#ik it's not a fic yet but i had too many ideas

[astraystayyh]

this is me reading btw if u wanted to know I LOVE UUUUUUUUUU I LOVE USER FELIXSBAKINGBUD I LOVE THEM 💓💘💗💘💗💘💗💘💗💗💘💗💘

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

[ambrosialdesire]

hedonic

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS + BLANK BLOGS DNI

pairing: laios x fem!monster reader word count: 5k warnings + tags: general yandere and/or dark themes, kinda gory descriptions, cannibalistic ideas/thoughts/temptations, probably ooc laios, delusional ideas, monster reader w/ large breasts (i mean, it comes with the kind of monster she is tbh but this is the only physical descriptor of the reader), brief bodily mutilation + removal mention, breast milk consumption, accidental peeping (?), breast fixation, blood kink kinda, biting mention, all characters are 18+ synopsis: he's always been the type with an insatiable appetite when it comes to any monsters, but he promised to never ever eat any demi-humans when it comes down to it. the temptation when it comes to you has became irresistible to try and ignore. a/n: in request of 🌷 anon and my fueled want for laios, i have made my first dungeon meshi/delicious in dungeon yan fic! i decided to do it in laios pov cause i feel it'll make for an interesting perspective. not really nsfw this time around lol since i'm still new and keeping up with the anime and learning about the characters SO IM ONLY CAUGHT UP ANIME-WISE OK LOL AND THE MONSTER I'M USING FOR THE READER ARE CONSCIOUS BEASTS THAT CAN COMMUNICATE AND SHIT LIKE THAT CAUSE IT'S SO VAGUE ON THE WIKI 😭😭 also i'm making shit up as i go okay so anything food related is like entirely made-up 💀 AND YEAH I MADE IT ABOUT BREAST MILK OKAY LMFAOOO tbh i've always wanted to try a dnd-related game but literally have no where to start (ik there's baldur's gate but i am a broke full-time student lol) hope y'all enjoy and hope i can make some more of laios cause he's so 🏃‍♀️💨💨 note: please keep in mind of the tags above and do not proceed if triggering or uncomfortable, especially if you are a minor!! do not read my or any other writers' dark content if you are underaged. this is a fictional work and does not reflect irl morals, do not believe this is how a real romance works or functions.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

Laios made a promise to never consume a demi-human, no matter the circumstances. It made sense, they were on the cusp of something that was human but not. They could have similar features like the races they respectively belonged to, could bleed red and have had a beating heart, yet in the end, they were still a monster inside and out. Morally or ethically — whichever which belonged to which — according to Chilchuck, it was still wrong to try and consume them.

He understood that completely once it got explained and stuck into his head, but then you came into question.

When you came into Laios's party during the search for his sister, you were almost attacked from how you meekly approached the small group in one of the dungeon’s levels. They were right to be cautious of course, many human-like monsters had previously attacked them when their guard was down, but once they realized you genuinely meant no harm, they let you join in. Marcille was overjoyed that another girl had joined the party, though both Laios and Chilchuck had their valid doubts about you. Senshi didn't really mind, long as you could pull your own weight and never tried to attack them.

Were you trying to play the long game? Did it make them taste better when you waited to strike? Were you eyeing your pick in the group? Senshi and him both have a lot of meat on their person, Chilchuck was definitely the least desirable since he was so small and had less meat on his body; to be honest, Marcille was in a similar boat as him too.

Food-wise, you ate whatever Senshi made with a happy smile, not even being deterred once from having to eat something that was considered to be closely related to you. He wondered if it was something you were used to, something that you had to be doing in order to survive down here. Then, if it came to other parties that came before them and being forced to defend yourself, did you ever had to... consume them?

Laios hoped it never had to occur, but he couldn't blame you if you had no other choice. He could imagine you being trapped for days before your kind could get to you, maybe one or two bodies from an adventuring party were with you from a previous scuffle and the pangs of hunger were getting to you. The thought of the remaining party members finding the torn apart limbs and strewn, chewed on bones surrounding a bloody starving monster made his stomach flip and a shiver go down his spine. Maybe it's because that's how he last remembered Falin right before she teleported them out of the dungeon, her midst of her body trapped in the toothy maw of that Red Dragon.

Because of this now since your alliance with them combined with the many questions in his head about your diet, there was one that he can't quite get rid of, no matter how much he tried.

What did a human taste like to a monster?

It's been a few weeks since they've ventured in the dungeon and Laios still had some doubts with your intentions for joining. A monster is a monster and cannot be trusted no matter what, but you didn't cause trouble or held them back from their search so he let you be... for now at least. He'd be a hypocrite for not letting you stay since he's been keeping Kensuke around, but it's only temporary and it can't really harm him without the other parts of the Living Armor. You're a moving... person? Half of one. Actually more a third-fourth of one? He doesn't quite know but still rather fascinated by your existence.

You were similar to them in conscious thought and speech, as well as appearance-wise. Well, appearance-wise, you definitely weren't human. Small, bilateral curved horns made their home on the sides of your head, floppy brown ears swung around with every step you took, a long bovine tail whipped around the bottom of your legs, and finally, your legs were curved into two thick cow-like stumps with hooves at the end as a replacement of feet. Minotaur, or that's what you said what you were, though you were smaller than those massive farm animal adjacent beasts, about a few inches taller than Marcille.

And not to sound like a perv or anything remotely similar to that, but you didn't really have udders either, unless your more than well-endowed breasts compensated for the lack thereof.

"Ow! Laios!" He snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at his metal shoe and seeing the fluffy end of your tail on the bottom of it.

"Oh, sorry." Slowly, he lifted his foot off of it, the appendage whipping around and twitching. It wrapped around your waist, almost completely hidden as a fuzzy brown and white belt.

"It's bad to get distracted here, are you hungry? Thirsty? I have some bread and milk in the pack if you want to snack on it." As you walked on forwards, you pulled the bag off of your shoulders and began to rummage through it with one hand. You finally found what you were looking for, handing it over to him without hesitation, slinging your bag back where it belonged. He stared at the milk as he chewed on the bread, the texture soft and light with each bite.

Did... did this come from you? You mentioned to them before in the beginning stages of joining that they can drink your milk if they needed to, but the horrified looks of both the elven mage and the Half-foot locksmith prevented you from trying any further. Both him and Senshi was of course curious, Minotaur milk was both difficult to come across and retrieve, but the two told the dwarf that they absolutely refused to eat anything that he cooked if it came from your body.

"Gross, don't tell me that came from you Y/N." Chilchuck grimaced as he walked on by and you shook your head.

"No! Of course not. I know you people humans are a little weird but I wouldn't give something that came from me without telling you. It's just cow milk, er... not from me." Laios felt a little disappointed as he opened the top of the bottle, wondering if it tasted different from normal cow's milk. According to the Dungeon Gourmet Guide, Minotaur milk was thicker and sweeter compared to the average cattle's; then again, this precious book of his wasn't really that accurate unfortunately.

What about your flesh?

He came to a sudden standstill, almost causing Marcille to bump into him.

"If you're gonna stop out of nowhere, at least move to the side Laios!" She grumbled, moving past him as he stood there in confusion. What was he thinking? Why would he even go so far as to think that? He started moving again, carefully watching you click on forwards. His mind began to wander at the thought again, which parts of you would be edible?

Your legs definitely, there's so much muscle built upon you there. He'd seen you strike down stone pillars and enemies in a single blow without even flinching. Maybe even your thin tail, could be tough and stringy though. Your ears would take a while to feast upon, cartilaginous but still a good source of protein. Horns are a no-go, too small and were most likely hollower than meaty. Cow hooves are a delicacy in some parts of the world, so it was possible that yours were consumable too.

Would the "human" parts of you count? You hadn't revealed if you were full or half-monster, maybe even if you were cursed, so it was hard to truly determine what you were. If you were a full monster, that meant that every bit and piece of you was edible meat.

Meat.

Meat.

Meat.

"Laios, you’re drooling! I can hear your stomach rumbling too," Your giggling voice rang clearly in his mind, his gaze snapping downwards as he wiped his mouth quickly. "I have more bread if you want."

"No, no. It's better if we stop now and make something more nutritionally beneficial to continue forwards," Senshi stopped with the two of you, turning his head around to find a suitable room for cooking. "Think I still have some of those Harpy eggs and Kelpie flesh, would you two be so kind to try and find some more ingredients on this floor? Any vegetation would do this meal some good."

And here the two of you were, walking around the floor's grounds to spot for anything of use. It was almost completely quiet minus the shifting of his armor and the clicks of your hooves echoing throughout the stone hallway, reducing that awkward silence just a little. Your weapon, a sharpened scythe, swung around on your back as if you were a cow grim reaper; the thought of a cow dressed up in a black robe with a menacing skull mask made him chuckle in his head a little.

"Oh! Up ahead, I see something leafy." The hoof-clicking went faster as you picked up your pace, ducking your head from the fallen wooden structures that were in the way. Compared to the average Minotaur, you moved and reacted quicker, most likely because of your smaller stature and having a little less muscle in your body to heave around. That could make you vulnerable on the other hand, having less muscle everywhere else minus your legs meant diminished strength and being unable to defeat enemies in a more timely manner. Interesting.

"Laios, do you think this enough for all five of us?" You shuffled out of the crevice in a huff with bundles of thick purple, triangular leaves in your arms and he took a pinch from one of the leaves, inspecting it before placing it in his mouth. He winced, his face contorting to a pucker as you laughed at his expression. Dungeon oxalis, edible but strongly tasted similarly to citrus.

"We could work with it, could make up for lemons since they're pretty sour. Here, place it in your bag and we can search for other things." You nodded after wiping your eyes from your boisterous laughter, following his instructions and getting back up from the ground.

You dusted yourself off before picking the bag back up, smiling at him as the two of you began to move deeper into the dungeon. "I hope we find some Night Lucernes but I think since we're already so low underground, it's getting more unlikely they can grow here."

"Oh we can't eat those, they make us sluggish and gives us stomach cramps for weeks."

Blinking at him, you tilted your head in confusion. He never noticed how long your eyelashes were, is that common in your kind? "Really? They're like vitamins for me or was it something about the blood—"

"Why are you not like the other Minotaurs?"

"Huh?" The question was out of the blue, interrupting her talking as the two of you had stopped in the middle of the hallway, eyes locked with one another.

"Why are you not like the other Minotaurs?" Laios repeated, not skipping a beat and leaning down closer to you. "You're not massively built, you don't have a cow's head, you don't have large horns. You don't strictly eat vegetation, is it even good for you to eat monster meat so often? There's so very few things that are Minotaur-like on you, are you really one of their kind?"

Your eyelids fluttered in shock, each question wrapping around your brain before you leaned away from him, scratching the back of your neck. "Well... I-I don't really know why myself."

"...What?"

"Uh yeah. One day, when I was still young, I woke up in this dungeon alone without a single memory in my mind. I don't even remember who named me either, but I vaguely remember being told that I'm a Minotaur. Maybe it's the Mad Mage's fault but I'm sorry Laios, I really can't explain why I'm not more like them."

Did that even satisfy his question on whether you were edible as a Minotaur or not?

"I do know is that I am a monster," You put a hand over where your heart is, clenching it tightly into a fist. "I ain't like you people humans and I'm sure not like those other animal humans you coexist with, so I am nothing but a monster. I may look a little different from my kind but inside and out, I have the Minotaur’s blood in me. And the strictly herbivore thing isn't really true, I can eat meat if I have no other choice to, it's not all that bad though. Doesn't really freak me out and I'm always grateful to have the opportunity to eat a good meal."

"So have you eaten other adventurers before meeting us? I won't judge, I'm genuinely curious and I won't tell the others if you have."

You froze, eyes casting downwards suddenly as your fists gripped onto the coat you wore. "I... I don't really want to talk about it Laios, sorry. I'll answer your other questions but some things are better left off unsaid, okay? Please respect that."

His lips were pulled into a thin line, the nagging voice in his head still ever curious on whether you've eaten human before, but you really did seem uncomfortable talking about the topic. "Sorry."

He then put a hand under his chin, thinking about what you've said previously slowly. Inside and out... Does that mean you are edible? I mean, you basically said it yourself, despite you being more on the human-appearance spectrum of monsters. Then again, they met more human-like monsters like the Harpies and the Dryads, and they've eaten them before! (Well... sorta.) The mermen were edible too (despite Chilchuck stopping him from taking more of the parts), so that means—

"Can I drink your milk then?"

"Wha— H-huh?!" The apples of your cheeks glowed a dark shade of red, but his gaze remained determined, sparkling in excitement even.

"You offered it before, didn't you? Chilchuck and Marcille aren't here so they won't judge us and I've been curious since my book said that it's different from normal cow's milk." You looked around, even peeking behind him, before sighing and bashfully pouting.

"I did! I know I did! But, I have to make it fresh since I threw out the ones I had on hand a week ago and I don't have any on my person right now so..."

"It's okay, I can wait." He bluntly replied, oblivious to your wording. Laios just wanted a little taste, nothing more and nothing less.

You mumbled something under your breath, his ears catching a few words of him being 'too eager' and 'quick to answer'. Was he? He was just answering your question honestly, and he’s been ever so curious about it ever since you’ve offered it before.

"Let me find a room, just wait outside for a bit."

You were flushed, clicking away to find a place to hide out so you could produce what he wanted. Of course he followed shortly after you left, staying outside just like you told him to and it would serve as extra security. If Minotaur milk tasted as good as they say, he might just keep asking you for it when some certain party members aren't nearby. Hell, he might even be able to sneak some to Senshi since he's been curious about it too! It's only right to share a magnificent discovery to the best monster chef. Actually, he might be the only monster chef he knew but he was still the best by default.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited…

Laios started to sit down next to the door due to how long you were taking to produce a small bottle. Was it difficult to get milk out of the body by yourself? He had to ask about that too since he’s only seen male Minotaurs depicted in his book; there was nothing but a small and vague paragraph that explained about the female Minotaurs, but it was mostly about their milk.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the stone wall. You really were a strange individual, someone that he can’t quite understand. Your very being makes his mouth salivate whenever he thinks about you as a next meal, even if it shouldn’t. Was it because all they’ve been eating has been monster-related? His strange fixation on trying them was slowly being satiated with every step down the dungeon, so he chalked it up to just being morbidly curious.

It has to be that reason, it must be, because what kind of sick individual constantly thinks about consuming his friend?

Opening back his eyes, he took another quick glance at the wooden door. Laios was extremely curious on how the whole process worked, if you really had extra udders or if the hidden parts of your body were furry or skin. Plus, you really were taking a long time, one of the three were bound to come over soon and he wouldn't be able to try the milk! Actually... you know what? What if you had gotten attacked in there by a whole group of Mimics?! Or any other monster group, like the ghosts! You were strong but you can’t take all of them at once, and monsters aren't able to revive here. Wait...

Monsters don’t revive here.

He scrambled up on his feet at the realization, quickly knocking on the door, the sound of stumbling and thuds causing him to immediately panic and start pushing it open.

"Are you oka—" Laios froze, his eyes widening.

Your eyes were wide open as well, mouth partially parted open in dumbfounded shock. At least you looked okay and it seemed there wasn't any harmful enemies around, just some old furniture that had fallen over. It's weird though. There you sat on the ground in the midst of the mess, one arm covering your bare chest while the other was holding a partially filled glass. He stood there in puzzlement as your face grew redder by the second, placing the glass down slowly before reaching for your weapon that was right next to you.

Oh.

Oh...

OH!

"LAIOS!!!"

"I'M SO SORRY!!!" He slammed the door back shut as the scythe made its way towards his head, the sharp blade slicing through the old wood, the tip just barely missing his nose. His heart pounded against the metal chest plate like a beating drum, his lungs completely drained of all air. He began to kneel on the ground for some support since his legs started to give out from the revelation. His body was burning up, like he just got lit on fire from the Red Dragon or was a little too close to one of Marcille's explosion spells.

He just saw you naked. Not completely, but still, he just saw your breasts. He was used to and never cared about seeing others nude or topless, whether they be male or female — monster or not — it's just parts but seeing you?

Despite being here for most of your life, the skin from what he saw was quite smooth and rather mostly unblemished. It's like scars weren't able to attach onto the surface, as if they weren't allowed to. And the curvature of your heavy breasts, the noticeable suppleness of both when you moved and inadvertently squeezed them with your arm. They weren't udders at all either like he thought they were, they were undeniably humanlike, no fur included. He imagined biting into them, wondering if it'll be easy to sink his teeth into the squishy fat while he sucked on both the spilling blood and milk, thinking about the mix of sweetness and tangy that'll occur if he did. He'd be especially lucky to leave any mark on your pristine skin during the process, his body tingling at the idea of being the only one — the only human — to permanently leave something behind.

Laios couldn't stop salivating, a hand over his mouth to prevent him from drooling all over himself. He's shaking, why was he shaking? Was it from the fear of these unstoppable thoughts of his? Because of the leaf he ate not a moment ago? No. It's because of these recent developments and the answers he was getting from them, he was becoming... excited.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

The door finally creaked open, a small glass bottle being pushed towards him from the barely ajar entrance. He looked up to where your head would be, your eyes nervously staring down to the side. You started to apologize in a soft mumble as you slowly revealed yourself, now completely dressed.

"Sorry for throwing my weapon at you earlier, but this is all I can give right now. If I had eaten Night Lucernes prior, it would've been better quality. Um... enjoy I guess?"

"Thank you for the drink." Laios smiled and took the bottle in his hands, staring at the liquid. It was warm, which was expected since it just came out of your body, and it wasn't fully white like he thought it would be, the color just had the faintest tinge of yellow that could be missed if he wasn't looking close enough. He took the glass's edge to his lips and finally, he took a small swig of it.

Sweet, precisely as he thought it would be, but not as overtly strong to make him sick or give him an immediate cavity. The book was right to say that it was thick, almost similar to a honey-like consistency but still light enough to not choke at the heavy feeling of it go down his throat. He didn't realize that he quickly drank all of it at once, his tongue running across his lips to catch any remaining liquid left. You said that this wasn't the best quality, but he couldn't imagine it being any better than what he just drank.

"That was..." Laios paused, smacking his lips to try and remember the taste once more. Your face slightly fell, eyebrows worriedly scrunching together. "Amazing!"

"R-really?" The slightly-afraid look melted off in relief, your eyes glowing in happiness. "No one ever said that it tasted amazing before... Actually, no one actually tried it before except you Laios."

He... he was the first one that tried your milk? The fleeting thoughts he had prior ran through his mind again, his cheeks flushing a slight pink. If he really was the first one that drank something of yours... then it's only right that it would be specially reserved for him right? It's really selfish of him to keep this amazing beverage from his dear party, but something like this should be cherished by the one that adores you the most.

He quickly grabbed your hands, holding them up as he squeezed them tightly in excitement. "Can I have more later? I won't tell our party, it'll be our little secret exchange between the two of us."

Laios watched your expression turned from complete shock to shy awe, your tail twitching around and thumping against your legs. You were silent for a bit before looking up at him, a determined glint in your eyes. "W-what's in it for me? I can't just be the only one giving you something.

Shit. That was fair of you to bring up but him as a normal Tall-man, there was very little he could give you in return for your breast milk. "What would you want from me anyway?"

His mind immediately went into the gutter: you wanted to eat something off of him. It could be considered a fair exchange, consumable body part for consumable bodily fluid. Maybe you were getting tired of eating monsters, needing your actual nutrition from people. He started to get nervous, what would he be able to give you from his body? Would a finger satiate you or would you need something larger? Laios can't really give up his arms or legs, he'd need them in order to get through the dungeon and save Falin. Tongue was completely out of the question, he can't imagine not being able to taste food in both normal and monster dishes.

The idea of giving you his dick to consume suddenly popped up in his mind, the thought of trying to cut it off caused him to pale. He didn't use it much compared to his other body parts, only needing it to use to take a leak; he wasn't really the sexually active type either, being able to count the partners he previously had on only one hand. Technically and hesitantly, that would be the only large body part that he can give up for you.

Briefly, he imagined how'd you eat it. You weren't an messy eater when it came to Senshi's food — despite having to learn how to use utensils but still preferring to make use of your hands — so you'd probably be as neat as possible with it. You'd eat it raw, as soon as he managed to slice it off his person, warm crimson slipping down your fingers as you bite down through the layers of skin and muscle.

Or there was the possibility that you wanted to take it off yourself, kneeling right down in-between his legs, hands slowly sliding up his thighs to his hips as you approached his lower half. He'd be forced to watch you take his soft cock into your mouth, probably struggling if he accidentally got hard during the process. The last thing that Laios would feel would be your mouth's warmth wrapping around it before chomping down.

A shiver went down his spine, though it didn't feel as horrid as it was supposed to be.

With your big lashed eyes, you slowly blinked once more as a small smile grew on your lips. "Knowledge. I want to learn about the outside world. I've never left the dungeon before, all the adventurers that came before your party prevented me from ever trying."

Oh... That's actually not a bad exchange request, simple in nature. At least he gets to keep his junk, despite his heart still pounding from what his fucked-up mind just mustered up.

"Okay deal. I'll teach you about my world in exchange for milk." He put out his hand, letting you reach out and shake it. Your eyes relaxed as you smiled warmly up at him, finally letting him go. Laios then went over and patted your head, rubbing the top gently. You stiffened lightly at the gesture, his fingers brushing over the horns. They were smooth with faint ring-like indentations, almost an ivory-creamy color. Truly a fascinating feeling.

"There you guys are! You've been gone for so long that we were starting to get worried." Marcille. You batted his hand off of your head quickly, turned around with a tautly-pulled grin towards the elven girl.

"Must've lost track of time finding what Senshi wanted, sorry about the wait. You guys must be starving by now." The two of you started to chat walking back to the temporary camp, Laios watching and following from behind. You pulled out the oxalis in your bag to show her, a proud expression beaming off your face as you brought up his face when he first tried it. His stomach twisted, his hand resting on the top of his armor-covered abdomen.

There were very few monsters he found cute, most being out-of-this-world frightening to gaze upon, but you truly were one of the cuter ones around. He felt hungry again as your hips swayed from side to side, tail flicking around. He brushed the fingers that he touched your horns with against his lips, reminiscing on the texture. How sensitive were they? You did go rigid when he brushed against them, but it could be just from the shock.

Saliva was building up in his mouth again, and he could only harshly swallow back the feeling.

Deplorable he was with this appetite, the desire to consume you piece by piece. Would you accept that as one of your final fates? Rather than being killed and left behind with little to no chance of being revived, he'd pick up every raw part of you and eat it, savoring each bite in respect for what you've sacrificed to help him find his sister. Laios would try to bring the inedible bits of you with him — bones, teeth, horns, nails, hooves, hair — for the rest of this dungeon's journey and back into his world. Your wish would be granted, despite not being able to fully witness it yourself; you might even thank him for that bit of kindness too.

This thing the two of you had was special, unbeknownst to the others. A friendship that couldn't be understood by the other members of the party, but was completely comprehensible to only you and him. Symbiotic, just almost mutualistic. A love of one's flesh in exchange for the love of another's world.

Love.

Though Laios has expressed his heavy interest and passion in monsters, he never had said he loved them. Most were mindlessly dangerous, no matter how small or large they were, acting on base instinct. Yet, you were different. In fact, he could say that you were the opposite of him. Instead of being grouped together with your fellow monster-kind, you were more interested in being around outsiders. Different sides of the same golden coin.

A realization hit him, his eyes widening. The strange feelings in his body, the perverse, obsessive fantasies he's been having about you... It could only mean that he—

"Jeez Laios, you've been spacing out all day. Are you okay?"

He snapped out of it, staring at the concerned looks of both you and Marcille. Laios only smiled, his golden eyes focused completely on your form. Both your ear and tail tip was twitching, flicking in the air as if a fly was nearby.

"I'm just hungry, that's all."

[witch128chick]

i watched the toh pilot episode, here's my reaction

ooookay i so wasn't expecting what i just watched- I WANT MORE

(if you haven't watched it yet but want to do it without spoilers then don't open this)

alright alright i lost my shit actually

Amity stood up for Luz and the fact that she said this was the first time anyone had done that for her is just so sad...

and Luz gave her a drawing as a 'thank you' ( ꒦ິ ཀ ꒦ິ ) she's so sweet

oh and also!!!! first bigger change is that Amity was an exchange student in the human realm! i wonder why her parents sent her there and if there's any angsty reason for that (cuz yk yeah i'm a sucker for angst esp if it's Amity related)

my first thought when i saw this frame: "if i could picture how my mind looks like this would be it"

girly just casually grabbed a key and travelled between realms- do most witches and demons have a portal key or is it exclusive??

Luz met Eda!!! also they teleported later- so cool (ง ◉ _ ◉)ง

i heard that the Owl House was meant to be a shop first and now we can see how it would've looked like!

awww Luz is so excited!!! i love her (˶˃⤙˂˶)

that ceiling looks so prettyyy

Luz i have to say it again and i will never stop saying it: i love you you're amazing pls never change

another bigger change!! Lilith is headmistress in the high school!!! and everyone's afraid of her- shes's a boss bitch and ik she's evil but i love her

girllll--- (ง ͠ಥ_ಥ)ง why are you like this???? you had no business being this mean-

she threw away Luz's drawing from earlier whyyyy (·•᷄∩•᷅ )

side note: the demon on the left is Boscha's pilot?? yk 3 eyes and everything...

i loved this scene! Lilith is so cool and everything! and i absolutely love the sibling mocking between them it's priceless-

and said mockery pissed Lilith off sm that she turned into a beast ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽ does she have the curse in this version? is it really a curse or can Lilith turn into that thing whenever she wants to??

soooooooo omg- i can't Lilith got trapped... somewhere!!!! and her hand is chopped off now

i am soo curious about this like what happens to her after this??? where does she go? how does she get back? will she seek revenge??

oh uhm all i wanted to say regarding this frame is that guys- yes. relatable

Luz is literally this emoji 🧍🏼‍♀️just in a lying position

noooooo this was sooo sweet!!! (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡

i love how it was Eda who screamed bc the drawing that Amity threw out the window hit her in the head-

Eda complimented Luz's drawing and omg it touched her sm (っ˃̣̣̥ -˂̣̣̥ς) she only felt accepted and understood by Eda i'm so sad rn

and the biggest plot twist happened

i am not okay

EDA'S WORKING FOR THE EC??????? since when? how? why???

i'm guessing Lilith is also working for the Emperor but like Edaaaaaaaaaaa

i can't get over this

i saw someone say smth about a betrayal and this scene but i wasn't expecting THIS

tho i'm pretty sure Eda wouldn't hand Luz over (but i do have some alternative ideas for how this could play out)

is Eda cursed here too? how would she get another key to send Luz back to the human realm? what happened to Lilith??? where's Camila? we saw Amity starting to change her mind about Luz but how different her arc would've been here from canon???

i am so fixated on this rn this will occupy my brain for a good few weeks i think

and i absolutely hate myself for wanting to write a fanfic for this- I HAVE TOO MANY PROJECTS AND IDEAS ALREADY!!

but guys pls if you see anyone writing a fic for this lmk!!!

so yea i'm crazy rn i loved this and will definitely watch it again

the lore, the questions...

[voidcat]

— withering away

characters: dazai osamu, you

genre & warnings: comfort/angst if u squint, mentions of knives, implied use of said knives

a/n: you can tell this is heavily influenced by my sudden increase in listening to Blue Hair & Cigarette Daydreams. This can work as a stand alone too but I think it fits nicely into my dazai long fic Bad Luck (esp the “pm route”) ik all Ive written/posted so far regarding badluck is the dark era but I think it’s easy to guess the type of dynamic mc and dazai have. Anywyas I’m always here for Qs regarding ideas/fics so ask me whatever u want. Kith kith bye

Many sides to him, literal and metaphorical, Dazai’s blind side is always taken by Chuuya.

Standing by the side he once covered with patches and bandages, his right arm man, at his right side, always, Dazai reserves his seeing side to you always.

Sun rises and sets, the sky darkens at the end of each day, and still you stay, remain in the same spot with those dull, doll, glass eyes.

Nothing and everything, the empty glass to match his pitch black orbs.

His seeing side reserved for you because even in the most intimate of embraces, a dagger is pulled out, the memory of the cold kitchen blade hidden under the pillows still fresh.

Between the lines of laughter and hysteria, there is a melancholy that floats. A yearning for something you will never have, grief for what could have happened long ago, had things developed a little differently perhaps.

Arms wrapped around loosely, an act of symbol at most– for that is the most he could even offer. Both pairs of eyes staring ahead, onto the ground and into nothing. No haze, no thought, no emotion behind them;

just plain old void, emptiness, sucking everything in and devouring it whole, Denise of your humanities, or the ideas of them.

Two ghosts drifting off in the endless stream of life, no place to haunt, no one to hover around, no purpose to go around and say ‘such is life’

Then the flood comes, in the midst of another action done for the sake of being done, to fill that void of silence in the room, to have anything else going on– silent tears and barely shaken shoulders, an impressive show of man’s control over the body, like they’re not crying at all and this is all part of their show, their little impromptu Dance under the cold sun.

Yet the nothing remains, that lack of purpose, as well as reason.

And so the other party merely stares, knowing there is nothing to be done, no outcome to be changed.

No magic fingers snapping, no shift in the universe nor a miracle dawning down from the heavens above, sacred and all-bright.

And thus the pair of ghosts continue on their fleeting, with the occasional murmurs to accompany their bottomless pits: ba-dam-bamp, ba-dam-bamp, ba-dam-bamp.

[wulvercazz]

grimmichigrimmichigrimmichi >:3333 (pairing meme)

heheh okay- so shiP IT ofc 😂 .. but here's the answers;

What made you ship it?

so... I have a very specific list of qualities I look for when it comes to my favorite male characters. And Grimmjow fit them all 😂💕

When I first watched Bleach the only thing I shipped was IchiRuki, bc naturally that was the only way to go for me tbh, but then Grimm appeared and I was obsessed. When it comes to otps for me, first I find a fave character, then I consider the possible pairings. Not any other way. And with Grimmjow... well the only option for me was Ichigo tbh.

Not to discredit any other Grimmjow ships, I've done a few of them myself, but with how passionately these two throw themselves at each other I truly couldn't look any other way. Lol

So tldr; Grimmjow's got slut potential and I dig that, and they're too into each other for me not to see "gay" plastered all over them 💫

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Hmmm 🤔maybe how inherently feral it is, canon-wise. Also how harmonious their overall designs are together, there's nothing nicer than a pair that looks good together, at least as an artist. Also how easy they are (for me at least) to write/draw; I have a hard time focusing on one thing for long enough to get good at things (hence the many AUs lol!) so for me to have a ship I draw constantly for more than four years now... is truly astounding lmao. They helped me grow soooo much so they hold a dear dear place in my heart just bc of that alone.

And because of that last one: how easy it is to apply AUs to themmmm ;w;<33333 I can legit think of anything and make an AU out of it and not struggle too much to find the perfect place for them in it.

And also,, sort of fave sort of least fave- that it's not an overly popular ship in general (ik it's popular in the Bleach fandom itself, but rather; not popular like a ship from BNHA or JJK). Why; bc I get to have my quiet space where I draw all the ideas I want and yet have had verY few people throw insults at me for some of my darker stuff 😂 Bigger fandoms I've interacted with (as a viewer mostly) have had issues popping up left and right, people getting upset over dumb shit and letting that grow to huge proportions, "antis" everywhere... yeahhhh no thanks 😖

but also-- it gets verY quiet at times specially for someone who's so picky. Like, if I could find a fandom space like the exclusive bottom Bakugo enthusiasts I followed on twt (and even bought a whole zine about) but for GriMMJOW??? WOOF😭💕 so yeah,,, love-hate situation on this last bit lmaooo

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

A few 😂😭 everyone who's followed my art for a certain amount of time can probs tell how the 'tism really affects how I enjoy ships lmaoooo I have to enjoy them a very specific certain way so... that means I don't partake at all on a good few of the popular tropes for the ship. Some I can think of rn; damsel-in-distress!Ichigo, overly hurtful!Grimm (although this one is more old fandom I think 🤔? I remember, in a lot of fics back then, Grimmjow was portrayed a lot as this violent rapist adgdfddfdff not for me lmaoo), ofc top!Grimm, Grimmjow acting all macho relationship wise, and too much angst (I think this ship (and Ichigo in general lets be honest) can call for a lot of angst in fic so I totally get it- but ...meh, if it's not romaticized/sexualized angst, idc for it adgdfgf I don't like it when they actually suffer 😭)

OOH OH! ALSO --- making them OOC in AUs CAN be great actually (to me at least). I know a lot of people (not just here, but in any ship/fandom/etc) don't love OOC characterizations of their fave characters/ships (hence why it's a tag we use tbh) but I personally love that at times??? I won't do it all the time and all over the place... but AUs where there's space to make Grimm less violent? or Ichigo less friendly/loving??? While still within their canon character potentials--- hecC yes. >:)ccc

Also ofc; that I wish it was still common to tag ships as top-bottom like it is with HoEn/EnHo (bnha), VK/KV /trigun, KRBK/BKKR (bnha) etc or at least tag it some other way along the ship.... it would be sO much easier to filter out stuff i don't want to see instead of having to mute/block a whole person I would still love to see stuff from.

BuT I am aware most have no preference whatsoever lmaO so... yeah nothing I can do there except not follow people pfFFF 😂😭 (and wait until I find peeps with similar tastes aasdfs)

[stawpny]

CALIYORK HEADCANNON TIME!!

I dunno I’m bored.

!ANGST!

(this is from a fic I made, I just feel like these need more attention)

it’s from “You’re the smartest dumbass I’ve ever met”

—

-California is usually the big spoon in this relationship. New York just likes to be cuddled and hugged tightly, especially by the man he loves most in this world.

-New York was one of the first states to welcome Cali to the union when he first joined. New York was like 19 and. Cal was 15 at that time (ik it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever but it’s like human ages and I did no math either so yeah. I’m just going with that.)

- young California was all head-over-heels for young New York ‘cause he was fine af. (He still is but in a diff way)

- Young California followed the footsteps of York by making his state industrialized too so they could be together no matter what. He developed his cities and moved away from the idea of the Wild West. Texas was upset that he lost his close friend and blamed NY for tearing them apart, but he had no clue at all. Texas targeted him in the Civil war, but California protected him since back then he was so important to him. Cal and Tex got in a huge fight, leading up to their rivalry today.

- New York is the most oblivious fucking person you’ll ever meet. He finds things out really easily for other people, but when it comes to himself, he doesn’t have a clue.

(TW: 9/11)

- New York always spend 9/11 alone. He usually is confined up in his room, watching TikTok and when the occasional 9/11 video pops up, he’ll watch the thing over and over until he finally prys his sad little eyes off of it and scrolls. No one dared to bother him until Cal went into his room on that day, finding him curled up into a little ball on his bed. Cal hugged him and he just crumbled right then and there. :(

(NY would visit Ground Zero until 2005 where he felt like he didn’t need to anymore. There was nothing he could do.)

(TW: burns/fires)

- California has terrible wildfires as you may know, and New York once stumbled upon a shirtless Cal, in a very smoking room, and he had burn marks all over. New York helped him recover as a thank you for when he helped him with his problems. He checked on him every hour to make sure he wouldn’t die and gave him water.

(TW: scars from the two TW’s above)

- New York has scars from 9/11 obviously. He has one on his right arm, another on his left representing the two towers.

(TW: abuse)

New York has multiple scars from when he was a child, many on his wrist from being slapped with a stick or whenever he got something wrong in school, many on his back from getting whipped as a child from his father, England, and many from falling from being a wobbly kid.

- California has many burn scars obviously. He has some ranging from first to third. Third is when it gets really bad. He has scars from when he was a kid too, he was also a clumsy kid. He was a “adventurer” and he went on adventures with Texas all the time that he got hurt from.

- I feel like both of them would have asthma or some lung related illness for some reason. Like York’s from 9/11 and the Great Fire and Cal’s from all the fucking smoke from the fires. I know what it’s like now. And it sucks. One moment it’s clean and the next it smells like campfire.

(June 7, 2023 [the day we got all that smoke from the Canadian wildfires])

—

hey

sorry if you read these before

but yeah you can have these of you haven’t read them yet!

yippee

btw, I post all my fics on ao3

I used to on wattpad, but that’s dead now

anyways, ily guys

bye! <3

[compact-turtle]

Time to know the creator!!!! <3

1st question: Are you gonna tell us some of the Yan's you have in the future?

2nd question: How are you feeling?

3rd question: What Inspired you to write, what was you're confidence/Idol?

Thank you Anon! I put both of these together since its just you asking lol! I hope that everything is going well in your life right now and you can continue to stick around!

love and appreciate you too ( ＾◡＾)っ ♡

--------

1st question:

It's a secret but just bc its you who asked, I'll tell you <3

I'm thinking of writing a female Yan. I'm not sure what I want her to be yet. I was considering either a witch or a fairy. (both pretty cliche ik lol). The details are currently in the works but I have a general idea of where I want the story to go.

2ND QUESTION

I'm a little worried since my finals are coming up. I was going to post my 1000 followers special event after finals! So probably around the later half of may.

Also I'm probably going to have to do a 2 week haitus after I post Yandere Space Adventure pt 2 this week to prepare for finals :(

OFC, i'll still answer small questions and do small requests.

3rd QUESTION:

so the reason i started writing is a bit silly lol

During the 2020 lockdown/quarantine, I got into genshin impact hardcore. I had multiple character skins (uhh dropped 50 dollars for the Diluc one too), spent actual dollars for character banners and was AR60. Surprisingly, did my dailies everyday and was in multiple genshin impact discord servers and purchased so many genshin impact cosplays.

Genshin Impact was genuinely my life for two years. However, the enjoyment of it has gone downhill for me. I struggled to find a hobby or something to fill the void. Life for real felt empty without purpose after I stopped playing. For a while, tiktok took over but it didn't feel as fufilling.

Then I remembered in early high school how I would read and write yandere stories. (Exclusively on quotev lmao). I figured it'd be fun try Tumblr since it was a fandom staple. I never had it because I was always way too confused on how it worked. So this is my first Tumblr account!

I would just use my blog to read some stories. Before bed, I'd have a million ideas for yandere stories. I never thought I'd write anything since these were just cute stories in my head. It wasn't until a month later that I decided to start writing somethings.

-----

Some of the pages that inspired me to write were

@running-with-kn1ves <- there's nothing bad that they could every write.

@suiana <- first every yandere tumblr blog that I encountered and spent days consuming their works lol

@bunny-yan <- Their idea of a reincarnated hero shook me to the core. I loved the idea of a darling who just couldn't put up with it anymore.

@bxnnyblue (RIP blog, will always be loved <3)

@darkbluekies <- I got super attached to their works about Hedwig. Something about a rich girl taking care of me just hits different.

@darling--core <- I ate their Yan! Ceo and Yan! Criminal work up. I also enjoy their writing in general.

@moyazaika <- What if I said I loved everything about their works! Thx for sharing your stories for the world

@hana-no-seiiki <- An educated scholar who's talented at everything from academics to writing fics (uhhh also 100/10 art skills) (also their new fix about feroze x eve just came out)

@obsessivevoidkitten <- Loved their series about the Yandere Goblin Shark!!

[leslutdepointedulac]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by: @mothmage, @hekateinhell & @desertfangs Thank you my loves 💞

1. How many works do you have on A03? 19 atm but that's about to become a lot more from next month lmao.

2. What’s your total A03 word count? 46,413

3. What fandoms do you write for? The Vampire Chronicles and as of right now, nothing else.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Nothing's Fair in Love and War Drunken Matrimony Lupercalia Experimentations and The Long Road

5. Do you respond to comments? I do, always!! I love responding to comments, it's one of my favourite things about writing fics tbh.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? The way I've had to think about this for too long because several of my fics could fit here. I think I'd say The Long Road because although there is hope (and the knowledge from canon) that things will get better for Louis, but he's still in the depths of his darkness and there's such a long way to go re: his recovery. That or Let Sleeping Lions Lie. (I would've said my siren au, but I think that's more my darkest ending to a fic, as opposed to the angstiest.)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I'd say it's either Second Chances or Drunken Matrimony. I think they're also very sweet endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, no that I know of anyway. If anyone is hating on my fics, I don't know about it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do but it's canon compliant, so no actual sex. There's two reasons for that: 1.) because I'm not quite there yet with wanting to write full on smut and 2.) because I genuinely just really enjoy writing canon complaint smut. As much as I really love reading smut, I feel like there should be more fics that embrace and explore the vampire's canon asexuality. It's a part of canon that I really enjoy and think is very important, so I like to bring some of that into my fics too!

Also, when it comes to Louis' character in particular, imo anyway, it's a good insight into him during IWTV. Because even though it's not actual sex, I find it interesting to explore how he might be reluctant to even just share blood in an intimate manner, because of his repression re: his queerness in that time.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I haven't written any crossovers yet and I don't know that I ever will tbh. It's just not something I see myself writing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? No, I hope not anyway. I'm not aware of it if that has happened.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I haven't, but if anyone ever wanted to, that would be cool.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but I'd totally be down to if someone wanted to co-write with me one day!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Loustat all day everyday!! (Though Loumand follows extremely close behind.)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Ngl, I always intend on finishing any WIPs I have. Even if it takes me a while, I will always try to complete one if I've already started it.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think just the fact that I'm able to wing it. I don't plan anything when I'm writing. I always have a basic idea as to what I want the fic to be about, but when it comes to actually writing it, I don't plan/draft anything. I just go for it and make it up as I go.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I'm trying to improve on making my fics longer. I think I'm slowly getting better, but there's still progress to be made lmao.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I quite like it. I have written some small bits in French but that's using Google translate. (ik, ik. Not overly accurate) I think if the character speaks another language that they would use relatively frequently, then I think it can be quite good to add it in.

19. First fandom you wrote for? I'd like to say TVC, which is technically right, but years ago when I was still in school, I had to do some creative writing for English, and I did write what was basically Crimson Peak fanfic. So depending on how you look at it, it's either Crimson Peak or TVC.

And actually, now I think about it, ever since primary school, I've always based my creative writing for school off things I was into. So on that basis, who knows what my first ever fic was about lmfao. For the sake of this, we'll say it's TVC.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Tbh, I don't know if I have a favourite. All my fics are my babies, and if I try to say just one of them, then I'll just be like "Oh wait actually, what about this one? Oh but I really love this one too!" And it would keep going until I've mentioned all of them, so I can't choose.

It's Hē Seirḗn

Tagging: @cinnamonclove @effyrosemary @deaddovehasbeeneaten @aunteat @butchybats @bubblegum-blackwood no pressure of course 💞

[bonesaints]

tho i've been out of the writing/fic game for years, i feel like i might as well write fix it fic for the events of vei/lguard. the elves and the qunari are mine now. same with a certain woofwoof aroo, i'm fucking filing for custody at this point lmgdaoo

while i really enjoyed the game, i have major critiques of it. i hate to say this, but i'm gonna be real with yall: i could've handled the qu/nari and elv/es exponentially better if i'd written it myself.

never minds the complete sanitization of the cr/ows and the sanitization of tevinter, the l/ords of f/ortune (rip isabela....queen i am SO fucking sorry they did this 2 u), and this is an extremely minor nitpick compared to the others, but 'good' sol/avellan ending; it is really NOT the solmanon reunion i wanted. objectively speaking as a writer/person whose masters degree studies focused on hyperanalyzing the structures of narratives in media, i feel like SO much of sol/as's agency as a character was brutally stripped from him, and for what? and honestly i don't even wanna talk about the anta/am, it felt like they had the anta/am break away from the q/un in order to justify the blatantly racist and horrific portrayal of them as if the approach of "see? theyre the bad guys, they dont reflect on the rest of the q/un or the q/unari as a whole" somehow excuses it all. same shit they do with the el/ves with the "we're gonna make them LOOK whyte so that this isn't racist, never mind that they are narratively positioned as poc and are otherwise coded as such."

also, the fact that you have the save the shitty slavery racism city in order to get "the good ending" where as many ppl as possible survive is so fucking bizarre to me... and never mind the fakeout scares of them almost killing dav/rin like 3-5 times.... damn.

the way his relationship w my/thal was executed in the game just felt rushed and ill considered. like i can see what they're getting at, there are definitely some good ideas here, but the execution was horrendous and the final product gave the most hollow, detached, dispassionate third wheel vibes i think i've ever seen in a vidja game protag romance. not to mention they wrote his character in the most bizarre and contradictorily jarring manner to how he was established in in/quisiton?? he insists that neither he nor the ev/anuris are gods, yet in one of the endings, he's practically frothing at the mouth telling r/ook that "they're just a mortal, and i'm...." (you know the words ''i'm a god'' are on the tip of his tongue.) ik we can explain a lot of his dialogue inconsistencies with "oh well he lies a lot" but in this case, such a blatant contradiction of a character's defining ideals is just a hallmark of poor quality.

i suppose i shouldn't expect anything less from ppl who originally made him a bisexual man of colour but then decided that was Too Much so they made him het and whyte, but Damn.

also, we didn't even really get to see the a/gents of fe/n'harel????? where is all the exposition that was set up in tevinter nights?? WHERE ARE THE OTHER ANCIENT ELVES???? i know b/ioware drops the ball on plots/narratives a lot but this felt sloppy and inexcusable. to say nothing of the deeply shitty responses they've had to ppl critiquing stuff even in good faith.

[allfortzu]

oh no! sorry to catch you at a bad time and mention something you arent as comfortable writing!

the coffee cup is an anon tag, i always forget where ive left it and where i havent :0 ☕️ i guess here too now!

on another note, i also had some fluffy thoughts about tzuyu baking with some of her other members, maybe baking their favorite sweets to surprise them in between their busy schedules?

or i also like the idea of either a clumsy sana or dahyun trying their best to bake with tzuyu but making a mess anywyas?

there is absolutely no need for you to apologise!! the list of things I don't write is pretty vague yet quite extensive, so it's definitely not your fault that you didn't know! I probably should have a separate + more detailed list up, but I don't want to be a smut centric blog which is why I always put it off 😭💔 I've just been a little out of it lately, thank you for being so nice about it 😭🫂

I think I've seen you around in other blogs before, so it's nice to see you here!

I definitely have many many thoughts about fluffy baking 🥹🥹 gift gifting id def one of her love languages!!! ik tzu isn't obsessed with bread anymore, but I personally love bread so I'm gonna project 🙂‍↕️ and speaking of saidatzu,, I've been wanting to write a fic with all three of them for a while.. what do you think of poly fics? (I'm aware this isn't a request, but just asking! 🫢) 🤧

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

I have quite a few hang ups with Come Morning Light, the hunger games au I posted one chapter for back in November and have yet to update.

The first and foremost personal challenge is the fact that I, PCE, a certified Angst Wimp, am gonna have to kill off sooooo many of my faves. Like Hunger Games has some dark ass subject matter, kids forced to kill each other. I’m struggling with that, especially with what I have planned for Craig.

Along that same line, it’s gonna be a HUGE cast of characters, which I’ve had difficulty with in the past, it’s one of the reasons I primarily operate in oneshots. I love a good The Gangs All Here fic, but fleshing out 20+ characters is HARD. Bc a fluffy 2k word oneshot of Stan and Kyle in an awkward meet cute where there’s maybe one other character (usually kenny lmfao I’m a creature of habit) is a WHOLE different animal than a multicharacter multichapter. That’s something I had to figure out recently with TWITR, and character introduction held me up a lot in ATLCTS.

Okay this one may seem really inconsequential to a lot of people, but one thing I didn’t think about when developing this concept was the fact that there’s not really away for me to get around Stan eating meat lmao that’s one thing that over my time writing sp fanfiction has become ESSENTIAL to me characterizing that boy. I’ll probably just have him make a comment about how he could never kill animals himself WHICH BRINGS ME TO:

Kyle as our Katniss character. So if you’re familiar with my bs, every time I write Kyle, he’s inherently less angry until it’s called for, he’s very idealistic in his worldview and it takes something actually really pissing him off for him to snap. This is NOT gonna be the case here!!! This boy is ANGRY BY DEFAULT, the worlds out to get him? fuck the world right back! Plus, the entire story is gonna be from his perspective, bc I love writing Kyle, but it’s gonna take all my willpower not to turn him into my usual empathetic to a fault sweet people loving Kys.

Also, I usually tend to leave the adults mostly out of my stuff, but they’re gonna play quite the role in this. We got Garrison as Haymitch, Big Gay Al as Effie, fuckin Mr Slave as Cinna. I’ve never even WRITTEN the three of them. The dynamics gonna be fun tho.

Ofc there’s the problem of it being an adaptation too. There’s a fine line between just replacing hg characters with sp names and copying the plot, as opposed to making it your own. I do have some plot changes planned, but this is an issue I faced with We’re Gonna Sing It Even So, and that almost led me to abandon that fic when I felt like I was just plagiarizing Hadestown.

Also I’m not planning to adapt more than the first book. I reallllly couldn’t handle Kenny taking out Ike with his trap in the third one.

BUT!!! This won’t be abandoned, it’ll just be slow going!!! Ya wanna know the main reason?

Because the first idea I had for CML (other than Kyle volunteering for his little brother) was STAN AND KYLE IN THE FUCKING CAVE SCENES. A major change is that both of them are already deeply down bad, but those scenes??? Yeah no one’s playing for the cameras. I wanna fuck Stan up in the arena so bad lmfao that boy is my original sp whump muse and NATURALLY Kyle taking care of him I love that shit. Girl we gonna GET that prosthetic leg the movies left out (Ship In A Bottle Stan moment, I love that fic btw) as the Style Injury Dealer, I MUST deliver.

So, yeah, if anyone’s down, I’ll eventually pick it back up lmao.

[dr-lizortecho]

tagged by the lovely @crepuscularqueens sorry I always take sooo long to get these done, lol

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

144

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

527,412

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Roswell New Mexico! Though I dabble in The Vampire Diaries and accept prompts for Lockwood and Co, Fate the Winx Saga, Riverdale and Hadestown

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Something to Celebrate- a short little Chenford dancing scene

Can I lead You Astray?- a rivusa get together fic

Wanna See What’s Under That Attitude- Hallmark Christmas movie fake dating Valevans, which is only so highly rated because I wrote it at fandoms peak interest in the pairing

Swing Life Away- rnm all human au, this was and still is my passion project

Like the Sky- a short missing scene from Lockwood and Co, and an exploration of Lucy’s feelings for Lockwood and Norrie

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I wrote for the community so it’s really cool to discuss the characters

The only exceptions are rude comments get to sit- unless I think it’s a misunderstanding than I’ll respond with a simple redirect and thank you

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Angst is NOT my thing, but probably do you remember? which just has Michael fall asleep before Max can ask about Alex, so it ends in their still fractured pre-show relationship

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All my fic has happy endings pretty much! But the one that probably felt the most joyful to me personally ours which was my first foray into malexa and just ends with the sweetest big group moment

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope! Not since I moved into the rnm fandom, barring like one comment on a Forrest fic all I’ve ever gotten is really really nice interactions <3

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Haha yes, all kinds. From the softest vanilla euphemism full sex to weak ass bdsm (sorry I haven’t quite got hardcore there yet- like I keep blushing and backing out on letting Max wear a collar)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really- I have one crossover written and another in the works. Rnm/Tvd which kinda writes itself.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope- ik I would be terrible to work with cause I’m super particular, but I’m not against the idea.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

You’re not gonna believe this- Echo

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Joniz kidnapping fic! I started back during s3 and formatted the entire thing, only for them to reveal more info on Jones so I had to replay it, and then he actually kidnapped Liz, fed her and dressed her and I was like ‘this is my fic!’

16. What are your writing strengths?

Idk- I think I put a lot of care and effort into making the characters actions and reactions plausible and realistic, cause I studied psychology for a bit and it’s one of my interests, so I just apply it a little too hard. Which feeds into a weakness cause it means I always feel incapable of characters pov’s I don’t think about an absurd amount

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

New POV’s and commas

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I love it personally- but the little Spanish I did retain from highschool isn’t enough to actually write it (so I use google translate) but I’m hoping once I have more free time to take up duolingo and actually learn it

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Swing Life Away- it’s like a child to me, however poorly written

no pressure tags @lilshitwayne @morganadw @ajna-eye-cogitations @beautifulcheat @ladynox @maeglinthebold and anyone who wants to!

[asteria7fics]

i would love to hear a full breakdown of the correlation to the original text!! (*＾ワ＾*）

-still stalking man ˙˚ଘo(∗  ❛ั ᵕ ❛ั )੭່˙

Now THIS is what I'm talkin' about!!

I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THIS AHAHA °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

MAJOR spoilers for TSOB under the cut, so if you haven't read it yet, read it here first and come back!

So I think it's kinda obvious who of the kids correlates with which Trojan War character, but I'll list the important ones here:

Cartman: Agamemnon

Kenny: Menelaus

Kyle: Achilles

Stan: Patroclus

Wendy: Hector

Heidi: Paris

Butters: Helen

Craig: Odysseus

Bebe: Priam

Ike: Neoptolemus (adding him was such a goofy move lmao)

All other correlations I made were pretty arbitrary and I didn't really follow them outside of using them when deciding who would be in the horse at the end.

But I know what you're really here for. Here's a breakdown of the events of the war, and how I South Park-ified them!

Paris steals Helen - Obviously, this was Heidi going to Kenny's house and stealing Butters.

Odysseus tries to avoid being drafted - In the original text, Odysseus acts insane and nearly murders his infant son in an effort to 'commit to the bit'. I struggled with this chapter the most and rewrote it a couple of times to make Craig nearly killing Stripe almost make sense, though idk how successful I was truthfully. Easily the weakest part of the story.

Achilles tries to avoid being recruited - Again in the original text, Achilles hides out by disguising himself and living among women away from his home. Having the enemy be the girls made this challenging, so I settled on having Stan and Kyle dress as girls together to try and get Wendy out of the war.

Agamemnon sacrifices Iphigenia, his first born daughter - RIP Mr. Kitty (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Greeks camp on beach & capture many small settlements around Troy - Had the boys camp across the street from Bebe's and raid the surrounding houses to bleed them of supplies.

Agamemnon takes Chryseis - I knew early on I wasn't going to have the boys take women as prisoners like they did in the source text, so I settled on having them take the next most valuable thing; video games. This is Cartman taking the first Switch he gets!

Chryseis’ father prays to Apollo; plague hits camp until she’s returned - The inspiration of The Crappening. I made the decision to not have the Gods be a real factor in the war, so the girls had to take things into their own hands with this one. It was convenient too, considering how dirty Cartman did poor Jenny in Bass to Mouth. Made for great motivation for the girls to give them those laxative-laced cookies, though!

Agamemnon takes Briseis from Achilles - Cartman taking the Switch from Kyle. That bastard! -`д´-

Achilles refuses to fight - Kyle's subsequent hissy fit. He's so Achilles coded it's wild.

Menelaus battles Paris solo - Kenny and Heidi's fight! Didn't have to do much with this one, honestly.

Patroclus wears Achilles’ armor and is killed by Hector - You guys know what happens. Stan dresses in Kyle's armor and gets his leg broken by Wendy. By this point I was able to follow the source material pretty closely.

Achilles kills Hector to avenge Patroclus - Kyle gives Wendy the big chop (ง •̀_•́)ง

Achilles is killed by Paris (bow lead by Apollo) - Heidi takes Kyle out with a lucky shot to the nuts. I never really explored if she was assisted by anyone on this, but I like to think she believed the Gods were on her side, guiding that condom!

The Trojan Horse - I mean, kinda explains itself doesn't it? Though I have to say, using the condom boxes to construct the horse may have been my single greatest idea in the whole fic.

The Greek’s emerge from the horse and torch Troy - There was really no way the story could end without the boys committing arson, was there? I mean, what was Cartman supposed to do? We all know how the story's supposed to end!

This was so fun to FINALLY share with you all! I worked through a lot of these ideas with my irl friends, and the laughter I got out of them really kept me invested in finishing this story. I hope I was able to make some of you chuckle, too!

Thank you so so much for this ask!! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

[cowgremlin11]

I had a wonderful Vikdecai idea :)

-tagging ppl i follow who ik enjoy the vikdecai dynamic @lordofdestructionm @flimflamfandom @feelgoodghoul :)

So I'm listening to my music and "I know those eyes/This man is dead" is in my playlist. I realized like instantly how well it fits Viktor and Mordecai post-kneecapping.

So like, ok here's my base idea that I wrote in a google doc (also in my head with this scenario they were somewhat lovers before the kneecapping). Warning this is LONG.

I might make this into a full fic on ao3 ;)

Mordecai returns to the Lackadaisy and sees Viktor again, but it’s not the same man he knew when he originally left.

My God, my heart beats faster!

And my mind is racing

Could it be...?

Could it be that you've come back to life?

Viktor sees Mordecai and it freezes him in his place. Viktor looks the same on the surface, but somethings changed. Somethings not the same anymore. There's a cold fury in his eye as he sees his past lover. Mordecai remembers a kinder Viktor. He remembers dreams of a lover.

I know those eyes, following me

Dark and familiar, and deep as the sea

I know that face, strange though it seems

Younger and kinder, it haunts all my dreams

It's hard to be so close yet feel miles away. If he could just find his voice- He could say something, anything. But this isn't the same man he knew.

How can you stand there, a whisper from me?

Yet somehow, be so far away?

In eyes once familiar, a stranger I see

With so many words left to say

Viktor is cold. He doesn’t want to see Mordecai, he doesn’t want to remember what happened, he doesn't want to think of how much he still loves Mordecai, especially after the kneecapping incident

This man is dead, he is no more

He died a little each day

Like a thief, the Château d'If has stolen him away

The mind plays tricks

You are confused

The man you seek is long gone

Dead and cold

A story told, by those he trusted, those he loved, and those who then...

moved on

They try to talk to each other, they really do, but its not the same as it was before. Mordecai can feel the Viktor he knew is there somewhere, and Viktor is fighting his feelings. Viktor wants to stay angry, he wants to be upset at Mordecai. The last words said were "I vill never forgive you, Mordecai" so how could he not be angry? Its an internal battle with the both of them trying to hold back their feelings.

I am a ghost, just a mirage

(There in that voice...)

Who chases traces of you

(Traces of you)

(Dark and familiar, and deep as the sea)

This man is dead, he is no more

(I know those eyes...)

And though it's torturing me

(Torturing me)

Can either of us really ever be free?

How can you stand there a whisper from me...?

When you are still so far away?

And why does the truth seem too hard to be true?

With so much broken...

And so much damage

There are no words

Left to say

Neither can reunite. They'll never love one another again. They'll never reach closure. They'll forever be separated by their own actions.

[evansbby]

wg3 was SOOOO GOOD😩 definitely worth the wait and i read the entire fic in one sitting !!! i also wanted to answer the questions you left at the end🥰 i took this so seriously like a discussion board for uni😭

i'm leaning more towards team ari since he broke up w sharon but i'm honestly team kira🥺 she seems so sweet and seems like she needs a good friend and ik in my heart that reader is a girls girl

i think steve threw a tantrum bcz reader wasn't letting him hit and he only saw her as a way to get back at ari for something and was mad that she was rejecting his advances OR he has serious anger problems and ari was genuinely looking out for reader when he said steve is bad news

i hate wanda 😒 she's a bad friend who only cares abt her boytoy and i'm betting she was the one that reader heard snicker when she got hit by the basketball

i have a feeling ari or someone on the basketball team did something to kira while she was at st. andrews... i have no idea what and i hope it's not something too bad but i feel like there are layers to their hatred for each other and kira's nervous demeanor toward a stranger (reader) and how she dropped out because of a specific person obviously implies she was bullied or worse

THANK YOU SOOO MUCH BESTIE! I was scared people would think it wasn’t worth the wait but I’m happy that you liked it!! 🥹🩷

1. Kira really is the sweetest 🥹 I mean, we don’t know much about her yet but I think many people, including you, have started making theories which I looove! And hehehe I think everyone is leaning towards Team Ari now (which I was lowkey surprised about!)

2. Hmm, interesting theories! Although idk if it had to do with reader not letting him hit… I think Steve’s mood was already off even before that 🤔

3. LMFAOOO I LOVE THAT YALL PICKED UP ON THE SNICKER BAHAHAHA I ADDED THAT IN LAST MINUTE WHEN I WAS EDITING! Wanda was a terrible friend in this chapter 😔😔 I wonder if she’ll improve or only get worse??

4. INTERESTING VERY INTERESTING MWAHAHAHA BUT I CANNOT CONFIRM OR DENY 🥹🥹🥹

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

The tale of the Bear and the Princess

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Luke x OC (Julie)

Tag: Mention of abusive situation Hurt Comfort First meeting Fluff

Word Count  3.260

Author’s Note: Here it comes a multichaptered fic, centered around Luke and Julie, prologue to all the Luke fic I have written for those who are curious to know more about their relationship, seeing how it all started, have a nice reading. 🥰

Tag list

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess

@nightghoul381 @william-rex @candied-boys @writingwhimsey

@fang-and-feather @moonstruckmelancholic

@wistfulwanderingone @rjthirsty

@ike-garden2024 @jollibeeshappiness @starzyquee              

@maeko-kun @rkmaru

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

This contain my personal headcanons, it is alright if you do not agree with me just do not come at me for them please. Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

Chapter 1 

The first time he met her was by chance, the beginning of a tale that would have enveloped them both destined to make history.

It was a normal day at the village, afternoon was slowly melting into early evening when suddenly something heavy fell on the grass with a thud, it could have been an object for the harshness in which it was thrown on the ground but the feeble whimpering coming from it told otherwise, only when the door slammed shut the figure cloaked in a cape that has seen better days, stood unsteadily on his feet, it was not anger nor disappoint the one painted in the boy eyes but mere resignation, used to being treated that way, much to no one surprise and everyone indifference he was thrown out of his house, per usual, after a pretty heavy fight between him and her mother’s husband, due to the harshness he had scolding his little sister, right now curled with the woman who must have been his mother, but it was sheer clear from the way they treated him that he was not welcomed, no more than an outsider in their family, good only to cause ruckus. 

He slumped his head on his chest stomping away from the ground he was thrown into, carelessly wandering around the forest as he ever did, little by little he reached the border of his village overlapping with another hidden to the view surrounded by the thick forest full of vicious beast he mindlessly walked through, it is not like he was afraid in truth he was indifferent to them, he was used to being hurt from all the strong slaps and more he received from his father so many time, and yet the mere idea the ones he took could spare his sister the pain make him sigh in relief, almost happy for protecting her so well.

His wandering had brought him in the rosy village just behind the hills, nestled in a valley surrounded by a thick forest, all sort of fables and superstition circulated on it, despite the bond that linked their villages together, some said it was inhabited by witches and wizards, some that they practised both light and dark magic he never paid much attention to the rumours, even though he must admit the strange noises coming from the messy bushes as the sun set below the horizon and the darkness take hold of it did not do much to reassure him, even more cause the light had long faded covered by the thick foliage of the trees above his head. 

Felicity was its name, pretty reassuring, too bad he felt anything but, the curious gazes of the beast ogling at him gave him goosebumps, not desiring to be in the place of whoever decided to wander in the forest after sunset, like him, mindlessly he scrolled through it, carelessly looking for a patch of grass soft enough to be his bed for the night, his eyes scrolling through the vegetation admiring the busy bees buzzing from one flower to one another, when suddenly a splash of green appeared in his peripheral vision, unconsciously he walked toward it to get a better glimpse of that, there huddled under a tree there was a figure at a first glance someone may have mistake it for a bush but he noticed raven curls billowing in the wind he was to lend his hand to help her to her feet when suddenly he was taken aback as she raise her head, a pair of chartreuse green eyes were staring straight in his leaf green ones, enough to settle disarray in him.

A memory rushed in his mind, he clearly remembered to have already meet her, once during a party at her house he wandered to, she was sitting in an armchair swinging her legs in the air almost kicking it out of boredom to the long talks of the adults, a sense of belonging overcame him as he settled his eyes on her, a strange prickle in his heart he found no explanation as he gently closed the distance with little step, sheepish and a little embarrassed the smile he offered her almost shyly, her smile so tender and pure he swore to protect with all himself, replacing the soft frown curling her lips as she turned to face him, her eyes a delicate shade of chartreuse meeting his bright green ones, staring at her in a daze as she tilted her head to a side suddenly interested by his presence, pushed by a desire to make her happy, without thinking twice, he gave her the bear he used to carry with him everywhere, he would have surely missed him but he could have found another because he far preferred for his companion to stay with her instead, confiding she would have treated him nicely but judging by the excitement when she took it hugging him close to her chest, he knew his plush was in the right hands, her voice sweet like honey as she spoke a single word but worth more than thousand for him

“Thank you.” and then she smiled at him and it was like the sun has dawned for him alone, it was the first time someone ever did, it was bright and warm and he felt all the words he had melt like snow in summer, feeling his heart prickling with a pleasant sensation and a sort of carefree happiness he has never felt, he did not ask her name and neither did she, they were only children at the time and yet he had the sensation his desire to meet her again would have been for once satisfied.

Months flew by and they continued to meet from time to time, speaking no more than few words just basking in each other company, he begin to link her with what he believed to be happiness her smile brightening his day no matter how cloudy it was, sometimes they met at each other houses unaware of the way their families got close but still he could not say he was anything but thrilled to see her again whenever he had the occasion, and the warm smiles she gifted him with told him she loved his company as much as he loved hers.

Almost as if they were waiting for this moment since the beginning, the clogs of the universe start to spin faster, following a path maybe written already above the stars, creating a bond nothing could have sewered forged by the asters for kindred spirits and soulmates, destined to be together.

Now they were both grown up, almost, he acquired a sister and a family of sort, well he did not felt like he was part of but still, and her… she acquired beauty he was sure of it even though they were both still children he could see something charming in her soft features, something he had no doubt would have pushed every boy he knew to do her biddings, but for now she had to settle with him as he rescued her, she was still shaking from the coldness of the wind, he was to approach her when something caught his ear, giving him the chance to notice a rageful dog growling ready to attack, he did not know what to do expect that he could not allow it, not wasting any time thinking it through he threw a rock at it once he caught his attention he started running through the forest, tiredness begin to crept into him he climbed up a tree watching with a triumphant smirk on his lips as the dog barked at him from the ground, until finally giving up and walking away, he did not know how much time passed but when he returned to the ground a light rain had just begun to fall covering everything in sigh with tiny droplets of water still shining under the few light rays of the sunset, he sighed heavily resignated to spend yet another night napping huddled under a tree with its huge jacket as only provisional shelter.

He was to walk away when something stopped him in his tracks, two tiny arms wrapped around his torso while that same honey like voice echoed in his ear, his heart racing wildly in his chest thanking all the universe for making him meet her once more giving him the possibility to save her from that dog, his body moved on its own accord as he wrapped his arm around her form while his hands went to stretch his hood to cover both their heads under it

“Thank you for saving me.” her wide pure eyes looking up at him like he was his saviour, gratitude shining through them curling his lips in a soft smile

“Nevermind it was nothing.” 

“Not for me, that dog was really mad.” 

“Why so ?”

“I dunno, he followed me all through my walk.”

“Weird.” she sighed softly huddling closer to him, her warmth seeping through his skin as they both stood still hearing the soft pit pat of the rain on the leaf surrounding the, her eyes gazing at it like in a daze looking closer she really did look even cuter than what he remembered, her dark curly locks falling on her shoulder in harmonious contrast with her fair complexion, underlined by the emerald dress she wore, simple yet elegant like her, his heart racing faster at the happiness of having met her again words he believed to be too shy to pronounce blurted out of his tongue 

“We … we already met, do you remember ?” he was afraid to hear her answer and yet he was curious at the same time, relief spreading in him as she nodded enthusiastically                               “Yes at my house.”

happiness enveloping him whole as he has always felt when he was with her, feeling bold enough to ask a question that intrigued him far longer than he could say

“I don't know your name yet.” 

“Julie.” she huddled closer to him under its hood, her gaze glimmering with curiosity as she looked up at him 

“And you ?” 

“Luke Randolph.” 

“Luke.” she taste his name on her tongue, it tasted like honey wrapped in her sweet voice like a warm cup of milk in winter, it almost tasted like home, he thought a forlorn shadow feel over his usually bright eyes dripping over his lips

“Oh Luke you must be freezing.” her ever kind voice moved something in his heart, making his eyes get misty as she brushed her fingers on his cheeks drying some tears he hoped she would have mistook for raindrops, he gulped collecting his composure before speaking

“Nevermind.”

“Please don’t play though you may catch a cold in this wind.” she stared at him with concern as she pulled away from him, now that the rain had stopped she had no need for him anymore, that though break his heart more than he could say, even more because he already missed her warmth, her name echoing in his mind forged with the bud of affection, -Julie what a pretty name it was, it really suited her but he was sure that even the most weird names would have sounded just as good on her, he was still in a daze, making sense of his luck, when then she took his hand, he did not know yet but his whole world was going to change for the better.

“I have to return home and you are coming with me.” her voice strangely authoritarian and assertive despite the impression her short stature and tender features gave out otherwise, taken aback by the sudden change he felt his mind numb with questions, but if she did not seemed to mind to bring him home neither should him and so he followed obediently, admiring how she seemed to orientate in that strange tangle of plant, unaware of the fact they had walked some traits more than one time because she did not know the right path herself either.

The evening seems to go by in a blur, the comfort and warmth he meet in that house left him so dumbfounded he could not help but mull over it until late at night, laying in a soft warm bed next to hers, he may have thought all that was a dream, if not for the soft weight of the blankets surrounding him, or her sweet voice eliciting him to pay attention to her

“What were you thinking ?” he shook his head to clear his mind, turning his attention to her fully awake in her bed, reading something that from the cover looked like an illustrated book, 

“Nothing.” he had no words to express himself, used as he was to be ignored or chided for everything, noticing his empty gaze she put her book down leaning over to him 

“You look pale. Are you alright ?” her eyes glimmering with concern as she brushed a soft warm caress on his cheeks making his eyes grew misty at that simple gentle touch he was not used to

“You must have caught a cold, don't move.” she wandered around the room and some noise after she was at his side again, sat on his bed, his old bear had now appeared on the pillow moving him more than one could say feeling his heart burst with all the affection he always yearned but never received in all his life, gently he wrapped his fingers around the bear paw smiling tenderly at the recollection of that fond memory, made even more sweeter by her soft voice  

“Take him.”

“Are you sure I can ?”

“Of course he will help you sleep better.” once she assured he had took the bear in his arms she slide under her duvets looking carefully at him, smiling at his heartfelt words 

“Thank you.” 

“Nevermind.” she settled better under the blankets, their soft voice resonating  in the cozy room.  

“Sweet dreams Julie.” 

“Sweet dreams Luke.”

It was the first time someone ever told him that, usually he would sneak in a made up bed on the floor with the blankets and the pillow he could find in the wardrobe, the little voice of his sister the only one bidding him goodnight and sometimes not even that, having found shelter in their parents bed, leaving him alone and cold on that hard floor rummaging through what has he done to them for being treated so, despised ignored and pushed away much to his dismay feeling his heart used to being treated like some sort of spare son no one wanted to deal with, not part of that same family he should have been, at least in theory, belong to.

Her sweet face and steady breath comforted him that he was not alone, seeing the smile of his bear eliciting him to let himself wander in the land of dreams, maybe if he was lucky enough he would have discovered all that was not a dream. 

The sun shining through the curtains of the window at his back he was almost afraid to open his eyes and hear the rageful yelling of his father as he urged him to wake up and be useful for once, not feeling lucky enough to see his adorable sister first thing in the morning, let alone hope for his reverie to be real, tentatively he opened an eye then another scanning his surrounding, the room of his dreams was still there, she was still there stifling a yawn engulfed under the blankets, he caressed the bear blissfully hidden under the duvets.

He was still making up his mind about the day before while he admired her eyes fluttering open, slowly focusing on him and it felt as the sun, now high in the sky, had just dawned for him alone when as she smiled at him nuzzling her head in the pillow

“Good morning sleepy head.” a light fairy light chuckle resonated in his ear, a song he would have not turned down to wake up to every day from that moment on

“Have you slept well ?” her question took him by surprise, he nodded but seeing the curious glimmer in her eyes and not desiring to elicit her concern he fretted over to reassure her with a proper answer

“Your bear really helped me ya know.” her carefree smile warmed his heart along her soft giggles

“I am happy to hear that.” her tiny arms stretched in front of her, he admired the light filtering through the curtains drawings figures on her blankets as she stifled another yawn in her hand, followed by him, it was a bit before noon when they finally got up to take breakfast, a whole banquet of honey treats and fruits cakes of all kinds were displayed for them both, mouth watering indeed but it was really alright for him to feast on them ? What if they would have been mad at him for taking advantage of their kindness ?

Doubts lingering in his minds gnawing at his heart, he was about to reply he was not hungry when his stomach growled, he slumped his head on his chest shame washing over him, raising shyly his gaze on her only at her sweet voice 

“There is no need to be shy, eat to your heart's content.” her smile brightening her features, managing to calm down the rush of panic surging in him, he reached to take an honey muffin from the plate at the same time she did, his fingers brushing lightly over hers heat crept up on his cheeks as he fretted over to whip away his hand, admiring a rosy blush rise to her soft cheeks as her fingers withdraw along his, shyness overcoming them both, he managed to control as he took a muffin placing it on front of her before she did the same for him, meeting her gaze as they smiled at one another, before munching away their breakfast, sating their hunger with all the delicious food ogling at them from the table.

Pleasant hours flew by in an instant and before they knew it the afternoon was already peeking at its door, guilt gnawing at his heart when he told her he had to come back, to cook for his sister that is, the soft frown on her lips break his heart more than her words

“I understand.” he brushed his fingers on her cheeks to cheer up her dull smile

“Thank you for everything.”

“It was nothing.”

“Not for me.” her bright green eyes widened as she stared at him disbelief, 

“I am happy with you.” her heartfelt confession warming his heart more than the smoldering sun ever could

“I feel the same.” he took her hand mimicking the gesture he saw in one of the book he learnt to read from, brushing his lips on hers

“I will come back to you, wait for me.” a smile so bright as to put the sun itself to shame light up her features

“Do you promise ?” 

“I do.” 

“Alright then see you later,” her eyes crinkled with happiness as she kissed his cheeks, giggling at his cheeks turning red. 

“See you this evening.”

“I can't wait.”

A soft promise he followed, much to their happiness, as he come back for her alone, looking forward spending time with her as much as she did, desiring to make her happy as she made him, learning everything only to see her smile, their hearts growing closer to one another entangled each day more with affection, destined to become something more than companions, in everything accomplices down for any adventure their minds could think of.