on the floor, huddled with knees held close to chests. Sharing things of value, adding more.

An old journal, spine tattered and moth-eaten. Inside looks to hold the secrets of the world, hidden within yellowed pages, hurried writing of smudged ink.

All of it, from the Monster’s mannerisms, exterior, presumed weaknesses. Written, documented. How such information was gathered is beyond you. Intricate, detailed.

Study after study, page after page. 

In two days, you’re arranged to head out with Chris for a medical restock. The pharmacy isn’t too far from the Inn, and it’ll only be a few hours of collecting before returning back.

The morning of, Seungmin hands you his shotgun, and Chris takes Minho’s—the Man of Fires’—nail-wielding boxing gloves. Two backpacks, one goal.

Fortunately, the journey isn’t too grueling, filled with quiet conversation and query till barely divisible characters reading ‘PHARMACY’ come into view, slipping into the hollowed, whitened confines of a once thriving business.

Eerie, with medication strung awry, unknown blood splattered along a wall behind the register.

It’s almost funny how the money there goes untouched. What use is it now?

Captured within your peripheral does a door become of topic, shielded behind a hanging towel in the far corner of the pharmacy that you slowly pad over to inspect, fingers tentative in nudging to the side. 

Though, it’s the sudden flick of lights, electricity, that makes you gasp, flashlight of little necessity as you part double doors.

The sight makes your heart stop.

Because beneath the disguise of a pharmacy rests a drug-den, a laboratory, first and foremost.

“Uh.. Does Seungmin have this in his journal..?” 

Building long since redlined by the look of it, Chris is quick to join your side, muttering an awestruck: “Holy shit” you would’ve laughed at if it weren’t for your combined surprise. 

Though, he places an arm in front of you as your foot moves to step inside, instead advising the muzzle of your shotgun to lead you, clearing the area before feasting on this monstrosity.

Countless test tubes litter every surface in sight, but it isn’t mixtures, isn’t a combo of products.

It’s insects, piled with them.

Many deformed in gruesome ways, trapped inside the tubes. Chris, hastily pulling an old camera from his bag, snaps photos, the shutter’s sound echoing around the room.

Yet, you can’t help but notice a near uncanny resemblance.

Incisors, bulging eyes, like the Monster.

No, it wouldn’t be. A mega ant? No, that thing is far from solely ant with its hulking size.

“Don’t you think this is just.. odd? I mean, they’re already up to their noses in cash from the drugs, I’m sure, so why the.. ants?” 

Chris exhales slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

“My guess is as good as yours. And calling it a ‘guilty pleasure’ just makes me nauseous, I mean look at them, they’re.. infected.”

Fungal growth is clear as day, that’s agreed. The true question rests in reason.

Just what were they doing here?

The longer you linger, the more unsettling it becomes.

Because somehow, your gut can’t shake that resemblance to the Monster.

Your walk back to the bus is quiet, shrouded in nerves and a wanting for familiarity. Safe to say you both sigh in relief seeing that silvery, unmoving vehicle.

It’s almost comical how the uneasiness spreads, like whatever fungus altered the insects, contorting them in disfigured shapes, features. Overtaking the nine of you similarly.

Merely thinking about it gives you chills, Chris’s description, as you’re coddled into the bus with the others to explain, doing little for the vomit tempting your throat.

Effortlessly, your same silence washes over the others, paled as they acknowledge the identical resemblance you’d conjured before.

“You don’t think..” You’re feeble in attempting to disprove the suspicions, trembling of your fingers stilled only when Minho’s index traces your wrist. 

Though, it isn’t night, and the look he grants you makes you wish for his touch even more.

Assurance, worn within the grooves of his face, repetitive stroke of his fingertip over a hammering pulse.

“I do think, show me the picture again.” Seungmin beckons, hurriedly flipping through his own notebook as he narrows his eyes on the photo Chris shows. 

Seungmin, you learned, used to be an entomology major in Seoul’s most prestigious university. Studious, with a bright future nearing.

Interesting how easy those aspirations can crumble apart within a day, within seconds.

But there’s no purpose in reminiscing, is there?

Now resorting to gathered notes of the past, he finally stops at a page, finger glued to the scribbled notes. His other hand reaches to the photo, pointing to a tiny label taped to a test tube halfway outside the frame, writing messy and uneven, barely legible against the blur of the camera.

Ophiocordyceps unilateralism, or, in easier terms, zombie-ant fungus. 

Thanks to Seungmin’s insight, his knowledge dictates the occurrence as “a fungus capable of infecting the mind of its host while simultaneously altering its body.”

So, in a horror-movie-esque, freakish way, a parasite. 

Jeongin pipes up, and you swear at least four of you flinch at the sudden sound of a voice against leaden silence.

“But the Monster’s too big to be an ant, right? How could the—“ 

“What if it wasn’t an ant, but another animal? A bigger animal. Some scientific breakthrough where the host was able to be taken over, not by an ant, but by something bigger.” 

The entirety remains consumed in a stillness, taking in the revelation they’ve just come to. 

Fear is almost palpable. Nearly able to be tasted, smelt. 

Han’s leg bounces anxiously, dirty fingernails reaching to claw at his hair, tearing at his scalp with visible shuddering Chris’s warm palm hopes to ease, placed on his shoulder.

“We’re being hunted by a parasite.” He croaks hoarsely in disbelief, tone pathetically cracking in terror. 

A parasite, yes. This, however, is different. 

The monster lurking through Seoul was planned, arranged accordingly under the guise of law and human greed for motive unknown.

A lone pharmacy, meant to cater to human health, now manufacturerers of human destruction.

This parasite is man-made. 

Your spirit could’ve been staunched easily, dampened by the weight of discovery. Grown unwilling to fight anymore, unwilling to try surviving.

Who are we if not going for each other's throats? Why must someone’s greed become everyone else’s problem?

Something so selfish, so horrid it grew out of control, festering like a seed of hatred in one’s heart till spiky leaves and branches poured from their lungs and suffocated them.

For a moment do you entertain the doubts, the scornful attitude over the boiled egg in hand. An early breakfast the day after the realization, with the nine of you seated along the bus’s roof, legs swinging off the side while watching the sunrise. 

You feel like the only people in the world. 

And a bit longer seeing shades of orange and crisp blue bleed across the sky does it feel like it’s all worth living for once again.

So instead, you adapt.

Jotting down more details about the fungus, figuring out ways to combat it. Continual stocking of food, the usual.

Fixing things, keeping up with communication. Laughter and smiling, momentary glances to that Man-of-Fire making you clam up, just like before.

At least that was predictable. 

A continual gas lamp, those same quiet visits of his within the night. And, more often than not, you’d find Minho’s pinkie linking with yours while he slept, without a nightmare or sleepless night as explanation. 

In the mornings, you’d pretend like it never happened. Go back to cat and mouse, square one.

Hold my hand, but keep quiet. 

I don’t want you to leave.

Plenty of things echo through your mind as dawn arises, when your lids twitch and disoriented eyes flutter open to find him beside you, peacefully asleep.

Most days, he’s gone by dawn, somewhere across the bus sleeping, leaving your groggy mind to configure his touch as a mere dream.

No matter the awe, your body betrays such an occasion, and you fall right back to sleep again hoping he could read your mind, keep that contact beneath the blanket.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment your eyes close, his eyes open.

But you’re already asleep when a gentle index traces your cheek, his lips parting with a slow breath. 

“Pretty,” Is whispered, failing to echo around the bus in its hushed volume, a pinch of normality within the chirping of birds, the breach of an emerging day peering over sparse clouds.

“Hm?” 

He wasn’t anticipating your response, breath catching in his throat.

“Hi Minho,” You murmur gently, greeting his surprised disposition as your lips wind into a tiny smile. 

Involuntary. Lips quirking upwards the longer you hold eye-contact.

And surprisingly, Minho cracks a smile too.

It’s feeble, barely divisible apart from the twitch of his lips. Your thumb traces the crinkle, too sleepy to speak, too comfortable to act. 

“Hi there.”

His hand returns your touch, finding your cheek to rest on, savoring the feeling of your skin on his, his on yours.

Stay here, don’t go.

I don’t want to be left alone again.

His brisk glance at your lips has your nerves buzzing beneath such a gaze.

Knowing, obliging.

Obliging as his head tips, as yours complies. Capable of fitting like the perfect puzzle as—

Seungmin mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, and it’s all a dream once more how Minho slips from your hands as if he was never there in the first place.

Three and a half months at Hellion Inn passes in a flash. Research on combatants to the zombie-ant fungus prevalent, plenty of days spent crowded in the bus, throwing around possibilities and idyll conversation. 

Monster sightings have become sparse, with the vast majority of reports informing of its scavenging of the city’s copious bodies.

A sense of relief until it runs out of flesh and craves more, which is where your apocalypse began all over.

Starting with that same, chillingly bellowed chuff at least half a mile out from Hellion Inn.

You don’t think you’d ever seen the eight of them move so quickly. Gas lamp extinguished, weapons cocked and loaded with ammunition ready to fire. Minho’s studded boxing gloves, Seungmin’s shotgun, Chris’s dual pistols. Plentiful traps arranged about the bus, ones you never anticipated having to utilize up till tonight.

How foolish you were.

However, the bus’s roof isn’t caved in by a claw, the nine of you intact for the remainder of the restless night, void of any more sound from the Monster. 

Then again, the torment is far from yielding, with those same, restless nights becoming avidly frequent, Minho’s soothing capabilities tested as a nightmare per week triples in number.

In those times, you find comfort in each other, comfort in bodies snuggled together, in shared pain and happiness. In as much comfort support allows in the thick of a never-ending hailstorm. 

As for you, you find that longing has folded itself into squares of eighteen from a once meager eight. Folded over and over that, the greater the paper grows with each parted fold, the greater that longing burns. 

Burns, like the smoke billowing from a fire outside.

Location of the slow-to-set sun leads you to believe it’s around 3pm, your figure slumped to the floor of the bus.

Though, the missing factor rests in a lack of eight others who currently occupy the fire outside for dinner.

Yesterday, you and Jeongin took on a water restock, roaming about what seemed to be innumerable miles to repeat the walk with heavy packs of water all the way back, currently the cause of your exhaustion as you sleep into the evening the day after.

If only the sleep was peaceful, refreshing.

It’s not.

Well, it was. But not for long.

A shower, according to the flickering of your consciousness as you dream. Warm water droplets pattering on the tile floor underfoot, cleansing grime from your skin. Electricity.

And somehow, a peculiar name leaves your lips upon seeing a shadow behind the shower curtain.

“Minho.”

The sound of your voice is light in this dream. Awaiting, familiar. 

Yet, the pit in your stomach grows, unnaturally.

You find the cause when pulling back the shower curtain, that same, leering smile of the Monster staring back at you as it lunges.

Not Minho.

Your vision goes black, only able to hear the ringing screech of your scream, the heat of the shower now putrid metallic. Blood, replacing the water.

It fills your senses, suffocating you slowly but surely. Overflowing from your nose, your eyes, till you cry crimson.

A sharp twitch of your hand jars you awake.

You’re not bleeding, not in a shower, no Monster in sight. Although, you’d be lying to yourself to say you can just forget it all, act like nothing’s the matter.

More so when you see Minho—recalling his name uttered so sweetly in your dream—standing at the bus’s doorway, seemingly a witness to your horrors as he closes the door behind himself.

Ah. 

No, don’t look at me right now with that doting gaze, as if I’m something to be cared for, something delicate. 

For once I wish you away, so I don’t begin to cry, so my love for you doesn’t become my ruin.

“And it was- it was right in front of me and—“

He sees through you each time, through the toughened exterior, the shake of your head when he asks if you need anything, want to talk about it. 

He came in for an extra blanket, apparently. One long forgotten by now.

Spill your guts, but when it comes to him, you find your heart spilling with it. Words caught in a hyperventilating daze, your hands flail, eyes struck permanently bulging.

At some point, everyone starts to break. No time table to give you an estimate, forewarning.

It just bubbles until bursting.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this anymore..” Voice a desperate plea, sobs wrack your body numb.  “Why can’t…” You begin, eyes flitting to Minho.

“Why can’t we all just die together?”

Heaved between sharp inhales is your face taken between calloused hands, his brows knitted.

“Cause who’s going to take our place? Who else is alive?” He whispers, kneeled upon the floor, staring at you nonsensically.

“This once, let me be selfish. I won’t let you die. You can’t die because I want you alive. Do you understand?” 

Slow to nod, bleary vision situates upon the man, cursing the dip to your usually strong tone — cracking, weakened.

“Can… Can I just.. forget?” 

His eyes flit to your lips if only for an instant, like that time a month ago, stolen. 

And for a moment, you think he may have just read your mind.

“Minho, please… I want to-“

Ah.

And he kisses you, and then, no, more. More and more, till you’re tangled up in sprawled blankets and sleeping bags. Smoke tainting the air from outside, calves dangling from his shoulders, toes curled. 

Minho makes you forget, forget and forget, leaving you to helplessly utter his name past chapped lips — till another round turns into what feels to be a lifetime. 

Your palms pressing to his jaw like a plea, head tossing back once more with a sound purely guttural. 

It’s sloppy, it’s clumsy. Sweat-stuck kisses to sweat-stuck skin. Nails digging into already moth-eaten clothing, his lips permanently pressed to your pulse, hammering and hammering in a wordless incantation of bliss. 

And yet, no amount of greedy, mindless sex, no amount of his doting kisses, his careful assurances, praises, can deter your mind from a reality unavoidable.

There’s no euphoria, no recovery your skin can even acknowledge as he flops to your side, both out of breath.

“.. Am I selfish for a pleasure I can’t even enjoy?” 

Silence breached, your eyes flutter closed, an involuntary tear slipping down your cheek where you lay upon the bunched sleeping bag.

This had been a dream, to be burned by the Man of Fire. Allowing his kiss to brand you, his touch searing every ounce of skin raw.

Little did you know you’d already scorched it all yourself.

Cruel. Irrevocably cruel.

Not even clarity grants your senses, emotion muddled between undergarments feeling too tight and grimy and the lack of fresh air rendering sticky bodies into a cold sweat.  

From beside you, his hand extends to your cheek, thumbing away the salty droplet with a weary smile.

“There is no selfishness, just… grasping onto what’s left. You’re not selfish for taking what you can get, not when everything is being taken from you.”

Hellion Inn was not your safety, it was the one gazing at you, the seven others outside. 

This is only a house, Minho is your home.

Fifth month arising, a conclusion is met. Amongst not-so-helpful input, bickering, and plenty of runs to libraries to gather more books on Ophiocordyceps unilateralism for a very studious Seungmin, he presents a possibility, an option.

Of its known enemies, the zombie-ant fungus doesn’t have many. There was the initial hypothesis on ways ants protect from the parasite, but with the Monster already infected, those methods were out of the question.

Then came the breakthrough.

Torrubiellomyces zombiae, or T.Z. An additional, fanciful word for a more powerful parasite. A Hyperparasitic fungi, zombie-ant fungus’ predator.

Create an ultimate beast without known opponents? Simply double the size, the power.

That’s where T.Z arrived, the species a core option for the Monster’s destruction. Get the spores on the Monster’s skin, and stay alive until it takes over and stabilizes the fungus’ infection.

Much easier said than done, which left room for the organized members of the group separating steps into phases.

Phase one focuses on collection of the spores. Extra photos Chris took that first encounter in the pharmacy unveiled the likely presence of the desired spores, which Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin have been elected to collect as Team C.

Phase two regards locating the Monster, introducing the presence of a harpoon gun (an idea Han loved (for the sole reason of fooling around with the harpoon gun)).

The point of the harpoon will be coated in collected spores, teams of three with three members each (A, B, and C) dispersed throughout the surrounding area the monster before Team A shoots.

And of course, courtesy of Han’s mention on what phase three should be: 

Run like hell. 

Phase two enacting in exactly a week, Hellion Inn spends its days in preparation, plaguing each breathing moment with gathering necessities and ensuring utilities are present.  

Between those lines comes the lividity.

Kisses in the night, his kisses. The shared cockiness, incessant teasing when the others are around as original as it comes despite such tenderness in private.

Your souls bared, secrets spoken into the air for only your ears to hear.

While the others sleep, you love till your heart hurts, watching him fall asleep against your palm where he’d kissed each of your fingertips minutes prior.

“I love you,” He whispers one night, his nose buried into your cheek with a heavy sigh. 

There’s not a single doubt within your mind, a hesitation, a hint of surprise.

Plenty of times it’s been said without words, repeated in the peck he presses to your skin.

“I love you too.”

And you repeat the words in a kiss to his lips. Slow, careful.

Savor. As if it were your last.

Dark clouds wrinkle your vision, spitting rain nothing short of irritating as you, Han, and Minho slip through cluttered underbrush.

Gathering of the spores had been successful by Team C according to the flare gun’s signal, and Team A—consisting of Changbin, Jeongin and Chris—tracked the location of the monster. 

Itaewon hasn't changed apart from the lack of bodies, assumed to be the Monster’s doing. Debris prominent, scavenging animals littering the streets without the usual congestion of people.

When the second flare blooms into shaded sky, that’ll be the indication the last stage: shooting the monster, is underway. For now, the three of you wait, listening in as hurried footsteps of Team C come thundering towards you.

Seungmin offers the vial, Minho lifting the harpoon gun to plunge into what appears to be an oddly shaped mushroom, your arm already lifted to the sky to fire Team B’s own flare gun.

Half way. Not done yet.

Now for Phase three, but, prior to the “run like hell” notion.

Jeongin is the retriever of the harpoon gun, angling through side streets past a lingering monster in the center to deliver the catalyst.

Almost there, almost–

His foot clashing against the metal of an alleyway trash-can disrupts that peace, and synonymously do you feel all breath held.

Chris was supposed to deliver the shot. Jeongin was supposed to make it to Team A unnoticed.

The world seems to grow mute, Han’s wrenching scream from beside you fallen upon deaf ears as the Monster’s gaping jaws beeline for Jeongin, claws extended, the boy kneeling to the ground.

Then, a ping! resounds, and your eyes are slow to open in fear his mutilated body would sit there, bright eyes lifeless.

It’s almost slow motion seeing it. Centimeters from Jeongin’s face does a palm outstretch, twice the size of his head, fingers twitching as if frozen in space.

Then you see it.

In the middle of that palm, the mere edge of the harpoon—only able to get halfway from its sheath—embeds.

Cavernous jaws of the creature part, incisors poised as if disbelieving of the matter itself. Disbelieving of the parasite taking over, altering its blood stream. 

Wilt.

White, almost decaying in the manner the alternate fungi destroys the weaker one, its muscles failing, body freezing.

You half anticipated the creature to at least try fighting in the meantime, land one last swipe. 

But the more time ticking past as you lean forward disproves any chance of movement, able to physically see the blood cells permeating the creature ashen, once curved claws diminishing simultaneously like that of crumbling embers.

Just then does Hyunjin’s voice breach your focus, curdled in urgency. It’s his cry that beckons Jeongin back to his feet, racing back after the others, tip of the harpoon still wedged within the Monster’s palm.

Oddly enough, as you watch the last of it dust into the wind as if melting, it doesn't feel real.

Too simple, uncanny. As if millions hadn’t extinguished in its horrid maw—a single parasite killing off the apocalypse bringer as easy as that.

Yet, it wasn’t easy at all.

Testing every last ounce of your wish for life, wish for a reality snatched from not just you, but eight others’ fingertips.

It was taxing. Surviving, experiencing the start of new love you didn’t think could sprout among a wintery wasteland included. 

But it did sprout, and the way you’re the first person Minho’s eyes drift to speaks that loud and clear.

Twin blossoms of the most brilliant colors, growing brighter the nearer they are. 

Closer than love, truly. 

We made it.

The Monster is gone.

There isn’t a word spoken as you make back for Hellion Inn, make back for home. The crunch of footsteps along gravel rings in your eardrums, breath exhaled from parted lips, matted, grease-ridden hair the least of your concern. No joyous shouting, no celebratory behavior in the slightest.

What is there to celebrate anyway? So many lives lost, too many to mourn.

Progression of your footsteps carries each soul with it, allowing them a final sleep in their eternal resting place.

Sleep well, Seoul. 

“It’s all over.” 

Whispered amidst roaring flames, you can only stare at the pharmacy as fiery flickers—vials, chemicals, ants included–swallow whatever has been left, torching hell’s origin once and for all.

One last stop. One last goodbye to all that was, the last chapter.

Without a word, Minho’s pinky links with your own.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @linocvp1d

[doesnotloveyou]

Don Johnson Filmography - Free Links!

Instead of you spending countless joyful hours trawling the web for grainy old '70s flicks, I did it for you! Here's a list of FREE places to watch DJ's stuff.

This list will be in reverse chronological order as they appear on IMDb. Some are just placeholders until (if) better links can be found, and some are bootlegs from other countries. I'm excluding music videos since those aren't hard to find.

And if you want to skip boring/annoying plot but don't want to miss him, I've made a key:

MC (main character) - much of the story involves his character and he is onscreen often

SC (side character) - only part of the story involves his character, so he's onscreen far less often than other characters

C (cameo) - he's got one or two scenes and they're small, in which case I'll mark his appearances in 0:00:00 format

I'm leaving most content warnings to viewer discretion, but some I don't feel comfortable ignoring. Also, some of the YouTube vids may get taken down at any moment :( If you like something, back it up! I'm using KMPlayer to download my faves, but I've heard you can also use VLC.

>> Links below cut! <<

First, check out my list from Tubi which has the most high quality versions of his work and TV appearances. If it's on Tubi, it won't be on this post!

Home Movie: The Princess Bride - (C, 0:41:30) the entire film is hilarious, especially if you've seen the original; made by a bunch of celebs during quarantine.

Knives Out - (SC) ok, there's no link, but i'm begging you to go buy this movie on DVD it's like $5-$10 tops in stores these days.

Moondance Alexander - (SC, 0:18:20)

Just Legal - (MC, eight episodes)

Word of Honor - (MC) this vid has "helium" audio and other insufferable flaws.

Goodbye Lover - (SC, login req)

In Pursuit of Honor - (MC) WARNING: animal death/abuse

G.I. Joe: The Movie - (SC, voice only, 0:30:35...) spare yourself, skip this movie that he probably did for his kid.

Tales of the Unexpected - (SC; one episode)

Matt Houston - (SC; one episode)

Melanie - (SC)

Soggy Bottom, U.S.A. - (SC; German dub) clips of his character.

Elvis and the Beauty Queen - (MC; Portuguese subtitles)

Revenge of the Stepford Wives - (SC, 0:12:40, 0:25:15...) he has multiple scenes including one at the end, but these movies stress me out.

Beulah Land - (SC) only in part 1, but his character is replaced by a young Jonathan Frakes in part 2. WARNING: non-graphic rape

From Here to Eternity - (C, one episode, 0:07:10, 0:36:00)

The Rebels (MC, two-parts)

Amateur Night at the Dixie Bar and Grill - (SC, 0:13:39...)

First, You Cry - (SC, first scene, 0:24:20, 0:44:20, 0:57:07, 1:15:38, 1:32:16)

Katie: Portrait of a Centerfold - (C, 0:19:48, 0:32:19, 0:44:03...) can't stomach this film to find the rest of his scenes, he's a very minor character.

The American Girls - he's not in this! the main male character is played by the lovely Charles Haid from Hillstreet Blues, but it isn't listed on Haid's IMDb. Also, the character he plays does not go by the name DJ is listed under for that episode, so maybe DJ's in a different one? Regardless, I only found two episodes and DJ is in neither.

Ski Lift to Death - (SC) he shows up in the second video...don't make me watch this.

What Really Happened to the Class of '65? - TV spot w/ the only footage of him that I can find.

Cover Girls - (SC, 0:27:21, 0:40:40, 01:01:15...)

The City - (MC) costarring Mark Hamil

Barnaby Jones - (SC, one episode) I watched this and now it's missing...it sucked anyway. DJ plays an amateur arms dealer with a sickly son, a wife in jail, and a hideous mustache. He loses.

The Streets of San Francisco - (SC, one episode)

Law of the Land - (MC)

Return to Macon County - (MC) login to YT req but there is also a Spanish dub that doesn't req login. costarring Nick Nolte

A Boy and His Dog - (MC) this version has the nude scenes edited out, sign in to YT for the full cut; much higher quality than Tubi. WARNING: rape, etc.

The Rookies - (SC, one episode) costarring Nick Nolte

Kung Fu - making an executive decision here uhhh skip this one

The Harrad Experiment - (MC; two-parter w/ odd in-video ads that you can easily fast forward) WARNING: they all get naked

The Bold Ones: The New Doctors - (MC, one episode)

Lollipops, Roses and Talangka - (SC; some scenes in Tagalog) can't find the 1975 sequel or much information on English sites, but one Filipino fanblog implies the film may no longer exist.

Zachariah (MC)

Endlessly impressed by how much has been preserved and curated over the years. Even if a ton of it was junk, it's nice to save people's hard work and memories :)

........................................................................................................................

[music-in-my-veins14]

Someone like you, and all you know, and how you speak Countless lovers under cover of the street