#a map of mrs. kims

[bonvoyagenoona]

amomk!seokjin with his baby brother joon:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS8CgFJNU/

Big Boy Jin: (from outside) Eomma, he did it again!

Mrs. Kim: (in the kitchen, cooking, obvi) What??

Big Boy Jin: (scuttling in from the backyard, dragging his hula hoop behind him, tiny-- I mean, Big Boy arm outstretched and leading the way) Tae-Tae had this in his mouth!

Mrs. Kim swirls her wooden spoon in its pot a couple of times before quickly tapping the handle on the rim and setting it aside. Just as Big Boy Jin makes it into the kitchen, Mrs. Kim quickly wipes her hands on her apron and turns to see what is in Big Boy Jin's balled-up fist.

Big Boy Jin unfurls his adorable, drool-covered fingers.

Mrs. Kim: Tae-Tae!

Toddler Tae-Tae wobbles into the kitchen behind Big Boy Jin, tripping on the seam linking the floors, happily babbling.

Mrs. Kim: Don't put this...

She furrows her brow and inspects the item, turning it over in her hands.

Mrs. Kim: Pencil sharpener?

Big Boy Jin watches his mother as she thinks.

Mrs. Kim: Pen cap?

Big Boy Jin raises his hula hoop to his mouth and gnaws on it a bit.

Mrs. Kim: Plastic... end table... cover?

She looks down at Big Boy Jin, who just shrugs.

Mrs. Kim: Well, anyway---

She shifts her focus to Toddler Tae-Tae, who is crawling in circles around Big Boy Jin's feet.

Mrs. Kim: (bending down to pick up Toddler Tae-Tae) Don't put things in your mouth!

Toddler Tae-Tae just grins and puts his slobbery hands on her face.

Mrs. Kim: (making faces at Toddler Tae-Tae, but speaking to Big Boy Jin) Where's Namjoonie?

Big Boy Jin: (starting to hula hoop) On the couch, reading.

Little Kid Namjoon: (from the couch) You know, babies like to feel things with their mouths!

Big Boy Jin: Nerd!

Mrs. Kim: Seokjinnie!

Big Boy Jin: (under his breath) Well, he is.

Mrs. Kim: (bending down, keeping Toddler Tae-Tae from eating her hair) That may be, but it's good to read, because that means you learn new things.

Big Boy Jin: (rolling his eyes as he hula hoops)

Mrs. Kim: (kisses his forehead) But thank you for keeping your eye on your brothers while I prepare dinner for Appa.

Big Boy Jin suddenly lets the hula hoops drop and outstretches his hands. Mrs. Kim looks at him quizzically.

Big Boy Jin: The seollongtang is boiling over.

Mrs. Kim: Aigoo!

Mrs. Kim hands Toddler Tae-Tae to Big Boy Jin, placing another kiss on both her sons' heads before turning her attention to the stew on the stove.

Big Boy Jin: (to Toddler Tae-Tae, as he steps over the hula hoop) Let's go see what Namjoonie is reading, huh?

Read A Map of Mrs. Kims here!

[mr-cha-n]

Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike. 

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor. 

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect. 

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live. 

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client. 

Except. 

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse. 

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that. 

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil.  Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into.  "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss. 

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time. 

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets. 

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken. 

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

[meadowfics]

lost island, found love

hwang jun-ho x female!reader

warnings: descriptions of death, guns, angst, i added reader's background that was not in this request but I felt like it could bring jun-ho and reader together! i am not responsible for the content you choose to read.

word count: 4013

you stand in the dimly lit room, the stench of blood and decay thick in the air. the body of the salesman lies slumped against the wall, lifeless, his once smug face frozen in a grimace. your fingers tremble slightly as you lower your gun, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

mr. kim is gone, killed by this salesman who now lies dead in front of you. 

gi-hun’s frantic voice echoes in your memory…his desperation when he begged you to find answers, to bring justice in order to get money. now, with the salesman gone, the trail feels cold.  

you don’t want to be here. not anymore. not with everything else hanging over your head like a storm cloud. hana is missing. your little sister, your only family left in the world. you’ve scoured every corner of the city, turned over every rock, but nothing. no sign of her. she wouldn’t just disappear. not her. not without a word.  

“we don’t have time for this,” a voice cuts through your thoughts, sharp and impatient.  

you glance over your shoulder, your eyes meeting the man who’s been reluctantly dragged into this mess with you..jun-ho. a police officer, driven, stubborn, and entirely too by-the-book for your taste. 

he leans against the doorframe, his expression unreadable.  

“gi-hun’s been taken to the island,” he continues, his tone clipped. 

“those people with the masks, they don’t wait around. if we don’t move fast, we’ll lose the trail.”  

you grit your teeth, your mind warring between two equally impossible choices. find the island where gi-hun is being held, or keep searching for hana. it feels cruel, having to pick one over the other.  

“you think i don’t know that?” you snap, your voice harsher than you intended.  

jun-ho doesn’t flinch. he crosses his arms, his gaze steady and unyielding. 

“then let’s go. unless you’ve got another plan?”  

you hate him a little in that moment. his calmness. his ability to compartmentalize. you can’t do that. not when every step you take feels like a betrayal of your sister. you know he’s right. if you don’t act now, gi-hun’s fate is sealed.  

“fine,” you mutter, shoving past him. 

“but don’t get in my way.”  

he follows without a word, and for a while, the only sounds are your footsteps echoing through the empty streets. the weight of your gun presses against your hip, a constant reminder of what this life has turned you into.  

jun-ho finally breaks the silence. 

“why’d you take this job?”  

the question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t answer.  

“because someone had to,” you say finally, your voice low.

“gi-hun deserved that much after everything he’s been through.”  

jun-ho nods, but you can feel his eyes on you, studying, prying. you don’t offer more. not about mr. kim. not about hana. not about the hollow ache in your chest that refuses to go away.  

the journey ahead feels impossibly long, but you push forward, each step heavier than the last. you don’t know if you’ll ever find the answers you’re looking for.. about gi-hun, about hana, about yourself. but for now, all you can do is keep moving.  

the next morning.. you’re in the small boat with a bunch of your ex-special forces mates.. gently rocking on the light waves, the rhythmic lapping of water against the hull doing little to calm the storm in your mind. 

there is a map spread out on the bench in front of you that feels more like a cruel joke than a guide. you’ve traced every possible route, every last scrap of information gi-hun left behind, but it’s like the island doesn’t exist.  

even though jun-ho insists that the island is a real place, and that he has been there too.

“anything?” jun-ho’s voice breaks through the silence, rough from hours of tension. he’s standing at the bow, one hand resting on the edge, the other gripping his radio.  

you don’t answer immediately, your eyes scanning the coordinates again, hoping something will click. the frustration is mounting. you’re used to solving problems quickly, decisively. in the special forces, there was no room for hesitation or failure. 

now, every passing hour feels like a countdown to losing gi-hun forever.  

“no,” you finally mutter, shoving the map aside. 

“it’s like they’ve erased the damn place off the face of the earth.”  

jun-ho exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. he’s trying to keep it together, but you can see the cracks forming. five days. that’s all the time you have before the trail goes completely cold, and neither of you can afford to waste another second.  

“we’re missing something,” he says, turning to face you. 

“they wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to make the island impossible to find. there has to be a way in. some clue we’re overlooking.”  

you lean back against the bench, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. your mind races through everything you’ve learned so far, piecing together fragments of intel like a puzzle.  

“it’s not just about the location,” you say, more to yourself than to him. 

“they’ve got to have a system. patterns. supply routes. something that gives them away.”  

jun-ho nods, stepping closer. 

“you think we’re being followed?”  

you glance up at him, narrowing your eyes. the thought hadn’t occurred to you until now, but it makes sense. an operation this big wouldn’t just let two random people snooping around go unnoticed.  

“probably,” you admit. 

“which means we’re running out of time faster than we thought.”  

he frowns, his jaw tightening. 

“great. so, we’re sitting ducks out here.”  

you pull your handgun from its holster, checking the magazine out of habit. 

“not exactly. i’m not going down without a fight.”  

jun-ho smirks faintly, though the tension never leaves his eyes. 

“you really are a piece of work, you know that?”  

“and you’re irritating,” you shoot back, sliding the gun back into place.

“guess we make a great team.”  

hours later.. the sun dips lower into the horizon, casting long shadows across the boat’s deck. the waves lap gently against the sides of the boat, though it does little to calm your racing thoughts.  

you glance over at jun-ho, standing near the bow with his hands gripping the edge. the man’s posture is tense, his shoulders squared as if bracing against some invisible weight. 

he hasn’t said much in hours, and you can’t help but notice the way his eyes flick toward the horizon and back, as though searching for something..or avoiding something.  

breaking the silence, you clear your throat. 

“you said you’ve been on this island before,” you start, your voice low but firm. 

“what did you find? if you don’t mind me asking.”  

jun-ho doesn’t turn to face you. his knuckles whiten against the edge of the boat, and his jaw tightens. the way his body stiffens tells you more than his silence does. he’s holding something back.  

“it’s... complicated,” he says after a long pause, his voice tight.  

you frown, stepping closer. 

“complicated how?”  

he finally turns his head, his dark eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before looking away. 

“it’s not something i like talking about.”  

jun ho’s answer frustrates you, but you bite back the sharp retort sitting on the tip of your tongue. you don’t have time for vague responses, not when every passing hour feels like another nail in the coffin for gi-hun..or worse, for hana who you could be looking for instead.  

“look,” you say, trying to keep your tone measured, “if we’re going to do this together, i need to know what we’re up against. whatever you saw, whatever you know, it could be the difference between us finding gi-hun or walking into a trap.”  

the police officer’s gaze drops to the deck, and for a moment, he says nothing. the sound of the waves fills the void, each crash amplifying the weight of his silence.  

“i saw the frontman,” he says finally, his voice barely audible.  

“wha- huh? the frontman?” you repeat, confused.  

he nods, his eyes still fixed on the deck. 

“he’s the one running the show, the man in charge of the island…i never got a good look at him. he always wore a mask but he nearly killed me.”  

the tension in your chest tightens like a coil. this new piece of information does little to ease your anxiety. did gi-hun know about this?

“that’s it?” you press, your frustration bleeding into your voice. 

“you didn’t see anything else?”  

jun-ho hesitates, his jaw clenching as if debating whether or not to say more. 

“no,” he says after a moment, but the hesitation in his tone sets off alarms in your head.  

“what aren’t you telling me?” you ask, stepping closer, your eyes narrowing.  

“nothing,” he snaps, a little too quickly.  

you don’t believe him, but you let it go for now. pushing him won’t get you the answers you need, and you can feel your own nerves fraying with every passing second.  

your thoughts drift, unbidden, to hana. the anxiety creeps in like a shadow, wrapping around your chest and squeezing until it’s hard to breathe. 

where is she? is she safe? the thought of her being hurt..or worse..makes your stomach churn.  

jun-ho’s voice breaks through your spiraling thoughts. 

“what’s your other problem?” he asks, his tone softer now, almost hesitant. 

“you mentioned it before, but you didn’t tell me what it was.”  

you hesitate, your fingers twitching at your sides. you’ve kept this to yourself for days, carrying the weight of it alone because you didn’t think anyone else would understand. but now, standing here with jun-ho, you feel the tiniest crack in your resolve.  

“it’s my sister,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.  

jun-ho’s brow furrows, concern flashing in his eyes. 

“your sister?”  

you nod, swallowing hard. 

“her name’s hana. she went missing a few days ago. no note, no sign of where she might’ve gone. we don’t have money and our parents died a few years ago, so it’s not like she could’ve just left on her own. she wouldn’t do that. she wouldn’t just disappear.”  

jun ho’s expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his face… his hands clench at his sides, he looks as though he’s reliving a memory he’d rather forget.  

“maybe your sister is on the island too,” he mumbles, almost to himself.  

the words hit you like a slap. your head snaps up, your eyes widening. 

“excuse me?”  

he hesitates, his gaze dropping. 

“there’s something you need to know,” he says quietly, his voice weighed down by something heavy.  

you don’t say anything, your stomach twisting into knots as he sits down on the bench and motions for you to join him. you hesitate for a moment before sitting beside him, the tension between you almost unbearable.  

“the island,” he begins, his tone measured but laced with something darker, “isn’t just a place. it’s a... game. a series of games, actually. people are brought there, and they’re forced to compete. if they win, they get an obscene amount of money. if they lose...”  

he trails off, but you don’t need him to finish. the implication is clear, and it makes your blood run cold.  

“you’re telling me it’s some kind of... death game?” you whisper, your voice trembling.  

he nods grimly. 

“exactly that… and if your sister is there...”  

you don’t let him finish. you can’t. the thought is too unbearable. if hana is on that island, then every second counts.  

“did she leave anything behind?” jun-ho asks, his voice gentler now.  

you shake your head, your mind racing. 

“nothing. no clues, no messages. just... gone.”  

you feel something on your left hand and you look down to see that his hand brushes yours, tentative but steady. you glance at him, startled by the contact, but his expression is soft, almost reassuring. 

“we’ll find her,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.  

for a moment, you don’t respond. the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice..it’s almost too much to bear.  

“thanks,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion.  

the two of you sit there in silence as the moon rises above the ocean, casting its pale light over the water. without thinking, you lean against him, your head resting lightly on his chest. he stiffens at first but then relaxes, his arm brushing around your shoulders in a way that feels deliberate.  

“we’ll figure this out,” he says again, his voice steady now.  

you nod, closing your eyes for a brief moment. the closeness between you feels... safe. like you’re not alone in this, even if it’s just for a night.  

by the time the sun rises, the moment is over. the vulnerability, the quiet intimacy.. it’s gone, replaced by the sharp focus of the mission ahead. neither of you mention it, but something unspoken lingers in the air, a bond forged in shared fears and quiet confessions.  

four days. that’s all you have left. 

in the early afternoon.. the boat slows as it approaches the shoreline. you grip the semi-automatic rifle in your hands, its familiar weight a comfort despite the unease settling in your chest. 

the island looms ahead, shadowed and uninviting, with dense foliage lining the shore and no sign of life beyond the eerie stillness.  

jun-ho steps off the boat first, his movements precise and calculated. the police officer’s handgun is holstered at his side as he holds the bigger automatic in his hands, his posture is straight. 

you follow, your boots crunching softly against the gravel as you step onto the narrow path ahead. the rest of the team falls in line behind you, their weapons raised, eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger.  

jun-ho turns to face the group, his expression stern.

“i’ll take point,” he says firmly, his gaze meeting yours briefly before moving on.  

“i can lead,” you interject, your voice steady but firm.  

“no?” you say. 

“yes.” he protests. 

“well, mr. policeman– were you in the special forces or is this you saying that you do not tru-” 

“let me just protect you, okay?” he says your name after. jun ho is clear. he shakes his head, his jaw tightening. 

the words catch you off guard, a warmth creeping into your chest despite the gravity of the situation. your grip on the rifle tightens as you search for something to say, but all you manage is a curt nod.  

“fine,” you mutter, falling into step behind him.  

the trail is narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. bushes and vines press in from both sides, the occasional rustle of leaves setting your nerves on edge. jun-ho’s steps are deliberate, his eyes constantly scanning the path ahead, while you cover his back, your weapon at the ready.  

you clear your throat, your voice low. 

“everything look okay up there?”  

he glances over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “so far,” he replies, his tone clipped but calm.  

the tension between you hums like a live wire, unspoken words lingering in the air. it’s not just the situation..it’s him. the way he moves, the way he keeps glancing back at you, as if he’s making sure you’re still there.  

you push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. the gravel crunches beneath your boots as the trail twists and turns, the thick canopy overhead blocking out most of the sunlight. the rest of the team moves in a tight formation, their weapons raised, their eyes darting to every shadow.  

“trail’s too clean,” you mutter under your breath, your gaze sweeping the ground. 

“like it’s been used recently.”  

jun-ho nods, his jaw tightening. 

“I noticed.”  

you glance at him, your brows furrowing. 

“so, what’s the plan if this is a setup?”  

he doesn’t answer right away, his focus on the path ahead. when he finally speaks, his voice is low and deliberate. 

“we deal with it. we’ve gotten this far.”  

jun ho’s confidence is steadying, even if you don’t entirely share it. you scan the surrounding foliage, the weight of the rifle in your hands grounding you.  

the gravel path suddenly widens, opening into a small clearing. jun-ho raises his hand, signaling for everyone to stop. the group freezes, weapons raised, as his sharp eyes scan the area.  

“what is it?” you ask, stepping closer to him.  

he gestures to the far side of the clearing, where another trail picks up. 

“it splits. two paths.”  

your stomach tightens. splitting up isn’t ideal, but staying bunched together could make you an easy target.  

“we should split into two groups,” jun-ho says, his voice calm but authoritative. 

“cover more ground.”  

you hesitate, glancing at him. 

“are you sure about that? we don’t know what’s out here.”  

“that’s why we keep communication tight,” he replies, his gaze locking with yours. 

“stay close to your group. and don’t take risks.”  

“fine,” you say again, your voice softer this time.  

as the group splits, you end up with jun-ho, a decision that seems less about strategy and more about his insistence on staying close to you. you can feel the others’ eyes on you, their curiosity unspoken but palpable.  

the new trail is narrower, the overgrowth pressing in from both sides. jun-ho keeps his pace steady, his shoulders brushing against yours occasionally as the path twists and turns. the silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken tension.  

finally, he breaks it. 

“you okay back there?”  

“i can handle myself,” you reply, a touch of defensiveness in your tone.  

he glances at you, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. 

“i know. doesn’t mean i won’t worry.”  

the warmth from earlier returns, stronger this time. you focus on the path ahead, unwilling to let him see how his words affect you.  

twelve hours later.. in the middle of the night in the lounge area, you feel suffocated. even with the boat’s attempt at cozy decor. the low hum of the boat engine is drowned out by the relentless patter of rain against the windows. 

you sit on the worn-out couch, staring blankly at the table in front of you. the rain, usually a source of comfort, does nothing to soothe the storm brewing inside you.  

you feel defeated. empty.  

the mission on the island earlier had led to nothing. the island turned out to be nothing more than a small, desolate beach. no inhabitants. no clues. nothing. 

three days left, and it felt like you were running out of time faster than you could grasp.  

your chest tightens as your thoughts drift to hana. after losing your parents, she was the only person who made life bearable. she kept you grounded, gave you a purpose and a source to keep surviving after leaving the special forces. when mr. kim introduced you to gi-hun, you found a new sense of direction, but hana? hana was always home, and now she is gone.  

your eyes sting, and before you know it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. you wipe at them angrily, frustrated at yourself for breaking down when you should be focusing. however, the thought of your sister..alone, scared, maybe hurt or worse..it’s too much.  

“why would she do this?” you whisper to the empty room, your voice trembling. 

“why would she risk her life for money?”  

your hands tremble as they clench into fists on your lap. you know the answer. it was always about survival, about getting out of the hole life had thrown you both into. hana didn’t know the cost. she didn’t know about the games, about the killings. 

she didn’t know that the promise of wealth came with the risk of ending up in a coffin on some forgotten island.  

a sob escapes your lips, and you bury your face in your hands, the weight of it all crashing down. the fear, the hopelessness, the anger.. it spills out in ragged breaths and muffled cries.  

you don’t notice the quiet footsteps until you feel a pair of arms wrap around you, pulling you into a warm, soft chest on the couch.  

“it’s okay,” jun-ho’s voice is soft, steady, grounding. 

“we’ll find her.”  

you stiffen at first, caught off guard by his presence, but his hand moves up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, and you let yourself lean into him.  

“i don’t know...” you choke out, your voice breaking. 

“i don’t know if we can.”  

jun-ho pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. his eyes are filled with something you don’t expect.. understanding.  

“i lost my brother many years ago,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that matches your own.  

you blink, your tears pausing for a moment. 

“your brother?”  

he nods, his gaze distant. 

“he disappeared without a trace. for years, i didn’t know what happened to him. i thought he was dead. then, when i found him... he wasn’t the same.”  

you can see the pain etched into his features, the weight of a story he hasn’t told anyone else.  

“but you know what?” he continues, his voice growing firmer. 

“i still went after him because he was my brother.. because that’s what you do for your family. and that’s what we’re going to do for your sister. we’re going to find hana. we’re going to find gi-hun, and we’re going to end this.”  

jun ho’s words wrap around you like a lifeline, pulling you out of the spiral of despair. you don’t know how he does it.

you don’t say anything, but you shift closer to him, burying your face in his chest again. the policeman’s arms tighten around you, holding you like he’s the only thing keeping you together.  

as the rain continues to fall outside, the world beyond the boat fades away. all you can feel is the warmth of his embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his presence anchors you.  

after a while, you sit up, wiping at your tear-streaked face. jun-ho reaches out, his thumb brushing against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. the tenderness of the gesture sends a shiver through you.  

“you’re way stronger than you think,” he says softly, his voice carrying a quiet conviction.  

your eyes meet his, and something shifts in the air between you. the tension that’s been building over the past few days comes to a head, and before you can think twice, you lean in.  

the moment your lips meet his, it’s like the rest of the world disappears. the man’s left hand cups your cheek and his right hand grabs your lower waist, pulling you closer, and you feel the weight of his kiss. 

he kisses you back with a quiet dominance, his other hand resting on your waist, holding you steady. it’s not just a kiss…it’s a promise. a promise that he’s here, that he’ll protect you, that you’re not alone.  

your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching at him like he’s the only thing tethering you to reality. the rain pounds against the windows, the boat rocking gently with the waves, but all you can focus on is him.  

when you finally pull back, your breaths are heavy, your foreheads resting against each other. his eyes search yours, and you see the same vulnerability reflected back at you.  

“we’ll get through this,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady.  

you nod, your fingers brushing against his jaw. 

“together.”  

he kisses you again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment. and for the first time in days, you feel a spark of hope reignite in your chest.  

outside, the rain continues to fall, the boat drifting along the waves. somewhere out there is the island you’ve been searching for, the answers you desperately need. 

for now, at this moment, all you can think about is the strong man holding you and how his lips give you the reassurance that you desperately need.

a/n: hope you enjoyed <3

[parasolemn]

was going thru my blog trying 2 find a specific pic to put it on my art fight and ive just found it I never posted it on this blog 4 some reason ?!?!?! so here's an anxient archaeological find circa mid 2023 of toon elysium (toontown disco elysium)

(blushing phasmids meme from 2023 is added to make third img smaller)

old toon elysium thoughts compiled below cut

ok so basically harry is a dog cuz he got that dog metaphor in the game and kim is a kiwi cuz he wants to fly but he cant and the man from hjemdall t shirt is a cat cuz cats in toontown are racist. gary is also a racist cat but measurehead is a bear who is a TTO purist and instead of being racist he just goes on about membership (you could only be a bear if you were a member) also he was never actually part of TTO he's from TTR. most of the TTRers are equivalent to the racist/fascists sorry y'all. it's that "meticulous mindless grind the game encourages" (quote from kitty). and a lot of ttoers went to ttr. anyways i think joyce was a cog, the mercenaries were those toons who had cog disguises or something i think. all four of them have a different kind of cog suit. also morale and health maps directly onto laff but instead of losing like 1 morale or whatever after doing something stupid harry loses like 36 laff. healing works the same as de cuz (quote from pink) "martinaise is too fucked up now to work as a proper playground[.] its a street now in the sense that u cant heal naturally there[.] i think completing tasks should fill ur laff all the way up tho like in normal toontown". also another banger from pink "[he] think[s] the guy that got hanged just got sent to the silly farm". oh yeah btw cogs in this au are like whatever like they run the joint but theres not a huge focus on them. also the pale is equivalent to the grey. me when the church entry doesnt load in properly and i walk directly into the pale...? oh also we dont like animal racism so it's just people who think one server is better than the other i forgot 2 mention that at the start. it's about origin and class. THE DESERTER IS THE LAST TTOER instead of the last communist and he sent a false ban report against lely (the mercs are from dessert storm). it's not add nuke to revachol it's ADD SERVER RESET TO TOONTOWN also revachol = vibrant valley apparently. mr evrart is helping me find my piano. apparently kim thinks harry is a ttrer but harry is actually from tto theoretically which is fucked up cuz that means harry cant use speedchat+ with anyone he has to use normal speedchat which means mr evrart is helping me find my piano is a speedchat phrase

toon elysium you will forever be one of two disco elysium aus i actually care about... (the other is lwita au)

also harry is lieutenant double ruffreitor btw didnt mention that

[faerouzia]

Kingdom: At Grim’s End

Welcome to Underland: III

Pairing: prince!seonghwa x darkfae!fem!reader

Au: strangers to lovers | third age au

Genre: fantasy, horror

Warnings: +21 (MDNI), gory scenes, disturbing depictions of creatures, angst, fluff, all you can imagine SMUT, mentions of dark magic, death,suggestive themes, betrayal, slow burn, fear

Summary: The land of Aurora, split into several kingdoms, after a war that raged for over 400 years, falls weary of the dark reigns bestowed by the Evil Queen of Darconia, Morana. With half the kingdoms bound to her will, the last rivalling kingdoms join forces in hopes to end the queen’s exploitation of ancient magic and the plan of using dark arts and the blood of the most powerful king’s and creatures to solidify her power. In the midst of unforgiving circumstances, Prince seonghwa of Halazia and the last of her kind, a decent of the phoenix fae fall in love, but at a great cost.

Chapter playlist

Word count: 10k

Series master list

"Are you certain we're on the right path?" Mr. Kim asked, his voice laced with a hint of trepidation. It had been hours since they'd traversed the dense, eerie forest, passing by the same majestic thorn trees about three times. "According to the map, we are," Hongjoong answered, carefully assessing their whereabouts and the intricate contents of the ancient, yellowed map.

As he skimmed through the cryptic typography that graced the map, he came across a passage. "There's a passage written in Elvish at the bottom here," Hongjoong said. "What does it say?" Seonghwa asked, his curiosity piqued. Hongjoong assessed the wording once more, making sure he pronounced the words correctly. "Out with it, boy; we don't have much time," Mr. Kim exclaimed anxiously.

"Nae I hain hírar dhorthad essa lin estant…Hendores," Hongjoong chanted, his voice steady and mysterious. The forest's atmosphere grew colder and more ominous; thorn branches rustled about as the ground shook with a primal intensity. Growls and hisses in the ancient tongue voiced through the air, sending shivers down their spines. The horses, outraged in fear, became unstable, and the guards held their swords in command, ready to fight any threat that would arise.

"What's happening?" Mr. Kim exclaimed fearfully. "I don't know!" Hongjoong shouted as his horse reared on its hind legs aggressively. The winds became unbearable; the growls and hisses grew louder, like a haunting chant. Until a voice spoke out, silencing the rowel. "Who goes there?" the voice slowly spoke out in its deep, resonant baritone voice.

Everyone turned their heads to locate where the voice came from, and in the slight distance, a spriggan, known as the ancient treant guard, emerged. Its horns were adorned with twisted vines and moss-covered algae, and its face was like a hollow, haunting skeleton. "I am Park Seonghwa, prince of Halazia. I have come along with my companions to form an alliance with the fae," Seonghwa answered, his voice steady.

"Queen He-ra's son," the spriggan said, its voice dripping with an otherworldly authority. The guards looked at each other in confusion, still holding their swords. Seonghwa's gaze was full of surprise and wonder.

"How do you know my mother?" he asked in a soft, vulnerable voice. "I can feel her through your breath; her power grows weaker," the spriggan said, its words like a cold breeze on a winter's night. Seonghwa's heart ached at the spriggan's words, and he felt a pang of fear. It had been two days since he left the castle, and it scared him to think of his mother's state at the moment.

"We need your help…please," Seonghwa pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. The spriggan stood still, savoring Seonghwa's plea as though contemplating whether to trust them or not. Then the spriggan chanted an ancient passage repeatedly, and the similar rowel began, but more fierce and intense. Thorns spun around them like a vicious, swirling tornado as a doorway beneath them opened.

"Follow me," the spriggan said, walking into the ground's opening. And so, they followed him, into the unknown depths of the ground.

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Meanwhile in Halazia, The king sat on his throne, his brow furrowed in concern as he listened to the whispered words of his advisor. The castle's opulent tapestries and violet fixtures seemed to fade into the background as the weight of the kingdom's troubles bore down on him.

"Your Majesty," the advisor said, his voice low and urgent. "I've received word from the queen's chambers. Her condition has taken a turn for the worse. She's bedridden, and the healers are unsure of how much longer..."

The king's eyes snapped up, his gaze piercing. "How much longer what?" he demanded, his voice firm but laced with a hint of fear.

The advisor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "How much longer she can hold on, Your Majesty. The queen's power has been waning for some time, and now it seems her physical health is beginning to suffer as well."

The king's face darkened, his jaw clenched in worry. He rose from his throne, his movements swift and decisive. "Summon the healers and her attendants," he ordered. "I want to know everything they're doing to help her."

The advisor bowed, backing away as the king strode out of the throne room. The king's footsteps echoed down the corridor, his determination to save his queen clear in every step.

As he entered the queen's chambers, the king was met with a scene of hushed activity. The healers and attendants moved quietly, their faces somber as they tended to the queen's fragile form. The queen lay in bed, her skin pale and clammy, her breathing shallow.

The king's heart ached as he approached the bedside. He took the queen's hand in his, feeling a pang of desperation. "My love," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "What have they done to you?"

The queen's eyes fluttered open, a faint smile on her lips. "My king," she whispered, her voice weak but full of love. "I'm... sorry."

The king's grip on her hand tightened. "Don't apologize, my love," he said, his voice firm. "We'll get through this together. I'll find a way to save you, no matter what it takes."

The queen's gaze drifted shut, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. The king held her hand, his determination burning brighter than ever. He would save his queen, no matter the cost.

"I cannot lose you," the king cried, his eyes brimming with scalding tears as his hand tightened around the queen's fragile, pale hand. But the queen did not answer; she fell deeper into her slumber, her light, soft breaths tearing away at the king's heart like a thousand daggers. He never left her side, his unwavering devotion a testament to their enduring love.

"F-father," a whimpered voice called out, belonging to Yunho, their eldest son, who had returned from his perilous ventures to the dragon lands. His body tensed at the heart-wrenching scene of his mother bedridden, tears threatening to spill from his eyes like a dam about to burst. He slowly walked to the king's side, his movements heavy with grief.

The queen's eyelids fluttered open weakly, her gaze half-open and unfocused. "My son," she breathed out in a strained, barely audible voice. "Mom," Yunho cried, his voice cracking with emotion as her hand trembled, gently wiping away his tears. She sent an exhausted, loving smile his way, humming softly in relief that her son was home, safe and sound.

"You're safe," she said softly, her voice like a gentle breeze on a summer's day. "Yes, I'm safe, but you're—you're..." Yunho's voice trailed off, his emotions in turmoil.

"Yunho," the king said, his head hung low, his piercing, teary gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for a glimmer of hope. The queen's breath grew slower, the last strands of her raven-black hair turning to white, like snowflakes gently falling on a winter's night. Her skin wrinkled further, her eye bags deepening, like dark, bottomless pits.

"She's dying," one of the healers said, holding a crystal that slowly dimmed, its light fading like a dying ember. "HELP HER," the king exclaimed, jumping out of his position, further crouching next to the queen's side, his face contorted in anguish. "Help her, for heaven's sake! If you don't do anything, I'll be sure to—"

"Bo-ghum," she softly said, steering the king's attention to her almost lifeless state, her voice a mere whisper. "I love you, with all my heart—" A pearled tear fell from her eyes as she grazed the king's face with the tips of her cold, fragile fingers.

"No, no, no, no, He-ra, we will get through this," the king cried, his breaths heaving in heartbreak, his voice cracking with despair. "Mother!" Lidia, their daughter, cried, rushing into the room, pushing against the healers, cursing them out for not doing their jobs in saving her mother.

Yunho grappled her hands to stop her, holding her tightly as she struggled. "Unhand me! They need to help her," she cried, banging her head against his chest as he hugged her, trying to comfort her. But Yunho stayed calm, as if knowing that nothing would change, as his mother's condition was beyond repair.

Silence filled the room, heavy and oppressive, like a physical presence. The king turned pale, like he'd seen a ghost, his face drained of all color. "S-she's... dead," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Lidia dropped to her knees in shock and grief, her body shaking with sobs. The healers used their power to hover the queen's body in the air, a glass membrane covering her remains, preserving her fragile form.

The kingdom shook, like a living entity in mourning, as the shield protecting it broke, leaving it vulnerable to the outside world. The king was distraught, still reeling from the loss, his heart shattered into a million pieces. Yunho cried silently, his heart breaking for his mother, father, and sister, especially Seonghwa, who was not there to share in their grief.

"Prepare the kingdom for the announcement," the king said, his voice stern, laced with sorrow, like a dark, mournful melody.

He had lost his only love, the mother of his children.

“Yes your majesty” his advisor answered leaving the chambers.

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As Seonghwa and the others descended deeper into the ground, the air grew thick with an eerie, emerald green and blue mist that seemed to cling to their skin like a damp shroud. The sound of dripping water echoed through the tunnels, and the ground beneath their feet became increasingly uneven, forcing them to navigate through a labyrinthine path.

Hongjoong led behind the spriggan , his eyes fixed on the spriggan's retreating form as it guided them through the winding tunnels. Seonghwa followed closely behind, his senses on high alert as he scanned their surroundings for any signs of danger. Mr. Kim and the guards brought up the rear, their swords at the ready as they moved cautiously through the dark, foreboding environment.

As they journeyed deeper into the tunnel, their eyes were graced with a world like no other. Underland a place of refuge for the endangered lives of all creatures. They began to encounter strange and terrifying creatures. Ghouls with glowing eyes and twisted, corpse-like faces lurked in the shadows, their presence marked by an unearthly stench that seemed to cling to the air. Goblins with razor-sharp teeth and pointed ears darted through the darkness, their high-pitched cackles echoing off the walls.

The group also caught glimpses of fairies, their delicate wings beating rapidly as they flitted through the mist. Like a city of their own the benevolent, ethereal creatures Seonghwa had expected flew closer to them in awe of new comers. They seemed excited and welcoming to meet new faces, their eyes glowing with a wondrous energy that seemed to lighten the air around them.

“How wonderful” Mr Kim said in awe, eyes gleaming in wonder as they transgressed further into underland. Fairy music graced their ears, same lights of their tiny houses brought a sense of relief. The spriggan led them through a series of narrow, winding pathways, each one more fascinating than the last. Seonghwa's gaze were on a high of wonder, his heart pounding in his chest as he navigated the beautiful scenes, unpredictable world of the Underland.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, the spriggan stopped in front of a massive, nested door. The wood was twisted and gnarled, surrounded by the gleams of the tomb blooms that grew from beneath that seemed to contrast with a dark, otherworldly energy.

"This is the heart of the Underland," the spriggan said, its voice low and mysterious. "Here, you will find the exiled fae, who has been cast out from the world above. She is a fierce and will not take kindly to strangers."

“She?” Hongjoong muttered

Seonghwa steeled himself, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that this was a risk, but he was determined to take that risk , no matter the cost. He nodded to the spriggan, awaiting to meet whoever was on the other side, and the ancient creature pushed open the door, revealing a vast, cavernous space beyond.

As they stepped through the doorway, Seonghwa's eyes adjusted slowly to the dim, ethereal light that bathed the cavernous space. He saw a sea of various, exotic flower fairies, some twisted and alienating like no other, their delicate wings fluttering rapidly as they flitted through the air, their eyes glowing with a curious, otherworldly energy. The air was thick with tension, and Seonghwa knew that they were walking a thin line between diplomacy and disaster, a long-awaited and potentially catastrophic outcome.

"Look, father, almond blossom fairies," Hongjoong breathed, his eyes wide with wonder, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought they were extinct," he added, his gaze fixed on the fairies with a mixture of fascination and awe.

"By heavens, I figure not," Mr. Kim answered, his voice filled with amazement. "How wonderful," Seonghwa sighed in contentment, his eyes drinking in the beauty of the fairies.

"By the gods," one of the guards breathed, his eyes wide with awe, his face pale with wonder. "This is... incredible," he added, his voice trailing off as he gazed at the fairies in reverence.

"We finally meet again," a familiar, melodious voice called out, echoing through the cavernous space. Their heads turned to where the voice came from, and Seonghwa's eyes glistened with excitement as he took in the speaker.

The spriggan bowed at the presence, its ancient, gnarled form bending in respect. "Your Majesty—"

"Hendores, how many times have I told you to call me by name?" the voice giggled, a playful, musical sound that seemed to dance through the air.

"Y/n, I have returned with the ones who seek your assistance," the spriggan answered, its voice low and respectful.

Above them, and there I stood on top of a peak, gazing down at the group with an enigmatic smile. As they watched, i spread my wings apart, revealing their majestic, iridescent beauty. With a gentle flutter, i took flight, descending towards them with an effortless glide.

"Father, look! A fae," Hongjoong exclaimed once more, his voice filled with excitement and wonder.

"Pepper snouts, lad, it sure is," Mr. Kim said, removing his hat in reverence, his eyes wide with awe. "She's... beautiful," he thought to himself, his gaze fixed on my radiant form.

I landed effortlessly in front of them, my wings bringing a strong winded force almost steering them astray from their positions.

"You're... the fae from the forest," Seonghwa exclaimed, his voice filled with astonishment. "What are you doing here?"

I smiled, its eyes sparkling with amusement. "I might ask you the same question, Prince Seonghwa," i said, my voice playful and teasing yet my expression still.

“You’ve met? When? How?” Hongjoong asked surprised.

“Long story” Seonghwa said. It definitely wasn’t.

Seonghwa felt a sense of wonder and trepidation. What did this fae's presence mean, and how would it affect their quest for an alliance? Only time would tell, but for now, he was content to bask in the beauty and magic of this mystical realm.

“We met on the very first night of your journey,” I replied, my voice steady.

“Yes, indeed,” Seonghwa snickered, lowering his head in a mix of embarrassment and regret for not revealing the truth sooner. It really wasn’t a complicated tale or even a lengthy story, so why had he chosen to lie?

“Not interested in the maidens, was it, you said?” Mr. Kim joked with a teasing glint in his eye, his comment laden with implications. I shot him a piercing look, my gaze sharp enough to cut through the playful atmosphere. Beneath me, Seonghwa shifted uncomfortably, his stature contrasting with my own. Standing confidently at a mere 5 feet tall, Mr. Kim seemed almost dwarfed by my height, which was quite unusual for a fae.

“I’m sure you’re all here to ask for my hand in defeating the malevolent queen,” I teased, knowing full well the answer. However, I needed a detailed explanation of their quest to truly be onboard.

“Are you really prepared for the dangers that lie ahead?” I inquired, my voice laced with sincerity, they had no recollection whatsoever to comprehend what they’re dealing with.

“Absolutely,” they affirmed in unison, a determined smile playing on their lips. Imbeciles.

As the tension in the room began to ease, I leaned forward, eager to listen. The flickering fairy lights cast shadows on the walls, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt almost magical.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, glancing at Mr. Kim for support. “The evil queen has been terrorizing our realm for far too long,” he began, his voice steadying. “Her dark magic has spread fear among our people, and many have lost hope…the lives of innocent people, children taken, I cannot stand it any longer”

Mr. Kim chimed in, his tone becoming serious. “We believe you possess a unique power, one that could help us turn the tide in this battle. Your lineage as a fae grants you abilities we desperately need.”

I arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And what, pray tell, do you believe I can contribute? I am hardly a warrior.”

Seonghwa smiled, his expression softening. “You may not see yourself as one, but your connection to nature and your innate charm can rally our allies. We need someone who can inspire hope.”

“Plus,” Mr. Kim added with a playful smirk, “you have a way of making even the grumpiest of creatures smile. That’s a weapon in itself.”

I chuckled, feeling a warm blush creep onto my cheeks. “Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it? But my power is not strong enough..not any more” I contorted in grief.

The pain of my powers fading everyday ate away at my souls profusely. The more I used it, the weaker I became.

Seonghwa nodded, his demeanor shifting to one of urgency. “The queen has summoned dark creatures to do her bidding, and her fortress is protected by powerful enchantments. We must gather allies and forge a plan before it’s too late.”

“Allies? Two thirds of the kingdom are under her spell, you speak of allies lightly, how sure are you of this plan?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“In all honesty miss?,” Mr. Kim asked. “Y/n” I answered

“We aren’t quite certain as yet, hence why we’ve come to you” Mr Kim continued.

“You mentioned your power, what had happened for you to become..weaker?” Seonghwa asked. Memories flooded once again from the moment I lost my mother.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the lingering echoes of laughter, now long faded. I stood at the edge of the forest, my heart heavy, the weight of memories pressing down like a suffocating blanket. I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was thrust back to that fateful day when innocence was ripped away, leaving behind only a haunting void.

I was just eleven, a child blissfully unaware of the darkness that lurked just beyond the edges of my world. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the fields, where I danced among the wildflowers, my laughter ringing out like a fragile chime. But that joy was a mere prelude to the horror that would unfold.

“Run! Hide!” they cried, their voices laced with terror. I stood frozen, my small hand clasped tightly in my mother’s warm grip, all comfort fading into a chilling dread.

Then came the sound—a sickening, gurgling laugh that echoed through the trees, heralding the arrival of the queen. She emerged like a dark specter, her flowing robes swirling around her like a tempest, the air crackling with her malignant energy. Her eyes gleamed with a sadistic delight, a predator reveling in the hunt.

My mother instinctively stepped in front of me, her voice trembling yet resolute her maleficent wings open to protect me. “Leave us be!” she shouted, a defiant spark igniting in her gaze as she shielded me from the encroaching darkness.

The queen merely smiled, a cruel, serpentine grin that revealed the depths of her malevolence. “You dare defy me?” she hissed, her voice smooth as silk, yet laced with venom.

I watched in horror as she raised her hand, a flicker of dark magic swirling around her fingers like a viper poised to strike. My mother’s eyes locked onto mine, filled with a love that would soon be extinguished.

Time shattered as the queen unleashed her spell. The world fell silent, and in that terrible instant, I felt the air grow thick with impending doom. I could hardly breathe as the queen’s magic struck, a grotesque display of power that left my mother crumpled on the ground, her body twisted and lifeless. As though it weren’t of satisfaction, the queen ripped her head off from her body, gazing upon it like a trophy as she drank the blood that dripped from my mother’s skull.

The moment stretched into eternity, and I rushed toward her, my heart pounding with desperation. “No!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat as I collapsed beside her. But it was too late—the gruesome reality unfolded before my eyes, her once vibrant form now marred by the horror of death.

The queen’s laughter echoed, a cacophony of madness that reverberated in my skull. Blood pooled around my mother’s headless form, staining the earth a deep, dark crimson. I was horrified to see the cruel precision with which the queen had severed her life, leaving behind an empty shell, devoid of warmth and love.

I sank to my knees, the grass beneath me slick and cold, my mother’s blood seeping into my skin as if to mark me with her loss. I clutched her lifeless body, the warmth of her spirit extinguished, a cruel reminder of the fragility of life.

As I knelt there, the world around me blurred, and the bitter taste of grief filled my mouth. I had lost not just my mother that day but the very essence of safety, the light that had guided me through the darkness. The horror of her death clawed at my sanity, an unending nightmare that replayed in my mind like a morbid lullaby.

As I opened my eyes to the present, the memories flooded back, vivid and raw. The evil queen had not merely severed my mother’s head; she had wrenched apart the fabric of my childhood, leaving behind a tapestry of horror and gore. I stood there, in the shadow of the trees, feeling the weight of that past settle over me like a shroud, mingling with the primal rage that ignited deep within.

She has captured and killed countless fae but me. I was left to live alone in the cold ghastly realm of darkness. Until Hendores found me at the edge of a cliff offering his life to protect me.

I suppressed a sigh, feeling the weight of their expectations avoiding his question. “I still fail to grasp the true nature of our adversary.”

It’s as though he was aware of my sudden shift in topic. I couldn’t bare to relive those memories once more.

“What manner of allies do you propose?” I asked, my curiosity barely piqued.

“Fellow fae, woodland spirits, and perhaps even some unlikely companions from the human world,” Mr. Kim elaborated. “We believe that with the right coalition, we can breach her defenses and confront her at last.”

A wave of exasperation washed over me. “And you think I am inclined to engage in this frivolous endeavor? The very notion of ‘defeating’ a queen feels rather antiquated, does it not?”

Seonghwa exchanged a glance with Mr. Kim, uncertainty flickering across their faces. “But we need your help. The realm is suffering.”

I regarded them both with an unamused expression. “If you wish to waste your time on this quest, then so be it. However, I require a clearer understanding of the implications before I consider lending my name to such a cause. As the only fae left-

“Only fae?! What had happened to the others!” Mr Kim exclaimed in utter shock.

“Taken by the Queen, some were..mutilated” I answered.

“This is not promising at all, we have to return home seongwha it’s dangerous” mr Kim pleaded in concern for their safety. It would be impossible for a handful to defeat the queen and her army of millions.

“I believe we can do it” he commanded. “With your help y/n I believe it” he said. “Believe all you want, but you will die or better worse the Queen would use the very last of my power to solidify her power” I countered sternly.

Amidst our conversation Hongjoong carefully assess my figure, noticing how different I was from the normal fae. My wings much larger, my height taller, my horns all the well full of intricate detail and of course my fangs.

“What type of fae are you?” Hongjoong interjected, all heads peering in his direction. Curious and confused expressions painted on their forms.

I turned to Hendores, and he nodded knowing of my intentions.

“It’s Better for you to see” I answered. With a wave of my delicate fingers, I opened a realm that led to the ancient caves of the far ancestors, from the eagles to fallen angels but only one was the bearer of the most powerful.

As the bunch stepped into the portal upon my rear, before them, a tomb of amber stone stood tall, the Skeleton of a..

“A Phoenix” Hongjoong commented in awe. Their eyes fixated on the fiery tomb bestowed before them, the creature larger than a dragon itself, live flames and magma that surrounded its lifeless form as though preserving it from perishing forever.

“Long ago, in a time shrouded in the mists of legend, the Phoenix was born from the very heart of a dying star—an embodiment of the sun’s fury and the earth’s desire for rebirth. Its feathers shimmered with hues of crimson and gold, each plume a testament to its unruly spirit and unbridled power.” Hendores spoke the tale.

The air was filled with the earthy scent of moss and woodsmoke, the spriggan’s introduction struck a sense of concentration. With his power a scene was painted, a live memory of where it all began depicted before them.

Seonghwa and the others felt the heat radiating from the lifeless mythical creature. And so the spriggan continued.

“The Phoenix was not merely a bird; it was a force of nature, capable of incinerating entire landscapes with its majestic flames. Yet, with such power came an insatiable thirst for freedom. It soared through the skies, unbound by the constraints of the earth, leaving trails of fire in its wake.”

The spriggan’s voice grew somber, a shadow passing over his features. “But with great power comes great peril. As the Phoenix’s legend spread, so too did the envy of those who sought to harness its flames for their own gain. Many sought to capture it, to wield its fiery essence like a weapon. They constructed traps and devised dark magic, but the Phoenix was cunning and fierce, slipping through their fingers time and again.”

His eyes glinted with a mixture of reverence and sorrow. “Yet, in the end, it was not the chains of mortals that bound the Phoenix, but a betrayal far more profound. A companion it had trusted, one who craved the power of the flames for himself, struck a deal with darkness. In a moment of treachery, the Phoenix was ensnared, its essence fractured, and its flames extinguished.”

I felt a chill creep over me, the weight of loss palpable in the air. “But from the ashes of that betrayal, a miracle unfolded. The Phoenix, in a final act of defiance, ignited a brilliant conflagration that consumed its captors, transforming its ashes into new life. Thus, it was reborn, soaring once more into the heavens—but forever changed.”

The spriggan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a note lower almost like a growl. “And this, my dear descendant, is where your lineage intertwines with the tale of the Phoenix. You are the last of its bloodline, a direct descendent of that fiery avian spirit. The power of the Phoenix flows through your veins, unruly and great, awaiting the moment it can be unleashed once more.”

“But my power grows weaker because of the queen’s reign..” I interrupted, all gazes fixed on my defeated form. I was beyond demotivated. But Hendores believed otherwise.

“you hold within you the potential for rebirth and renewal, the strength to rise from the ashes of despair. But it also means you must be vigilant, for the shadows that once sought to snuff out the Phoenix’s light will undoubtedly seek you as well. The legacy of the Phoenix is not one of mere power; it is a call to action, a responsibility to protect and preserve the flame. For your power is not lost child, it’s evolving in a way we haven’t seen before” Hendores continued.

As his words settled around me like the warmth of the fire, I felt the weight of my ancestry settle upon my shoulders. The tale of the Phoenix was not just a story; it was a legacy—a reminder that within me lay the spirit of a creature that defied death itself. I was the last descendent, the keeper of a flame that had burned through centuries, and it was time to embrace that power, to rise and reclaim the legacy of my ancestor.

“This is incredible,” Mr. Kim remarked, his voice filled with awe.

“For she is remarkable, but it is my solemn duty to protect her with my very life,” the spriggan, Hendores, replied, his tone resolute.

“Is there any way your power can be restored to its magnified form?” Seonghwa inquired, his gaze momentarily grazing mine, a fleeting connection that sent a ripple of uncertainty through me. A second too long spent in his penetrating gaze was enough to tempt my resolve regarding the daunting task of defeating Morana.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, disappointment lacing my voice. The truth was stark: I had no idea how to become stronger.

“You must visit the ancient grove where the council of elves holds the key that your ancestor left behind. It will guide you, child,” Hendores advised, his voice resonating with an ancient authority.

“Hendores, the elves have been in hiding for centuries. Who’s to say they are not extinct? It would be a futile endeavor to travel all the way for nothing; we have discussed this at length,” I countered, my voice tinged with exhaustion and frustration.

“And yet, you have never given it a try. Perhaps it is high time you sought them out, child,” Hendores asserted, his words cutting through my hesitance like a blade, instilling within me a flicker of hope amidst my turmoil.

Silence enveloped the tomb, a heavy blanket that stifled all sound save for the soft crackle of the flames within the amber membrane. Their glow illuminated the intricately carved stone walls, casting elongated shadows that danced like phantoms in the dim light. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the air charged with a palpable energy that seemed to vibrate around us.

As I stood in that sacred space, I felt an inexplicable pull, as if the very essence of my ancestors whispered through the ages, weaving its way into my consciousness. The warmth of the flames flickered softly, yet there was an undercurrent of something profound and ancient that resonated within me.

Then, amidst the silence, I heard it—a voice, ethereal and commanding, echoing softly within the confines of the tomb. “Awaken, my descendant,” it called, reverberating through the stone and into my very soul.

I froze, a shiver racing down my spine as the familiarity of the voice washed over me. “I am here,” I whispered, my breath trembling in the still air. “What do you wish to convey?”

“Embrace your destiny,” the voice urged, imbued with a warmth that wrapped around me like a protective shroud. “You carry within you the legacy of your ancestors, the strength to rise and reclaim what has been lost. The key to your power lies in the grove; seek it, and you shall uncover the depths of your true potential.”

As the voice faded, I felt a surge of determination swell within me, igniting a fierce resolve. The weight of my lineage pressed upon my shoulders, and I recognized the urgency of my heritage. I could no longer afford to hesitate; the time had come to embrace my birthright, to seek out the elusive elves, and to unlock the power that lay dormant within me.

The tomb fell silent once more, but the embers of the fire glowed brighter, as if affirming my newfound purpose. I turned to Hendores and Seonghwa, my expression firm and resolute. “We will go to the grove. I will seek the counsel of the elves, no matter the cost.”

Hendores nodded lightly at my sudden change in thought. “Very well. If we are to proceed, then let us gather what we need and set forth. For now you all need to rest, the journey to the elves is far of great”

“Follow me” I commanded to the guests, as I strides past my skin hissed in agony. Seonghwa noticed the familiar expression of my pain.

“Remove your amor” he commanded with a tone of concern yet strict.

“But your majesty-”

“Remove it at once!” He exclaimed fiercely. The guards obeyed his instructions. Removing their ironed amor, leaving them nude to the eye.

“By Jove you sure are gifted lads” mr Kim snickered in amusement at the guard’s vulnerable state.

“Dad! Enough with your comments for heavens sake one more out of you and I’m telling mum” Hongjoong exclaimed in embarrassment for his father’s impulsive comments.

I took a step forward unamused by the guard’s nudity. They flinched in fear which was not an odd expression for humans in the presence of a fae.

“Let me” I said softly. With a wave of my hand, the amber gleams of my power surrounded them, coating their forms moulding them into an armour of mass. Stronger than iron itself and more fitting to the surface.

“There, is that better?” I asked. “Yes your majesty, we are humbly grateful and due to your every command” they bowed in gratitude.

“It is my pleasure, now follow me I will lead you to your chambers” I said.

As I led the way around Underland, seonghwa followed beside me taking in the atmosphere and the beauty of the exiled land.

I had stopped in front off a small dwarf house, where they’d rest for the night. Its door hung low under a blanket of grass, camouflaged like that of a turtle’s back.

“This is it, make yourselves at home. I will be taking my leave now” I said turning away to fly to my nest.

“Thank you” a voice said, one too familiar for my liking.

I turned slightly my profile in view and I nodded finally taking flight to my nest.

The night fell darker, and the city grew silent as the ghouls and fairies fell into a night of rest. I only grew restless, my wings ached as they shed, sparks of flame renewing the layers that fell. My spin contorted in agony. It had been a hundred nights of pain that I had endured.

My screams filled underland as my wings extended even further.

“Are you alright?” Hendores asked stepping into my nested cave. “It’s too much Hendores, I cannot bare this any longer ahh!” I screeched in immense pain, Hendores lifted me from the ground placing me onto my bed.

He sat beside me brushing his rough branched fingers against my temples. My eyes shut in comfort, but no sleep fell upon me. His embrace like that of my mother’s in memory and so I savoured the moment.

“Sleep well child” Hendores said. In an act I breathed lightly, my chest heaving in patterns. He knew very well I wasn’t asleep and he paid no mind to it.

⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥤⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢⥢

Meanwhile in Darconia..

The dark cavernous palace was shrouded in an aura of malevolence as the Evil Queen of Darconia, Morana, sat silently on her throne, adorned with the skulls of various creatures, their macabre grins seeming to mock the trembling peasant.

The blood of the kings dropped from the spines attached to the throne, crippling the fearlessness of those who dared to set foot in her foreboding lair. The man’s pleas, “M-my queen, spare me, I beg for your humble mercy” were abruptly silenced by a crack of thunder.

With a flick of her finger, the peasant dared not continue. "Mercy," she scoffed in her sultry, honey-like voice, her words dripping with malice. She stood from her throne, the ghoul guards awaiting her command to rip the peasant to shreds. However, on this particular day, she felt an uncharacteristic sense of generosity.

Her aura seemed to shift, and she crooned, "I smell fear. Do not fear me, child, for I am your queen," as she crouched down, gently lifting the man's chin with her icy fingers. The coldness of her skin sent shivers down the man's spine, and he couldn't help but think, 'How can one be colder than ice itself?' Unaware of her ability to read minds, he didn't realize his thoughts amused her.

"You have betrayed me, an unforgivable sin that should not go unpunished," she declared, her voice dripping with venom. The man's attempt to interject was futile; with a swift twist of her fingers, his neck was snapped open. She closed her eyes in anger, sighed heavily, and rose from her position, the man's lifeless body dropping to the ground.

"How many more should be killed to understand my deep hatred of being interrupted?" she growled, her voice echoing through the cavernous palace. The ghouls' grumbled giggles filled the room, a chilling contrast to the queen's anger. As she walked back to her throne, the atmosphere returned to its usual, oppressive silence.

Turning to her trusted advisor, Mingi, she requested a drink, but her attention was diverted by the abrupt opening of the black, massed doors. A young boy, dressed in a raggedy white cloak, ran towards her, his footsteps echoing through the palace. "Your greatness, apologies for the sudden intrusion," he said, his voice trembling.

The queen's annoyance was palpable as she asked, "What is it?" The boy replied, "It's the Hollows, they've come to reveal a prophecy." The Hollows, a great union of ancient souls, aged over a million years old, possessed knowledge that could aid the queen in her quest for power. Her eyes widened in curiosity, eager to plan her next move to ensure the success of her envisioned "Utopia".

“Let them in.”

In the dim light of the cavern, shadows danced upon the jagged stone walls, casting grotesque shapes that seemed to writhe and pulse as if alive. The air was thick with an acrid scent, a mixture of damp earth and something far more sinister—a hint of decay that lingered like a specter.

The Hollows emerged from the darkness, their forms barely distinguishable from the shadows that enveloped them. They were gaunt, almost skeletal, with elongated limbs that twisted unnaturally as they moved. Their skin, a pallid gray, was taut over their bones, giving them a marionette-like appearance. Each Hollow bore a different mark of their cursed existence: one had a gaping maw where its chest should be, another’s eyes were sunken and hollow, appearing to absorb rather than reflect light.

As they encircled the Queen, their voices rose in a dissonant chorus, a sound that scraped against the ears like nails on stone. “The time is nigh,” they intoned, their mouths moving in sync, yet their voices echoed with a disjointed rhythm that unsettled her. “The veil between worlds grows thin, and the darkness hungers…”

The Queen, resplendent in her regal attire, stood tall among them, yet her confidence faltered in the presence of their grotesque forms. She felt a chill creep down her spine as their eyes, deep and empty, seemed to pierce through her very soul, revealing her doubts and fears.

“What do you seek?” she demanded, though her voice quivered, betraying her unease. The Hollows leaned closer, their breath a foul mist that coiled around her, suffocating and oppressive.

“Knowledge,” they whispered, their voices swirling like a chilling wind. “Power. The prophecy binds us to you, and you to the end. We are the harbingers of fate, the shadows that weave through time. Will you heed our warning, or will you dance with oblivion?”

A chill settled in the air, a palpable tension that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The Queen's heart raced as she felt the weight of their words pressing down upon her. The prophecy they bore was as much a curse as it was a gift, a haunting reminder of the darkness that lurked just beyond the fragile veil of her reality.

As the Hollows continued their chant, the atmosphere thickened with dread. The cavern seemed to pulse with a heartbeat—a rhythmic thrum that matched the Queen's own growing apprehension. She realized then that she was not merely a listener in this tale, but a pivotal character in a story that was already unfolding, one that promised to engulf her in its unsettling embrace.

“Your fate is in the hands of the stars, however can be altered with the blood of a fae” one of the hollows added.

“I have more than enough” Morana snickered in amusement. “Yes, but on fae more powerful than all, is the key to your everlasting desires” the hollows continued.

Morana’s demeanour succumbed in interest, her nails pierced into the arms of her throne, gnawing at the skulls that adorned it.

“And where will I find this..fae” her venomous voice pierced through the room. “She will find you, in 3 days times when the moon’s crescent recedes before the eclipse” they answered.

She laughed in amusement. “How wonderful, how exciting” she hissed rising from her throne with mischief. Her garment of black blood covering her like melted skin.

“But an energy surrounds her, that could bring destruction ending your reign” the hollows continued.

“An energy you say? Tell me what is this energy? A human or a crystal ball?” Morana joked. The ghouls giggling at her comment and with a swift if her eye they silenced in fear.

“We do not know, it is for you to find out” at that they disappeared in a whirlwind of black smoke. Voices hissing at their departure.

“Mingi, prepare me a bath..I’m feeling excited” Morana commanded in a seductive tone.

“Of course your majesty” Mingi answered steering his way to her bathing chambers. Where a pool of stallion blood filled it to the brim.

She entered the room her garment melting off her skin, exposing her breasts and her sex. Taking a step that led to the tub she sat legs dipping into the bloodbath.

“Join me” she commanded.

With that Mingi stripped himself of his garment, exposing his nude form, just the way Miranda favoured him.

“Taste me” she whispered. Mingi stepped into the bath placing himself between her legs. His large hands massaged her thighs ever so slightly. His face dipped lower kissing at her knees and tracing up to meet her core.

She hissed at the closeness of his breath, and so he traced his tongue fully against her folds. How could one so evil taste so heavenly, it’s as though he was under a spell, to which he wasn’t.

As he licked deeper, her moans loudened. His head moved in circled his nose grazing her clit.

“Water me” she moaned. But Mingi had other plans. He lifted from his position towering her as he stood tall. He leaned closer to her neck, biting onto her pale skin, leaving bloody marks and sucking them. He was no vampire only human with the desires to obey his queen.

“I said water me” she groaned. He stopped his actions, stepping out of the bath, gently lowering her back onto the large step. She laid eyes piercing into his soul, until his fingers plunged into her cunt. Fingers contracting against her slimy walls.

“I’ll do what I want with you my queen” he grunted. Her gaze tensed in satisfied anger, “then ruin me”.

At that he released his fingers, sucking onto them cleaning them off from her syrup. List filled his eyes as he pinned her hands above her head pointing his cock into her roughly.

His thrusts hard and timed to perfection leaving her in a pool of lust.

“Y-yes destroy me!” She screamed. “As you wish my love” he answered. There it was, his confession for the Queen to which she ignored. Now was not the time for insignificant revelations about love. She wanted to be played with in a rage of lusted distraction.

“That’s enough chatter” she growled, turning them around as she sat onto his lap with his cock buried far beneath her melting cunt.

Her eyes reddened glowing and piercing. She grinned with mischief, bouncing and rubbing circles onto his cock. His nails gripped her behind, digging into her skin.

“Choke me” she moaned her voice a gruntled whisper.

And so he did squeezing her airways tight enough to kill her. With that he took charge, ramming into her cunt, skin slapping against one another.

“Oh yes, harder, harder!” She screamed as her piercing gays never left his.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours. The pleasure was addictive, and with one final thrust with her back arched in-front of him, her walls convulsed like a pulse of a raging heart beat. Her walls flooded with his release. The blood from the tub dried on their skin.

Heavy breathes and moans filled the room as she dropped onto the tile heaving in pleasure. A wave of desire filled her once more.

“Again” she commanded.

“With pleasure”

Sacrosanct delirium: IV

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 (random):

@sirenscradle @mulloey @ninjakitty15 @xhaliemax @optimisticbasketballnerdwag-blog @slaybitch69420 @littlefireball @yoongisgirl69 @reverienymphslibrary @anoooon13 @cuteez4ever @seongwars

[itgirlgyu]

✷ zb1! if not the idols of your heart, what jobs would they be doing?

み this is just inspired by the in bloom lyrics for fun!!! 𓂃𓈒 zb1 ot9 ࿁ do not take it seriously please! › ‹゜

𖥔 zhang hao!

morning show news reporter.

he's up there at the ass crack of dawn at some random man's roof reporting to you live.

like why are you telling me that the morning has come boy??

also see him in the street doing personal interviews but it's always so invasive.

like "have you ever gotten hemmoroids? what are your thoughts on it?"

𖥔 kim jiwoong!

weather boy.

like why are you backing up zhang hao like has the flowers bloomed??

he's gonna tell us that's it's spring next.

it just makes sense because when he has to point somewhere north west in the map

he gets out his make shift cane like he's borrowed it off mr. grey

and he starts appealing his ass to the camera as much as possible.

the rating of morning show has been all time high!

𖥔 sung hanbin!

marriage matchmaker brand ambassador.

neither married nor dating but that's only because he has to lure in customers.

there's cutouts of him making a surprised face at a ring at every corner of seoul.

national "the kind of face that makes you want to get married." in korea.

𖥔 seok matthew!

chain restaurant owner.

but he's like at every goddamn establishment of his, running his mouth and working his ass off with the staff in the kitchen and the servers.

like he's using a hanky to wipe his sweat as closes a partnership deal with a multi millionaire company while serving chicken.

he literally only got big with the help of word of mouth.

like that's the power of a motormouth

𖥔 kim taerae!

strong feeling he should be a judge at rupaul's drag race.

like he literally started the whole sassy men trend idc

he'd get it.

but also he should have been a vine star turned singer either way because

i feel like he'd eat that "here's come hurricane katrina bitch" song.

𖥔 ricky!

jobless rich handsome senior.

literally don't see him working anything other than that god given face of his.

maybe a florist.

but the one that has like 30 staffs under him and only works as an influencer for his 30000 dollars a bouquet business.

like the most he'd do is post a picture on his instagram fixing the bow on his 300000000 dollar bouquet.

and it's always white roses.

𖥔 kim gyuvin!

works part time as a crane in a construction site.

not using the crane but as the crane.

had news paper from all over the globe coming to him like how do you do it?!?

gyuvin—"gotta utlise my height somehow."

also works part time as a break up guru.

i feel like he'd excel in it.

𖥔 park gunwook!

community service down the street with jongho.

he's at there helping grandmas cross the streets and singing and dancing and breaking fights.

breaking apples and showing off his strength.

like yes granny don't worry he'd braid both of yalls hair!

𖥔 han yujin!

i do not support minors working!

COPYRIGHTS RESERVED TO ITGIRLGYU 23'. FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! PERM' TAGLIST: @impureperhaps @full-sunnies @ox1-lovesick @jisungsdaydreamer @wonioml @1921choi @forever-in-the-sky2 @beoms-sugar @gyuletters

[rhyyxi0]

Somewhere in the Amazon

"I told you this was stupid!" Kim yelled, her vein popping in her forehead ever so slightly. She huffed angrily as she gave the rest of the group an angry glare. "Calm down pissy pants, we're almost there." Leon scoffed as he swatted vines away from Jia's surroundings. Jia was busy studying the map in his hand. It had various markings and all sorts of signs and scribbles on it. It looked more like a borer student's sketchbook than an actual map. "I AM CALM!" Kim retorted before being shut up silently by Celine, who gave her a disapproving nod. "Do you ever stop yelling, Kim? You're so annoying." She sighed as she walked ahead with Jia and Leon. Kim groaned and reluctantly shut her big mouth.

A few hours later...

The 4 teens had been walking for ages, and their feet were starting to ache. They decided to stop by a river stream ahead, a few stones placed around it. They all placed themselves on the stones, sighing with relief as they finally gave their sore feet a rest. "Mann... this feels good!" Leon cheered as he sighed with relief. He had already taken his shoes and socks off, to which Jia grimaced silently. "God, his feet stink..." Jia muttered as he placed the map on the ground beside him. Kim and Celine were bust drinking water from the river and washing off dirt and insects. "Do you think we're close to the treasure?" Celine asked as she dipped her hands in the river. Kim looked at her with an unamused look. "No way. Jia's leading us nowhere, Celine. We've been walking for hours and still no treasure!" Leon suddenly approached them, his toes wiggling in the sand. "Hey, don't be such a sore loser. We'll find that treasure soon! Right Jia?" He turned back, expecting to see Jia, but all he saw was an empty stone and the map laying on the ground. Kim, Celine, and Leon raised their eyebrows, confused and slightly scared. "Huh? Where'd Mr. Archaeologist go?" Kim scoffed, turning back to tie her shoes. Celine and Leon looked at each other. It was unlike Jia to leave without saying anything, especially leaving the map like that. Celine and Leon walked forward, approaching the stone. Their eyes widened as they gazed at the state of the stone. "Oh my god! What the fu-!" Leon gasped before Celine slapped a hand on his mouth shakily. Right there on the stone was a very defined and jagged scratch mark along with some torn red hair strands. "C-celine...wh...what is...what mad that?!" Leon yelled, stepping back. Celine shrugged, her own eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I don't.. I don't know. What could have possibly taken...him..." She trailed off as she and Leon were met with a dark and tall figure. It towered over them, it's eyes gazing down at them angrily. With one quick slash, it sliced both their necks and they fell to the ground, gasping for air.

"Don't you dare lay your eyes on my treasure!"

Boy this story is so ahh...I thought that last line ate.

[8isfatesunshine]

Gilmore Girls AU

Chapter 1:Coffee First, Dreams later.

Summary: Growing up in the quiet town of Hanamachi, life was simple: school, coffee runs, and a future mapped out with Seungmin, the boy who always felt safe.

But when Yeosang — brooding, brilliant, and impossible to ignore, shakes up everything she thought she wanted, safety starts to look like a cage.

At college, O.de storms into her life with wild nights and impossible dreams, tempting her toward a world she’s only ever imagined.

First loves, heartbreaks, and second chances — she’s not just choosing who to love. She’s choosing who she wants to be.

Warnings: none, maybe angst later on

Mornings in Hanamachi smelled like burnt toast, strong coffee, and the kind of chill that promised the leaves would turn fiery red within the week.

She tumbled out of bed fifteen minutes late, hair a mess, sweater half inside-out, and shoes untied. There was no time for proper breakfast — just a mad dash downstairs to the comforting chaos of Chapter & Cup, the family café that had practically raised her.

“You’re late,” her mother called from behind the counter, already elbow-deep in coffee orders and town gossip.

“I know, I know,” she huffed, grabbing a to-go cup and a cinnamon bun from the counter in one motion. She dropped a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Love you, bye!”

“You forgot your notes!”

She turned just in time to see Seungmin walk through the door, holding up a battered folder like a trophy. His hoodie was zipped halfway, his hair still stubbornly messy from sleep, and he carried an extra backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Lifesaver,” she gasped, taking the folder from him with a grateful smile.

“You’re going to owe me for this one,” he teased, following her out onto the street.

It was the kind of crisp autumn morning that made Hanamachi look like a picture from a storybook. Narrow sidewalks crowded with jack-o-lanterns and hay bales, handwritten signs advertising cider and fresh pies, colorful leaves skittering across the cobblestones.

They walked side-by-side toward the high school, falling into the easy rhythm that came from growing up together. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, neither of them pulling away.

“The festival committee needs volunteers,” Seungmin said, kicking at a stray pebble. “They’re desperate. I said we’d help.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Last year I got stuck manning the dunk tank in freezing weather. Hard pass.”

“I’ll man the dunk tank,” he offered, bumping her playfully. “You just have to be there. Supervise. Boss everyone around. You’re good at that.”

She laughed despite herself, tightening her grip on her coffee cup. Seungmin had a way of making everything — even terrible civic duties — sound fun.

They reached the school just as the first bell rang, and he held the door open for her with a mock bow. “After you, your majesty.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of dunk tank duty,” she said, smirking, before disappearing into the chaos of the hallways.

The day blurred by in a stream of lectures, half-finished homework, and whispered jokes passed between desks. By late afternoon, she was back at Chapter & Cup, balancing a stack of library books and her mother’s endless to-do lists.

The café was the heartbeat of the town — cozy, cluttered, filled with the smell of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans. Locals filtered in and out, each one greeted like family.

Her mother was manning the register, laughing with Mr. Park about his hopeless crossword puzzles, while Mrs. Choi’s toddlers built a fort out of café chairs in the corner.

It was home. It always had been.

Later that evening, the town gathered for the first Autumn Festival planning meeting. Folding chairs were dragged into messy circles in the town square, fairy lights strung overhead, and a table piled high with cider and cookies.

She sat between Seungmin and Mrs. Kim, who was already trying to strong-arm her into volunteering for the apple bobbing booth again.

“She’s our champion from last year,” Mrs. Kim said brightly. “You should’ve seen her! Beat three poodles and a golden retriever.”

“Legendary,” Seungmin said with a wink, and she elbowed him in the ribs.

The meeting stretched on, full of the usual debates about hayrides, pie contests, and whether or not it was finally time to retire the haunted corn maze. It was comforting in a way — the same arguments, the same people, the same traditions.

It felt safe. It felt like home.

When the meeting ended, Seungmin offered to walk her back to the café.

The streets were quiet now, the stars sharp and bright above them. Their footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, slow and easy.

“You ever think about getting out of here?” she asked suddenly, her voice almost lost in the cool night air.

Seungmin tilted his head. “Out of Hanamachi?”

She nodded, staring up at the blinking fairy lights strung across Main Street.

“Sometimes,” he said after a beat. “But… I don’t know. This is home, you know?”

She smiled, but something inside her ached.

Because even though she loved this town — its warmth, its traditions, its safety —

a part of her was starting to wonder if she was meant for something more.

Something bigger. Something waiting just beyond the edges of everything she’d ever known.

And though she couldn’t see it yet, the first ripple of change had already started — far away, like a storm brewing just past the horizon.

Tags:

@milkteabinniechan

[1whimsicalgal]

September/October 1973 Ah, Youth, The Life Of an O’riginal Chainsaw Gal

A deep spring cleaning brought these little gems above to the surface.

In the days following filming Chainsaw ’74, after we’d wrapped, we were all finding our path, looking for ways to make money. I wasn’t in the brutal chainsaw dinner scenes (t’anks gods!!!). I was done and immediately looking for work, any work. Prior to filming I’d been working at Mrs. Robinson’s Restaurant at the corner of Riverside Drive and Congress Avenue in downtown Austin, for two years, paying for classes at St. Edward’s University, and doing well. Simultaneously, I’d been getting leads in all the plays at St Ed’s Mary Moody Northern Theater. After filming “Headcheese’ (Chainsaw ’74’s working title) for two-weeks, with little in the can, we shut down for a week. Then, we got a call that they found some money, filming was resuming. We all signed new contracts, but this time for ‘deferred money’. They’d kindly held my job at Mrs. R’s for the two weeks, but when we extended filming for another month, they had to hire someone to replace me. Drat. No job, no money.

Out of the blue, Daniel Pearl did me a solid. Our Chainsaw '74 cinematographer, Daniel, offered to shoot a portfolio for me with Daniel as the photographer, and Dottie Pearl assisting me with make-up and wardrobe. Both were full of great ideas, completely supportive, and very talented. Back in the day, with no internet, iPhones, computers, etc., we literally snail-mailed our pictures to casting agents and directors. When I think of the time-consuming hours of addressing, stamping, and trips to the post office, I get exhausted. Now, of course, you can scan and press Send.

Think about it.

The Good News: Everything finally worked out. As happens in life, things always change. For the past few years, our Chainsaw franchise has grown exponentially. I am pleased to report we have all grown close, appearing with my remaining cast mates to celebrate our 50th anniversary this year, since our filming and its release in 1974, appearing at various horror cons with my remaining cast members, together with our film crew members, Daniel Pearl, DP, JMichael McClary, ADP, and Ted Nicholaou, Sound Recordist. Fans love it and we love them!

Thanks to Kim Henkel, his son Ian Henkel, and Chase Anderson, we've been enjoying a real reunion to celebrate a little film we gave our hearts and souls to in the sweltering heat of July and August 1973, that went on to put Texas horror films on the map, a trailblazer, and lauded across the planet as a cult-classic in the horror genre. No sour grapes here, just great lessons learned, and thanks to all those who appreciate our work. We thank you.

The top right picture is from a print ad for Suzuki. Daniel had scored a local Suzuki commercial print ad shoot as DP in September 1973. When the director said they needed a girl who rode a motorcycle, Daniel did me yet another solid, he suggested me.🚀

Fifty years later, I’m still grateful.

xoxo,

Pammie 🪝💋

Original B&W photos by Daniel Pearl DP/ASC

Follow Daniel on Instagram: @danielpearldp

Colorization by Eric Goode @ericgoode106

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 21, 2023 (Friday)

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUL 22, 2023

On June 8 the Supreme Court affirmed the decision of a lower court blocking the congressional districting map Alabama put into place after the 2020 census, agreeing that the map likely violated the 1965 Voting Rights Act and ordering Alabama to redraw the map to include two majority-Black congressional districts. 

Today the Alabama legislature passed a new congressional map that openly violates the Supreme Court’s order. By a vote of 75–28 in the House and 24–6 in the Senate, the legislature approved a map that includes only one Black-majority district. 

Senator Tommy Tuberville (R-AL) and many of the other members of Alabama’s congressional delegation had spoken to the Republicans in the state legislature about the map. Editor of the Alabama Reflector Brian Lyman reported that the map’s sponsor said he had spoken to House speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) too: “It was quite simple,” the sponsor said. McCarthy “said ‘I’m interested in keeping my majority.’ That was basically his conversation.” 

Alabama governor Kay Ivey, a Republican, signed the bill into law. 

Today, assistant U.S. attorney general Todd Kim and U.S. attorney for the Western District of Texas Jaime Esparza wrote to Texas governor Greg Abbott and Texas interim attorney general Angela Colmenero warning that the actions of Texas in constructing a barrier in the Rio Grande between the U.S. and Mexico “violate federal law, raise humanitarian concerns, present serious risks to public safety and the environment, and may interfere with the federal government’s ability to carry out its official duties.” 

The floating barrier violates the Rivers and Harbors Act, which prohibits the construction of any obstructions to navigation in U.S. waters and requires permission from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers before constructing any structure in such waters. Abbott ignored that law to construct a barrier that includes inflatable buoys and razor wire.

Mexico has also noted that barrier buoys that block the flow of water violate treaties between the U.S. and Mexico dating from 1944 and 1970, and has asked for the barriers to be removed. So has the owner of a Texas canoe and kayaking company, who says the buoys prevent him from conducting his business. And so have more than 80 House Democrats, who have noted Abbott’s “complete disregard for federal authority over immigration enforcement.”

Unless Texas promises by 2:00 Tuesday afternoon to remove the barrier immediately, the U.S. will sue. 

Abbott has made fear of immigration central to his political messaging. He is now faced with the reality that Biden’s parole process for migrants at the southern border has dropped unlawful entries by almost 70% since it went into effect in early May, meaning that border agents have more time to patrol and are making it harder to enter the U.S. unlawfully. 

Abbott’s barrier seems designed to keep his messaging amped up, accompanied as it is by allegations that troops from the National Guard and the Texas Department of Public Safety have been ordered to push migrants, including children, back into the river and to withhold water from those suffering in the heat. There are also reports that migrants have been hurt by razor wire installed along the barrier.

Abbott responded to the DOJ’s letter: “I’ll see you in court, Mr. President.” 

Yesterday, on the same day that Shawn Boburg, Emma Brown, and Ann E. Marimow added to all the recent stories of Supreme Court corruption an exclusive story showing how then-leader of the Federalist Society Leonard Leo funded a “a coordinated and sophisticated public relations campaign to defend and celebrate” Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, the Senate Judiciary Committee voted along party lines to advance a bill that would require the U.S. Supreme Court to adopt a binding code of ethics. 

“We wouldn’t tolerate this [behavior] from a city council member or an alderman," committee chair Dick Durbin (D-IL) said. “It falls short of ethical standards we expect of any public servant in America. And yet the Supreme Court won't even acknowledge it’s a problem.” “The Supreme Court Ethics, Recusal, and Transparency Act,” Durbin said, “would bring the Supreme Court Justices’ ethics requirement in line with every other federal judge and restore confidence in the Court.”

Senator Lindsay Graham (R-SC) disagreed that Congress could force the Supreme Court to adopt an ethics code. “This is an unseemly effort by the Democratic left to destroy the legitimacy of the Roberts court,” he said, although he agreed that the justices need “to get their house in order.”

Today, Dahlia Lithwick and Anat Shenker-Osorio noted in Slate that voters of both parties strongly support cleaning up the Supreme Court.

As signs of an indictment for his efforts to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election grow stronger, Trump has taken to threats. When asked about incarceration, Trump said earlier this week: “I think it’s a very dangerous thing to even talk about, because we do have a tremendously passionate group of voters, much more passion than they had in 2020 and much more passion than they had in 2016. I think it would be very dangerous.”

His loyalists are working to undermine the law enforcement agencies that are supporting the rule of law. On July 11, 2023, Representative Jim Jordan (R-OH), chair of the House Judiciary Committee, wrote to chair of the Committee on Appropriations Kay Granger (R-TX) asking her to defund Biden’s immigration policies as well as the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), which investigates crime.

It is notable that, for all their talk about law and order, the Republican-dominated legislature of Alabama and the state’s Republican governor have just openly defied the U.S. Supreme Court, which is hardly an ideological enemy after Trump stacked it to swing to the far right. 

The Republican governor of Texas is defying both federal law and international treaties. After rampant scandals, the Republican-dominated Supreme Court refuses to adopt an ethics system that might restore some confidence in their decisions. And, aided by his loyalists, the front-runner for the 2024 Republican presidential nomination is threatening mob violence if he is held legally accountable for his behavior. 

The genius of the American rebels in 1776 was their belief that a nation could be based not in the hereditary rights of a king but in a body of laws. “Where…is the King of America?” Thomas Paine wrote in Common Sense. “I'll tell you Friend…that in America THE LAW IS KING. For as in absolute governments the King is law, so in free countries the law ought to be King; and there ought to be no other.” 

Democracy is based on the rule of law. Undermining the rule of law destroys the central feature of democracy and replaces that system of government with something else.

In Florida today, U.S. District Judge Aileen Cannon set May 20, 2024, as the date for Trump’s trial for hiding and refusing to give up classified national security documents.

—

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[bonvoyagenoona]

Hey cheryl!! Sending lots of love . I was going through my day and suddenly remebered your story a map of mrs kim and felt all warm and fuzzy inside.. i hope u also get one of these reminders to stay fuzzy..💓💓

Awww, thanks anon! Eeeee! It thrills me to hear that AMOMK came up for you! The Kim family bubbles up for me out of nowhere from time to time. I'm hoping that you're feeling warm and fuzzy and staying cozy with your loved ones, what with the end of the year and the precipice of the new one!

Namjoon: Nice.

Jin: More like pretentious!

Namjoon: What?? We can't show appreciation for polysyllabic words anymore? Conversations have to be TikToks?! "Precipice" is a great word!

Taehyung: Actually, "precipice" has a pretty negative connotation.

Namjoon: (blinks)

Taehyung: It technically means nearly falling off a cliff, so it implies danger.

Namjoon: (whips out his phone to Google)

Jin: A-HA!!!

Taehyung: Writers really shouldn't use words without looking them up first, but I guess this goes to show you how you can turn a quick sense check into a funny plot twist.

Namjoon: (looking at the definition and seeing that Taehyung is right) Damn.

Taehyung: Also, some of the most viral TikToks can last hours. Remember Who TF Did I Marry? That was like 8 hours long.

Jin: BAHAHAHAHA HE'S RIGHT!!!!

Mrs. Kim: (suddenly popping in) DID SOMEBODY SAY "MARRY"??

The boys groan.

Jin: EOMMMAAAAA!!

Read A Map of Mrs. Kims here!

[libellule-ao3]

1,5, 11 and 12 for the ask game if you want 🖤

Thanks for your asks🖤

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike? I've already been asked this question, so I'll copy and paste it. 🙂

Enormously! And when I start writing the first draft, I have in mind the starting point, the destination, the itinerary with the stops, and as my stories are centred on the characters, I know exactly how they will develop (the only exception being "Obsession", which was intended as an OS to experiment with inserting second-person readers, and whose very positive feedback encouraged me to continue💙). That said, my characters regularly force me to take a few detours along the way. It's a bit like planning to go from Paris to Amstersdam via Brussels and then ending up taking a diversion via Frankfurt. 😂

How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

Currently being published on AO3: 4

- Life links, which focuses on the second war against voldemort from the POV of the HPHM characters,

-Jae kim's bets (Jae Kim/Annie Thorn-MC)

- Obsession and In Mrs Gaunt's Nightgown (Ominis Gaunt/reader-You)

In my documents: about 10 (including the previous ones):

A few fanfictions (an Ominis Gaunt/Evelyne Bell-my OFC- two-shot currently being edited, a short story about Jae and his time in Azkaban, a Kankuro/sakura Two-shot for the naruto fandom and a few original short stories that will eventually gather dust on my hard drive.

Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

Some scenes are so fluid in my imagination that they need to be written right away. But the rest is written in order.

Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them?

I make fairly precise plans, but I rarely write them down because the minds maps in my head remain more flexible for the inevitable additions later on. In particular, because if the character is sufficiently developed, he's no longer content to carry the story I'm writing, he becomes a participating actor who influences the script. That said, this method works because none of my plots is complex enough for me not to be able to manage it that way.

[cuddles-edits]

Ban List

(Remaking in the new post editor so that I can actually disable reblogs)

I will not do requests for icons or other edits of any of the following:

LGBTQ+ Pride requests of Real People (This does not apply to actors playing characters, just to real people as themselves)

Real Person Ships. Those are people, not characters.

Real Life Dictators (Not just pride icons, but in general. This shouldn’t need to be said, but I once saw people make pride icons of Kim Yo-Jong. Do not request these because I will not do them.)

Disney’s MotorCity (Personal reasons)

Chris Chibnall’s Doctor Who (Pettier personal reasons)

MAP Pride or Zoo Pride icons (No. Get help.)

Yandere Simulator (Due to inappropriate conduct on YandereDev's end that has recently come to light)

Snoot Game, I Wani Hug That Gator, and any other game by Cavemanon (I refuse to endorse anything created by this team in any way, shape or form.)

Any media created by The Daily Wire or other conservative outlets (e.g. Mr. Birchum, Lady Ballers, etc.)

[fardell24b]

16th, 17th November 2024 Writings

16th

Excerpt from: Trouble in the Future

“So?” the girl asked. “Why are you still using your hands, when I have batons?”

“Oh, you haven't given me a chance to get anything!”

“True,” the girl said with a slight smile.

They continued sparring.

Sara, Cath, Sally and Tricia had searched the Top Floor of Hall Beta. “We have to go to Mid Beta,” Cath said, referring to the middle floor of the three story Hall.

“Yes,” Sara said.

“Let's not waste time,” Sally said.

However, on Mid Beta they found Kristia waiting for them. “So, you've mobilised some Austin residents against me, Sara Laws? How did I know that you were behind this incursion?”

Words: 107

Excerpt from: Difficulty of Shortcuts

“You think I didn't know about your escape plans?” She asked sweetly.

“I thought you might,” he said, as he took her hand in his.

An alarm sounded on Kim's console. “An escape pod has launched.”

Escape Pod 14

“We have left Voyager,” Daniel said.

“Twenty seconds to normal space,” Katelyn said.

“Good,” Daniel said.

Voyager

“Tractor beam!” Janeway ordered.

Another failure tone emitted from Kim's console. “Tractor beam won't engage.”

“Computer, who are on that escape pod?”

“Crewman Daniel Howarth and Ensign Katelyn Hawkins.”

“Of course,” Janeway said. “Keep trying Mr. Kim.”

“The tractor beam has gone offline,” Kim stated. “And they have exited the wormhole.”

Janeway considered what to do next. Voyager had to get through the wormhole. “Tuvok, take a shuttle and follow them!”

“Aye, Captain,” Tuvok said. He left the bridge.

Escape Pod 14

They exited the wormhole. “Kathiannah is at warp 7, heading back towards Ealanar space,” Daniel reported.

“Engaging pursuit course at maximum warp!” Katelyn reported.

The escape pod went to warp.

Words: 168

Excerpt from: 2002 in Armidale

“Oh,” Leigh said, as she placed one of her hands in her short hair. “I had it cut just before Christmas. I felt it was time for a change.” The year before she had hair down to the small of her back. She was still getting used to it.

“It looks good,” Sara said as she handed over the room keys.

“Thanks,” Leigh said. She wondered how many people were going to comment about the hair. She quickly went to her room.

Leigh had mostly unpacked when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it.

“Leigh.”

“John.”

Words: 99

Excerpt from: Mysteries of Neverwinter

“That’s’ true, but I thought you would like to settle in first, before exploring Neverwinter further.”

“That would be a good idea,” the bard said with a slight smile.

After Sylvia had guided her to the room, Illiana started mapping it out with her hands and feet. She took a while in doing that.

Words: 54

Excerpt from: Brennan and the Mystery

“That sounds strange. I’ll have to look at the map.”

“OK.”

Daniel brought up a map of Armidale. “Do you have a list of the locations?” he asked.

“I haven’t but the Express should have them,” Gina answered, referring to the local newspaper.

“That’s true.”

Words: 45

Excerpt from: Spider Quinn

SpiderGirl and Ninja Talon arrived near the cabins. SpiderGirl then felt something through her SpiderSense. “There’s something nearby,” she said.

“Huh?”

“The SpiderSense. I’m picking up something that might be troublesome or dangerous.”

“Do you have any idea what it might be?” Ninja Talon asked.

“No idea, but it might be more of those illusions.”

“It means that we’re in the right place though. We need to pinpoint where they are.”

SpiderGirl nodded. “But let’s try to stick to the trees.”

“Of course.”

They approached the cabins and the suddenly, SpiderGirl’s Spider Sense blared as they neared a particular cabin. “That cabin,” she said. “There are traps all around it. It is likely they are there.”

“It’s probably a good idea to come back in the daytime, even if it rains tomorrow.”

“Rain would probably disrupt the illusions.”

“I hope so,” Ninja Talon said. “Let’s go then.”

“I can be back about 11. There will be a discussion at the Historia earlier.”

“I’ll probably be there too.”

They headed back into Lawndale.

Lawndale Sun-Herald

Saturday, February 24, 2001

Tempest Opening Night a Complete Success

The tensions around the abductions of the Critics and Jane Lane haven’t dampened enthusiasm for young Daria Morgendorffer’s interpretation of Shakespeare.

Daria arrived at the Historia shortly before 8. She saw that Stacy had opened the café at the usual earlier time. ‘We do need to cater for those who start work early, even on a Saturday.’ Despite opening only four weeks earlier, the Historia had rapidly become a popular spot for Lawndale’s early risers.

“Morning, Daria,” Stacy said as she came up to the counter.

“Morning, Stacy. My usual breakfast, please.”

“Coming right up. It will be fourteen dollars.”

Daria read the article. The Sun-Herald’s critic had given a fair review. ‘And I’m sure he’s now at home in his recently installed panic room.’ She hadn’t heard whether the more well to do Lawndale residents had installed panic rooms or not. She shook her head, that wasn’t what she wanted to think about. She wanted to think about what she would tell Peterson about what she and Sandi had found during the night. Stacy then brought her the breakfast.

“It went very well apparently,” she said with her usual nervousness.

“Yes, despite the critics and Jane being missing.”

“You think it would be the authorities or the vigilantes who will find them first?”

“Probably both in cooperation,” Daria answered.

“I guess. Like at the solarium last week. The vigilantes went in but the police still arrested the person responsible for the brownouts.”

“Exactly.”

“Lawndale changing, Quinn changing. You changing, apparently. Those clips look great next to your glasses, by the way,” Stacy rambled. She looked back at the counter.

“I just chose the clips for practicality.”

“Same here, at least now I do.” Stacy then hurried back to the counter.

Peterson entered the Historia at half past eight. She knew Daria would be there early. She ordered something and then took a seat that the same table. “You look in thought,” she said.

“The Enigma and I found something.”

Words: 514

Total: 987

17th

Excerpt from: Anya and Piper

It was a few weeks into the semester. Anya and Piper had settled into a comfortable routine. However, a series of strange occurrences disrupted it.

Anya returned to her dorm room, where she found Piper working in a whirlwind of history assignments. ‘She has found a method,’ she thought, not for the first time. She recalled Piper saying that her ADHD often got the best of her. She shook her head. It was the present she had to focus on, for there was now a pattern of missing objects in the dorm. She was certain that someone was behind it. She woke her computer and looked at the spreadsheet she had put together, as well as the map of the dorm she had made.

‘Approximate time, the place. Where each place is in relation to each other. There’s a pattern here, but I can’t see it.’ She turned and looked at Piper where she was looking at a historical map. ‘Maybe I need a different perspective. Maybe Piper can make the connections I can’t.’

Words: 174

Excerpt from: First Future Adventure

Caleb followed the two into the student workshop room. He saw something that he hadn’t seen there before. A large cylinder with a door in it. He was sure that it would be very difficult to get it in through the door. “That’s it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Danielle answered as she input a sequence on a pinpad and the door opened. “It’s a tight fit but it can hold five people, eight in an emergency, like if we were on a ship that was sinking.”

Caleb looked inside it. “And you have done that, have you?”

“I might have gone to the Titanic a few times,” Danielle admitted.

“It was difficult avoiding her previous selves,” Jesse said.

“Titanic? I wouldn’t want to go there,” Caleb said. “But maybe somewhere else.”

“Or just Mara Green in your future?” Danielle asked.

“I don’t think you saw much of this time before you ran into me,” Caleb pointed out.

“That’s true, but not much looks different,” Jesse said.

“I guess so.”

Words: 168

Excerpt from: Mission with WOOHP

They soon arrived in Beverley Hills.

“So, where are they?” Ron asked.

“Somewhere not immediately obvious,” Kim answered. “Wade said that they were seen in a Mall.”

“But there would be lots of Malls, right?”

“This one’s a ‘Luxury Mall.’ More high-end than the ones in Middleton.”

“Oh man, that will mean that the prices will be sky high!” Ron groused.

“That’s true, but still pocket money for a man as wealthy as Senior Senior Senior.”

They entered the mall. It just looked like a slightly more opulent version of an ordinary mall. ‘Which is the point,’ Kim considered. She then turned and came face to face with a girl with long dark hair and a sour look on her face.

Words: 121

Excerpt from: Mysteries of Aurora

Olivia ran her text to speech pen over the page in the index. She quickly realised that she was without the context. ‘Maybe I need to start somewhere. But where? The Unification and working backward? Or forwards from the capture of Urbs Aeturna?’ She stood up. “943, the capture of Urbs Aeterna by Eric Leifsson and his forces,” she said from memory. ‘Maybe there are first-hand accounts, somewhere. Or maybe it’s too soon.’ She decided to find a general work on Urbs Aeterna during the Nordic Period and work from there.

Again, Freya found that the professor had had experience with teaching neurodivergent students before. “…Mostly those who are on the autism spectrum, but a few with ADHD,” he said.

“I see,” Freya said.

“And you’re not the first synesthete either.”

Words: 131

Excerpt from: Spider Quinn

“So, you went out of town and tried again?”

“Yes, she was able to locate Jane this time,” Daria answered.

“But, you haven’t rescued her. I assume there’s a reason?”

“Yes,” Daria began as she began to explain what she and the Enigma found.

“It makes sense,” Peterson said when Daria finished. “If he used illusions in the theater, and while SpiderGirl and her amazing friends were chasing her, he would have them as traps around where he’s holding Jane and the critics.”

“And so, we’re planning to go back around noon, during the storm, to use it as cover.”

“And you want me and few others to be out there to arrest Beck?”

“Probably Agent Leung,” Daria said.

“I’ll pass it along. But remember, the more happens, the more likely that identities would be found out.”

Daria thought about that. She had only heard about a few cases of non-powered vigilantes in New York who had had their identities exposed, and that was over the latter half of the twentieth century. ‘There might be others,’ she thought. She then saw Quinn arrive.

Quinn was thinking about how to go about rescuing the critics and Jane. ‘The rain would probably disrupt the illusions outside the cabin, but what about inside? My intuition doesn’t always work. I guess I might have to try, but what about Brit?’ She wasn’t sure, but she knew that Brittany would try regardless. She then saw Stacy behind the counter.

“Hi, Quinn!” Stacy said.

“Morning, Stacy!”

“The usual? I heard that the play went well last night.”

“Everyone put their effort into it, including Dani.”

“That’s the new effects person?” Stacy asked.

Quinn nodded. “Yes, and I’ll have the usual.”

Quinn joined Daria and Peterson. “Joey and Robert should be here soon.”

“I knew they would be,” Daria said.

Words: 303

Total: 897

[meep923]

༻Your Appearance Messed Me Up(yuyeon)༺

Chapter 22/25 + bonus chapter

Song Bin's POV

It was 1 hour after I had reached my base. I was still sitting at my study room desk. I still could not shake the feeling of those eyes of that woman. 

I heard the alarm blare somewhere below my feet as I heard guards shocking indistinctly. I was really annoyed. What a nuisance they are causing! I pressed the button to the telecom and asked my right-hand man to find me and tell me what had happened. I did not hear him come and find me, even after a long time. I was getting worried.

I grabbed my pistol, loaded it with bullets and walked out of the study room. I kept the gun pointing at the forward direction as I slowly made my way down to the cells. The halls were eerily empty, there was no one, no one at all. I made my way down to the cells. I nearly dropped my gun at the sight in front of me. The cells holding Mr. Kim, Shuhua and the other 2 girls were all empty. There was a big hole in the ceiling, tunneling through all the layers of soil and rock, reaching the surface outside. All my guards were either gravely injured or dead. My right-hand man was no exception. 

Who did this?

Shuhua's POV - 10 minutes ago

I was sitting on my bed, looking at the surroundings, mapping a floor plan of all the cells. I was looking closely at Mr. Kim. He seemed to be pulling something out of his pocket. I continued to look at him. It was some kind of gadget. A weapon, by the looks of it. I looked closely at the gadget, it looked like as if it was a weapon from the future.

He pointed the gadget at the bars of the cell and broke out. The breaking out of a prisoner evoked an alarm, causing guards to swarm into the level from the stairs. Mr. Kim pointed his gadget at the middle of the throng. A ray blasted out of it, the smell of burning flesh filled the air. I knew that Soojin and Minnie were as shocked as I was. The gadget blasted through the men, leaving a perfect hole in the body of whoever the ray hit. After Mr. Kim dealt with all the guards, he unlocked my cell, he walked in and tied my hands behind my back.

He pushed me out of the cell. Turns out Yuqi's gone soft. Mr. Kim was not someone she should've trusted. He did the same to Soojin and Minnie. Minnie was smart enough to keep quiet. Mr. Kim wore a jetpack and attached harnesses to each of us. He proceed to blast through the ceiling and flew through the place.

We were brought to a place somewhere over the ocean. Apparently he had an island bought. He locked us into a place with cells that were made or super hard and shiny metal. I could hear the sound of electronic mechanics in one of the rooms that I assumed was a lab. Soojin was in the cell beside me. I sat down on the hard bed as I saw her kick the wall.

"Why did I agree to help her? God dammit, look where I am now!" She vented the anger on the poor wall. I could understand where she was coming from but I Yuqi took more blows, more shots that really hurt, and Soojin's problems seemed a lot smaller then Yuqi's. It was rare for Soojin to lose her cool like that. She was a naturally calm person and I have never seen her lose her cool.

It was a nice side of her. She looked cute. Minnie was in the cell opposite of me. She seemed silent. I was never able to read or even understand was going on in that mind of hers. She seemed to be someone with a lot of brains. I mean, she could fight, she was smart and she was a police inspector. If Mr. Kim let her go, he would be in deep trouble for detaining a member of the police.

Soyeon's POV - Soojin's house

I patched up my wound. It did not hurt anymore. I feel like as if it healed on its own but the only main difference is that I feel no pain at my wound so I did not know what I should do. I was at a lost of what to do. Song Bin took Yuqi, Soojin, Shuhua, Minnie and that Kim man. What should I do?

I quickly changed my clothes and headed to the convenience store that I used to work at. I entered the shop and saw Miyeon at the counter. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. "Soyeon!" She smiled brightly and hugged me. I returned the gesture. "You look a lot different." She said, pulling away from the hug a second later.

I just smiled and did not answer to the statement. "Do you know how to track people?" I asked. Miyeon seemed taken aback by what I said. She thought for a moment. "I think I know someone. Why? What's going on? Is Minnie hurt?" She seemed genuinely worried. "The two of you confirmed your relationship yet?" I could sense that Miyeon still likes Minnie so I teased her. She turned a shade of brilliant red.

"I will tell you some other day. It's important." I got back to the reason why I found her. She gave me an address, saying that I was really lucky that he was in Korea right now. I thanked her and quickly went to the address that she gave me. 

Knock! Knock! I knocked on the door of the address Miyeon gave me. A man of around 20 opened the door. "What do you want?" He asked, clearly really careful. "A friend of mine told me that you were good at hacking devices. I'm here for consultation." I replied. He opened the door and let me into his apartment. He pointed at the chair at the dining table. "Take a sit." He invited.

I brushed past him and sat down there. I handed him a tracking device. Yuqi and I have a tracking device that will reach the other as long as there is satellite connection but I cannot hack the code on the device. "So this is what you want to consult about?" He asked. He picked it up and looked at it closely. He expression immediately changed. "You know Yuqi." It was a statement, not a question. "You are Chinese." I replied.

"What happened?" He asked, clearly worried. "None of your business." I replied. "I can pay you any amount. Just track her." He plugged the device into his computer and tried to hack into the system, only turning out to fail after multiple tries. I grew impatient and looked at his computer screen. I recognised the code. It was similar to one of the score of the pieces that I wrote. I pointed it out to the guy. He realised where I was coming at and quickly cracked the program. 

He was clearly happy at his feat, but I was more focused on the symbols that were appearing. They were in a specific code, something that I had memorised such that it was a part of me. I got the coordinates of where Yuqi was at. I quickly paid the guy, took the tracker and headed to the closest dock. I rented a water ski and bought extra oil. I took off on the water ski into the ocean. I am really close to place where she was held at.