#ephemeral entity

[pochapal]

i think answering this question keeps getting more complicated the more this story goes on

[mommykye]

back to bed

g!p!caitlynkiramman x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, caitlyn has a dick, cursing, men/minors DNI

Request are open

masterlist

The sliver of moonlight, a razor-thin blade of unexpected brilliance, bisected the heavy, wine-dark velvet curtains. It carved a stark, alabaster line across the otherwise impenetrable obsidian of the room, a sudden intrusion that felt almost violent in its sharpness. Within this illuminated corridor danced a myriad of dust motes, each a minuscule, ephemeral star caught in the silent galaxy of the bedroom air. The silence was a tangible entity, a profound hush that pressed against your eardrums, amplifying the subtle rustle of the silk sheets as you shifted your weight. A cool tendril of air, carrying the delicate, intoxicating perfume of night-blooming jasmine from the sprawling gardens below, brushed against your bare skin, raising a delicate constellation of goosebumps despite the room's otherwise comfortable embrace. You blinked slowly, your eyes protesting the sudden assault of light after the deep, dreamless slumber that had claimed you only a handful of hours before.

A tendril of unease, a subtle tremor in the placid surface of your sleep-drenched mind, began to coalesce as full awareness trickled back. You stretched out a hand, your fingers moving instinctively, seeking the familiar warmth and comforting solidity that usually resided beside you. The space was hollow, the linen cool and smooth beneath your searching touch, utterly undisturbed. Caitlyn. A tight knot of concern cinched in your chest, a sudden, unwelcome guest in the quietude. She was a creature of ingrained habit, a steadfast anchor in the unpredictable tides of life, especially when it came to sleep. Once she had settled into bed, the world outside could be teetering on the precipice of chaos, and she would remain a still, reassuring presence beside you.

You pushed yourself up, the luxurious silk pooling around your waist like liquid shadow. The intrusive moonlight now cast long, spectral shadows that mimicked your slightest movements, elongating your limbs and painting the familiar room in an eerie, unfamiliar light. The vast, silent expanse of the Kiramman estate pressed in on all sides, amplifying the stark absence beside you. Where could she be? Had duty called her away in the dead of night? A clandestine late-night meeting with informants in the shadowed corners of Piltover?

Slipping out of the silken embrace of the sheets, the cool air raising another wave of delicate goosebumps across your skin, you padded silently across the polished expanse of the wooden floor. Your discarded clothes lay in a soft, forgotten heap where you had shed them hours ago, but instead of reaching for their familiar comfort, your gaze snagged on Caitlyn’s crisp, white dress shirt draped carelessly over the back of a nearby wingback chair. It still held the faint, comforting ghost of her lavender soap, a delicate floral note interwoven with the faintest, almost metallic tang of gun oil – a constant, subtle reminder of the two distinct and often conflicting worlds she navigated with such unwavering resolve.

You picked it up, the smooth, cool cotton a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of the bed. You pulled it over your head, the oversized garment swallowing your frame. The starched collar brushed against your neck, the cuffs tumbled far past your wrists, and the hem reached a comfortable mid-thigh. It felt like a tangible embrace, a comforting piece of her in the unsettling stillness of the night, carrying her familiar scent like a whispered promise.

With a soft sigh that disturbed the profound silence, you padded out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit hallway. The Kiramman estate at night was a hushed labyrinth of understated grandeur. Moonlight streamed through the towering, arched windows that lined the corridor, casting intricate, geometric patterns of light and shadow on the richly woven Persian rugs that muffled your bare footsteps. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and beeswax, a testament to the estate's long and storied history, a scent that usually brought comfort but tonight felt heavy with her absence.

You moved with a quiet grace, your senses heightened in the oppressive stillness. Each minute creak of the ancient floorboards beneath your bare feet, each soft whisper of the night wind against the leaded glass of the windowpanes, seemed amplified in the echoing silence. You passed a series of imposing portraits of stern-faced Kiramman ancestors, their painted eyes seeming to follow your progress in the shifting shadows, their silent judgment adding to your growing unease. The only sound that dared to break the pervasive silence was the distant, measured tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the cavernous main hall, each beat a slow, deliberate pulse in the sleeping heart of the house.

Turning a corner, your breath hitched as you finally saw a thin sliver of warm, inviting light emanating from beneath the closed door of Caitlyn’s private study. A soft, almost imperceptible hum of focused energy seemed to vibrate through the heavy oak, a familiar aura that always surrounded her when she was deeply engrossed in her work. A wave of relief washed over you, a momentary respite from the gnawing worry, quickly followed by a familiar swell of concern. What could possibly be so demanding, so urgent, that it kept her hunched over paperwork at this ungodly hour?

You approached the door and hesitated for a long moment, your hand hovering just above the cool, polished brass knob. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you pushed it open silently, the hinges barely whispering in protest, and stepped inside.

The room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of a single oil lamp perched on the corner of her expansive mahogany desk, casting long, dancing shadows that writhed and stretched across the overflowing bookshelves and the chaotic stacks of scattered papers that dominated the space. And there she was. Caitlyn.

Hunched over the formidable expanse of her desk, her usually impeccably smooth brow furrowed in deep concentration, she was a picture of intense, unwavering focus. Her typically meticulously styled dark hair was slightly disheveled, loose strands escaping their careful arrangement and falling across her cheek as she leaned closer to the documents spread before her like a battlefield of ink and parchment. A half-empty cup of tea, its surface long since gone cold and a thin film of condensation clinging to its ceramic sides, sat forgotten beside a precarious stack of official-looking reports. The air in the room was thick and heavy with the mingled scents of aged paper, drying ink, and the faint, persistent metallic tang of gun oil that clung to her like a second skin.

She was so utterly engrossed in whatever held her attention captive that she didn’t immediately register your presence in the doorway. Her lips moved silently as she scanned a dense paragraph, her slender finger tracing a line of text as if to anchor her focus. The invisible weight of the city, the endless, suffocating complexities of its shadowy underbelly, seemed to rest upon her slender shoulders, a burden she carried with a relentless, almost obsessive dedication.

You leaned against the sturdy oak doorframe, watching her for a long, silent moment, a complex tapestry of affection and worry weaving itself within you. This was Caitlyn, the unwavering Enforcer, the relentless seeker of justice in a city that often seemed determined to resist it, even in the quiet solitude of her own study in the dead of night. But she was also yours, the woman who sought solace and warmth in your arms, the woman whose comforting presence you now so acutely missed in the cold emptiness of your shared bed.

Finally, as if sensing the weight of your gaze, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, she moved slightly, her eyes lifting abruptly from the sea of documents. A flicker of surprise, quickly followed by a soft, weary smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, touched her features as she saw you standing there, enveloped in the comforting expanse of her shirt.

“Love,” she murmured, her voice a little rough, a little husky with fatigue and disuse. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

You pushed off the doorframe and moved slowly into the room, your bare feet silent on the worn, intricately patterned Persian rug beneath the massive desk. The oversized shirt billowed slightly around your legs with each soft step, the familiar scent of lavender and gun oil growing stronger as you drew closer to her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied softly, your voice still thick with the lingering remnants of sleep. “You weren’t there.”

Caitlyn sighed, a sound that spoke volumes of exhaustion and frustration. She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, leaving a faint, almost invisible smudge of ink on her temple. “I’m sorry, love. This case… it’s become an unholy mess. The Zaunite chem-barons are getting bolder, their operations more brazen, their disregard for the fragile peace of this city growing with each passing day. And the Council… well, they’re more concerned with the delicate balance of trade agreements and the flow of coin than the festering rot that’s slowly consuming the Undercity.”

She gestured vaguely at the towering stacks of papers with a frustrated wave of her hand, the gesture unsettling a precarious pile that threatened to topple. “Look at this. The shipping manifests are deliberately misleading, riddled with inconsistencies. The witness testimonies contradict each other at every turn, each account a carefully constructed lie. And someone high up, someone with influence and power, is clearly turning a blind eye, perhaps even actively facilitating this poison. It’s like trying to piece together a shattered mirror, and every shard you touch cuts you.”

You reached the edge of the imposing desk and leaned against its cool, polished surface, your gaze drifting over the chaotic arrangement of documents. There were stark black and white crime scene photographs – grim glimpses into dimly lit alleyways and makeshift laboratories, the stark reality of the city's underbelly laid bare. These were interspersed with meticulously detailed reports filled with arcane chemical formulas that looked like a foreign language and coded jargon that hinted at illicit dealings.

“It looks… intense,” you murmured, your fingertip tracing the sharp, unsettling edge of a particularly disturbing photograph depicting a grotesque, almost inhuman figure contorted in a final, agonizing spasm.

Caitlyn nodded grimly, her gaze returning to the papers with a weary resignation. “Intense is an understatement, love. This isn’t just about stolen goods or petty theft, though there’s plenty of that to go around. This is about a new strain of shimmer, something far more potent, far more volatile, than anything we’ve encountered before. It’s warping the minds and bodies of its users, turning them into… monsters. And the flow needs to be stopped, choked off at the source, before it spills out of the festering wounds of Zaun and infects the entire city.”

She leaned back in her heavy leather chair, the aged material creaking softly under her weight, and rubbed her tired eyes with the heels of her hands. “I thought I had a lead, a solid connection to one of the primary distributors, but it turned out to be another dead end, another carefully constructed illusion. Hours wasted chasing shadows, following whispers that dissolved into nothing.”

Her frustration was palpable, a heavy, suffocating weight in the already thick atmosphere of the study. You stepped closer, placing a hand on her tense shoulder, your thumb gently kneading the tight, corded muscles there.

“Come back to bed,” you urged softly, your voice a low murmur in the quiet room. “You can’t solve the city’s problems in one night, Caitlyn. You need rest. You need to take care of yourself.”

Caitlyn leaned into your touch, a momentary softening in her rigid posture, a brief surrender to the comfort of your presence. “I know, I know you’re right. But I’m so close, I can feel it, like a faint vibration in the air. There’s a pattern here, a subtle connection, a thread I’m just about to grasp…” Her gaze drifted back to the scattered papers, her focus already beginning to slip away again, drawn back to the intricate puzzle that consumed her.

You sighed softly and moved a little closer, your other hand now resting on her other shoulder, mirroring your touch. The crisp fabric of her shirt felt cool beneath your palms, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from her focused mind. You leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of her hair – a blend of lavender and something uniquely hers.

“Let it go for now, Caitlyn,” you whispered, your breath warm against her scalp. “Come back to bed. Let me hold you. Let me remind you what else is important.”

She made a small sound of protest, a soft groan of reluctance, her eyes still scanning a line of dense text. “Just… just give me a few more minutes, love. I just need to…”

You knew that “a few more minutes” in Caitlyn-time could easily stretch into another hour, a self-imposed exile in the world of crime and consequence. A different tactic was needed, a more direct appeal to the woman beneath the Enforcer.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you shifted your weight, stepping closer until your legs brushed lightly against hers beneath the expansive desk. She didn’t seem to notice the subtle contact, her concentration still fully absorbed by the labyrinthine documents.

Taking another breath, you gently pulled her heavy leather chair forward an inch, the subtle scraping sound of the aged wood against the rug barely audible above the soft, steady hum of the oil lamp. Her thighs were now pressed more firmly against yours through the thin fabric of her tailored trousers and your borrowed shirt, a spark of warmth beginning to bloom between you.

“Caitlyn,” you said again, your voice a little lower this time, imbued with a different kind of urgency. Your fingers left her shoulder and gently traced the sharp, elegant line of her jaw, your thumb brushing softly against her cheekbone.

Her eyes flickered up to meet yours, a hint of awareness finally breaking through the intense concentration that held her captive. “Hmm?” she murmured, her gaze still slightly unfocused.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in and kissed her, a slow, lingering press of your lips against hers. Her lips were dry and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of stale tea and the metallic tang of worry. For a fleeting moment, she remained still, her mind still seemingly tethered to the chaotic landscape of papers on the desk.

Then, with a soft groan that seemed to emanate from a deeper weariness than just physical fatigue, she deepened the kiss, her own lips softening and parting slightly beneath yours. Her hands, still smudged with ink, came up to cup your face, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the tension that still radiated from her. The papers were momentarily forgotten, the weight of the city lifting ever so slightly from her slender shoulders as she surrendered to the simple comfort of your touch.

Breaking the kiss, you moved with a fluid grace that belied the oversized shirt you were wearing. You lifted one leg and then the other, slowly straddling her lap, your bare thighs now pressing firmly against hers through the layers of fabric.

Caitlyn gasped softly, her eyes widening in surprise, a flicker of her professional composure momentarily abandoned, before darkening with a familiar, welcome desire. The grim reports and complex diagrams on her desk suddenly seemed very far away, their urgent pronouncements fading into the background.

“Love,” she breathed, her voice thick with a burgeoning arousal, her hands now sliding down from your face to grip your hips, her fingers digging slightly into the soft fabric of her shirt you wore.

You leaned in close, your chest pressing against hers through the layers of cotton and linen. “Come back to bed, Caitlyn,” you murmured against her ear, your breath warm against her sensitive skin. “Let me take care of you. Let me remind you what it feels like to simply be held.”

Her grip on your hips tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your words. You could feel the hard ridge beneath her tailored trousers pressing insistently against your thigh, a familiar and welcome sensation that spoke of a different kind of focus. A low growl, a primal sound that rarely escaped her usually controlled demeanor, rumbled in her chest.

“You’re… you’re being very distracting,” she managed, her voice a little shaky, a hint of a smile playing on her lips despite the protest.

You nuzzled your face against the curve of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating mix of her shampoo and oil, a scent that was uniquely and powerfully Caitlyn. “That’s the point, Enforcer.”

Her hands moved restlessly on your hips, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles before digging slightly into your skin. Her gaze flickered down to your mouth, then back up to meet your eyes, a silent battle raging within her between the relentless pull of duty and the undeniable tug of desire.

“There are… things I need to finish,” she said, her voice a little breathless, her eyes still flicking back towards the tempting chaos of her desk.

You trailed soft kisses along her jawline, down the sensitive curve of her neck to the pulse point beneath her ear, feeling the frantic beat of her heart against your lips. “They’ll still be here in the morning, Caitlyn. The city will still need you. But right now, I need you.”

Her head fell back slightly, granting you better access. You could feel the rapid pulse throbbing in her neck, a frantic drumbeat against your lips. Her focus was definitely shifting, the intricate web of her case beginning to unravel under the heat of your touch. The papers on the desk remained, a silent audience, but the intense concentration that had held her captive had waned, replaced by a growing heat in her dark eyes.

“This isn’t… exactly conducive to reviewing evidence,” she murmured, her hands now reaching up to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, her grip tightening slightly.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her chest. “Is that a complaint, Enforcer?”

A small, reluctant smile, a genuine, unguarded expression, tugged at the corner of her lips. “Perhaps not a complaint, exactly.”

You pressed another kiss to her mouth, this one deeper and more demanding, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. Her lips parted willingly, and you could feel the last vestiges of her professional detachment melting away as she surrendered to the moment. Her hands tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a newfound urgency.

The scent of ink and parchment still filled the air, a testament to her earlier preoccupation, but it was now overlaid with the heady, intoxicating aroma of arousal, a primal scent that spoke of shared desire. The dim light of the oil lamp cast long, intertwined shadows on the walls, the chaotic stacks of papers bearing silent witness to a different kind of entanglement, a far more intimate investigation.

With a soft groan that vibrated against your chest, Caitlyn shifted in her chair, adjusting you more comfortably against her. Her hands roamed freely beneath the oversized shirt, her touch sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. The case files lay forgotten, the city’s myriad problems momentarily eclipsed by the more pressing, more immediate matter at hand. The only investigation now was the mutual exploration of each other, a familiar and desperately needed distraction in the quiet intimacy of the night.

You tapped her hip, a silent, insistent demand for her to shed the remaining barriers between you. Her eyes met yours, a spark of playful defiance mixed with a burgeoning, undeniable desire.

With a sigh that spoke of both surrender and a delicious anticipation, her hands moved to the button of her tailored trousers, her gaze never leaving yours. The crisp fabric whispered against itself as she deftly worked the fastening, her fingers then sliding down to the zipper, its metallic rasp a sudden, intimate sound in the quiet study. With a slow, deliberate movement, she pushed the garment down her legs, revealing the soft cotton of her boxers beneath, which soon followed suit.

Her impressive length, already straining against the confines of the fabric, was now revealed in the warm, golden lamplight. It pulsed with a life of its own, a thick, dark veins tracing its length, a testament to her growing arousal. You could feel the heat radiating from her, a tangible manifestation of her desire.

Without breaking the intense connection of your gazes, you shifted your weight, your thighs parting wider, an unspoken invitation. The oversized shirt rode further up your legs, exposing your bare skin to the cooler air of the study, a stark contrast to the building heat between you. You reached down, your hand finding the smooth, turgid head of her erection, your fingertips tracing its sensitive curve, feeling the slick pre-come already coating its surface like a delicate dew.

With a slow, deliberate movement, guided by your hand, you lowered yourself onto her lap. Her breath hitched, a sharp intake of air, as you took her in, the sensation a familiar yet always breathtaking fullness, a deep, visceral connection that resonated through your core. You gasped softly, your hands instinctively finding purchase on her shoulders as she filled you, the intimate friction igniting a fire in your belly.

You settled onto her lap, the soft rasp of fabric against skin the only sound besides your quickening breaths. Your hands tightened on her shoulders, your fingers digging slightly into the firm muscle beneath the crisp fabric of her shirt. You began to move, a slow, rocking motion at first, savoring the deep connection, the intimate slide and release. Caitlyn groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your chest, her hands tightening on your hips, guiding your movements, urging you deeper, closer.

The soft, steady hum of the oil lamp on the corner of the desk seemed to blend with the increasingly rhythmic sounds of your bodies moving together, the aged leather of her chair creaking in time with your rocking motion. The scent of ink and parchment, the lingering aroma of her work, was now thoroughly infused with the musky, intoxicating scent of your shared desire, a primal perfume that filled the small study.

As your rhythm intensified, Caitlyn’s head fell back against the worn leather of the chair, her usually sharp, focused eyes now half-closed in pleasure, a veil of sensual abandon drawn across them. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, each exhalation a soft puff of warm air against your skin. You could feel the powerful thrusts building beneath you, her hips bucking against yours with increasing urgency.

“Love…” she murmured, her voice thick with passion, a raw, untamed sound you rarely heard. Her hands, no longer guiding, now gripped your waist, holding you tightly against her, as if afraid you might slip away.

You leaned forward, pressing fervent kisses to her neck, your hair falling around her face, a dark curtain obscuring you both from the silent scrutiny of the overflowing bookshelves. The urgency between you escalated, the slow, deliberate dance transforming into a frantic ballet of raw, unadulterated need. You could feel the potent power of her arousal building, the insistent pressure against your inner walls sending dizzying waves of pleasure through you.

Suddenly, her strong hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you with surprising strength. You gasped, your intimate connection momentarily broken, before she shifted you expertly, your back now pressed against the cool, smooth, unforgiving surface of the mahogany desk. The scattered papers beneath you rustled and crinkled, a stark, almost comical contrast to the heated intimacy of the moment.

Caitlyn stood between your legs, her gaze locked on yours, her eyes blazing with an unrestrained desire that mirrored your own. Her hands gripped your hips, her thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin of your lower back, anchoring you to her.

Without another word, a silent language passing between you, she began to rut into you, her powerful thrusts driving you further onto the hard surface of the desk. The impact sent jolts of pure sensation through your body, each movement deep and demanding, stripping away any lingering pretense. You cried out, your hands finding purchase on her shoulders, your nails digging instinctively into the crisp fabric of her shirt for purchase.

The carefully stacked reports and arcane chemical diagrams on the mahogany desk became unwitting casualties of your escalating passion. With each deep, insistent thrust of Caitlyn's hips, the precarious towers of paper swayed precariously, then tumbled, cascading across the floor like fallen leaves in a sudden, violent storm. A half-empty inkwell, perched precariously on the edge of a stack of ledgers, teetered for a moment before succumbing to the rhythmic vibrations, spilling a dark, viscous pool onto a particularly detailed schematic of a suspected Zaunite chem-lab.

The rhythmic slapping of your bodies against each other and the polished wood of the desk echoed in the sudden, charged silence of the study, punctuated by your ragged breaths and Caitlyn's guttural moans, sounds that spoke of a primal need finally being met. Her hands tightened on your hips, lifting you higher as she drove into you with a primal intensity that banished all thoughts of duty, all remnants of investigation, leaving only the raw, visceral connection between you.

A framed portrait of a stern-faced Kiramman ancestor, perched precariously on a teetering stack of ledgers detailing generations of family finances, rattled violently against the wall with each forceful impact. Finally, with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, the aged wood of the frame gave way, sending the portrait crashing to the floor, the protective glass shattering into a myriad of glittering shards that mingled with the scattered documents, a sparkling testament to your unrestrained passion. Neither of you paid it any mind, your senses consumed entirely by the raw, visceral connection that bound you together in that moment.

The oil lamp on the corner of the desk flickered precariously, its warm glow casting wild, dancing shadows that writhed and intertwined on the overflowing bookshelves, mimicking the frantic movements of your bodies. The scent of spilled ink now mingled with the heady aroma of your mingled sweat and desire, creating a potent, intoxicating atmosphere that was uniquely yours.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched in her throat as she reached the precipice, her body tensing, her movements becoming shorter, more frantic, her powerful thighs trembling beneath your touch. You could feel the powerful contractions beginning deep within her, a series of insistent pulses that squeezed and released you with exquisite intensity. You cried out, your own release building rapidly in response, the waves of pleasure washing over you in dizzying succession, pulling you under their intoxicating current.

Her low growls intensified into guttural roars as she rode out her climax, her body shuddering violently against yours, her grip on your hips tightening to the point of pain. You clung to her shoulders, your own orgasm exploding through you in a series of intense, shuddering waves, your muscles clenching in time with hers, your cries mingling with her primal sounds. The world narrowed to the feel of her inside you, the taste of her breath on your skin, the frantic rhythm of your hearts beating as one.

Slowly, gradually, the overwhelming intensity subsided, leaving you both breathless and trembling, your bodies slick with sweat. Caitlyn collapsed against you, her weight heavy, her forehead resting against your collarbone, her breath hot against your skin. Her grip on your hips loosened slightly, but she remained intimately connected to you, the throbbing remnants of your shared climax still echoing between your bodies, a lingering warmth in the cool night air.

The silence in the study was now thick with the aftermath of your passion, broken only by your ragged breathing and the occasional soft sigh that escaped Caitlyn’s lips. The disarray surrounding you – the scattered papers, the spilled ink staining the intricate diagrams, the shattered glass glittering on the floor – served as a chaotic yet beautiful testament to the ferocity of your lovemaking.

After a long, still moment, Caitlyn shifted slightly, lifting her head to look at you, her eyes still glazed with the lingering haze of desire, softened with a deep contentment. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips, despite the smudge of dark ink still adorning her temple like a warrior’s mark.

“Well,” she murmured, her voice still husky with arousal, a low rumble against your chest, her fingers tracing slow, languid patterns on your back. “That was… certainly a more effective method of stress relief than my usual late-night tea.”

You chuckled softly, a wave of warmth spreading through you, a deep sense of satisfaction settling in your bones. “Sometimes, Enforcer, the most direct approach yields the most… satisfying results.”

She leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, her taste still lingering on your tongue, a potent reminder of the intimacy you had just shared. “Indeed. Perhaps we should make this a regular method of… case review. For particularly challenging files, of course.”

You smiled against her mouth, the corners of your eyes crinkling with amusement. “Only if all your cases are this… stimulating.”

Caitlyn chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest. She shifted again, carefully disengaging from you, though she kept you close, her hands still resting possessively on your hips. The cooler air of the study sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the disarray around you.

She looked down at the chaotic state of her desk, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, the remnants of her professional demeanor slowly returning. “I suppose,” she said slowly, her gaze sweeping over the scattered documents and the dark pool of spilled ink spreading across the intricate schematic, “that I should probably… clean this up.”

You reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of dark hair from her forehead, leaving a faint smudge of your own moisture on her smooth skin. “Let it wait until morning, love. The chem-barons aren’t going anywhere tonight. And neither are we.”

Caitlyn looked back at you, her eyes softening, the fierce intensity of a moment ago replaced by a tender, loving affection. “You’re right,” she sighed, a hint of weariness returning to her voice, but now tinged with a deep contentment. “It can wait. Everything can wait.”

She reached out, her hand finding yours, her fingers intertwining with yours, her grip strong and reassuring. “Come,” she murmured, her gaze softening further. “Let’s go back to bed. Let me hold you properly this time, without the distraction of paperwork… or gravity-defying acrobatics on my desk.”

You smiled, a genuine, heartfelt expression that reached your eyes. “Sounds perfect.”

[amourluvie]

་༘࿐ ETERNAL LOVE . .

synopsis 𓂃 in which you were his past lover,whom he loved more than anything,now reincarnated and infront of him, he feels like his undead heart is beating again.

character 𓂃 mr crawling from homicipher

contents 𓂃 angst,fluff

notes 𓂃 chat I cooked with this idea

𓂃 he couldn't fathom the fact you were standing right infront of him,the same face he found so alluring and beautiful,that used to embrace him and kiss him with those soft lips when he was once human, remembering all of it made him feel like he was alive again.

You were confused on why mr crawling always followed you, and was so loving and protective towards you- it strangely felt nostalgic,a familiar wave of comfort washed over you as he gave you headpats,which made you melt into his touch.

As days went by searching for an exit to escape dark,terrifying "apartment" filled with entities that tried to kill you , chased you down with weapons , threw you down hard into the concrete floor which actually caused you to bleed with a injury that was non fatal as mr crawling took you to mr silvair immediately after, he was concerned and scared the second he saw the fact you were injured and was even on the brink of crying, being tired of everything.

There were times you lost him,making you all alone to defend yourself.

Thankfully , you found him quickly, or he found you by scaring you from behind.

The day finally came as you were blessed enough to find a elevator that will lead you to your own world, and there was this urge to take mr crawling with you, you couldn't lie about your feelings and not say you have,been inlove with him by now.

As you and him were in the elevator, occasionally glancing at eachother,you felt like you knew mr crawling before,something about him just felt way too familiar - it was stupid to think about but it was hard trying to hide it.

It's like you and him knew eachother in another,past life.

timeskip to when you had started living with him by now, you guys were practically a married couple now,being locked in eachother's embrace while sleeping,laughing with eachother.

Recently you started to have these vivid dreams,which included a man,with long black hair that resembled mr crawling's , his mannerisms and personality were just like his too,gentle and kind.

he had this warm smile that made your heart flutter with affection,his voice smooth like silk and velvety, and his eyes you swore were like the galaxy,shimmering like the small stars engraved in it.

He was absolutely ephemeral, but he couldn't be mr crawling right? You were just dreaming after all!

Or that's what you thought as it suddenly clicked together as the dreams became more vivid day by day,at this point you knew these dreams were nothing else but a reflection of your own memories from your past life,and mr crawling was indeed the man from your dreamscape.

And it left you to wonder,what happened to mr crawling?

You questioned yourself,what made him turn into what he was now? How did he even got into that world in the first place?

Maybe he was just a unfortunate soul just like you,who got trapped in that realm,and couldn't get out like you did as every part of him that was human started to rot away,his eyes not being in the sockets as it was ripped out just like his humanity by another monster.

he thought he lost you forever, that he couldn't have you in his arms again,that he couldn't see your bright smile that lit up his world when it was dark- that he couldn't feel your love anymore.

but there you were,finally reunited with him.

He will never let you go,never ever. Never again.

[thelotusrabbit]

DpxDc #11

I had this in my notes for a while, so I translated it into English. Could contain some translation errors :)

No one is able to conceive infinity.

The human brain allows us to visualize limited and constantly changing elements, making even the calculation of a single object unreliable.

The concept of infinity is reduced, in our mind, as a confined section that expands as we go forward. The visualization of a space without boundaries is, on our part, constantly wrong.

Therefore, man is not able to imagine, nor see for himself, the infinite as concrete. Understanding this, the idea that we ourselves have always lived in an infinite space is conceived as ephemeral and insignificant.

Ditto the consciousness of the individual, which differentiates from the consciousness of the self.

Being a socialized mammal, man presents himself with collectivity, aware of his own existence and of an entity formed by the mind of every other single existing individual.

We are not able to register an individual as such, making their existence, in addition to the superficial, incomprehensible.

This idea pushed Danny from the back of his mind, a concept not conceivable in a concrete way. The idea of ​​being someone, not understood by others.

The terror that you are not who you think you are, and consequently, knowing that you can never understand who the people you love truly are. The infinite, impossible possibilities in the mind of each individual.

Splitting the collective into individuals, infinite times…

A shiver ran down his spine, stopping his train of thought. His throat closed in an uncomfortable knot, forcing him to swallow noisily.

It was easy to lose yourself, some days. Little to do, no one to talk to… The existential terror that came with becoming King. Danny could positively declare that he was not well.

Following the defeat of the Piriah Dark, the role of ruler had been thrown on his shoulders with little delicacy, making a teenager responsible for the guardianship of the Infinite Realms. Fortunately, the citizens did not need any special guidance, left to their own devices for several millennia, but the same could not be said for the realm itself.

The infinite nothingness that eternally expanded in every layer of the multiverse, called to itself someone more worthy.

It was not the citizens who needed a ruler, but the realm itself demanded a master.

[dripdropdown555]

The Bimbo Bounce (I’m back)

Alliteration is a useful hypnotic tool. It gives sentences a bit of extra potency, makes mantras easier to remember, and improves the lifespan of a suggestion pretty considerably. That's the operating theory, anyway. Shall we explore?

Bounce for me; that's simple enough to start things off.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

The phrase sticks, somehow, even though it sounds a little silly. Something seems to make it linger in your head. It has a unique feel to it, a quality you can't quite put your finger on. The syllables seem to echo: bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

But how does a bubbly brain behave? Like a bubble, as you'd expect, with something creating a volume of empty space inside while thoughts slide smoothly across the expanding surface, oily and slick. At first, it feels like your thoughts have more area across which to spread. Your thoughts shift slightly, glistening and growing ever more thin. At least, until the bubble pops.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

Bubbly brains are bound to burst.

And burst it must. Bubbles are ephemeral entities, aren't they? It's alright; you'll scarcely notice. When the bubble pops, your thoughts that are currently floating on the surface will splash to the floor. The empty space inside will rush rapidly outward, turning you into a bit of an airhead. Seems fitting, doesn't it?

Bursting bubbly brains blow pink

Bounce, and pop.

You'll feel the splash like a sudden surge of lust and arousal coursing through your body. The rush of air inside your head might cause you to get light-headed, so you'll spread your legs to steady yourself. Of course that's what you're doing, isn't it? Steadying yourself, not putting yourself on display. Right.

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly.

Bubbly brains are bound to burst.

Burst bubbly brains blew pink

Bimbos brainlessly bounce.

As you begin to bounce to a silent rhythm, it occurs to you that some bubbles have a kaleidoscopic sheen when you look at them, but others have a very solid color within. Your brain-bubble was bubblegum pink, now that you think about it.

Well, as much as you can presently think about anything. That pop did more than just fill your head with empty air. You can feel your intelligence leaking into the space around you, escaping...your absent brain can't contain it any longer.

Bimbos bounce their brains away.

If your brain was still intact, you might think to stop bouncing so you'd be better able to think. But your brain exploded in a flash of pink and wet, and now you're as blank as a bouncing bimbo should be. You're able to understand my words out of some remnant of intuition, but if you pause to try and think them through, everything just goes pink and pops again.

Blank bimbos bounce brainlessly

That seems sensible enough, especially since bouncing feels pretty good. The splash of wet pink thoughts from the pop made your body more sensitive, perhaps by providing you with better things on which to focus. You certainly feel blank, and you are bouncing. Are you a bimbo, though?

Bouncing brainwashes blank bimbos

A side effect of the bubbly brain from before is that you're finding all of this pretty amusing. Certain bits of sentences make you want to giggle and smile, even when you can barely understand them. Might've let too much of your intelligence leak away, but it's all just so silly, isn't it?

Brainwashed blank bimbos bounce

If you were a bimbo, would you be able to tell? Would you find the situation you're in far more amusing than you should? Would your body be becoming progressively more sensitive as your empty head adjusts to having no thoughts to contain and feeds all that focus to your hungry nerves? Would the bouncing be this arousing all by itself?

That depends primarily on what sort of bimbo you've become, but the answer should be clear by now. Each bounce produces a wave of pleasure, each wave pushes more of the remnants of your brains into the air. The less brains left in your head, the more you smile and giggle. The giggles produce flashes of pink that remind you how very silly and simple this is. All you did was bounce.

Bouncing blank bubbly bimbos are brainwashed

Bounces can take all sorts of forms. You can bounce bits of your body with your hands, bounce up and down in a chair, bounce with the aid of the springs below the bed...all to the same end. Everything is turning pink and wet and silly for you.

This leaves you with only two options: You could let yourself settle, riding the high of the blank bubbly brainwashed bimbo until your brain somewhat reluctantly returns to your head. I won't stop you, you'd simply wake after a few minutes of coming back down.

Or the blank bouncing brainwashed bimbo could shift the energy from bouncing just a little and satisfy that lust your body is feeling. The only real hazard is that your head is already full of air, and cumming your brains out when they've already mostly evaporated could leave you pretty dumb before it's all said and done.

But you've already made a choice, or it's already been made for you. My words could be passing by almost invisibly as the bouncing subsides, or you may already be excitedly picking a toy to bounce on or a rhythm to use while you stroke yourself senseless.

Either way, everything will fade into a yummy pink haze before much longer. I wonder how much bimbo brain you'd need to bounce away before the condition became a bit stuck...

Bouncing your body makes your brain bubbly

Bubbly brains are bound to burst

Burst bubbly brains blow pink bubbles

Blank brainless bimbos bounce

Bouncing brainwashes blank bimbos

Blank bouncing bimbos are brainwashed

Brainwashed blank bimbos bounce

Go on, up and down, bouncing yourself all brainless and bubbly. You'll drift awake awhile after you've finished following my instructions.

Do let me know how silly, brainless, or dumb you felt...if you are comfortable expressing it, of course.

(Editors Note: I used to be @slowlymyavenue but tumblr shadow banned me so I have restarted - please follow and reblog here)

[nights-at-crystarium]

HI. so. im going to dump a load of thoughts about this illustration on tumblr instead of bluesky because i have so many thoughts about this so please bear with me (feel free to post this if u want!)

like. one of my favourite soulcrushing parts of shadowbringers grahas characterisation is ironically: how hes portrayed in post shadowbringers - a free spirit with a thirst for adventure

its so clear therefore, from how he composes himself after hes been freed from his duties at the first that he wants to see the world. reclaim the joy that he abandoned to save a world. finally live after spending thousands of years as a dead man walking. a ghost in the shell

but in shadowbringers, that graha, the adventure-loving graha, is killed. stuck at the top of the crystal tower, forever unmoving. he didnt necessarily get cut and paste into his new body, he creates a second entity with all his memories and identity.

so THIS graha, the one with the crystal arm stays dead. his story has no happy end. and i LOVE how uve specifically placed focus on his crystal arm and intentionally saturated the blue. hes transparent. fragile. ephemeral. hes a dead man walking, half tower-half man. his state is unstable, like glass, the tower slowly creeping through every part of him until hes subsumed into it. theres such a specific sense of beautiful body horror that i think your illustration plays into and highlights. the red - his signature colour is slowly being washed away with the tide of blue, like his whole self is slowly being washed away as his duties literally eat away at his life

and god. that expression. its a little unreadable - partly because hes trying to cover it up, but yet you can still SEE that quiet anguish and terror show through. hes simply too earnest. any hard face he tries to put up will fall away with time simply because not him, nor anyone, can bear the burden of a whole world.

and i know hes portrayed as happily self destructive throughout the msq, him literally concoting a brazen suicide plan to save the first and the warrior, yet we know that he is someone who appreciates life, living. he was literally able to convince an unfeeling robot that life has joy in it in endwalker, so i dont think its too much of a stretch to say that theres a part of him in shadowbringers that is intimately terrifed of his duty. the horrific trolley problem of your life against the star, where you pull the lever. and this terror is so nakedly presented in your illustration, the way he tries to hide away from it, but simply cant, the way that his stare seems both anxious, afraid, yet resigned, a grim awareness that this version of him, the one stuck in the first only has one destination: the end.

but he still fights! still tries to hide away from it, appreciate life every step along the way. gaze at the night sky that returns after eons. make his loved one some sandwiches. try to hide that gnawing inevitability of his fated death. the one that he physically cannot avoid. the one that he knows will shatter him, like a pane of glass hit by a hammer.

youve nailed almost every part of shadowbringers graha that made his story so fucking compelling!!!!! god!!!!!

i think everyone present here will enjoy reading this

[livixbobbiex]

The use of the twilight aesthetic in Ace Attorney

This somehow started with me thinking about Miles and Phoenix being THE star crossed lovers, but now here we are with a whole essay (with actual citations. You're welcome.). TLDR: Miles and Phoenix pined so hard for each other that their spirits have broken through the veil of space and time. One of my favourite additions to the Ace Attorney 'lore' made by the anime comes in Season 2, Episode 6. The episode is Miles Edgeworth centric, showing how he first 'became a Von Karma' (in a sense), and Phoenix's attempts to contact him when they were both in middle school. The ending of the episode in particular has always stuck out to me.

Here we have Miles thinking about Phoenix, who had 'helped him' earlier by delivering a message to him through a radio show song dedication. The song ultimately gave Miles the evidence he needed to win an argument with a woman at the mall (and saved a dog in the process). As we can see, the scene is set at dusk, or twilight.

Although this is also a really beautiful image, 'twilight' is an incredibly profound and intentional choice.

Now, I will spare you an entire ramble about wabi-sabi as a Japanese aesthetic (you can use here as a starting point though). Basically all you need to know is that it is arguably the most important cultural aesthetic, and means something like the beauty of transience and imperfection.

Twilight, or tasokare (誰そ彼), can be seen through these transient aesthetics. It's something you see a lot in traditional waka poetry, but permeates today through literature and cinema.

"About dusk, we can say that the main feeling is that of the colour of darkness and night. However, twilight is not merely the colour of darkness nor the colour night. That said it is not only the colour of day, nor the colour of light…The world that exists in the instant where it turns from day into night, the boundary of the instant where it enters darkness from light, isn’t there that the twilight world is? …Entering darkness from light, night from day, during that instant there is a world with a peculiar essence and subtle colours, which is what I think is the twilight world."

Izumi Kyouka, 1996. Tasogare no Aji. In Izumi Kyouka, ed. Tomomi Matsumura, 243-44. Tokyo: Center for the Japanese books.

Basically, twilight is all about that transient moment where boundaries drop. Relatedly, there's a supernatural association with it, like the crossing of a veil where the restrictions of 'space' and 'time' can be lifted. Most famously, in terms of modern example of this, take the scene in Your Name.

Admittedly, Your Name is where I was able to find the most analysis. To be fair, it really is a beautiful scene.

In classical Japanese tasokare does not simply indicate the dusk as an in-between period transitioning from day to night, but also a hybrid moment in which visible entities become invisible and hidden presences momentarily reveal themselves. The anxiety of the encounters that take place during this liminal time is emphasised by the expression of surprise - "who is that!" (dare da, are ha 誰だ、あれは) - which constitutes the origin of this term. Therefore, in kimi no na ha, the transfers between the human spirits take place at night during the oneiric activities of the protagonists, but the possibility of a real encounter is limited to the ephemeral time of dusk.

Andrea Castiglioni, 2019. From Your Name to Shin-Gojira. In Spirits and Animism in Contemporary Japan: The Invisible Empire, ed. Fabio Rambelli, 173.

"Tasokare” means “Who’s in the gloom,” and it’s where the word “gloaming” comes from. You know what “the gloaming” is, right? It’s twilight, when it’s neither day nor night. When the world blurs and you might encounter something not quite human.

Your Name, 2016.

Now, I don't believe you can call this a trope that's exclusively romantic. Though, clearly, it lends itself to that. It certainly conjures the feeling of profound pining, with just a moment of relief (after all, stories of tragic love stories between manifestations of the day and night are common across the entire planet).

Anyway, I hope this explains why, in the Ace Attorney anime, Phoenix turns around and stares, bewildered, as if he actually heard Miles call out to him despite their physical distance.

Funnily enough, they're even under the polaris star, which is also a theme in Your Name. But anyway, yes indeed I think this scene can be taken as Miles and Phoenix pining so hard for each other that their spirits have broken through the veil of space and time.

It's also just really beautiful symbolism, even if it's not 'canon' to the games. Considering the anime also gave them the whole 'gold chains of fate' aesthetic.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Fate vs. Choice - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx has a decision, and a deadline.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Six o’ clock. Late evening.

The Cathedral of Progress.

Lanterns burned in their iron-scrolled brackets; the shadows cut flayed patterns on the granite walls. In the nave, the acolytes chanted, cloaked and cowled. In their palms, the lit tapers cast long, lean shadows across the stone floors. Their voices were a mechanized hymn: harmonized down to the smallest atom vibrating in the air. There was no music riding the currents. Only silence, draping a veil of total stillness over the congregation. Perhaps even eternal damnation, to those who dared trespass.

Jinx didn't give a ripe toot about damnation. She'd already fallen from grace: the moment she'd set a wind-up monkey loose to rescue her family, and jinxed them instead. Her own jinx, since that fateful night, was an inevitability, and a long time coming.

Now, at nineteen, she was the living, breathing epitome of it.

The harsh sweetness of coffee cut through the chants. Jinx cracked an eyelid open; for one long giddy second, the world spun in a sickening circle.

Then it righted itself. Or Viktor did: a cool hand clasping hers.

“Wake up, Jinx.”

Her eyes fluttered open. She lay, starfished in an indolent sprawl, in sweetgrass that swayed as if under an invisible caress. The aroma of lilies was ascendant; twilight had deepened their perfume. The night-garden was tucked into the courtyard at the heart of the Cathedral, abutted by a small cemetery of granite.

Under the surreal refractions of a stained-glass dome, it was a wonderland: teeming with long-dead saints, and the perfumes of late-blooming flowers, all a-glow in holy light. Upon closer scrutiny, the holiness inverted into the uncanny. Every plant, aspirating beneath the multicolored rays, was revealed to hold an almost numerical symmetry: logarithmic spirals of orchids, geometrically-profound petunias, grid-patterns of clovers all fractaling in golden ratios.

As if every organism—from soil grain to leaf tip—had coalesced into life under the touch of a divine hand. Or a very obsessive mathematician.

Or—both.

Then there was the tree.

It was a prehistoric sycamore of darkling wood: five times the height of the average Piltovan oculus; three times as broad across. The branches fanned out into spokes as big as a ferris wheel. The ends of each spathe, splayed wildly under the skylight, erupted into iridescent blooms. They were nearly gem-like in their purity: their crystalline petals glowing in colors of multicolored amethyst, chrysoprase, quartz, topaz, ruby. The canopy spread over the entire garden; the roots curled deep into the bedrock.

By nightfall, it gave off an eerie luminescence: bathing the garden in an ephemeral glow. By daylight, it cast a rainbow halo across the grounds. Its fragrance changed constantly: one minute pungent as wormwood, the next citrusy as lemon zest, another woody as cardamomh. Insects swarmed about its roots; butterflies flocked its boughs. Some even swore they'd spotted faeries dancing in rings beneath its shadow.

The hallucinogenic effects were, by Viktor's accounts, an ur-example of magicoreality: an object, space, or phenomenon that is created through the combined imagination of multiple entities. It was real, because they believed it real. And vice versa.

Like a mobius strip blossoming into being.

Viktor's acolytes had transplanted the tree—roots to stem—from Singed subterranean laboratory. Something in the soil of the Cathedral's grounds nourished it with unique potency: the tree flourished where naysayers, Silco chief among them, predicted it would rot. By the first month, it'd become the centerpiece around which every botanical beauty revolved. By the sixth, it was the brilliant heart of a preternatural paradise: creepers, ferns, lilies, ivies, marigolds, all erupting in a palette of purest life.

By the tenth?

The tree was worshipped as an entity unto itself. It dominated the cultists' rhetoric; it haunted their reveries. It was rumored that Janna herself had breathed life into its veins, rescuing it from the brink of collapse. Pilgrims from the depths below, voyeurs from the heights above, arrived in droves to seek the sheltering boughs as if for the same restorative breath.

And under those twirling branches?

They were never the same again.

Formerly pallid patients were rumored to stagger from their sickbeds, sit beneath the blossoms in solemn ceremony, then unfold from their atavistic comas miraculously reborn. Like larvae metamorphosing into butterflies.

From devolution to evolution.

But though the tree restored a measure of life to its devotees, its own was an hourglass suspended between grains. The fruits hanging off its branches evoked a spectrum of incandescent sea-shells washed by whitecaps onto arid shores. They were entirely inedible; ash and air. And as soon as they fell, their shells fossilized: petrifying into stone-crusted facets within minutes of detachment, before dissolving into inert dust.

It was the tree's perpetual paradox: the promise of life, forever beyond reach. And death, ever-encroaching at its heels.

In its shadow, Viktor, the most devoted disciple of one, held court weekly with the most notorious apostate of the other.

"Wake up, Jinx."

Viktor's hand, freed from its tight leather glove, squeezed hers. His fingers, long and thin, held a delicate strength: there were calluses, velvety, at the tips, and a roughness along the heel. A scientist's hands, evolved into a healer's. Tonight, Jinx saw ink smudges on the knuckles. There was also a tiny nick, from wielding a scalpel during the evening's surgery on a young boy's ruptured appendix.

The boy was safe. Tucked into a cot at the infirmary, with the others under Viktor's care: each dosed with enough poppy-milk to see them through the night. The boy's mother, one of the dozen souls who'd flocked to the Cathedral seeking the Machine Herald's aid, had wept at her son's restoration, kissing the hem of Viktor's robe in a show of gratitude.

It was a scene that Jinx had witnessed, over and over again, during her visits. And it never failed to unsettle.

Devotion, undiluted, had that effect. Especially when it was devoid of desire.

Daily, scores of souls passed in and out of the Cathedral. Each brought with them a problem, a poison, a plea. Each, Viktor addressed in their turn: salving their sores, purging their pustules, and bestowing, with a steady hand and a soft voice, his personal brand of salvation.

He never charged for his chem-modifications. Even the most complex, which took months to design, were given for free.

His payment, his only payment, was everything.

From the start, he’d made plain that his services were offered on a strictly non-partisan basis, and would cease immediately should any faction in Zaun attempt to co-opt his work. Except that was a lie. Everyone knew, in Zaun's hierarchical honeycomb, Viktor had no love for politics. But he was fiercely political: his sacrifices, solely and exclusively, were for the elevation of Zaun's future.

It was his singular obsession: the evolution of the present into an age of transcendence, and the eradication of the past into obscurity.

Viktor hated the past. A past that’d left him broken, disfigured, discarded: an imperfect specimen, unworthy of survival.

The same past, which had yet forged him.

And Jinx, his muse and mirror, who'd been reborn in its bloodshed.

"Jinx," Viktor repeated. "Wake up."

His hand squeezed hers, then let go. A moment later, a metal cup was pressed into her grasp.

The warmth radiated; Jinx's flesh drank it up. The coffee gave off its curls of aromatic steam: a nutty blend of chicory root, black chocolate liqueur, and the sweet whiff of anise.

Diluted, as always, with sweetmilk.

Viktor, his own cup balanced precariously between two fingertips, reclined with an easy elegance in the grass. His staff lay within arm's reach: the undying habit of a boy whose mind is always five steps ahead, but whose body is forever falling behind. Everywhere, leather-bound books were scattered, some facedown with cracked spines, others bristling with raven's feathers that doubled as bookmarks. An inkwell glittered, half-empty, on a stack of maps scribbled with notes.

In this garden, Vitya was ever-studying, ever-searching. Never satisfied with the knowledge already in hand, and the miracles already in motion.

Something he and Jinx shared in common.

Reclining on elbow, Viktor sipped from his cup with the other hand. Then he plucked a notebook from the pile, stirred through its pages with a fingertip, and resumed writing with his cockatrice quill: a rapid series of symbols that, unfurling, imprinted themselves in a secret pocket of Jinx's brain, and the darkest recesses of her heart.

Destiny: charted beyond the stars.

Jinx sat up, knees tucked against her chest, and drank from her cup. The flavor was just as it should be: bitter chased by sweet, complexity balanced by simplicity.

Viktor's handwork: the paradox distilled into metaphor.

Just like the garden, where every blade of grass grew exactly the same height, and every flower, in its arrangement, was a repetition into infinity.

Sipping, Jinx's eyes flicked from bloom to bloom. Then, she noticed:

A single blossom out of place.

A lone iris, curling its way from between the tree's roots. It was sly as an intruder, bright as a fallen star.

The same hue as Powder's wishful blue eyes.

Jinx's lips curled. Tentatively, she reached out. Her fingers traced the blossoming petals. They were silky, smooth. Almost too flawless to be real.

"Is this place," she whispered, "alive?"

It was only half-joking. During each visit, she could never escape the sense that the garden—multiform, deviant—was suffused with a spiritual awareness sister to sentience. And the tree, gathering them both under its protective penumbra, was rooted right to the crux of Zaun's stony heart.

"Not exactly," Viktor replied, without looking up from his notes. "Not by our reckoning. More a kind of... meta-life."

"Meta-life?"

Viktor, dipping the quill in its inkwell, shrugged.

"This tree is but a reflection—an iteration—of something larger-than-life. Something of a piece with the city's vital flow. A conduit of sorts."

"Like, what? A portal?"

"Perhaps," he said, and absently rested a palm on his leg, the site of his first augments. "Or perhaps a lens. Something which reflects, refracts, magnifies. An imperfect metaphor."

"Serpent's tongue. Apple's flesh. Devil's promise."

"Precisely. A system of shorthand within which meaning can be imparted, and context given."

Jinx's eyes lingered on the flower: a star's winking light, buried under layers of soil.

"What's the point, though?" she wondered. "I mean, yeah, I get it: a symbol's powerful. But if you're trying to forget the past—"

"Forgetting is not the same as erasing," Viktor corrected, patiently. "And what good is a symbol, Jinx, if no one knows what it stands for?"

Double-edged question and double-pronged answer: classic Viktor.

Sighing, Jinx returned to her cup. The coffee, cooled, had lost its bite. She drained it anyway, then let the cup rest in her lap. Her eyes, half-lidded, took in her companion.

He was still garbed for his duties: a mauve linen robe with a high collar, its sleeves rolled up, the hem draping past his knees. It was a garment, once, meant to conceal. Now, it served a purpose quite the opposite. Its folds bared the armature that held Viktor together: once emaciated, now elegantly streamlined beneath a segmented exoskeleton of synth-plates. His bad leg, encased in gleaming obsidian augments, now held the flexile precision of muscle, and the springing strength of a steel cable.

The fusion was seamless: the stuff of futuristic fairytale. When he moved, it was with an almost regal glide. As if, somewhere in the gaunt structure of Viktor's frame, there was an ancient drop of royalty, finally emerging from its hardscrabble shell in a blend of princely asceticism and common-born resilience.

Under the tree's canopy, Viktor's pallor was offset by his deep-hued robes. The effect wasn't peaky so much as pearlescent. His untidy curls tumbled freshly-glossed along his shoulders: the barest delineations of a beard teased the contours of his jawline. The sum total was neither masculine nor feminine. Only androgynous; ethereal.

Transcendent as stardust.

The rim's of Jinx's eyes burned. Why was it that even at their closest, Viktor seemed as if he was dissolving into astral orbit, a beautiful moon drifting farther from reach?

And why did Jinx feel herself hurtling on an opposing trajectory: crashing to earth with fatal velocity?

The wind, still unseen, sawed gently through the tree's branches. Its blossoms whispered: the susurration of silk sheets, or a lover's sigh. Jinx found it fitting that, though the Cathedral of Progress was, technically, the building's newly-christened designation, ordinary Fissurefolk referred to it, unofficially, by a different epithet.

The Resurrection Root. The Everbloom. The Glass Garden.

And the most popular—

Der Wunschbaum.

Ur-Nox for Wishing Tree.

Except Ur-Nox was a double-edged sword. It was the language of the ancients; Mages and Guardians who'd lived in the time before Zaun had ever been. Their language, therefore, was the language of enchantment: one half lofty, the other half sinister. Wish, for instance, was rooted in the word Wunschet: to want. To desire beyond the bounds of reality.

But it was also rooted in Wählen: to choose.

A wish could be a heart's deepest desire unlocked. Or it could be a will to power: to take what you want, no matter the cost.

And me? Jinx wondered. What do I want?

And what will I give to seize it—or throw it away?

At her silence, Viktor stopped scribbling. His eyes, deep-gold, met hers.

"All right, Jinx?"

"Y-Yeah."

"You should wake up."

"Don't wanna."

"No?" Scritch-scritch went the pen, runes blossoming in its wake. Distantly, Jinx heard the acolytes singing, a ghostly engine of harmony. And—could it be?—Sparky's yips, cutting through the choir: a dissonant counterpoint. The greedy mutt, somewhere, was begging for treats. "If you do not wake, how will your Name Day be celebrated?"

"Multitasking's a thing. I've always been a pro."

"You are terrible at multitasking."

"Am not!"

"You fell asleep during the surgery."

"You told me not to interrupt. So I closed my eyes. But I was listening. I always listen."

"You were drooling." And, closing the notebook with the coordinates plotted inside, he set it down. In a single graceful movement, he'd shifted closer. Close enough to touch his thumb against the corner of her lips, where a grin had stolen in. Viktor's own lips, palely-parted, were a few inches away. "You look like a child when you sleep. Peaceful. It is... rare."

"I was havin' a sweet dream."

"Oh? Tell me."

"A night full of stars. Wishes a-popping like fishes. And a beautiful boy." Her voice, at half-octave, came breathless. Always, his proximity did that to her: an unravelling of everything she held dear about herself. Like deja vu—except more desolate. Dying, when you longed to be reborn. "Except he won't wish me a Happy Name Day. He won't even gimme a kiss."

At that, Viktor smiled: a slow, secret curl that was yet the saddest expression in the world.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "he is a fool."

"Yeah?"

"And a coward." The thumb, tracing the full jut of her bottom-lip, was cool as snowfall, and as chaste. "Because he knows, deep in his heart, that you are still a child. The child he sees when you sleep. And because, despite whatever tradition or legality declares, you are not yet a woman. Certainly, not the woman who, once she comes into herself, will outrace him, and his grand designs, and fly off on wings of stardust."

"You talkin' about Silco?" Jinx quipped. "'Cause, no offense, but he's no competition. I can outrun that fossil anytime."

The levity fell flat. Viktor's golden eyes, augmented to their depths, lost their imperceptible luster. A moment later, his hand retreated, as if it'd never been.

"I know," he said, "that this is only an interlude."

"You think so?" Jinx, impulsively, caught the hem of his sleeve. "Pretty harsh frame to put 'round forever."

"Forever means little in a cosmos of infinite permutations."

"Not so long as we're still us, right?"

"A conundrum in itself." He didn't withdraw, exactly. Only laid his fingertips over hers, knotted into his sleeve. "Are our mirrored selves—in the physical, in the quantum—so very different at their crux? Is one less worthy, less agentic, than the other? Or are they simply two sides of the same coin, flipped endlessly, until the universe collapses on itself."

"Yikes. Talk about buzzkill."

"I am not a man for platitudes, Jinx." The smile, sadder, stayed on the surface. "Not will I feed you falsehoods, in hopes that the future may hold more than the present."

"So you say."

"So I mean." And, surprising her, he caught her hand in both his own: a tender clasp. "We've pledged our spirits as one. We've plotted our course. Escape velocity is inevitable. But the path ahead will not be easy. Not for either of us. If anything, it will be harder, given what we must renounce to see the destination through. And I—I cannot be sure—"

A crack in his faultless equilibrium. In turn, Jinx felt her own fragile serenity evaporate.

"Sure of what, Viktor?" she said, with quiet ferocity. "That I'll change my mind halfway? Chicken out before the starting gun goes off? Let Silco dictate my choices, like I've always done?"

"No, Jinx, no."

He shook his head; the curls danced, a ribboning cascade of cornsilk. There were silver streaks beginning to thread at the temples. Thirty-three, and a full-grown man where Ekko was still shedding the last vestiges of boyhood. But moments like this, it struck Jinx that Viktor was, at his core, even younger than Ekko. Two orphans prematurely thrust into roles before their time: the savior leading his flock to the promised land, and the savant saving souls that the world would sooner crush underfoot.

But both, in their hearts, still children. Still seeing Jinx, and what she'd become. But never, ever seeing her for who she was: the girl, not the legend.

The woman, not the jinx.

"Never that, Jinx," Viktor said. "Never would I think so little of you."

"...But?"

"It's been difficult, these past months, for us to speak frankly."

"Vitya," Jinx said, a touch exasperated. "We're speaking now. Aren't we?"

"We are." A squeeze, gentle, on her fingers. "At risk on both ends. But I have never once doubted your commitment. Your passion far exceeds mine; far exceeds whatever designs I may conjure. The world will be a better place, with you striving to make it so. My only fear is that, if you choose this path, yours will be the lonelier one."

"Lonely, how?" The ghost-prick of tears. "We're bonded, aren't we? Even if it's not what either of us planned—"

"A bond that can never be consummated. Never, in any sense, bear fruit." His grip tightened; yet the timbre of his voice held no rebuke. Only truth. "I am a creature born of disappointment, Jinx. Faulty in form and function. Unfit for any world except the one I will create, and even that shall be a long time coming. Yet, in the Void, you gave me a glimpse of paradise, and it was... indescribable. All I will ever want."

"And?" Her lip quivered, but held. A child, he'd called her, and yet her voice was steel. "Wasn't it enough? Wasn't I—?"

"You? Not enough? My dearest." Even though his sigh was bittersweet, a mote of passion shot through: the same passion that'd flowed, so effortlessly, between them in the otherworld. The same passion that now translated itself—sublimated and yet quartered—into the gentle dexterity of his hands on a circuitboard fused to a sobbing boy's flesh, and the consoling caress afterward as the boy's mother, sobbing too, laid a kiss of gratitude upon her savior's robe. "You are the only star in a universe without light. But because you are, you are far too much. For anyone's good. Least of all mine."

The tears, against Jinx's will, spilled free.

"So I was a mistake?"

"Yes. And no"

"How?"

"You were a miracle," Viktor said, and his smile, in its sadness, was radiant. "And a miracle is a gift bestowed by Fate. Without factors such as deservingness, or suitability, or even equity, thrown into the equation. A miracle, simply, is. As you, Jinx, always are. I know you've made your peace with our bond. You've acclimated yourself to it, the same as I have. But if we commit—truly commit—to the path ahead, we must renounce the rest, in every way. And Jinx... I cannot, in good faith, ask that of you. Not when I know what you stand to lose. Not when I know all the ways you need, and deserve, to be loved."

The tears kept falling. Jinx made no effort to stop them. The garden, with its Wishing Tree, was a time-out from pretense. Not sanctuary, but as close as Zaun's chaotic confines allowed. The other one—the Wishing Wagon, in civilization's shadowed cul-de-sac—was her true refuge. But that was a different her, with a different future.

A girl who'd yet to realize her greatest wish. A woman who, at the crossroad's fork, could take a chance.

She'd never told Viktor about the Wishing Wagon. Same way she'd never told Ekko about the Wishing Tree. Both were secrets within secrets: mirrored halves of a fractured whole.

And Jinx, at the liminal space in between, wondering: What's it mean?

What did it mean that one man had her soul at knifepoint, but another was holding her heart hostage? What did it say that she and Viktor fit together just right, but she and Ekko were built from perfectly mismatched puzzle pieces? What did it matter if she needed them both, but in ways so opposite they might as well be a different language?

How could she make the ends meet?

Especially when her life—her death—still hung on Silco's strings?

And her past—her future—still hinged on Vi's?

"Maybe," she said, and caught her lip in her teeth, "that's the point."

"Oh?"

"Maybe... the glimpse of paradise was all it was. A glimpse. The rest's about struggling to make it happen. Because it's the only way. Because choice is nothing but fate with a kick."

"Jinx, no."

"Why not? It makes sense. In a twisted sorta way." Her eyes, smarting-wet, blinked hard. "Fate's not a pretty delivery-gal on the front step with a package. He's a blind old pirate, throwing darts at a map and laughing as they land. Doesn't matter who gets skewered. Once that bullseye hits, it hits. And you're on the hook. No takebacks." Her other hand, lifting, aligned itself with Viktor's jaw: stubble yielding velvety beneath her palm. "We were always gonna be on the hook, Vik. At least, in the Void, I saw where we’re headed. What, in the end, we could become. And sure, the path's not a fairytale. But if we don't take it, the rest'll be fucked. And blind old fate'll be laughing his ass off, watching us sink under the waves."

"Perhaps," Viktor said, and leaned into her touch. But the smile, always, stayed sad. "But Jinx?"

"Yeah?"

"Fate is not the same as choice." Turning his head, he laid a kiss, pure as a snowflake, in the heart of her palm. "Even the cosmos, no matter its dictates, allows breathing-room for free will. I have mine, and I know what they will cost. Now, and in every incarnation. But you, Jinx: you are still so young. Your wishes, the ones that matter, have yet to be made. And once they are lost, you will not have the chance to reclaim them."

"Because I'm a child, right?" The anger, a flashfire that filled her to the seams, in this garden only left her aching. "Too dumb to know what I want. Too naive to make the tough call."

All at once, Viktor closed the gap.

Silently, he swept Jinx into an embrace: a cradle and a coffin holding both living and dead in sacred embrace. His arms made a crossbones at her shoulderblades; his breath stirred the top of her scalp. They were both clothed, but Jinx felt her heartbeat resonating through their ribcages, keeping time with the rhythmic dirge of the Cathedral's chants, and the Old Hungry's distant chimes

Reality and dream: melded into one.

Somewhere, Sparky was pawing at Jinx's slumbering shape in search of belly-rubs. Behind her eyelids, neon bled through. She heard fireworks; smelled engine-grease. Felt an odd pressure on her spine that had nothing to do with Viktor's cool fingertips tracing its curve, and everything to do with being bound, on a visceral level, beyond this communion they both shared.

"Fate," Viktor breathed, and his lips, against her temple, imparted prophecy, "will always come due. But choice? That, my dearest Jinx, is an arrow aimed straight for the heart. And to deny it: that is an error far graver than anything science, or the cosmos, could dole out." He kissed her forehead: the sweetest absolution. "Your choice must be yours. Do not allow a hand, no matter how divine, to dictate it."

Jinx, closing her eyes, lay her cheek to his chest.

"Not even yours?" she whispered, as the tears stopped falling.

"My hand, like my heart, will belong with you, Jinx. Even if you choose another path."

"Mirror, mirror on the wall."

"In every iteration," Viktor murmured, a tender withdrawal, "of this cosmic joke. An imperfect metaphor. Do you understand?"

"I do," Jinx lied, and lifted her face. "Kiss me?"

"This is not a space for secrets, Jinx."

"Then it's a perfect place, ain't it? 'Cause I won't have any left, after tonight."

"You will," Viktor said, and his thumbs smoothed the fading tear-tracks from her cheeks. "You do. We all carry secrets within ourselves. But to hide one, here, is to desecrate the very vow we must keep. And to deny our truth—any of our truths—is the greatest dishonor to the other. Do you understand?"

Foreboding rippled over Jinx's skin. The garden, the tree, the chants: all the beautiful trappings of ephemera, slipping like sand through the hourglass.

"Viktor." She caught his hand in hers, holding it fast. "Please."

"I'll see you tonight, Jinx."

"Don't—don't go—"

"Tonight. When you make your choice. Whatever that choice may be."

"But—"

"Wake up now."

The hourglass, upended. The Cathedral, the garden, the embrace, dissolving. All the dreamscape and its dazzling details, blotting out.

"Viktor!" Jinx cried. "Viktor!"

"Happy Name Day, Jinx," he said, and the ghost-imprint of his kiss died before it met her mouth. "I will kiss you, truly, tonight."

The ceiling spun above: a galaxy's worth of stars, winking out. Her hands, searching, found nothing.

Nothing but the blue iris, unfurling at the tip of a finger.

And Viktor's voice, deep as midnight.

"Make a wish."

The last winking star: her own.

[talonabraxas]

“All things ephemeral are seen as symbols; insufficiency becomes meaningful event; The indescribable is accomplished; The Eternal Feminine draws us upward.” - Goethe, Faust Jacob’s Ladder—Tree of Life Talon Abraxas

The Tree of Life (Kabbalah ) is derived from the Flower of Life. In Hebrew, it is a mystical symbol within the Kabbalah of esoteric Judaism used to describe the path to God. It is an arrangement of ten interconnected spheres (called sephiroth, meaning ‘spheres’), which represent the central organizational system of the Jewish Kabbalistic tradition or ‘cosmology’ of the Kabbalah.

The Tree of life is considered to be a map of the universe and the psyche, the order of the creation of the cosmos, and a path to spiritual illumination.

The ten spheres represent the ten archetypal numbers of the Pythagorian system. There are said to be 32 paths on the Tree of Life. The first 10 are the Sefiroth (not including Daat). The remaining 22 correspond to the lines or channels of energy that join the Sefiroth together. Each of these, in turn, corresponds to one of the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet.

The Crown (‘Kether’ in Hebrew): the Creator Himself.

Wisdom (‘Chokhmah’): Divine reality/revelation; the power of Wisdom.

Understanding (‘Binah’): repentance/reason; the power of Love.

Mercy (‘Chesed’): grace/intention to emulate God; the power of vision.

Strength (‘Gevurah’): judgment/determination; the power of Intention.

Beauty (‘Tiferet’): symmetry/compassion; the power of Creativity.

Victory (‘Netzach’): contemplation/initiative/persistence; the power of the Eternal Now.

Splendour (‘Hod’): surrender/sincerity/steadfastness; the power of Observation.

Yesod (‘Foundation’): remembering/knowing; the power of Manifesting.

Kingdom (‘Malkuth’): physical presence/vision and illusion; the power of Healing.

Kabbalistic tree of life

The Kabbalistic tree of life has evolved over time. Its basic design is based on descriptions given in the Sefer Yetsirah, or Book of Creation, and expanded upon in the enourmous Kabbalistic text Zohar, the book of Splendour. The ten sephira, similar to the Norse tree of life, are divided into four realms:

Atziluth: the realm of the supernal, beyond which is the ain, or no-thing.

Beriah: the creative world, of archetypes and ideals.

Yetsirah: the world of formation.

Assiah: manifest creation, the material world.

Tree of Life does not only speak of the origins of the physical universe out of the unimaginable, but also of man’s place in the universe. Since man is invested with Mind, consciousness in the Kabbalah is thought of as the fruit of the physical world, through whom the original infinite energy can experience and express itself as a finite entity. After the energy of creation has condensed into matter it is thought to reverse its course back up the Tree until it is once again united with its true nature.

Thus the Kabbalist seeks to know himself and the universe as an expression of God, and to make the journey of Return by stages charted by the Sephiroth, until he has come to the realization he sought.

[aldisobey]

Have some Emmrich x Rook spice. This is a direct continuation from the dinner date in game. For reference this Rook took the ‘creeped out by necromancy’ options in game. I plan to edit and expand on it, but I wanted to share today’s work! It’s my first attempt at anything approaching smut lol, seriously all the kudos to the practiced writers on this stuff, it ain’t easy. It should be below. New to tumblr formatting as well heh. Hope you enjoy! (and apologies if there are grammar errors or the like, only had my eyes on it and they’re starting to glaze, I just want it out there while I’m feeling brave)

“Undoubtedly.”

Knowing smirk still at play Emmrich strode to where Rook sat and leaned down to plant a kiss. Which he did; the smallest of pecks, the most endearing of promises. A lover greeting the desire of budding courtship. Drawing back, but still well within Rook’s space he whispered conspiratorially.

“Darling, would you like to explore the forbidden?”

Emmrich put his fingertips to Rook’s flushed cheek, hush of a touch as he moved his hand up the warden’s face, a finger tracing his ear.

“Ephemeral entities that spark elucidation. Charnel halls beyond comprehension. Depths so dark they alight. ”

Rook smiled, the words filling him with a buzz of fear and excitement. He turned his head held in Emmrich’s hand, put his lips firmly to the necromancer’s palm as he blessed the touch with his own,

“Anywhere with you, Emmrich.” He mumbled into the soft skin and kissed the palm like a promise. Smiling light and sincere he turned to look up at Emmrich, deliberately resting his cheek in that beloved hand.

Emmrich’s reaction was lost to Rook in the lighting, but the necromancer’s hand started its orchestrations. Firmer now, the tracing fingers crept behind Rook’s ear, and eased into his curls as they made a massaging advance across his scalp. Rook leaned further into the touches with a sigh.

Emmrich folded with him. Towering form bending to fill the space his warden made for him, he pressed his nose to Rook’s freshly exposed neck as he breathed him in and whispered to his skin,

“Dearest.” he held there, a shuddering breath betraying eagerness before he composed. The gloved hand, not currently tangled up in curls, made for the arm of the chair. There it found Rook and wove together with his fingers, then traced down the back of the hand, trickled its way up and down the muscles of the forearm before sliding back down to that left wrist. Emmrich’s strong fingers tarried there, assessing the scope of the strain with practiced movements. Rook could feel the wrinkle of worry crossing Emmrich’s face as it was buried in his neck.

“Endearing as your insuperable spirit is, Rook, when your body aches,”

Rook barely heard the man, Emmrich had started massaging the wrist and hand in earnest. Every poke, every prod, every bit of pressure releasing the ache. The soft firmness of a professor’s hand proved its study in its pampering,

“you must listen.”

Emmrich’s hand clasped down over the entirety of the wrist. Rook snapped back to the moment, as an eerie green glow engulfed the limb. Rook drew in a sharp breath, nearly jerked away, but Emmrich’s attentions were back at the warden’s neck and distracting from the quick sting of a healing spell. Any protest melted in his throat as the warmth of the spell spread and Emmrich's humming lips pressed into skin.

Steady and firm the necromancer worked in slow study. A gentle kiss to the jaw, cheek crushed into the beat of blood, mouth then tilted up to nip at Rook’s ear. Down once more he moved into him kneading, noises low and groaned. Emmrich made every piece of Rook’s neck, his throat, his ears, known to his lips, his nose, his breath. All while his right hand returned to its therapies, and left palmed the warden’s scalp with gentle ministrations, guided Rook as he desired for better access to the shuddering gasps, the warming ears, the throbbing pulse. A sigh escaped his control into Rook's throat when a moan traveled under the skin his lips pulled at.

“Emmrich?” Rook’s voice a melted question, words short for lack of air as he clung tight to the chair, hips rising only to find Emmrich’s knee between his legs keeping him both pinned and pining.

The fingers teasing Rook’s head with experienced scratches suddenly curled, a firm fist taking the place of dragging nails. Emmrich’s vice like grasp somehow soothing, he eased Rook’s head back until the warden strained to look up at him.

Their eyes met there. Everything said, nothing uttered.

Until Emmrich gave breath to their fervent wish, “Let me take you.”

In answer Rook moved to kiss Emmrich’s lips hovering teasingly above him, but the necromancer held him in place, unyielding. Rook’s twitches a pitiful ply within the boundaries subtly set; he was locked by hair, hip, and wrist.

“Fuck.”

The word came low from Rook’s chest and surprised him. More whine of realization than a deliberate answer or call to action.

The barest hint of a frown came to Emmrich. Slowly, deliberately, he moved just close enough to Rook’s waiting lips, and bit. His attack gentle, the pressure embracing, he pinched them closed together, held there. Finally, languidly, he pressed down until he held only the bottom lip in his teeth, then softly pulled away and let it drag free.

“Manners, my dear,” he whispered a hair’s breadth from Rook’s mouth, his words heavy, intonation almost a purr “nowhere in the Necropolis is free of undead, should you offend...”

Need heavy in the air of their shared breath Emmrich didn’t move down, but drew Rook up from where he held him. Kissed him deep as to wipe free the vulgar stain from his throat. Rook answered with hunger, a growl in his throat as he strained to drive further up and into Emmrich.

The guidance came slow, but the necromancer relented, slackened the leash he held in smooth steady steps until Rook stood next to him, the chair tumbling away. The clatter broke them apart. Rook breathless, but concern widening his eyes as he noted the plethora of spirits filling the gardens.

“You’re not…” serious came the thought as fear prickled his skin. Thoughts of the noble dead rising to cleanse the grounds came to mind. Rook buried his head into Emmrich. Fingers playing at the chains and buttons “…I mean, you’re here. We’re safe right?”

Emmrich smiled, used a finger to tilt Rook’s face up towards his and kept the man’s eyes locked to him,

“Here.”

He gently kissed Rook’s forehead.

“With me.”

He brushed a thumb over the warden’s trembling lips.

“Always.”

[keehomania]

tempted (유혹) — park jimin (박지민)

✧.* 18+

love, in its purest form, was an ethereal dance between two souls that transcended the physical realm. it was the whispered secret shared between the stars and the moon, the silent promise that echoed in the heartbeats of those destined to find one another. soulmates were not just lovers but mirrors reflecting the deepest parts of ourselves—our hopes, fears, dreams, and shadows. they were the gentle caress in the quiet moments, the unwavering support in times of turmoil, and the spark that ignited the fire within us to be more, to feel more, to live more.

the bond between soulmates was an intricate tapestry woven with threads of fate, time, and serendipity. each thread represented a moment, a memory, a shared breath that brought them closer together, intertwining their lives in ways that defied logic and reason. it was a connection felt in the marrow of one's bones, a magnetic pull that drew two individuals together despite the miles, the years, the obstacles that lay between them.

but as we looked closer, we began to see the delicate, almost fragile nature of this connection. love, we realized, was a mere feeling—a powerful, all-consuming emotion, yet still a feeling. it was something that existed in the softest corners of our hearts, in the whispered three words, and the stolen glances, and yet it was fleeting, ephemeral. it was an entity that could lift us to the heavens one moment and leave us stranded in the abyss the next. love was something existent yet nonexistent, a paradox that defined the human experience.

in the end, love was a feeling—nothing more, nothing less. it was a sensation that, while real and profound, was also transient, capable of fading away like the morning mist. love was, and always would be, a testament to the beauty and fragility of human connection.

but what good did that do, when you didn't believe in it? you watched your parents' marriage crumble, each piece of their once-shared life falling apart like a house of cards in a storm. the warmth that had once filled your home turned cold, replaced by silence and resentment. you spent most of your life blaming your mother, seeing her as the catalyst for the disintegration of the love you once knew. her actions, her decisions, her words—all seemed to be the threads unraveling the fabric of your family.

yet, as time went on, you began to see the truth more clearly. in the end, it took two to tango. your father was not without fault; his silence, his absence, his own choices played just as significant a role. the love that once seemed unbreakable had been weakened by both their hands, by misunderstandings and unmet needs, by the slow erosion of patience and kindness. it was a dance they both had learned to stumble through, each step further away from harmony.

the corridors of your new school stretched before you like a labyrinth of polished floors and pristine walls, echoing with the muted whispers of privilege. this high-end, private institution was a realm of immaculate uniforms and designer handbags, a place where status was measured not just by wealth but by the veneer of propriety. you had the fortune to attend this school because of your mother's money, a privilege that came with its own set of burdens. with more money came higher prices, not just in currency but in reputation and expectation.

you had transferred there, seeking refuge from the torment that had plagued your previous school. the memories of harassment lingered like shadows in your mind. the taunts of those girls echoed in your ears, their voices dripping with cruelty. “look at her, the daughter of a hostess. like mother, like daughter, huh?” their words were knives, each one aimed to cut deeper than the last. you remembered the sting of cold water as your head was dunked in the sink, the bitter taste of humiliation as you struggled to breathe. your locker had been defaced with vile words—“slut,” “whore,” “like mother like daughter”—each insult scrawled in angry letters. and the final blow, the moment that broke your resolve, was when your lunch was dumped on you in the cafeteria, laughter ringing in your ears as you stood there, drenched in shame.

the move had been meant to be a fresh start, a chance to escape the ghosts of your past. but even here, the whispers never ceased. as you walked down the halls, you could hear them, soft and insidious, just out of reach. your friend, walked beside you, her presence a comforting anchor in the sea of judgment. “ignore them,” she would say, her voice steady. “most of their families are involved in worse things.” you nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “i’ll be fine,” you told her, even as the whispers brushed against your skin like a cold breeze.

jisoo’s eyes flickered to the designer handbag slung over your shoulder. “nice bag,” she complimented, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “thanks,” you replied, your smile small but sincere.

she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “you know, money isn’t forever. you should consider getting engaged soon.” you shook your head, the idea almost laughable. “no way. i don’t believe in love. it doesn’t exist.”

jisoo raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eye. “duh. why do you think people get married for money?” the absurdity of it all brought laughter to your lips, a rare sound in the cold halls of this school. the two of you laughed together, a moment of genuine connection amidst the façade. you walked down the halls side by side, her presence a reminder that even in the midst of whispers and judgment, there were still moments of light to hold onto.

jimin stood basking in the midday sun, the golden rays highlighting the flawless contours of his face. he was surrounded by his friends, an entourage of privileged and spoiled teenagers who reveled in their own opulence. among them was his girlfriend and the undisputed queen of their circle. sua thrived on attention, money, and the luxuries that her wealth afforded her. her laugh was a sharp, crystalline sound, slicing through the air as she regaled her audience with yet another tale of her extravagant exploits.

it was then that you walked by, your presence commanding a quiet elegance that contrasted starkly with the raucous group. the sunlight caressed your features, illuminating your every step with a radiance that caught jimin's eye. he watched you, his gaze unyielding, captivated by the sight of you moving through the world with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. “who’s that?” one of his friends asked, breaking the spell as his curious eyes followed jimin’s line of sight.

sua’s eyes narrowed as she traced jimin’s unwavering gaze. her expression faltered, and a wave of unease washed over her. the pit of her stomach dropped as she laid eyes on you. scoffing, she tried to mask her discomfort with disdain. “you must be living under a rock if you don’t know who that is.” her words only heightened the tension among the group. jimin’s friend looked genuinely puzzled. “who?”

with a withering look, she introduced your name, her tone dripping with condescension. “that’s the daughter of the hostess club owner. her mother used to work there too.” disbelief rippled through the group. whispers spread like wildfire, but jimin’s gaze remained locked on you, unblinking, as if you were the only person in the world. “you’re serious?” his friend’s voice was incredulous.

sua continued, her voice louder now, tinged with a cruel satisfaction. “yeah, her mother owned an underground hostess club. it was part of poseidon hotel until it got shut down. then her husband divorced her.” the shock among their friends was palpable. “what’s she doing here, then?”

she scoffed, her eyes glinting with malicious glee. “she must’ve thought this school was a safe haven.” she paused, a sneer curling her lips. “but she’s dead wrong.”

jimin barely registered a word she said. his focus was entirely on you, a smile slowly forming on his lips. he watched you as you walked, each step you took reinforcing his fascination. in that moment, you were the epitome of resilience and grace, a stark contrast to the superficiality surrounding him. and as the whispers and judgments swirled around him, he found himself more drawn to you than ever, intrigued by the story that lay beneath your serene exterior.

as you walked through the sunlit halls, a sense of calm washed over you despite the whispers and sideways glances. you were accustomed to the stares, the judgment, the endless cycle of whispers that followed you like a shadow. yet, as you moved forward, you felt a pair of eyes on you that seemed different—intense, unwavering.

you turned your head slightly and your eyes met his. jimin’s gaze was piercing, a curious mix of intrigue and admiration. his presence was magnetic, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. the noise, the whispers, the world—it all seemed to vanish as you locked eyes with him. “jisoo, who is that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

she glanced in the direction you were looking and scoffed, her disdain evident. “that’s jimin. son of park and co.,” she said, her tone dripping with disbelief. “he’s obnoxious, selfish, and a complete pain in the ass. not to mention, he’s dating kang sua. they’re both equally corrupt—a match made in heaven.” you glanced back at him, who hadn’t taken his eyes off you. his friends, taehyung and jaebum, were laughing and joking around him, their behavior loud and almost childlike. jisoo noticed the way your gaze lingered on jimin and sighed.

“look,” she said, her voice firm, “keep your distance from him. his type is nothing but trouble.” the bell rang, signaling the end of your brief moment of curiosity. she tugged gently at your arm, her voice softening. “come on, it’s time for class.”

you followed her, your thoughts lingering on jimin’s gaze and the strange connection you felt in that brief moment. the halls were bustling with students heading to their next classes, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying the encounter over and over. jisoo kept talking, her voice a steady stream of background noise as she led you through the corridors. “trust me, you don’t want to get involved with him or his friends. they’re all bad news.”

you nodded absently, but the memory of his eyes—intense and unwavering—remained with you. as you took your seat in the classroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far more complex and intertwined than you could have ever anticipated.

class began, and the room settled into a hush as the professor walked to the front and began writing on the board. her chalk traced out a single word in elegant, flowing script. love. the silence deepened as she turned to face the class, her expression thoughtful. “today, we’ll discuss the principle of love,” she announced, her voice carrying a gentle authority. “i want to hear your opinions, your experiences, your definitions. love is complex, multifaceted, and personal. let’s start with you, kang sua.”

sua straightened in her seat, her demeanor poised and confident. “love conquers all,” she declared, her voice smooth and rehearsed. “it’s the most powerful force in the world. when you truly love someone, you can overcome any obstacle together.” the professor nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “thank you, sua. that’s a very traditional perspective.” she turned to another student. “jung jisoo, how about you?”

she grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “love is just a contract. there should be money involved to make it worthwhile,” she quipped, earning a ripple of laughter from the class. the professor chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “always the pragmatist, jisoo. alright, park jimin, what’s your take on love?”

his gaze was still fixed on you, his eyes unreadable. “love is cruel, blind, and unexpected,” he said, his voice steady and low. “especially at first sight.” sua scoffed next to him, her irritation evident, but he didn’t waver, his eyes never leaving yours. the professor’s eyes followed jimin’s gaze to you, and she smiled warmly. “and what about our new student? would you like to share your thoughts on love?”

you felt a dozen pairs of eyes on you as you stood up, but you kept your composure. “love is just an illusion,” you began, your voice soft but clear. “it’s a beautiful, intricate mirage that we chase, believing it will fulfill us. but in the end, it’s fleeting and fragile, existing only as long as we believe in it. it's precisely why we shouldn't believe in it.” the room was silent for a moment, absorbing your words. the professor nodded, her eyes thoughtful. “thank you. such a variety of perspectives. love truly is a complex subject.”

as you took your seat, you turned slightly and locked eyes with jimin. his expression softened, and he offered you a sweet smile that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words. next to him, sua’s glare was sharp and unyielding, her eyes filled with a mix of jealousy and disdain. the rest of the class passed in a blur, your thoughts tangled with the exchange of ideas and the intensity of jimin’s gaze. the whispers and judgments seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a new, inexplicable connection that left you feeling both intrigued and wary.

the bell rang, its sharp chime echoing through the classroom. students began to gather their belongings, the hum of conversation rising as they prepared to exit. you stood up, feeling the weight of their lingering gazes, and gathered your books. as you moved towards the door, you caught sight of sua stopping jimin, her manicured hand lightly gripping his arm.

“jimin, wait,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with irritation. he paused, turning to face her. she adjusted the collar of his shirt, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. “you seemed to be lost in thought at the sight of her,” she remarked, her glare piercing. “is she that pretty?”

he shook his head slightly, his expression guarded. “it’s not that,” he replied, his voice calm. her lips curled into a thin smile. “a shame, because i had a proposal for you.”

his curiosity was piqued. “what is it?”

sua tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his. “do you love me?” she asked, her tone deceptively sweet. his gaze softened. “of course, i do.”

she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “then if you love me, you’ll do me this favor.” his brows furrowed. “what do you want?”

her eyes flickered with a dangerous gleam. “the hostess’s daughter seemed to have a poor outlook on love,” she began, her words dripping with malice. “tempt her, make her feel loved.” jimin’s eyes widened in disbelief. “are you serious?”

her smile grew colder. “tempt her, and break her down even more,” she continued, her voice unwavering. “only if you love me.”

jimin hesitated, his gaze searching her face. “why do you hate her so much?” he asked quietly. her expression darkened, her eyes briefly clouded with an emotion she quickly masked. “don’t worry about it,” she replied, her tone dismissive. “i just need to know whose side you’re on.”

his jaw tightened, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling within him. after a moment, he nodded. “alright, sua. i’ll do my best.” her smile returned, her grip on his arm loosening. “good,” she said, satisfaction evident in her voice. “that’s all i needed to hear.”

as they walked out of the classroom together, you watched them, unaware of the twisted plan unfolding. jimin’s eyes met yours one last time, his expression unreadable, while sua’s glare remained cold and calculating. the weight of the coming days hung heavily in the air, the delicate balance of your new life poised on the edge of a precipice.

as you walked towards the bathroom, the bustling noise of the school faded behind you. the bathroom was a surprising oasis of cleanliness and elegance, its marble countertops and polished fixtures starkly contrasting with the chaos you had just left. you approached the mirror, touching up your makeup with practiced precision, the brush of lipstick creating a vivid red against your lips.

the sound of heels clicking on the tiled floor interrupted your solitude. you glanced up in the reflection and saw sua’s cold, piercing gaze meeting yours. she walked with deliberate steps to the sink beside yours, her movements graceful and deliberate. she pulled out a tube of lipstick from her designer makeup set and began applying it with the same meticulous care you had shown moments before.

her eyes flickered to you, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “dior?” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “expensive lipstick. seems like you have taste.” you met her gaze in the mirror, lifting an eyebrow. “yeah, seems like you do too,” you replied, nodding towards her own luxurious makeup set.

for a brief moment, her expression softened, and she gave you a polite nod. “thank you,” she said, the hint of warmth in her voice seeming almost genuine. but her demeanor changed abruptly, the warmth vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “only mine wasn’t bought with the money of a whore,” she added, her voice laced with venom. “can you believe it?”

without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked out, her heels clicking sharply as she disappeared down the hallway. you stood frozen, the sting of her words lingering as you stared at your reflection, struggling to process the encounter. as you made your way towards your locker, trying to shake off the shock, you heard a new voice call out behind you. “ignore her. she isn’t worth it.”

you turned to find jimin approaching, a smile on his face that seemed almost too genuine. you raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in your gaze. “that’s not a nice thing to say about your girlfriend.” his smile widened, but there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “she isn’t my girlfriend, can you believe it?” he said, his voice carrying an edge of amusement.

you stared at him, disbelief etched on your face. “she isn’t?” jimin shook his head. “no, she was nothing more than a friend. nothing more,” he reiterated, his tone casual but loaded with meaning.

you nodded slowly, taking in the revelation. the weight of his words settled over you, but before you could respond, he continued. “i heard your speech in class. isn’t that a bit pessimistic of you?” you scoffed, shaking your head slightly. “there’s a difference between pessimism and realism,” you said, your voice carrying an edge of finality. with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, your thoughts swirling with the day’s events. he watched you leave, his smile fading into a thoughtful expression. the challenge of seducing you, he realized, was more complex than he had anticipated.

as you navigated the bustling halls and classrooms of your new school, jimin's presence remained a constant, subtle influence. each encounter seemed to unravel new layers of his enigmatic demeanor. one afternoon, you dropped your pencil as you were collecting your things from your desk. jimin, who had been seated nearby, swiftly picked it up and extended it towards you with a polite smile.

“you dropped this,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of genuine warmth. “thank you,” you replied, accepting the pencil. the gesture, though small, felt surprisingly considerate.

a few days later, you were walking through the school courtyard when jimin approached you. his gaze lingered on your hair, which had been styled into soft waves that day. “your hair looks great today,” he said casually, his voice smooth and appreciative. “it suits you.” you glanced at him, taken aback by the compliment. “thanks,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

later that week, as you were struggling with a particularly heavy door while juggling your books, he appeared beside you, effortlessly holding the door open. “need some help?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze steady. you nodded, murmuring a grateful “yes, please,” as you passed through the door. he held it open until you were safely through, his smile never wavering. “no problem,” he said, his tone as warm as his smile.

despite his seemingly small acts of chivalry, you remained cautious, unsure of his true intentions. as the sun began to set, you walked home with jisoo by your side. the day’s interactions with jimin weighed heavily on your mind. jisoo turned to you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “i can’t believe he was—so nice to you,” she said, her brows furrowing. “and he said he isn’t dating sua?”

you nodded, still processing the events. “yeah, he told me he wasn’t dating her. it was surprising.” she shook her head, her skepticism evident. “i swear i saw them holding hands. maybe i was wrong. it’s hard to keep track of everyone’s alliances here.”

as you neared your home, the familiar, somewhat shabby house came into view. jisoo practically burst through the door, greeting your mother with a burst of enthusiasm. “hi, mrs. (l/n)! it’s so good to see you!” your mother looked up from her work, her expression softening slightly as she took in jisoo’s exuberance. “at least one of you is happy to see me,” she remarked, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness.

you forced a smile, though the tension between you and your mother still lingered beneath the surface. her activities had tainted the perception others had of you, casting a long shadow over your life. though you had ceased to resent her, the scars of the past remained. your mother turned to jisoo, her demeanor brightening. “are you staying the night?”

she nodded enthusiastically, her smile radiant. “yes, i am. i’ll help with lunch, too.” as she hugged you warmly, you couldn’t help but appreciate her presence. her support was a comforting constant in the whirlwind of your new life. the door closed behind you, the evening settling into a quiet rhythm of familiarity and routine, punctuated by the soft, reassuring hum of home.

the aroma of homemade dishes filled the kitchen as you, jisoo, and your mother gathered around the dining table. the meal was a comforting array of flavors, a stark contrast to the coldness of the school environment. laughter and the clinking of cutlery provided a soothing background to the conversation.

jisoo broke the comfortable silence, in a lively manner. “oh, by the way, i almost forgot to tell you,” she began, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she turned to your mother. “your daughter has a not-so-secret admirer.”

you shot her a warning glance, your cheeks flushing slightly. “knock it off,” you warned, trying to downplay the remark. your mother, who had been quietly enjoying her meal, looked up with an intrigued expression. “really?” she asked, her tone a mixture of curiosity and surprise. “who is it?”

you shrugged, attempting to brush off the topic. “it’s nobody important. he was just being nice.” your mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, her interest clearly piqued. “being nice is more than enough given the reputation our family has. who is it?”

jisoo chimed in before you could intervene. “it’s park jimin, the son of park and co.” at the mention of the name, your mother’s expression shifted noticeably. her eyes widened slightly, and a fleeting look of discomfort crossed her face. “is that true?” she asked, her voice laced with apprehension.

you shook your head, feeling a pang of frustration as you shot jisoo a stern glare. “he’s just being nice, mom. nothing more.” your mother’s expression remained tense, and she murmured, almost to herself, “let’s hope that’s all it is.” you chose not to press the issue further, sensing that there was more to her reaction than she was willing to share. the conversation veered back to more mundane topics, but the earlier unease lingered in the air.

as the meal continued, your phone buzzed on the table, drawing your attention. you glanced at the screen and saw a message from an unknown number. the text was brief, its content ambiguous: “you looked gorgeous today.” your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a rush of curiosity mixed with apprehension. the timing was too coincidental, given the conversation you’d just had. you stared at the message for a moment, trying to process the sudden shift in your day.

jisoo noticed your distraction and leaned in, her curiosity evident. “who’s that?” you hesitated before replying, “it’s just someone from school.” you kept your tone casual, though the tension of the moment was hard to ignore. your mother looked at you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, but she didn’t press further. the conversation resumed, but the atmosphere had changed subtly. the content of the message weighed on your mind, leaving you to ponder.

as the evening settled into a calm hush, you retreated to your room, a sanctuary of tranquility amidst the day's turmoil. the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting gentle shadows on the walls. jisoo, lounging comfortably on your bed, was indulging in a face mask, her eyes peeking out from behind the mask’s fabric.

you sat at your desk, absorbed in the glow of your laptop screen, fingers poised over the keyboard. the message from jimin lingered in your mind, and you began typing a reply, seeking clarity. “how did you get my number?” you inquired, your fingers hesitating slightly as you considered the implications of his response.

from her spot on the bed, jisoo watched you intently, her curiosity barely contained. “so, who’s the mysterious texter?” she asked, her voice muffled by the mask. you sighed, glancing at her. “it’s jimin. somehow, he managed to get my number.”

her eyes widened in surprise, and she adjusted her face mask, which had slipped askew. “how'd he get your number? do you have any idea?” you shook your head. “that’s what i’m trying to figure out.”

the reply from jimin arrived almost immediately. the message was as enigmatic as ever: “a gentleman never reveals his tricks.” you chuckled softly at the message, finding a hint of amusement in his playful secrecy. jisoo, intrigued, leaned closer. “did he reply?”

you nodded, reading out his words. “he said, ‘a gentleman never reveals his tricks.’” her eyebrows shot up, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “what a psycho. what if he’s watching us right now?”

you laughed lightly, shaking your head. “lay off the slasher movies. i’m sure he’s not lurking around.” you climbed into bed next to her, feeling the comfort of her presence.

her face was a mask of worry, despite the relaxation of the evening. “i’m serious,” she said, her voice earnest. “you should really avoid people like him. they’re trouble.” you turned on your side to face her, the warmth of the room contrasting with the tension of your conversation. “there’s something about him that draws me in,” you admitted, your voice soft but resolute.

she scoffed, her expression both teasing and concerned. “it’s just hormones. you’re probably caught up in the excitement of it all. maybe you should consider visiting a priest or something.” you gave her a playful shove, though her words resonated with a kernel of truth. “oh, come on. it’s not that serious.” despite the light-hearted banter, a part of you recognized the challenge of avoiding someone like jimin. his presence, enigmatic and alluring, had already begun to weave itself into the fabric of your daily life, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the pull he exerted on you.

the morning sun cast a golden glow over the school's fields as students gathered for their physical education class. the crisp air carried with it a sense of anticipation and a touch of chill. you walked alongside jisoo, who was grumbling with an exaggerated sigh. “running around at eight in the morning is basically child slavery,” she complained, her voice dripping with melodrama.

you chuckled, finding amusement in her theatrics. “use that for your college essay. sounds like a hit.” she shot you a playful glare before returning to her grumbling. “and these skirts are way too short for this kind of weather. i can practically feel my ovaries freezing.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you should sell them while they’re frozen.” as you approached the equipment, your gaze fell upon jimin. he stood on the court in a crisp white shirt and sweatpants, the sunlight highlighting the confident smile on his lips as he noticed you. you met his gaze with a smile of your own, but jisoo’s whining pulled you back to the present. “that’s not a bad idea,” she muttered as you both moved to grab the tennis rackets.

the field was soon filled with the rhythmic thwack of tennis balls and the shuffling of sneakers against the ground. you and jisoo took your positions, the coach calling out encouragements and praise as you warmed up, suggesting you to join the team. you excelled at tennis, each stroke precise and powerful, as though the sport was second nature to you. the coach’s praise was a testament to your skill, and he urged you to consider joining the team. jisoo, panting slightly, looked at you with a mix of admiration and exhaustion. “you should definitely do it,” she encouraged, her voice earnest.

before you could offer her help, a voice interrupted your concentration. you turned to see jimin standing nearby, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. “star player,” he called out, “how about you play against me?” surprise flickered across your face, but you nodded, accepting the challenge. the students gathered around, their murmurs and cheers creating a buzz of excitement in the air. the court became a stage, with the intensity of the match drawing everyone’s attention.

the game began, and you and jimin faced each other across the net. his movements were fluid and graceful, but there was a distinct edge to his play—a blend of skill and a hint of showmanship. each serve he delivered was precise, each return a test of your agility and strategy. you matched him stroke for stroke, your rackets slicing through the air with practiced ease. his eyes never left you as the match progressed. he adapted to your style, countering your moves with surprising finesse. the rally between you was a dance of athleticism and precision, the sound of the ball against the racket a rhythmic accompaniment to the growing tension. sweat glistened on both your foreheads as the game pushed both of you to your limits.

in a final, exhilarating exchange, you executed a perfect cross-court shot that jimin couldn’t quite reach. the ball landed just inside the boundary, and the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. the crowd erupted into applause, their cheers blending into a single, enthusiastic roar.

he approached you, his smile genuine and admiring. “congrats,” he said, his voice warm. “you really are the star player.” you met his gaze, smiling in return. “you’re the star opponent.”

jisoo, standing beside you, couldn’t resist a final jab. “looks like he finally found something he sucks at,” she scoffed, her tone playful. he laughed, the sound light and carefree. “i’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he joined his friends.

you and jisoo sat in the bustling cafeteria, the noise of lunchtime chatter surrounding you. as you indulged in your lunch, you both found yourselves engrossed in a seemingly pointless debate. “so, if you could choose between never having to sleep again or never needing to eat again, which would you pick?” she asked, her tone light and her gaze almost empty-headed.

you considered it for a moment before responding, “definitely never needing to eat again. imagine all the time you’d save.” she laughed, shaking her head. “think of all the delicious food you’d miss out on. i’d choose sleep, no contest.”

as you continued your discussion, sua and her entourage swept into the cafeteria, their presence commanding attention. her eyes narrowed when she spotted you, a smirk spreading across her lips. she strode over with an air of practiced arrogance, her friends trailing behind. without a word, she plopped down across from you, her eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and disdain. jisoo, clearly unimpressed, looked up from her meal. “what do you want?”

her smile widened, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “up to your friend. is bottle service included?” the cafeteria buzzed with murmurs and sidelong glances, the scene quickly drawing attention. you raised an eyebrow, matching her tone with a taunting edge. “how about a lap dance? is that enough?”

her expression darkened, her eyes flashing with irritation. “you seem cheap enough for one,” she snapped. with a sudden, aggressive motion, she pushed your tray onto your lap, sending your food tumbling onto your clothes. the sudden mess caused a gasp to ripple through the nearby tables. jisoo’s face turned pale with anger. “you must be out of your mind,” she growled, her voice trembling with rage.

before she could escalate the situation further, the cafeteria fell into an uneasy silence as jimin walked in, his presence instantly commanding attention. he scanned the room, his eyes quickly locking onto the commotion at your table. “what’s going on here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of authority. sua’s lips curled into a smirk as she replied, “just closing a deal.”

his gaze flickered between sua and you, a look of concern crossing his features. without waiting for her response, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her aside. his tone was firm and edged with frustration. “are you done here?” she huffed, her expression defiant. “i haven’t even started.”

jimin glanced back at your table, his eyes searching for you, but you had already stood up, brushing off the remnants of food from your clothes and gathering your things. you felt jisoo’s concerned gaze on you as you hurriedly made your way out of the cafeteria. he turned back to sua, his expression serious. “tone it down,” he said tersely. he began to follow in your direction, his concern palpable.

as he followed you, the cafeteria’s murmur of astonishment faded into the background, leaving you to navigate the hallways with a mixture of determination and unease. jisoo stayed close behind, her presence a comforting reminder of the support you had. you didn’t stick around to see what happened next. you slipped out of the cafeteria, the humiliation burning in your cheeks. you found yourself in an empty hallway, scrubbing at the stains on your skirt and blouse with a moist tissue. the tears threatened to spill over, but you fought them back, determined not to let sua win.

“you’re doing it wrong.”

the voice startled you, and you looked up to see jimin approaching. he knelt beside you, gently taking the tissue from your hand. “let me,” he said softly, wiping your uniform with surprising precision and gentleness. “she’s just jealous of you, you know,” he murmured as he worked.

you scoffed, shaking your head. “she has nothing to be jealous of.” he glanced up at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “that’s what you think.”

you watched him, the way his hands moved with careful attention, and a strange sensation stirred within you. it was something you couldn’t quite name, something warm and fluttering in your chest and stomach. “why are you being so nice to me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “given my reputation and all.”

he paused, his eyes meeting yours. “everyone has their flaws,” he said simply. he smiled again, a genuine, heartwarming smile. “it wouldn’t be fair for such a pretty girl to have no flaws, right?” the unexpected compliment made you feel a rush of emotions. you couldn’t help but smile back at him, the warmth spreading through you. his kindness felt like a beacon of light in your turbulent world, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

the biology classroom buzzed with the low hum of student chatter, the scent of textbooks and lingering antiseptic filling the air. you took your seat beside jisoo, still feeling the sting of the cafeteria incident, though you tried to push it to the back of your mind. she leaned over, her voice a quiet murmur. “are you okay? i swear, i’ll kill her for what she did.”

you managed a small smile, the ghost of amusement flickering in your eyes. “i’m fine. i’ll even help you hide the body.” she grinned, though the worry didn’t leave her eyes. before either of you could say more, the professor strode into the room, commanding immediate attention. he was a tall, thin man with a perpetually serious expression, his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose.

“good afternoon, class,” he began, his voice cutting through the remaining whispers. “today, we’re starting a new project, one that will make up half of your final grade.” a collective groan rippled through the room, jisoo’s being the loudest.

“i hate science,” she muttered beside you. “everyone should just turn to God instead.” you might have laughed at her comment, but your attention was elsewhere. across the room, jimin sat with a soft smile playing on his lips, his eyes locking onto yours. the connection was brief but charged, a silent exchange that made your heart skip a beat.

the professor continued, oblivious to the undercurrents running through his classroom. “this project will involve both theoretical research and practical application. you will be studying various biological processes and their implications. each pair will be assigned a specific topic, which you’ll need to explore in depth. your presentation should include a detailed report and a demonstration of your findings.”

as he spoke, you barely registered his words, your mind preoccupied with the inexplicable pull towards jimin. it wasn’t until jisoo’s exaggerated whine broke through your thoughts that you snapped back to reality. “that’s not fair,” she protested. you turned to her, puzzled. “what are you talking about?”

her eyes were wide with disbelief as she leaned closer. “you’ve been partnered up with jimin.” your gaze flicked back to him, who was still looking at you with that infuriatingly soft smile. the professor’s voice droned on, repeating the importance of the project and its significant impact on your final grade.

next to jimin, sua scoffed loudly enough for those nearby to hear. “you must be ecstatic,” she spat. he turned to her, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

she sneered, her eyes cold. “i see the way you look at her.” his frustration was evident as he shot back, “i’m only doing what you wanted.” her sneer deepened, but there was something in her eyes, a flicker of something almost like hurt, that she quickly masked with disdain. the tension between them was palpable, and you couldn’t help but feel caught in the crossfire of their unspoken conflict.

as the class went on, the professor handed out assignment sheets, detailing the topics and expectations for each pair. you glanced at the paper, trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept drifting back to jimin. there was something about him, something beyond his charming smile and easy demeanor, that intrigued you. after class, jisoo grabbed your arm, her expression a mix of worry and excitement. “are you okay with this? i mean, working with him?”

you nodded slowly, still processing the unexpected turn of events. “i guess i don’t have much of a choice, do i?” she sighed, shaking her head. “just be careful, okay? i don’t trust him. or sua, for that matter.”

you squeezed her hand reassuringly. “i’ll be fine. it’s just a project.” but even as you said the words, you knew that it was more than just a project. it was an entanglement, a thread pulling you deeper into a web of intrigue and emotion. and as you walked out of the classroom, jimin’s gaze followed you, a silent promise of complications yet to come.

the library was a sanctuary of quiet, filled with the scent of old books and the soft rustling of pages turning. you wandered the aisles, collecting the necessary books for your biology project, the weight of their knowledge promising to lighten your academic burden. reaching for a particularly thick volume on a high shelf, you stretched on your toes, your fingers just grazing the spine when a hand reached up beside yours and plucked it effortlessly.

turning to protest, you found yourself face to face with jimin. he handed you the book with a small, teasing smile. “here you go,” he said. “thanks,” you replied, taking the book and trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. you moved to find a table, and he followed, his presence a constant, warm shadow.

as you settled into your seats, he broke the silence. “i have to admit, i don’t know much about biology. to be honest, it’s all a bit of a mystery to me.” you laughed, the sound light and genuine. “don’t worry, i’ll get you through it.”

you opened the books and began taking notes, trying to focus on the complex terms and diagrams. jimin, however, seemed more interested in watching you. every so often, you’d catch him glancing your way, a soft, thoughtful look in his eyes. at one point, he peered over your shoulder, reading aloud from the book.

“‘oxytocin,’” he said, his voice low and smooth, “‘a hormone that contributes to the biological process that stimulates the feeling of love.’” for a second, your eyes met, and a rush of warmth spread through you. you tried to push past it, scoffing lightly. “see? it’s just hormones.”

he leaned back in his chair, an amused glint in his eyes. “you really don’t believe in love, do you?” you hesitated, the question cutting deeper than you expected. shaking your head, you tried to muster a nonchalant response. “not really.”

his curiosity piqued, he leaned in closer, folding his arms over the book. “why not?” for the first time, someone had actually asked why, and it took you a moment to find your voice. your heart beat a little faster as you began. “because—”

you paused, the memories flooding back. “i used to believe in it, while my parents were together. then, my mother did what she did.” you laughed, but there was no humor in it. “it seemed like nothing was more important than money. not shame, not her family. and when dad left us, it ruined me, but all she cared about was making money.”

his expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand. his touch was gentle, sending shockwaves through you. “that sounds rough, but it won’t always be rough. if you’re not tempted by the wrong things, you’ll always end up with the right things.” you couldn’t help but ease into the warmth of his hand, the connection grounding you. “how do we know what the right thing is?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

jimin smiled, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “you’ll know when you feel it.” and in that moment, you swore you felt it. the sincerity in his eyes, the warmth of his touch—it was like a spark of something genuine, something real. for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe, if only for a fleeting second, that maybe, just maybe, there was something more.

the sun dipped low in the sky as you walked home, the air crisp and cool, carrying the scents of autumn. jimin strolled beside you, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. the conversation flowed easily, punctuated by comfortable silences that felt more like shared moments of understanding than lapses. as your house came into view, you turned to say goodbye, but your words caught in your throat as your mother stepped out onto the porch.

her face lit up with a welcoming smile. “you’re back later than usual,” she remarked, before turning her gaze to jimin. “and who might this be?”

he smiled politely and took a step forward. “i’m sorry, ma’am. we were studying together. i’m park jimin.” for a moment, your mother’s face seemed to freeze, her smile faltering as she examined him closely. “you look so much like your father,” she murmured, shaking her head as if to clear away old memories. her smile returned, albeit a bit more strained. “would you like to stay over for lunch, jimin?”

you blinked, glancing between the two of them, taken aback by her invitation. his laughter was nervous but genuine as he nodded. “i’d love to. thank you.”

inside, the house was warm, the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of simmering soup and freshly baked bread. you helped your mother set the table, the clinking of dishes a soothing background noise. when you placed a bowl in front of jimin, your eyes met, and your heart fluttered inexplicably.

lunch was a quiet, intimate affair. your mother had outdone herself, serving a hearty meal that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. jimin praised the food, and your mother’s smile was genuine this time, the warmth in her eyes reflecting her pride. “so, jimin,” your mother began, her tone conversational but probing, “i suppose you’ve heard about the scandal.”

he paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth, before setting it down gently. “i’ve heard a bit, yes,” he replied, his voice careful. “but it’s nothing to worry about. these things blow over soon enough.” you tensed at the mention of it, your appetite waning. your mother noticed and gave you a reassuring look before turning back to him. “you’re quite understanding. my daughter mentioned you not too long ago.”

you felt your cheeks burn as you scolded her softly, “mom, please.” jimin’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and he turned to you, an eyebrow raised. “oh, really?”

your embarrassment deepened, and you stammered, “it’s not a big deal.” your mother shook her head, her smile unwavering. “she’s never talked about a boy in her life. this is a big deal.”

jimin’s smile widened, his heart fluttering at the mention. “well, i’m honored,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours a moment longer than necessary. as the meal progressed, the conversation flowed easily. your mother seemed to warm up to him, her initial wariness melting away in the face of his genuine charm. he spoke about his interests, his plans for the future, and every so often, his eyes would flicker to you, as if seeking your approval.

as lunch came to an end, you found yourself reluctant to see jimin go. there was something about his presence that felt comforting, like a balm to your frayed nerves. when he finally stood to leave, your mother pressed a container of leftovers into his hands, insisting he take it. “thank you for having me,” he said, his voice sincere. “i really appreciate it.”

as you walked him to the door, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing. “thank you for today,” you said softly. he smiled, his eyes warm. “thank you for having me. i’ll see you at school?”

you nodded, unable to keep the smile from your lips. “see you at school.” and as he walked away, you felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that perhaps, life was about to surprise you after all.

jimin walked the familiar path to his manor, the weight of the day pressing lightly on his shoulders. the estate loomed ahead, its grandeur a testament to his family’s status. as he entered, the smell of rich mahogany and leather filled his senses. his mother was seated on the couch, a glass of wine in hand, her expression turning to one of concern as she saw him.

“where have you been?” she asked, her voice soft but probing. his father, seated in his favorite armchair, eyed him cautiously. “studying for my upcoming project with a friend,” jimin replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

his father chuckled, a sound that held more skepticism than amusement. “studying, you say? snow must be forecasted for tomorrow.” jimin attempted to laugh it off, but his older sister chimed in. yura was a striking figure, a successful businesswoman who often indulged in wine with their mother. “a friend?” she queried, her tone laced with curiosity. “does this friend happen to be a girl?”

he tried to brush it off, maintaining his nonchalant demeanor. “yes, but she’s just a friend.” his mother’s brow furrowed slightly. “are you still seeing sua?” she asked, her concern evident.

jimin nodded, his voice steady. “yes, i am.”

“then why are you hanging out with other girls?” she pressed. before he could respond, his father intervened, his tone lighter. “he’s young. he has the right to have some fun.” this earned him skeptical glares from both his wife and daughter.

as jimin made his way up the grand staircase to his room, his mother’s voice followed him. “have you taken your pills?” his chest tightened at the reminder. “i’ll take them now,” he assured her.

“good,” she replied. “we don’t need another incident.” he felt a pang of unease at her words but continued to his room, closing the door behind him. the room was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where he could be himself. he crossed to his desk, where a bottle of pills stood as a stark reminder of his responsibilities. he frowned as he took one, the bitterness of the pill a sharp contrast to the sweetness of his earlier encounter with you.

but he couldn't dwell on the bitterness for long. the thought of you brought a warmth to his chest, a happiness that seemed to light up even the darkest corners of his mind. he plopped onto the couch, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. he couldn't help but think about your eyes, the way they sparkled when you talked about something you were passionate about, and the way your laughter seemed to fill the room with light. for a moment, the weight of his family's expectations, the pills, and the memories of past incidents faded into the background.

the following morning, the sun cast a gentle glow over the tennis courts, the light filtering through the early morning haze. you were already on the court, warming up and serving balls with precise, practiced motions. each serve sliced through the air, a testament to your skill and dedication. the rest of the students began to line up, their murmurs a quiet hum in the background.

you stopped in your tracks when you heard a familiar scoff. looking up, you saw sua standing at the edge of the court, her smirk as sharp as ever. “don't worry, it isn't lunch yet,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. she paused, her eyes narrowing. “let's see if you're as good as they say you are.”

you squared your shoulders, determination settling in your bones. the showdown began, each of you serving and returning the ball with fierce intensity. the rhythmic sound of tennis balls being struck echoed around the court, blending with the rising tension in the air. jimin walked onto the field, curiosity etched on his features. spotting jaebum, he asked, “what's going on?”

jaebum, eyes fixed on the game, replied, “your girlfriend’s getting her ass handed to her.” to his surprise, a smile played on jimin's lips as he watched you. your form was impeccable, each movement fluid and powerful. the way you played was mesmerizing, a dance of skill and tenacity. the match grew more intense. you blocked sua's attempts to send the ball flying past you, returning each one with precision. the final moment came when sua, out of frustration, aimed a ball straight at your face. you blocked it effortlessly, sending it back her way with a force she couldn’t match. she scrambled, but couldn't save it in time.

the court erupted in applause, but sua was far from gracious in defeat. ahe strode over to you, her expression dark. “you have a way with balls,” she sneered. “your mother taught you well.”

fed up, you closed the distance between you, your hand darting out and colliding with the side of her face. the sound echoed around the court, followed by a collective gasp from the students. “i've had just about enough of your shit,” you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

her eyes widened in shock. “have you lost your mind?” she demanded, raising her hand to strike you back. you flinched, bracing for the impact, but it never came. instead, jimin's grip closed around sua's wrist, stopping her cold. your heart raced as you watched the scene unfold.

“she slapped me,” she practically shrieked, her voice filled with indignation. “did you see what she did?” jimin’s expression remained calm, almost amused. “yeah, maybe you should stop biting off more than you can chew.” he dropped her hand, leaving her stunned and speechless.

turning to you, he grabbed your wrist, his touch firm but gentle. “come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “where are we going?” you asked, trying to keep up with his brisk pace.

“we're ditching school for the day,” he informed you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. you opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your lips. there was something about the way he led you away, the sense of freedom in breaking the rules just this once, that made it impossible to resist. the two of you walked off the field, leaving behind the shocked whispers and lingering tension of the court.

as you walked briskly beside him, you couldn’t help but ask, “why the sudden idea?” he stiffened slightly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “you seem like you need a break,” he replied, his voice softer than usual.

the tension from the tennis court gradually melted away as you both ventured into the city. the world outside school walls felt different, lighter, filled with possibilities. your steps slowed as you approached a quaint coffee shop. the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted out as jimin held the door open for you. inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, the soft murmur of conversations blending with the clinking of cups.

you found a cozy corner by the window, and jimin ordered two lattes. when he returned with the steaming cups, he placed one in front of you and took a seat across the small table. “so,” he began, stirring his coffee thoughtfully, “tell me something about yourself that no one else knows.” you smiled, taking a sip of your latte. “i’m not as boring as people think,” you said, your tone playful.

he chuckled, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “i never thought you were boring.” the conversation flowed easily, laughter mingling with the aroma of coffee. you found yourself sharing stories, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders with each passing moment.

after leaving the coffee shop, you both wandered to a nearby park. the trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. you found a bench beneath a large oak tree, its branches casting dappled shadows on the ground. jimin stretched out beside you, his gaze thoughtful. “you know,” he said, “sometimes you just need to let go and enjoy the little things.”

you nodded, watching as children played nearby, their laughter infectious. “i guess i’ve forgotten how to do that.” he turned to you, his eyes earnest. “then let’s remind you.”

the day seemed to pass in a blur of moments—feeding ducks at the pond, racing each other up a hill, and sharing stories beneath the shade of the old oak tree. each moment felt like a stolen piece of happiness, a reprieve from the usual chaos. as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, jimin suggested one more stop. “let’s go to the beach,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

the beach was a short walk away, and the walk itself was filled with easy conversation and the hum of the active city. when you finally arrived, the sight of the sea stretching endlessly before you took your breath away. you kicked off your shoes, the cool sand seeping between your toes as you walked towards the shoreline. “i haven’t been to the beach in a long time,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “the last time i went was when my parents were still together.”

jimin’s gaze softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. “you should come more often,” he said gently. you looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “why?”

he pointed to the sea, its waves lapping gently at the shore. “you’re as pretty as the sea.” you couldn’t help but blush, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “you’re not as awful as people say you are,” you said, your tone teasing.

he smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “you have no idea.” curiosity piqued, you asked, “what do you mean by that?”

he shrugged, looking out at the horizon. “i’ve got a lot on my plate, too.” you were about to ask him what he meant, the words forming on your lips, when he cut you off with a gentle kiss on your forehead. the touch was soft, lingering, and it sent a rush of warmth through you. you were taken aback, your heart pounding in your chest. he noticed your surprise and smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“come on,” he said, taking your hand. “we have a project to study for.” the butterflies in your stomach refused to settle as you followed him, the day’s events playing over and over in your mind. the sun set in the distance, casting a golden glow over the beach, but all you could think about was the boy beside you.

you walked with him, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the path as you approached his manor. the sight of the grand, imposing structure took your breath away, its sheer size and elegance making you feel small in comparison. jimin noticed your awe and smiled softly, guiding you through the expansive entrance. “welcome to my humble abode,” he joked, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes—perhaps a reluctance or discomfort with the grandeur of his home.

he led you through the hallways, each one more opulent than the last, until you reached his room. it was surprisingly simple compared to the rest of the house, a sanctuary of purity and calm. the walls were adorned with soft hues, the furniture understated yet elegant. your eyes landed on a series of framed baby photos on his bedside table. “is that you?” you asked, pointing to one of the photos.

he laughed, a sound that warmed the room. “yeah, that’s me. ibwasn’t that ugly, was i?” he teased, noticing your lingering gaze. “quite the opposite,” you said, sincerity in your voice. you were captivated by the innocence in the photo, a stark contrast to the composed young man beside you.

jimin picked up the photo you had been staring at, his fingers tracing the edges of the frame. a smile played on his lips, and his eyes softened with nostalgia. “simpler times,” he murmured, almost to himself. he carefully removed the photo from the frame and handed it to you. “take it,” he urged, his voice gentle yet firm.

“are you sure?” you asked, shocked by his gesture. he nodded, and your heart fluttered as you tucked the photo into your pocket. the sight of him as a baby made your heart swell with an unfamiliar warmth.

as you settled down to study, jimin began repeating the biological processes listed in the book, his voice rhythmic and soothing. despite his efforts, you couldn’t seem to focus, your mind wandering back to the earlier conversation. “what's wrong?” he asked, concern lacing his tone. “you mentioned having a lot on your plate,” you began hesitantly. “what did you mean by that?”

he sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “wait here,” he said, getting up and leaving the room. you waited, curiosity gnawing at you until he returned, a small bottle in his hand. “what’s that?” you asked, though you had a sinking feeling you already knew.

“antidepressants,” he answered, his voice calm. your eyes widened in surprise. “why do you have them?”

he lifted his sleeve, revealing his wrist where faint scars were healing. the sight of them stunned you, a sharp pain piercing your heart. the room seemed to hold its breath, the silence heavy and poignant. “i went through a tough time last year,” he explained, his voice steady but soft. “no one was willing to help. i was suffocating and couldn’t find a way out.”

he paused, a smile tugging at his lips despite the weight of his words. “i’ve never told anyone that before.”

you stared at his scars, your fingers tracing them gently. tears welled up in your eyes, the raw vulnerability of the moment overwhelming you. he noticed, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “hey,” he said softly, his touch tender. “i didn’t show you this so you could cry.”

“i’m just—i’m so glad you’re still here,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. his hand cupped your cheek, and in that moment of sheer vulnerability, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. the kiss shocked you at first, but you kissed back, the intensity of the moment deepening. it was a kiss filled with all the unspoken words, the shared pain, and the unvoiced longing.

his arms wrapped around you, and he gently picked you up, carrying you to his bed. the kiss grew more intense, each touch a promise, each breath a declaration. as he laid you down, his eyes held yours, a silent vow of understanding and acceptance. in the quiet sanctuary of his room, you both found solace in each other, a moment of purity and connection amidst the chaos of your lives. the world outside ceased to exist, and for those precious moments, it was just you and him.

his hands began to explore your body, his touch light and reverent. jimin had always been attentive, but now there was something different, something more profound. you felt your heart racing, your skin tingling with every caress. your body responded to his, eager to know him in every way possible. he noticed your nervousness and took his time, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, reassuring you that he would be gentle.

his lips trailed down your neck, and you felt your breath hitch. you’d never been with anyone before, but in that moment, you knew that this was right. he had become so much more than just a friend—he was the one who had seen through your walls, who had accepted you at your worst, and now he was the one you wanted to give yourself to completely. it made you wonder, what was it exactly that you were feeling? was it the sheer vulnerability taking action, or was it the feeling you had spent nineteen years believing to be nothing more than a mere illusion.

as he entered you, you knew what you were feeling wasn't an illusion. you felt a brief flash of pain, but his tender kisses and soothing whispers helped ease the discomfort. the pain soon gave way to pleasure, and you found yourself lost in the rhythm of his movements. your bodies melded together as one, the intimacy of the act leaving you feeling both vulnerable and empowered.

in the aftermath, you lay in his arms, the warmth of his embrace seeping into your very soul. his heartbeat was the only sound in the room, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo your own. his guilt still lingered, but in that moment, it was overshadowed by the raw emotion that filled the space between you. jimin had never meant for it to go this far, never meant to catch feelings for someone he was supposed to use as a means to an end. but as he held you, feeling your heart beating against his chest, he knew he could never go back to seeing you as just a bet. the lines had blurred, and now, he was just as invested in this as you were. the realization was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. but for now, he pushed it aside, choosing to focus on the warmth of your embrace and the sweet taste of your lips.

in the soft glow of the afternoon sun streaming through jimin's window, the world seemed to hold its breath. your heart raced as you lay beside him, the intimacy of the moment enveloping you both. the quiet hum of the house served as a gentle reminder of the sanctuary you found within each other's company. he turned to you, his eyes searching yours with a blend of curiosity and tenderness. “why did you give yourself to me if you don’t believe in love?” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, yet it held the weight of a thousand unasked questions. the realization of what had transpired began to settle in, and you felt a mixture of vulnerability and courage. you looked into his eyes, the words forming slowly on your lips.

“i was tempted,” you whispered, the truth of it resonating in the quiet space between you. a small, almost shy smile played on his lips. “what exactly was it that tempted you?” he asked, his gaze unwavering.

you reached out, your fingers tracing the faint scars on his wrist with a delicate touch. there was something profound in the simplicity of the gesture, a silent acknowledgment of his pain and resilience. “you,” you said, your voice steady as you met his eyes. “you tempted me.”

his smile widened, a mixture of relief and affection lighting up his features. he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender caress. the vulnerability in his gaze mirrored your own, and in that moment, you felt an unspoken understanding pass between you. “thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude and something deeper, something you couldn't quite name. you smiled back, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. “for what?”

“for seeing me,” he replied, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “for accepting me, scars and all.” the raw honesty of his words touched you deeply, and you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. the two of you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence. the world outside continued its relentless pace, but in the quiet sanctuary of his room, time seemed to slow down. the connection you shared felt sacred, a beautiful intertwining of souls that defied the chaos of life.

the morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of jimin’s room, casting delicate patterns on the walls. he woke up alone, the previous night's warmth lingering faintly in the air. the house was quiet, save for the occasional clink of dishes from the kitchen downstairs. he stretched, feeling a strange mixture of peace and anticipation.

as he descended the grand staircase, his mother looked up from her cup of tea, a smile of relief softening her features. “good morning, jimin. when are we going to see sua again? it feels like ages since she’s been over.” he paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he sighed. “actually, mom, i broke up with sua.”

his mother’s eyes widened in surprise. “you what? why on earth would you do that?” he took a deep breath, his heart pounding as he faced the inevitable. “i fell in love with someone else.”

his mother’s shock deepened, her teacup almost slipping from her grasp. “is it that girl you were studying with yesterday?” a gentle smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. “yes, it is.”

his mother opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, his father, who had been silently observing from his chair, spoke up. “why don’t you invite her over for dinner? we’d like to meet her.” his mother turned to him, aghast. “are you serious?” his father nodded, his expression calm and composed. “i am. i trust our son’s judgment.”

at school, the memory of the previous night played over and over in your mind as you recounted everything to jisoo. her eyes grew wider with each word, and she let out a shriek that drew the attention of everyone around. “you need to keep it to yourself,” you hissed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

she was stunned, her eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and excitement. “i warned you,” she said, hitting you lightly on the arm. before you could respond, a familiar voice interrupted. “warned her about what?”

you both turned to see jimin approaching, a playful smile on his lips. jisoo quickly brushed it off, trying to act casual. he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. you pushed him back, whispering urgently, “people are staring,” he chuckled. “so what?”

“you should be embarrassed to be seen with the hostess’s daughter,” you muttered, trying to step away. but he only pulled you in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. he waved at taehyung, who was standing nearby, his jaw practically on the floor. jimin took your hand and waved it at taehyung, much to your mortification.

“are you crazy?” you hissed, trying to pull your hand back. he laughed, the sound light and carefree. “i have good news,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

“what is it?” you asked, curiosity piqued. “my parents want to have dinner with you,” he said, pausing to gauge your reaction. “are you okay with that?”

jisoo’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, and you felt your own heart skip a beat. stunned and flustered, you nodded hesitantly. “i’d be honored.” jimin smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. the world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you.

that evening, as you stood before your wardrobe, your hands trembled with anticipation. your mother was out, so you indulged in exploring your options without interruption. fabrics of varying textures and colors slipped through your fingers as you considered each dress. you finally settled on an elegant white dress, its fabric smooth and cool against your skin. the intricate lace detailing along the neckline and hem added a touch of sophistication. you paired it with delicate pearl earrings and a simple bracelet, hoping to make a good impression.

once ready, you instructed your driver to take you to the park manor. the drive seemed both endless and fleeting, the passing scenery a blur of colors as your heart raced. upon arrival, jimin welcomed you with a warm hug, his embrace steadying your nerves. he led you inside where his parents awaited.

his mother’s eyes widened as she took in your appearance. “you’re even prettier than i anticipated,” she remarked, a smile playing on her lips. his father, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on you with an unreadable expression. his stomach seemed to sink as he observed you, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. jimin's sister approached you, her eyes lighting up as she hugged you. “you look like a doll!” she exclaimed, admiring your handbag.

jimin beamed at their reactions, but his father’s silence lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over the otherwise warm reception. you were guided to the dining room, where a beautifully set table awaited. the soft glow of candles and the elegant tableware created a welcoming atmosphere. you couldn’t help but compliment the decor.

“thank you,” jimin’s mother replied, her smile genuine. she opened a bottle of wine, the soft pop of the cork punctuating the air. “would you like a glass?”

you declined politely. “oh, no, ma'am. i don’t drink.” her eyes sparkled with pleasant surprise, but she insisted, “it’s a special occasion.” she poured you a glass despite your initial refusal, placing it gently in front of you. as the meal began, the conversation flowed smoothly, filled with lighthearted anecdotes and laughter. the atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension you had felt earlier. however, a shift occurred when jimin’s sister suddenly turned to you, her brow furrowed slightly.

“i just realized, we never got your name,” she said, curiosity in her voice. you smiled apologetically, feeling slightly embarrassed. “i’m sorry, my name is (y/n) (l/n).”

a heavy silence fell over the table, the warmth dissipating in an instant. his mother’s friendly expression quickly vanished, replaced by one of shock. she repeated your last name, her voice barely a whisper. “you’re the daughter of the woman who owns the hostess club,” she stated, her tone now cold and distant. you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you struggled to find your voice. “yes, but my mother is no longer a part of it,” you managed to say, your voice trembling.

his father’s face had turned pale, his eyes wide with disbelief. jimin’s gaze flicked between you and his parents, confusion and curiosity etched on his features. the glass in his mother’s hand suddenly shattered, wine spilling across the table as shards of glass dug into her skin. “get out of my house,” her tone was cold, her voice trembling with rage and horror. “never show your face here again.” you were stunned, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to comprehend what had just happened. jimin stood abruptly, his fist slamming into the table. “what is your problem?” he demanded, his voice shaking with anger.

his mother scoffed, her hand bleeding as she slammed the remaining shards of glass into the table. “don’t you know?” she spat, tears streaming down her cheeks. “don’t you know that your father was her mother’s favorite guest? your father and kang sua’s father?” she paused, her gaze piercing through you. “she tempted them. it’s in their blood.”

the weight of her words hit you like a physical blow. shocked and humiliated, tears streamed down your face as you stammered an apology before fleeing the room. the world outside was a blur of darkness and cold, the warmth and light of the manor replaced by the harsh reality of your situation. as you ran, the tears continued to flow, each step feeling heavier than the last.

the night air was cold against your skin as you ran, tears blurring your vision. humiliation and shame burned hot in your chest, mingling with a fierce, simmering anger. the echo of his mother’s words reverberated in your mind, each repetition deepening the wound. you burst through your front door, sobbing uncontrollably. your mother, who had been reading in the living room, rushed to your side, her face etched with concern. “what happened?” she asked, her voice soft with worry.

you tried to push her away, the sight of your once pristine dress now stained with wine and blood adding fuel to your anger. “it’s all your fault,” you spat, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. she recoiled, her eyes wide with shock. “what do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“everything!” you screamed, your voice raw. “dad leaving, the humiliation, all of it. it’s all because of you.” you sank to your knees, the overwhelming weight of your emotions pressing down on you. tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed, each breath a struggle. your mother, tears in her own eyes, knelt beside you. despite your protests, she wrapped her arms around you, her embrace warm and comforting.

“i know,” she whispered, her voice filled with sorrow. “i know you hate me, and no apology in the world will make up for me being the worst mother.” you fought against her hold at first, but your strength soon gave out. you clung to her shirt, your sobs gradually quieting. her presence, once a source of anger, now provided a strange comfort. she held you tightly, her tears mixing with yours as she whispered soothing words.

the house was silent except for the sound of your breathing and the occasional sniffle. the warmth of your mother’s embrace began to melt the ice around your heart, if only slightly. you were still angry, still hurt, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to be held. the weight of the evening’s events slowly began to lift, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion. as your cries died down, you remained clinging to her shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest. for the first time in a long while, you felt a small semblance of peace. it wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was a start. and in the quiet of the night, held in your mother’s arms, you found a glimmer of hope.

the tension in the room was palpable after you fled, leaving an echoing silence that seemed to suffocate the air. jimin’s mother, her hand bleeding and her eyes filled with a mixture of rage and pain, finally broke the silence. her voice was calm, but there was a steely edge to it that brooked no argument. “jimin,” she said, “you will never see that girl again.”

jimin, still standing, fists clenched in fury, shook his head vehemently. “no,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “she has nothing to do with her mother’s affairs.” he paused, his gaze shifting to his father, who sat with his head bowed in shame. “or your affairs.”

his mother’s face twisted with anger. she slammed her hand down on the table, causing the silverware to clatter. “see her again then,” she spat. “try your luck.” the room was charged with an almost tangible electricity. her face was a mask of cold determination, her eyes burning with a fierce intensity. she paused, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “see her again, and i promise you she’ll disappear.”

his heart pounded in his chest. he felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under him, leaving him adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. anger, fear, and a desperate need to protect you all warred within him. he knew he couldn’t let his mother’s threats go unanswered, but the sheer intensity of her hatred left him momentarily speechless. the dinner table fell silent once more, the only sound the ticking of the antique clock in the hallway. jimin turned and left the room, his heart heavy with a mix of determination and dread. he knew the battle was far from over, but he also knew that he couldn’t give up on you. not now, not ever.

the morning at school was cloaked in an oppressive tension, and the air seemed to thrum with unspoken words and hidden resentments. jimin, with a determined stride, marched through the crowded hallway, his eyes fixed on sua. as he approached her, the sea of students parted, sensing the gravity of the confrontation about to unfold.

her eyes flickered with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. “giving up already?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. jimin’s face was a mask of unyielding resolve. “the game is over,” he said abruptly, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding.

she raised an eyebrow, her expression one of intrigued disbelief. “what do you mean?” he took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “i’ve fallen in love with her,” he declared, his voice firm despite the weight of his words.

her eyes widened in shock, and then a cruel smile curved her lips. “you must be joking,” she said, her tone icy with contempt. he shook his head, a mix of sadness and resolve in his eyes. “i’m not. i’m sorry, sua.” without another word, her hand lashed out, the sting of the slap echoing through the hallway. jimin flinched, but his eyes remained locked on hers, a silent defiance in their depths. shw turned on her heel, her gaze cold and unfeeling as she walked away, her heels clicking ominously on the polished floor.

as she disappeared into the bathroom, you were making your way down the corridor, lost in your own thoughts. the bathroom door swung open with a sharp creak, and her presence was like a storm cloud. she spotted you at the sink, and her gaze hardened as she approached. you met her gaze in the mirror, your heart sinking. “what do you want?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flutter of anxiety in your chest.

her expression twisted into a mask of venomous disdain. “you’ve tempted him,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. she paused, letting her words sink in before adding, “you really are just like your mother.”

in the midst of your panic, her voice cut through the noise once more. “you really thought this was real?” she sneered, her tone dripping with contempt. “you were just a bet. jimin was a part of it from the beginning.” the revelation hit you like a physical blow, your breath catching as you gasped for air. through the blur of water and your own tears, you barely made out her words.

“he was never serious,” she continued, her expression a cruel mix of satisfaction and pity. “it was all just a game to him, a way to amuse himself. and you were just another pawn.” the words echoed in your mind, mingling with the sting of the cold water and the pressure of her hands. the reality of the betrayal was a crushing weight, adding to the turmoil you already felt.

before you could react, her hand clamped onto your hair, her grip like a vice. panic surged through you as she yanked you towards the sink. the cold, unforgiving porcelain met your face as she dunked you, the water gushing forth with a harsh, relentless force. you flailed, gasping for air as the water swirled around you, filling your senses with its icy, suffocating embrace. your mind whirled with disjointed memories from your old school, fragments of humiliation and fear blending with the present moment. the world around you blurred as your vision darkened, the water pressing against your face like a heavy, smothering shroud.

just as you felt yourself slipping into darkness, a powerful force yanked her away. the sudden release was disorienting, and you coughed, spluttering as you gasped for breath. as you tried to steady yourself, the chaos around you began to coalesce into clarity. turning your head, you saw jisoo standing in the doorway, her face a mask of fury and concern. “get lost,” she commanded, her voice a fierce, protective roar.

sua, caught off guard, hesitated before retreating, her expression one of anger and frustration. as she stormed out of the bathroom, the door slammed behind her, leaving you and jisoo in the wake of the confrontation. she hurried to your side, her arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. you clung to her, tears streaming down your face as you trembled with shock and fear. “it’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, her voice soothing and steady. “i’m here. you’re safe now.” the warmth of her embrace was a stark contrast to the cold, harsh reality of what had just transpired. as you allowed yourself to cry, the sobs wracking your body, her presence was a balm to your wounded spirit. her hands gently stroked your back, her voice a constant reassurance that you weren’t alone.

as you left the school, the heavy weight of the day seemed to press down upon you. the hallway, once bustling with the casual chatter of students, now felt hollow and distant. your footsteps echoed in the quiet, a rhythmic reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. as you approached the gates, your phone buzzed sharply, breaking the silence of your troubled thoughts. you glanced at the screen, seeing jimin’s name flash across it. an inexplicable mix of apprehension and curiosity gripped you. you hesitated for a moment before answering, your breath catching as you said, “hello?”

to your surprise, it was not jimin’s voice but his mother’s that greeted you. her tone was clear and authoritative, though tinged with an undertone of cold detachment. “hello,” she began, “i need you to come to the manor immediately.” your heart raced at the urgency in her voice. “is everything alright?” you asked, your concern mingling with anxiety.

“good,” she replied crisply. “it’s in your best interest to come now.” before you could respond, the call ended abruptly. a surge of unease propelled you to the park manor, your mind a whirl of worry and confusion. the grandiose estate loomed before you, its imposing structure now a place of dread rather than comfort. as you approached the front door, you noticed the serene beauty of the manor felt jarringly out of place with the turmoil inside.

you were greeted at the door by three figures: his mother, his father, and his sister. none of them were jimin. the air in the room was thick with tension, and his mother wasted no time in addressing you. “sit down,” she said, her voice firm and unyielding.

you took a seat, your heart pounding in your chest. his mother continued, her gaze cold and unyielding. “you are to cease all contact with my son,” she said, her words slicing through the air with chilling clarity. tears welled up in your eyes as you fought to maintain your composure. “i have nothing to do with my mother’s affairs,” you said, your voice trembling. “i love jimin.” your own declaration took you by surprise, the depth of your feelings for jimin crystallizing in that moment. his sister, standing to the side, regarded you with a sympathetic expression, her eyes softening.

his mother, however, remained resolute. “you have two choices,” she said, her voice unwavering. “you can stop seeing him immediately and remain in korea, or you can continue seeing him for the next two weeks and allow me to send you wherever i deem necessary.” the weight of her words settled heavily upon you. you knew what was at stake—your future, your freedom, and your relationship with him. the thought of losing him was unbearable, and with a steely resolve, you made your choice.

“the second option,” you said, your voice steady despite the fear that gripped you. a glimmer of approval flickered in his mother’s eyes. “very well,” she said. “time is ticking. he’s in his room. go to him now.”

you rushed through the opulent corridors of the manor, your heart racing with each step. the grandeur of the house, usually so comforting, now seemed to close in around you, intensifying your anxiety. you reached his door and hesitated for a brief moment before knocking softly. the door swung open, and there stood jimin, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and hope. without a word, you threw yourself into his arms, your tears flowing freely. his embrace was warm and reassuring, and you could feel his body trembling slightly as he held you close.

“i’m here,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “i’m so sorry for everything.” you clung to him, your own tears mingling with his. the shared pain and the depth of your connection were palpable in that moment. his room, usually a place of calm and order, became a sanctuary of shared grief and solace.

he pulled back slightly, his eyes red and shimmering with emotion. “sua told you, didn’t she?” his voice was a soft murmur, each word heavy with regret and sadness. you nodded, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “she did,” you managed to reply, your voice barely a whisper. the betrayal of her revelation stung, but you were determined not to let it overshadow the fragile moments you had left with him. you needed to hold on to whatever you could before it was too late.

hia face was a canvas of conflicting emotions as tears slipped down his cheeks. “it’s true,” he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “everything she said was true. the bet, the game—everything.”

your heart ached as he spoke, but you refused to let the hurt cloud the remaining time you had with him. you reached up to touch his face, wiping away a tear that had escaped down his cheek. “but,” you said softly, “every word and every embrace we shared—they were real to me. were they real to you too?” he nodded, his gaze unwavering as he took your hand in his. “yes,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “every word, every touch—it was all real. i fell for you, truly. even if the beginning was under false pretenses, what i felt for you was genuine.”

you offered him a small, bittersweet smile, trying to keep the pain from overwhelming you. “did i tempt you?” you asked gently, your eyes searching his for the truth. he shook his head, a look of profound sincerity in his eyes. “no,” he said softly. “it wasn’t temptation. it was love.” the sincerity in his words was like a balm to your wounded heart. despite the betrayal and the broken trust, his confession was a glimmer of truth amidst the wreckage. the knowledge that his feelings for you were genuine, even if the circumstances were tainted, offered a fragile hope.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery sheen over the tennis court as sua stood alone, her figure a stark silhouette against the backdrop of darkness. the once pristine surface, now marked with scattered tennis balls, bore silent witness to her anguish. she moved with a frantic energy, her serve wild and uncoordinated, her tears mingling with the sweat on her face.

her tennis racket flew through the air with each forceful swing, connecting with the balls only to send them careening off into the corners of the court. each miss was a blow to her heart, a physical manifestation of her internal turmoil. the rhythmic thud of the racket meeting the ball echoed through the still night, a harsh reminder of the chaos that churned within her.

with every serve, she attempted to expel the weight of her pain and betrayal. one ball flew off her racket for her father's broken promises, his failure to protect her from the harsh realities of their world. another, driven with greater force, was aimed at jimin’s rejection, his love once desired now an elusive fantasy. the final ball was a direct hit aimed at you, the one who had stolen the affections of the boy she had coveted, the one who had inadvertently exposed her vulnerabilities.

her once graceful movements became erratic, her strokes heavy and labored. she continued to hit ball after ball, her frustration mounting with each missed shot. tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the sweat that glistened under the moonlight. the court was littered with tennis balls, each one a testament to her emotional struggle and the unanswered questions that plagued her.

finally, she collapsed onto the ground, her racket falling from her grasp. It lay beside her, its handle resting against the cold surface of the court. her sobs were uncontrollable now, her body shaking with each cry as she lay on the ground. the silence of the night was broken only by her heart-wrenching pleas. “why not me?” she cried out, her voice raw and desperate. the words echoed through the empty court, a stark contrast to the usually cheerful sound of tennis matches. she looked up at the sky, her tears reflecting the pale light of the moon.

the next two weeks passed in a bittersweet blur, a fragile sanctuary carved out of time amidst the chaos of looming departure. each day with jimin was a delicate dance of stolen moments and fleeting joys. your days were filled with long walks through serene gardens, the crisp air carrying laughter and conversation. evenings were spent in cozy corners of his favorite cafes, where you shared whispered dreams over cups of steaming coffee.

his presence was a balm, soothing the sting of impending separation. his touch was gentle, his smile a constant source of comfort. together, you explored hidden spots in the city, places that seemed to come alive under his animated descriptions. each shared glance and playful banter deepened the bond between you, weaving a tapestry of intimacy and understanding.

the nights were no less tender. you would sit side by side, wrapped in soft blankets, as he recounted stories of his childhood. the light from the flickering fireplace cast a warm glow on his face, making the shadows dance in rhythm with the stories he told. he showed you his favorite spots in his home, each room steeped in memories that he now shared with you. the time together was a precious interlude, a sanctuary from the world’s harshness.

on the eve of your departure, the weight of impending separation hung heavy in the air. jimin had arranged a special evening, unaware of what was to come, filled with your favorite music and a candlelit dinner prepared with care. the atmosphere was serene, the soft glow of the candles flickering against the walls, creating an intimate cocoon around the two of you.

as the night wore on, his eyes held a glimmer of anticipation. he finally spoke, breaking the gentle silence that had settled between you. “i have a gift for you,” he said, his voice soft yet filled with warmth. his fingers reached into his pocket, retrieving a small, intricately crafted dreamcatcher. its delicate threads shimmered in the candlelight, adorned with tiny beads and feathers that swayed gently as he held it out to you.

you accepted the gift with a sense of wonder, your eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the dreamcatcher. “what's this for?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “it filters out all the nightmares,” he replied, his smile tender as he watched you. “i want you to have it, so you’ll always have sweet dreams, even when i’m not around.”

you wrapped your fingers around the dreamcatcher, feeling its cool, smooth surface against your skin. moved by the gesture, you pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him close. the warmth of his body against yours was a comfort you wished could last forever. “i love you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly as he pulled back to look into your eyes. “i want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

the words, so earnest and sincere, made your heart swell with emotion. “i love you too,” you responded, your voice filled with a mix of affection and sorrow. “i want that too.” he kissed you then, a tender, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and dreams yet to be fulfilled. the kiss was a silent vow, a declaration of the love that bound you together despite the challenges ahead.

after he left, the weight of the moment settled heavily upon you. you closed the door behind him, the silence of the room amplifying the ache in your chest. the dreamcatcher, now held close to your heart, seemed to pulse with the memories of the past weeks. as the door clicked shut, the realization of the imminent departure hit you with full force. you sank to your knees on the floor, the tears that had been held back finally breaking free. they flowed unchecked, each sob a release of the grief and the bittersweet joy of the moments shared with him. the dreamcatcher lay beside you, its delicate threads shimmering softly in the dim light, a poignant reminder of the love you would leave behind.

the room was filled with the soft rustle of the dreamcatcher’s feathers, a hauntingly beautiful sound that seemed to echo your sorrow. as you clutched the dreamcatcher tightly, you felt the full weight of the separation, the loss of the future you had hoped for. the love that had blossomed in such a short time now seemed both a blessing and a cruel reminder of the distance that would soon separate you.

the following day dawned with an unsettling quiet. your absence was a stark void in the school corridors, a missing presence that jimin immediately noticed. as he walked past your empty seat, his heart sank. his gaze darted around the classroom, hoping to catch sight of you, but the seat beside him remained conspicuously vacant.

unable to quell the growing sense of worry, he approached jisoo, his voice laced with concern. “where is she?” he asked urgently, his eyes searching hers for answers. jisoo, her expression a mask of indifference, shrugged dismissively. “i don’t know. she hasn’t been here all day.”

the coldness in her tone stung, but he barely registered it. his anxiety mounted as he turned to sua, who observed him with a stony face, her eyes betraying nothing. his heart raced as he called your number, only to be met with the disheartening message that the line was deactivated. panic surged through him, propelling him to sprint out of the school, his mind a maelstrom of dread and confusion.

he arrived at your house, breathless and desperate, only to find the place eerily silent and empty. the front door, once a welcoming entrance, now seemed like a barrier to the answers he sought. the sight of the “for sale” sign in the yard was a cruel twist of the knife. jimin turned to the neighbor, who was tending to her garden. his voice trembled with urgency. “do you know where they went? please, i need to find them.”

the neighbor looked up, a frown forming on her face. “didn’t you know?” she asked, her voice tinged with surprise. “they moved out last night.”

the words hit him like a physical blow. the weight of the revelation crashed over him, a suffocating wave of despair. he turned and ran back to his manor, his heart pounding in his chest, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. bursting through the front door, his eyes sought out his mother, who was seated at the dining table, seemingly calm and composed. “where is she?” he demanded, his voice strained. “where did you send her?”

his mother’s gaze was steady, though her eyes carried an edge of disdain. “she’s far away,” she replied coolly, her tone dismissive. the finality of her words shattered something within him. tears sprang to his eyes, blurring his vision. overwhelmed by grief and frustration, he slammed his fist into the table, the sound echoing through the quiet house. “where? where did you send her?” he cried, his voice cracking with desperation.

his mother’s face softened for a moment, but she remained resolute. “take your pills,” she said firmly, rising from her seat.

as she left the room, jimin sank to his knees, his body trembling with the weight of his anguish. the room seemed to close in on him, the walls echoing the hollow ache in his chest. his sister entered, her eyes filled with concern and sympathy. without a word, she knelt beside him and pulled him into a tight embrace. jimin clung to her, his sobs wracking his body. between gasps of air, he managed to confess the depth of his feelings. “i love her,” he choked out. “i love her so much.”

his sister’s voice was soft and laced with tears as she whispered, “she’s in gangnam.”

the word resonated through him like a beacon of hope amidst the storm of his despair. he pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes wide with renewed determination. “gangnam?” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper. she nodded, her tears mingling with his. “yes. she’s there. you need to go now.” the realization that you were still within reach, albeit at a distance, ignited a spark of resolve in him.

you and your mother had arrived in gangnam late into the night, the city's vibrant lights casting a melancholic glow on your new surroundings. the apartment, though modest compared to the grandeur of your previous residence, was a refuge from the turmoil that had pursued you. your mother’s apologies were a constant murmur, her voice thick with regret and sorrow. she fretted over every detail, her guilt apparent in every word she spoke.

“it’s all my fault,” she repeated, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. “i should never have put you through this.” you placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer comfort despite your own swirling emotions. “it’s going to be okay, mom,” you reassured her, though you felt far from certain. “we’ll make this work. it’s a new beginning.”

after some time, you decided to step out and clear your mind. the streets of gangnam were a vibrant tapestry of neon lights and bustling activity. as you wandered through the city, you found yourself drawn towards the beach, a place that had once held significant memories.

the soft, salty breeze greeted you as you reached the shore. the waves lapped gently at the sand, a rhythm that mirrored the bittersweet cadence of your own heart. you sank onto the sand, recalling the day you had spent with jimin at the beach. the laughter you shared, the warmth of his hand in yours, the promises whispered beneath the starlit sky—all these memories surged back, flooding your senses with an ache that was both beautiful and devastating.

tears sprang to your eyes, blurring your vision as you looked out at the horizon. the sea, with its endless expanse, felt like a reflection of your own feelings—vast, deep, and profoundly complex. you had left everything behind because you were tempted. no, not merely tempted—you were in love. you had felt as beautiful and infinite as the sea itself.

a voice cut through your reverie, startling you. “i knew i’d find you here.”

the words were soft but unmistakable. You froze, unable to believe what you were hearing. slowly, you turned around, and there he was. the sight of him brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. he was here, but there was an undeniable distance between you, an invisible barrier that seemed almost insurmountable.

he took a few steps toward you, his expression a mix of hurt and frustration. “how could you not tell me?” he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. “how could you just leave me like that?”

you shook your head, the tears flowing freely now. “i had no choice,” you said softly, your voice breaking. “it was either leave or risk everything.”

jimin’s eyes softened, his concern etched deeply on his face. “but you didn’t have to do it alone,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “you should have let me be part of it.”

you backed away slightly, feeling the weight of his presence and the danger it posed. “you have to go home,” you said urgently. “you can’t be seen with me. it’s not safe.” but he closed the distance between you, his determination unwavering. he reached out and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. the warmth of his embrace was like a balm to your wounded soul. you could feel his tears mingling with yours as he buried his face in your hair, his emotions raw and palpable.

“you need to come home,” he murmured through his tears. “you don’t have to face this alone. no matter what, we can figure it out together.”

you shook your head against his shoulder, the reality of your situation weighing heavily on you. “i can’t,” you whispered, feeling the hopelessness of the situation. “i don’t have anywhere else to go.” jimin gently wiped away your tears with his thumb, his own face streaked with sadness. “no one can do anything as long as you have me,” he said firmly, his voice full of conviction. “i love you. and that’s all that matters.”

you looked up at him, your heart aching with the depth of your feelings. “i love you too,” you replied, your voice trembling. the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the gentle roar of the ocean and the steady you had found something you had once thought hadn't existed. “i never believed it existed,” you whispered, the words carrying the weight of your newfound understanding. “i didn’t think i could find something like this.”

jimin’s eyes, filled with an earnest intensity, met yours. “it’s real,” he assured you softly. “we found it together.”

✧.*

a/n: this one was a doozy

[safrona-shadowsun]

A stray manasaber kit has somehow wandered into the Elysian Sojourn. It mews loudly, clearly lost. Maybe someone brought it with them here?

{TW for the horrors. This is not the most wholesome story, sorry if you were expecting that. }

Many seemed to vaguely ignore or casually 'aww' at the manasaber kit, thinking it to be some new mascot of the Sojourn that disappeared of its own will. A sweet little stray with just enough strangeness to make its home in such a place.

But none had claimed the little thing, left it to its own devices.

Some only heard the plaintive little mews at strange times on the dining floor, or outside a rented room or private bath, only to look and find nothing but little ephemeral prints of shimmering dust, leading into shadowed, safer spaces. Some delegated the little lost, sad meows to be a sort of trick or joke, the more they were heard. A tiny stray had been claimed by no one, and the Sojourn was too large, too much for such a tiny thing.

But one entity was by design on the little kitten's trail, keeping it overly aware, keeping it in hiding. And it was smart to hide, to climb, for it was being hunted. Hungry, leathery tentacles followed its shimmering pawprints day by day, swerved beneath the legs of dining tables in the evening to search out where the little snack had been, investigating where it had gone. And the poor kitten, terrified and alone, was never given respite, driven to climb up to the highest places and stare down in horror. For its hunter was excited by the lure of magical prey, and uniquely equipped to track its signature. And this little feline had yet to develop its defenses. A horrible hunt for such a little kitten, to be hungry and all alone, in unknown places.

And the tiny magic feline, of course, was a welcome exercise for a demon.

It was only a matter of time that the kitten would tire, let out its tiny, lonesome, hungry little call, and the leathery tentacles would strike out and find its mark. Acidic drool pooled from its maw on the lush rug, tasting the sweet vibrations of the mana infused hide as it wound the wriggling bundle into a demented cat's cradle of its own design. How satisfying was the sound of its panicked mewling, the fear inducing a spray of yet arcane dust to snuffle and drink in for an exceptional high. And how delightful it would be to feel it crunched between its many-daggered maw, supping the magic weave from its blood and bone. A satisfying reward for the ever hungry---

"MOM!" came the panicked scream to interrupt its feast, seconds before the tiny, comatose body could find the finality of its maw. A pause fortified by the halting thought of its binder, the demon snarled its disappointment, but did not bite down on its much deserved kill.

"Oh Light, it's just a kitten!" The frantic girl slid in dangerously close to the wrapped up kitten and tried to pry one of the tightened tentacles from its body with little but her own fingers. "I knew I heard it around here! I knew it was real! Bad Wraa! Put it down!"

"Serenas...!" it's mistress warned, and it felt the frustration sharp, flooding its own primal instinct. Wraafenn snapped its jaws at the girl, and she bleated in horror as it expected, darting away from it's intended feast. The felhunter had claimed the kitten, reacting with a hungry dog's fervor amidst the feast dialed to eleven.

The demonic command that fell from its warlock's lips was then sharp, and painfully suffocating, a Fel language it knew well and was chained to obey. The girl snuck in again to take its meal, and it understood that its master would not tolerate a retaliation, no matter how it may have been earned. With a gutteral snarl vibrating between its salivating teeth, the felhunter let the kitten slip from its tentacles and onto the rug, and stalked away.

Wraafenn tuned out the quiet disagreement between its mistress and her spawn, casually searching for a better opportunity. Perhaps the Shadow Man would have better treats to rectify the stolen hunt?

[foursaints]

ok the topic of barty crouch jr and the bone motif came up, but his specific phrasing here is what really sticks in my brain & is the basis of my stance on barty’s story as an allegory for bodily autonomy. yes there is something obviously satisfying in a character who spent 12 years under imperius, his body used a puppet, choosing to murder his abuser through transfiguration rather than a more conventional method like the killing curse. this is the only instance of death-by-transfiguration in the series. but i think the way he phrases this (became a bone, not ‘turned into’) belies a deeper understanding of barty’s relationship to having a body in general.

barty crouch being denied bodily autonomy goes far deeper than the imperius curse. i see it as sort of a haunting refrain that characterizes his entire life actually. he goes from servitude, to imprisonment, to switching bodies with his mother, to the imperius curse (kept under an invisibility cloak— he can’t even see himself), to the polyjuice potion, to that ironic “death” by the dementor’s kiss; his body goes on without his soul. it’s worth noting that the only time barty appears on-page as himself his body is controlled (yet again!) and forced to speak under veristaserum. do you think there was a strange comfort in that, for him? i just mean that he’s never known anything else.

i want to look at this through a hypochondriacal lens, where the experience of having a body (or being embodied) is a contestatory relationship wherein the mind strives for order/structure/immutability but the body is inescapable— it brings disorder, change, and a continual loss of control. the body is both fundamentally unknowable and hurtling towards death and illness: the hypochondriac seeks to rationalize & control this, but it’s ultimately an exercise in futility. i see these anxieties really present in barty crouch jr’s character: someone whose body has been puppeted or transformed into a different shape more than it has actually been his own.

i’m not saying that barty IS a hypochondriac (he’s not), but that his character arc functions inside the same epistemological framework: one where the unruly body is a prison because of how it’s subject to/harbinger of continual change. but this relies on a really clear division of the body and mind as separate entities. or even, like, a division between the body and this more ephemeral idea of “the self”— a soul that resides in the body but is somehow separate from it (and we know the soul is canon in the world of harry potter). barty crouch collapses this dichtonomy in a really interesting way with his statement: his father became a bone. as in, he is no longer himself and he is just that bone now. barty is introducing the idea that the soul doesn’t really matter or even exist, and that once your body takes the shape of something you fundamentally are that thing, for better or worse.

and i don’t know! this strikes me, especially coming from a man who has lived twelve years as an empty vessel— why would he believe in a soul if his has been erased and overwritten so many times? his own sense of self is too stifled and warped and stunted. this is the same character who was able to embody moody so fully and convincingly that it was impossible for even dumbledore to tell the difference. i think this was possible because of barty’s weird relationship to embodiment, where his actual “self” is hazy and loosely defined— perhaps the result of so many years having it denied, stifled, or unable to develop— but he becomes whatever shape his body is taking. (it’s interesting to note, too, that barty didn’t say that he transfigured his father. rather, he “transfigured [his father’s] body”, and this was enough for his identity to dissipate and him to become something else). to barty, the “self” is not an independent entity that is subject to the body’s change and disorder— his “self” is the very body itself, and all the fear, and change, and loss of control that comes with it.

this is why the ending with the dementor’s kiss gets me so bad. if the body is all he really is, then this fate is the perfect closure. barty is finally reduced to all he has ever been: erased. an empty vessel. just the image of himself, with nothing inside it. what’s really changed?

[romantichopelessly]

I was thinking about the line in BLLB where Adam ponders what he would do given Ronan’s power and now I cannot stop thinking about a TRC power swap AU.

Gansey who’s a mirror/amplifier. That’s how he continuously finds people tied to the ley line—they’re drawn to him and him to them. Gansey whose journey is about learning to cut himself off from others, something that came so easily to Blue. Gansey who always wants to give and give to his friends and does so just by existing near them, but can’t help but feel like they don’t feel the same for him because they can’t give back in the same way.

Blue who’s a dreamer, misfit in a family of psychics, who doesn’t know anyone like her. Was her father like her? Blue with the world at her fingertips, self righteous determined to change the world, but unable to control her own power. Sensible Blue who wants to dream sensible things (and cures for cancer, and ways to save the rainforest, and cures for magic killing kisses), but her dreams always come out just a bit too uncanny and whimsical to be anything but magic, or are downright unworkable in case of the cursed-kiss-removal.

Ronan who is a magician, born to be a sacrifice to an entity from his parents’ dreams. Ronan who grows up isolated on a farm, at whim to a manifested forest-god. Ronan whose identity is so intrinsically tied to magic—it’s what he was made for, isn’t it?—that having it torn from him is like taking his life force. Ronan who has access to the future but doesn’t want it. Not like this. Not without the people he loves. Not anymore.

Adam with the power to command whatever he wants with his voice. Does he use this power in his ambition to escape his life? Or does he suppress it, determined not to rely on something so ephemeral to make his way out, when he should be able to do it entirely on his own. Adam who is so sure he knows what’s right and now has the power to get others to fall in line. But would he?

[argumate]

I think it's interesting to analyse the capitalist mode of production by looking at what happens when you take various factors to the limit, some fun ones being:

what if one entity owns an ever increasing fraction of assets until they ultimately own all assets?

what if one entity has access to unlimited credit?

what if marginal tax rates approach 100%?

what if decreasing population leads to negative interest rates?

and so on and so forth, like which aspects of capitalism as currently practiced are merely ephemeral as it transitions towards a possible long term equilibrium.