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nishithedevil · 7 months

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Alright hi, this is my first time actually publishing a fanfic on here. Hope you guys like it. Tell me if you guys want a part 2 of this or any other ideas i should write

Capital Prince and District Princess

Lucy Gray x capital gn reader

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

so basically Corio gets Jessup Diggs and the reader gets Lucy Gray as their tribute. I've been sitting on this idea ever since i saw the movie on the premier, and ig here we are finally.

My brother, Corio and I sit down next to each other as the professor starts assigning student mentors to their district tributes.

"I hate this, Corio. This feels unbearable." I whisper to him as he nudges his my knee with his for a bit of silent comfort.

As the professor reaches district 11 without uttering my name, a breath of relief almost escapes me. However, the respite is short-lived when he announces Corio's name for the boy from district 12, and then...

"And last but not least, Y/N Snow will mentor Lucy Gray Baird from district 12. That is all"

At that moment I freeze and looked up at the tiny screen, seeing Lucy Gray Baird slowly walk up to the stage. Her decision to place a snake in that girl's dress caught everyone off guard, and I abruptly rose from my seat in astonishment. She was definitively one hell of a performer, singing and bowing dramatically before being taken away. A hushed stillness enveloped the entire room. What had they entangled me in?

The professor folds the paper up, removes his glasses and goes to leave the room, muttering good luck to us. After him, I bolted out of the room and settled on the stairs outside. Corio follows, approaching quietly, and places a comforting hand on my back.

"I'm sorry Y/N, I didn't know they would pick you as a mentor to one of the tributes. I mean at least our tributes are both from the same district, that could be fun" he remarks, giving my back a reassuring pat before rising to his feet.

"C'mon, grandma's probably prepared dinner for us" he urges, descending the stairs at a leisurely pace. I hesitate for a moment, then quickly stand up to follow him, concerned he might leave me alone even for a brief moment.

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Uncertain of what course to take, I opt to go and welcome my tribute. I dress myself in a tasteful yet not overly extravagant manner, even securing a rose. It might seem foolish given the circumstances, but the anxiety is too overwhelming to do otherwise.

I arrive at the train station and wait with the peacekeepers. A few minutes after later the train arrived and the peacekeepers opened the train doors one by one, even taking some tributes by force when they didn't want to come out. All of them who weren't too distracted with that were glowering at me, like they were ready to jump me. I patiently looked around for my tribute, and right when I turned around I saw Corio's tribute step out of the train and extend his hand. A tiny hand grabbed it and out came Lucy Gray. She silently thanked him and straightened her very colorful dress before glancing around. Her eyes landed on me and I stiffened, not knowing what to do. She approached, studying me with a slight tilt of her head. For some inexplicable reason, I found that gesture to be rather adorable.

I composed myself, clearing my throat before speaking. "Um, hi. Hello, I'm Y/N Snow. I'm your mentor, Lucy Gray Baird." I manage to say. Extending my hand, to present her with the rose.

"Uhm, this is for you, as a warm welcome to the capital. Despite the circumstances." I nervously rub my hand against my neck.

She maintains her gaze on me, then unexpectedly seizes my wrist, drawing me closer.

Before I could say anything, she finally speaks "Are you supposed to be here? Since I don't see any other mentors here" She asks as she lets go of my wrist and takes the flower, putting it in her hair.

A warmth rushes to my face, much to my frustration.

"Uh no, I suppose not. But I wanted to meet you formally and introduce myself. I want to get to you know more, that's all" I explain, clearing my throat once again, the warmth lingering despite the station's breeze.

By this point Lucy Gray has been standing pretty close to me, close enough that if I took one step closer we'd be basically hugging. She wasn't very tall, just below my chin, which meant something considering I'm not particularly tall either. Up close, I noticed the softness of her skin and observed that, despite the initial appearance of messiness, her hair was neatly taken care of. The scent of flowers, a mix of vanilla and floral notes, wafted from her.

She sizes me up with a thoughtful hum before a Peacekeeper abruptly grabs both her and Corio's tribute, escorting them forcefully towards a waiting van. Despite my protests, my cries fell on deaf ears. In a somewhat foolish move, I decide to follow them, uncertain of any better course of action.

I wait for the peacekeepers to turn their back and I slip inside the van right before they close the doors. I breathe out, desperately trying to calm down. When I do I turn around and see all the tributes looking at me. We stare at each other before a few of them sit up and fling themselves at me. I'm forcefully slammed against the van wall, feeling the oppressive weight of an arm on my neck. Meanwhile, another produces a knife from some hidden pocket, escalating and leaving me in a state of heightened vulnerability.

I struggle until I hear a voice speak up from beside me. "Stop rough-housin' my mentor. It's not their fault they're better than your mentors and came to greet me"

Our eyes shift to her and then back to each other, a moment of shared uncertainty. Eventually, they release their grip on me, and I instinctively crouch down, rubbing my neck and wheezing as I breath out a breathy thank you. Lucy Gray only pats my back in a comforting gesture as the tense situation begins to ease.

Abruptly, the van comes to a halt, prompting us to exchange glances. The door swings open, and the van tilts, causing everyone to tumble. I desperately grasp for something to hold onto, with Lucy Gray attempting to secure my foot, but our efforts prove futile. We all land on the grass, and fortunately, my fall is somewhat cushioned. I groan and begin to lift myself off, when I open my eyes and see that I'm on top of Lucy Gray. I blush furiously as I realize the position we're in.

I hear her groan and watch as she attempts to sit up, successfully doing so, freezing me in place. As she opens her eyes, a realization sets in – our noses are barely touching. We're so close that I can feel her breath on my lips. My face flushes with embarrassment, and she smirks at the proximity before smoothly sliding away and standing up. Patting her dress to rid it of as much dirt as possible, she extends her hand for me to stand up. Reluctantly, I look up at her, then to the side, and begrudgingly take her hand to stand up, patting myself down as well.

While fixing my hair, I glance around and suddenly recognize our surroundings. We're in a zoo cage. Further away, a reporter and two cameras are set up, with a small crowd of spectators observing us. The realization of being on display in such an unusual setting adds another layer of bewilderment to the already strange situation. It hurt my heart, how they treat these people as actual animals just for being less fortunate. Considering my family, I'm used to this kinds of stuff and know my way around these reporters, so I turn to Lucy Gray.

"Listen, I want to help you win this, and after the stunt you pulled in the districts, everyone wants to hear you sing. I don't want to force you, but the more the public likes you, the more sponsors you'd get. And the more sponsors you have, the more chances you have at winning." I turn to look at her, and she wears a cute expression, biting her lower lip as she contemplates the situation for a few seconds. After some thought, she reaches a conclusion. Without hesitation, she grabs my hand and says, "Let's give them a show, then."

I smile and walk up to the reporters with Lucy Gray in hand. "Oh and what's this? Is this one of our student mentors? with their tribute? And what pray tell are they doing inside with the tributes?"

The cameras turn towards us, the reporter pointing the microphone towards us.

With confidence, I step forward and declare, "My name is Y/N Snow. This is my tribute, Lucy Gray Baird, the songbird from District 12. I pledge to do everything in my power to ensure her victory."

"Ooh, very enthusiastic, even after the stunt she pulled in her district." He says before being interrupted by me.

"Hey kids, come here, come and hear Lucy Gray's singing." I wave over the few kids around the cage.

They rush over, and Lucy, catching my glance, crouches down and begins to sing to them. The cameras focus on her, and the reporter adjusts the microphone, making a comment that I can't quite catch. The impromptu performance captures the attention of the onlookers and the media, turning the unexpected situation into a unique and captivating display.

Hearing her voice in person was even more magical, and it was so beautiful, so delicate. I was mesmerized.

Reality snaps back as Lucy stops singing, and the reporter directs the peacekeepers to remove me. Before they escort me away, Lucy Gray grips my arms, pleading with me to bring her food the next time I return. A smile creeps across my face, reassured by the trust she places in me. She desperately clings to me, whispering those pleas, and I lean in, whispering, "Don't you worry about anything, Lucy Gray." The peacekeepers then lift me away, but my gaze remains fixed on her. In that moment, a determination sets in as I begin to formulate a plan to genuinely help her win and navigate through this chaotic ordeal.

#lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray x reader #x reader #reader #gn reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x reader

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writingforstraykids · 1 month

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My heart remains with you

Pairing: Minchan

Word Count: 4430

Summary: Prince Minho, the neglected second son of the king finds a dear friend in Chan who later becomes his knight. When war parts them the lines of friendship and love start to blur.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, friends to lovers, knight!chan, prince!min, first kiss, cheesy af

A/N: This has been requested by my dear unnie @skzoologist and I've had so much fun writing this yesterday🤭 I hope you guys enjoy this little Minchan au🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The Kingdom of Elyria was renowned for its beauty, with landscapes sprawling across temperate forests, serene lakes, and majestic mountains. However, the true splendor lay within the walls of the Lee Castle, a grand structure of ancient stone and sprawling gardens, perched atop a hill that overlooked the capital city. Here resided the royal family, rulers of Elyria for generations.

Minho, the second son of the King, was often overshadowed by his elder brother, the crown prince. Where he was charismatic and warrior-like, fitting the mold of a future king, Minho was introspective and bookish, with a quiet demeanor and a sharp mind that gravitated towards scholarly pursuits. His mother, the Queen, often said that while his brother was born to rule, Minho was born to think.

From a young age, Minho felt the heavy cloak of neglect that often accompanies the life of a second son in a royal dynasty. The court paid him little attention, focusing their ambitions and hopes on his brother. Minho's days were largely spent wandering the vast halls of Lee Castle, exploring its many secrets, from dusty old libraries filled with ancient tomes to forgotten corridors that echoed with the whispers of the past.

His solitude was broken the day Chan entered his life. The son of a lesser noble who had fallen on hard times, Chan was sent to Lee Castle to serve as Minho’s page. He was quiet, observant, and meticulously responsible, qualities that quickly made him indispensable to Minho. What started as a formal relationship, bound by duty and station, soon blossomed into a genuine friendship. Chan was Minho's gateway to the world outside the scholarly nooks he favored. Through Chan's eyes, Minho learned about the people of Elyria, the struggles of the lesser nobility, and the realities of life beyond the castle walls.

Together, they would sneak out of the castle under the guise of night, exploring the city disguised as commoners. These escapades provided Minho with a perspective of his kingdom that books could not offer, and they instilled in him a sense of responsibility towards his people, a trait that his tutors found most peculiar for a royal second son.

As they grew older, their roles within the castle solidified. Minho took on more scholarly duties, often advising his father on matters of law and history, while Chan trained in the arts of warfare and strategy, rising in rank among the knights of Elyria. Despite their increasingly divergent paths, their friendship remained steadfast. Chan was always there, a protective shadow, ensuring Minho’s safety during their covert outings and supporting him in his scholarly debates against dismissive courtiers.

Their favorite haunt was the castle’s oldest garden, an overgrown labyrinth of flowering vines and ancient statues, hidden behind the west wing, rarely visited by others. It was here that they shared their deepest fears and greatest hopes. Minho confessed his anxieties about being forgotten, a relic in the shadow of his brother’s destiny, while Chan spoke of his desire to restore his family's honor.

As they sat beside a crumbling fountain, under the shade of a towering oak, Minho realized that Chan had become more than a friend or a confidant. He was his anchor, holding Minho steady in the turbulent seas of royal life. In return, Minho offered Chan a vision of a future where friendship and loyalty defined a man’s worth, not just birth or title.

This friendship, deepened through shared secrets and dreams under the canopy of stars, laid the foundation for a bond that would, in time, challenge the very traditions of their world. But in those early days, it was simply the prince and his knight, finding solace and understanding in each other’s company, building a friendship that would one day be tested by the trials of war, duty, and the heart.

Under the celestial tapestry of the night sky, the garden was a tranquil sanctuary, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. It was here, amidst the whisper of leaves and the gentle fragrance of night-blooming flowers, that Minho and Chan found themselves, seeking solace from the demands of their lives at court.

Minho, with his head resting comfortably against Chan’s chest, could hear the steady beat of his heart—a reassuring rhythm in the quiet of the night. The sounds of the castle seemed distant here, as if the garden were not part of the kingdom but a separate realm altogether. Chan’s hand was gentle as it stroked Minho’s hair, a touch that spoke of deep affection and understanding.

“Chan,” Minho began, his voice a mere whisper, mingling with the rustling leaves around them. “Do you ever think about what life might be like, years from now? When the responsibilities of the crown are mine to bear?”

Chan paused, considering the weight of the question. Minho's brother had been sick often over the years and it seemed to worsen each time. The possibility was given and widened with each time. “I do,” he admitted softly. “I think about it more often than I probably should. But in every vision of the future, I see myself by your side. Maybe not as a knight, perhaps not even as a noble, but always as your confidant, your protector.”

Minho shifted slightly, turning to look up at Chan, his eyes reflecting the silver light of the moon. “Even if the path I walk takes us far from everything we know? Even if the crown leads me into storms I must weather?”

“Especially then,” Chan replied, his voice firm with conviction. “Every king needs a steady hand to hold in the darkest hours. If the fates allow, I would be that hand for you, Minho.”

The prince smiled, comforted by the sincerity in Chan’s words. “I often dream of a future where our kingdom is at peace, where our days are not dictated by tradition and duty but by what is just and good. I dream of a court where the ideas of every man, noble or not, are heard and valued.”

“And I,” Chan added, “dream of a time when our friendship need not be hidden in the shadows of these gardens, when the world can see the strength of our bond and know it for the force it is.”

They envisioned a kingdom that thrived on innovation and diplomacy, where scholars and warriors alike debated in halls as grand as those reserved for feasts. They saw a court that celebrated the arts, where music and poetry flourished, resonating through the corridors of Lee Castle.

“Perhaps,” Minho mused, his imagination alight with possibility, “we could open the castle's libraries to the people, let knowledge be a bridge between the crown and those it serves.”

Chan nodded, his chest swelling with pride at Minho’s ideas. “And the armies could be reformed too, trained not just in combat, but in the arts of peace. They could be protectors of the realm’s ideals, not just its borders.”

They talked on, each vision they shared weaving a tapestry richer than the last. In their kingdom, justice would be tempered with mercy, power with humility. They saw a future where their own union could become a symbol of the unity they hoped to foster throughout the realm.

As the hours waned, Minho’s voice grew weary, yet his spirit was alight with hope. “Do you think it’s possible, Chan? That we might really see such days?”

Chan’s response was a gentle squeeze, reassuring and strong. “With you as king? I believe the future holds great promise. And I will do everything in my power to see it realized. Together, we could craft a legacy that will outlast us both.”

The night deepened around them, the stars wheeling overhead in their slow dance. In the quiet that followed, filled only with the sounds of the night and the closeness of their breathing, Minho felt a profound gratitude for the man beside him. Here in the garden, with Chan’s warmth enveloping him, the fears and uncertainties of the future seemed distant. For now, it was enough to dream, to plan, and to believe in the potential of their shared visions.

As dawn began to paint the horizon with strokes of pink and gold, Minho and Chan rose from their place among the flowers. They returned to the castle, their steps light with the intimate joy of shared secrets and cherished dreams. The garden remained behind them, a silent witness to their hopes, holding the promise of their return.

Their conversation that night, under the watchful gaze of the stars, would be remembered in the years to come as a declaration of intent—an oath made not just to each other, but to the future they dared to envision. In their hearts, they carried the seeds of change, nurtured by the strength of their unity and the depth of their resolve. As they stepped back into the roles demanded by their birthright, they did so with a newfound purpose, ready to face whatever challenges awaited with the knowledge that they would not face them alone.

As the shadows of dusk fell over Lee Castle, the usual sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the dining hall were replaced by the clanging of armor and the murmur of tense voices. The atmosphere was charged with a palpable sense of urgency; Elyria was on the brink of war with its long-time rival kingdom to the north, and every soul within the castle walls felt the looming threat of battle.

Minho, usually a pillar of calm and reason, found himself wandering the castle's corridors with a restlessness that mirrored the unease gripping his heart. His days were filled with drawing maps and devising strategies, yet he felt sidelined, his efforts overshadowed by his brother’s bold, commanding presence. Everywhere he looked, the preparations for war were in full swing, yet in this bustling activity, Minho felt an acute sense of isolation.

As night descended, Minho sought refuge in the one place that had always offered him solace—the hidden garden where countless memories of his childhood with Chan lingered in the perfumed air and rustling leaves. It was here, under the canopy of ancient trees and starlight, that he awaited Chan’s arrival, the weight of impending separation heavy on his shoulders.

Chan appeared at the edge of the garden, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight, his armor casting a metallic glow. Seeing Chan in full knight's attire, prepared for battle, struck Minho with a wave of emotion. Chan’s stride was confident, but as he drew closer, Minho could see the gravity of the situation reflected in his eyes.

They sat together beside the old, moss-covered fountain, their spot for heartfelt conversations. The air around them was cool and fragrant, filled with the scent of night jasmine and the distant sound of the castle’s preparations.

“Promise me you’ll return,” Minho whispered, his voice barely above a hush, betraying his fear of losing his closest friend, the one constant in his life.

Chan turned to face him, his expression serious. “I promise,” he replied, his voice steady but his eyes revealing the strain of the commitment he was making. “I will come back to you, Minho. You must believe that.”

Minho nodded, trying to mask his anxiety with a semblance of a smile. “I will hold you to that promise, Chan. You have always been my protector, my confidant. I cannot fathom facing the future without you.”

Chan reached out, taking Minho’s hands in his. “And you are my reason to return. Whatever battles we face, remember that my heart remains with you.” He paused, squeezing Minho’s hands gently. “In my absence, I need you to promise me something too.”

“Anything,” Minho replied, the intensity of the moment drawing him closer to Chan.

“Keep the kingdom steady. Use your intellect, your wisdom. You know the court, the politics, the people. Guide them, Minho. Help them see the path of peace and reason. Your voice can be just as mighty as any sword.”

Minho felt the weight of Chan’s request settle on him, a mantle he was now ready to accept. “I will do my best. I will keep Elyria safe, for you.”.

As dawn broke, coloring the sky in hues of pink and orange, Chan stood, his armor clinking softly. He pulled Minho to his feet, embracing him tightly, a silent promise passing between them. They lingered there, in the embrace, until the first calls of the morning birds signaled the unavoidable arrival of the day.

Minho didn't know what came over him but he cupped Chan's face and pressed a short, soft kiss on his forehead. “To keep you safe, my strong knight,” he whispered and Chan's face softened.

He brought Minho's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently. “Never lose hope, my dear prince,” he told him.

Chan stepped back, armor gleaming in the new light, and with one last reassuring nod, he turned and walked away, his figure gradually swallowed by the mists of the early morning. Minho watched him go, the promise of his safe return a flickering flame against the darkness of his fears. Tears burned in his eyes once he was alone and he hugged himself tightly. Never lose hope.

As the sounds of the castle waking reached his ears, Minho turned back to the empty garden, his resolve hardened. He would rise to the challenge Chan had left him; he would be the voice of reason Elyria needed, awaiting the day he could once again share this secret sanctuary with Chan.

Three years later

The war that had ravaged the lands and darkened the souls of many finally drew to a close after three long years. Minho had spent those years in a state of perpetual worry, each day stretched thin by the fear and hope that war naturally inspires. Chan’s letters were his only solace, rare as they were, each one treasured and read over until the words seemed to echo in the halls of Lee Castle itself.

My dear Minho,

I find myself in a rare moment of peace, and my thoughts turn to you and the sanctuary of our garden. I recall the fragrance of the blooming night jasmine, the way the moonlight filters through the leaves. These memories sustain me in ways rations and rest cannot. I long for the day when I can leave this behind and return to where my heart remains. To you.

Hold fast to our dreams; they are the beacon guiding me back to you.

With all my heart, Chan.

Minho, in the quiet after his official duties, would retreat to their garden, where he penned his replies, each word a thread in the tapestry of hope he wove for both their sakes.

Dearest Chan,

Your letter arrived on a cool, starlit night, much like those we’ve shared. I read your words beneath our oak, where the shadows seem less fearsome with you in mind. The garden grows wild in your absence, each vine and flower straining towards the sun, much as I reach for our promised tomorrow.

Stay safe, my friend, for Elyria, and for me.

Always, Minho.

When the declaration of peace finally reached the castle, Minho could scarcely believe it. The relief was overwhelming, tempered only by the anticipation of Chan’s return. He arranged for the garden to be restored to its former glory, wanting Chan to return not just to Elyria, but to the beauty they had once cultivated together.

As Minho sat under the oak, his gaze fixed on the path that led to the garden, he held a crumpled piece of the last letter Chan had sent him, reading and rereading the words that had offered him solace through the darkest days.

Min, my dear,

Peace is upon us, and I am coming home. The thought of seeing you, of standing in our garden, and shedding this armor weighs on my heart with a sweet ache. I am weary, Minho, changed by the shadows I’ve seen, but I hold onto the light of your friendship, knowing it will guide me back from the brink.

Prepare the garden; I am carrying seeds from across the lands we’ve marched—let’s plant new life together, foster growth from the ashes of destruction.

See you soon, my brave prince.

Chan.

My dearest Channie,

By the time this letter reaches you, I hope to be counting merely hours until your return. The garden is waiting, the foxgloves and lilies have blossomed, and I’ve taken to reading aloud in the afternoons, foolishly pretending it’s to you. The castle has felt emptier without your laughter and your steady presence.

I wait for you, my friend, with a heart full of stories to share and an ear eager to hear yours. Come back to us, to me, soon.

Yours, always and forever,

Minho.

On the day of Chan’s return, Minho waited in the garden, their sanctuary and witness to the depths of their bond. The air was fragrant with the scent of fresh blooms, a soft breeze playing among the leaves, as if nature itself was celebrating Chan’s return.

As Chan stepped into the garden, his armor shed and replaced by the simple garb of a knight at peace, his eyes found Minho’s, and for a moment, it was as if no time had passed at all. They moved towards each other almost instinctively, their embrace a testament to the years of waiting, of hoping, and of holding on.

“Minho,” Chan murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I made it back.”

“You did,” Minho replied, his own voice choked by tears. “Just as you promised.”

They stood there, in the heart of the garden, unable to let go, each touch and breath a reaffirmation of their connection. The war had changed them, undoubtedly. Chan’s eyes held shadows, his smile touched by a melancholy that hadn’t been there before. But here, in the embrace of his closest friend, there was a sense of coming home, of the weight lifting, if only for a moment.

As they finally stepped back, hands still clasped between them, Minho looked up at Chan with a small, hopeful smile. “Let’s walk,” he suggested, guiding them down the familiar paths, their steps slow as they reacquainted themselves not just with the garden, but with each other.

They talked of many things—of the war, of those they had lost, of the future. Chan spoke of the battles, but more of the men and women he fought alongside, of the small acts of bravery and kindness that had illuminated the darkest days. Minho listened, his heart aching for the pain and pride woven through Chan’s words, offering his silent support and understanding.

As the sun set, painting the sky with strokes of gold and crimson, they found themselves by the old fountain, its waters murmuring softly in the background. Minho reached out, tracing a scar on Chan’s arm, a new addition since the war. “It seems we both have scars to bear,” he said softly.

Chan looked at him, a gentle acknowledgment in his gaze. His fingers traced the scar located on Minho's stomach through layers of fabric, still knowing exactly where to find it. “Yes, but we’ll bear them together, won’t we?”

Minho nodded, squeezing Chan’s hand. “Together,” he affirmed.

In the sanctuary of their garden, with the shadows of war slowly fading into the background, Minho and Chan rediscovered the strength of their bond. Here, in the twilight of their reunion, they began to weave new dreams, grounded in the realities they had faced but looking forward to a future they would shape together. In this shared space, they were not just a prince and his knight; they were two souls, scarred but unbroken, bound by a friendship that had endured the greatest of trials.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, Minho and Chan sat together in their secluded garden, enveloped by the serene twilight. The world around them quieted to a soft murmur, allowing the gentle sounds of nature to fill the air—a distant birdcall, the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. It was in these peaceful moments that their conversations often drifted from the mundane to the profound.

Today, however, as Minho watched the sunset cast its golden light on Chan's face, illuminating the lines of strain and the scars of war, he saw him not just as his friend or his protector, but as something more profound, more integral to his very being. Chan's features, etched with the experiences of battle, held a rugged beauty, a testament to his strength and resilience. Minho’s heart swelled with an emotion that was tender and overwhelming, realizing that his feelings had grown beyond the bounds of friendship into something deeper, something akin to love.

“Chan, do you ever think of a different life?” Minho asked, his voice soft but laden with emotion, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope.

Chan turned to him, a gentle smile playing on his lips, his eyes reflecting the fading light. “All the time, but always with you in it.”

The simplicity of the statement, and the sincerity in Chan’s gaze, struck a chord within Minho. He felt a warmth spread through him, a clarity about his feelings that he had never allowed himself to fully acknowledge. Here, beside him, was not just his knight but the person he loved, deeply and irrevocably.

Chan, noticing the change in Minho’s expression, the way his eyes lingered and his cheeks flushed with a subtle hue, felt a stirring of his own heart. He had always seen Minho’s beauty—in his gentle demeanor, in his sharp intellect, and in the kindness that radiated from him like sunlight. But now, under the soft glow of twilight, Chan saw Minho in a new light, realizing how central Minho had become to his every thought of the future, how his days were brighter, his burdens lighter with Minho by his side.

“Minho,” Chan began, his voice low and earnest, “these years, these trials, have shown me so much about strength and resilience. But none of that compares to what I've discovered about myself, about us. You are in every vision of my future because you are the part of my life that brings me peace, joy, and a sense of home.”

Minho turned to face Chan fully, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, moved by Chan’s words. “I've been afraid,” Minho confessed, “afraid of acknowledging how deeply I feel, how much you mean to me. Not just as a friend, but as the one I love, the one I cannot envision my life without.”

Chan reached out, brushing a tear from Minho’s cheek with a tenderness that belied his warrior’s hands. “Then let's not hide from these feelings anymore,” he said softly. “Let’s explore this path together, no matter where it leads.”

As the last light of the day gave way to the stars, Minho and Chan remained in the garden, their hands entwined, their hearts open to the possibilities of a future together. Under the vast expanse of the starlit sky, Minho and Chan found themselves lingering in the garden, unwilling to end the evening that had transformed their relationship forever. The night was quiet, with only the soft whisper of the wind rustling through the leaves and the distant call of a nightingale. The air was cool, carrying the fresh, earthy scent of the garden after dusk.

As they stood beside the old fountain, now just a silhouette against the dark sky, their conversation dwindled into comfortable silence. Both were keenly aware of the new, delicate territory they had ventured into, each heartbeat seeming loud in the quiet of the night.

Minho looked up at Chan, noticing how the moonlight danced across his features, softening the hard lines of battle and time, casting him in a glow that seemed almost otherworldly. Chan’s eyes, usually so strong and assertive, now held a gentle uncertainty that Minho had never seen before but found endearing.

“Chan,” Minho began, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped closer. “Thank you, for being my strength, for always being here.”

Chan’s response was a soft smile, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that words could barely capture. “Minho, there’s no place I would rather be,” he replied, his voice equally low.

In that moment, with the moon witnessing their solitude and the serene night embracing them, Minho felt a pull, a desire to bridge the gap of inches that still lay between them. His heart raced as he reached up, tentatively, to touch Chan’s cheek, his fingers trembling slightly.

Chan’s breath hitched at the contact, a shiver running through him, not from the chill of the night but from the warmth of Minho’s touch. He looked down into Minho’s eyes, seeing the open adoration and the silent question they posed. With a gentle firmness born of years of holding back, Chan lowered his head slowly, giving Minho time to pull away if he wished.

Minho’s response was to close the distance, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss that was tentative at first, a soft brush of warmth that held a question neither had dared to ask aloud until now. When neither pulled away, the kiss deepened, growing in confidence and heat. Chan’s hands moved to cup Minho’s face, his touch sure, and Minho sighed into the kiss, his arms wrapping around Chan’s waist to pull him closer.

The world around them seemed to fade, leaving nothing but the two of them locked in an embrace that sealed their newly acknowledged feelings. The kiss was a mixture of all the emotions they had shared over the years—joy, fear, longing, and above all, love. It was a kiss that spoke of past struggles, present understanding, and a future filled with endless possibilities.

When they finally parted, breathless and hearts pounding, they rested their foreheads together, a smile playing on both their lips.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” Minho murmured, his breath warm against Chan’s lips.

“Yes, we should have,” Chan agreed, his voice thick with emotion. “But we’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

They stayed like that for a while, in the quiet of the garden, surrounded by the peace of the night, letting the significance of their first kiss sink in. It was a perfect moment, one that marked the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, filled with the promise of shared tomorrows.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

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starleska · 1 year

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If you're still doing headcanon requests, what about a Wally x workaholic perfectionist?

Love your writing and whenever you have the time I'd love to see what you think of this :)

ahhh thank you sweet and precious anon!!! 🥰 oooh now this one is hitting home...i'm guessing you are a workaholic perfectionist yourself? you may have guessed from the outpouring of fanworks i've made both for Welcome Home in general that i also fit into this category 🙈 thank you for this cathartic writing opportunity!

Wally Darling x Workaholic, Perfectionist Reader headcanons

💖 it's your passion which draws Wally to you in the first place. an easy-going, less-thoughts-in-the-head-than-most sort of fellow, Wally prefers to take life at a leisurely pace - but all of that is thrown out of the window when he meets you. you're so full of verve, forever jotting down notes or scribbling sketches in your notebooks, or coming up with grand ideas for outings and events. in fact, when the two of you first meet Wally says very little at all: he's quite content to sit with his chin cradled in his palm, gazing whilst you infodump about your latest obsession and the countless related projects you're going to create. Wally feels that you're an unstoppable force, and he's an immovable object...but he's so excited to be in the presence of such a tour de force of enthusiasm 🔥

💖 however, Wally doesn't always understand why your work makes you so upset. Wally understands the concept of a job - after all, his good friend Howdy Pillar has a fantastic job, working at the bugdega! but the kind of work typical of the Neighbourhood is much less structured and capitalism-driven, and the laxness of this system gives you severe anxiety. Wally grows concerned when he notices you staying up later and later, hunched over your desk and crumpling up endless sheets of paper. when the darkness shifts into a burgeoning dawn, a fuzzy hand grips your wrist, stilling it against your desk. "You don't need to have one perfect idea," Wally says, picking up and uncrumpling one of your discarded sheets. "You just need to enjoy having ideas in the first place!"

💖 eventually, Wally realises that your perfectionistic, workaholic tendencies aren't going away - so he compromises. on more than one occasion when you've passed out on the couch surrounded by half-read books, you've awoken to find your shoulders draped with Wally's soft cardigan. but some days are so stressful that no amount of cosy fabric will calm you down. when days where you're driven to distraction and frazzled by tasks read their heads, Wally likes to play a game of his own invention: something he calls Puppet Time. if Wally senses you're about to have a breakdown, he will announce, "it's Puppet Time!" and launch himself right into your arms. once contact is established, Wally will go completely limp, meaning there's nothing you can do but drop whatever you're holding and grab Wally before he hits the ground. no matter how stressed you are, this never fails to make you burst into laughter, and you're always much more receptive to a rest afterwards. Wally will continue his boneless routine even as you swing him up over your shoulders, giving him a free ride to a different room for a well-deserved break ✨

haha, this was a seriously fun one!! i hope you know you deserve to rest when you need it, anon. take care 🥰

#wally darling x reader #wally darling x you #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home arg #starleskasks #starleskawrites

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golvio · 10 months

Text

Still thinking about the stark contrast between the general grim, highly-restrained stoicism of TotK Ganondorf’s human form compared to the exaggerated, rapidly shifting moods of “Yippee! :D Whee!! :DD Wahoo!!! :DDD *does a cute little backflip*” and “YOU STOP RUINING MY FUN RIGHT NOW OR I WILL THROW A BIG DIVO TEMPER TANTRUM AND WRECK EVERYTHING!” of his Demon King form.

Guy’s pretty obviously repressed as hell, and I think that’s one of the reasons he always goes off the rails the second he gets a chance to step out of his ceremonial One Special Man role. However, the fact that what he’s repressing feels so…childish, even the violent parts…I’m wondering if the guy ever got the chance to be a child when he was actually little.

Maybe he got yelled at and punished for making simple inexperienced baby mistakes the way Zelda was because he was under similar pressure to Fix Everything and symbolically parent all his adult subjects/family members as a Symbol of Hope that could soothe their fears and anxieties on-demand. (Not to mention Buliara’s mom raised a bit of a red flag about authoritarian parenting styles being common in Gerudo military families). Only instead of just suppressing everything and standing perfectly still and quiet in public while floundering in private like Zelda did, he got extremely skilled at convincing the people around him he was the mature, unflappable, strong, comforting, and eternally available collective cultural father-figure who’d guide them out of the hard times they were trying to hammer him into.

Only…that wasn’t real personal development, only the illusion of development. He encased his true personality in the superficial shell of the sexy manly-man hero that everyone wanted him to be. The second he was able to emerge from that shell without anyone being able to punish him for it, that inner traumatized little jerk immediately started lashing out in revenge at the people who held him to such an impossible standard in an effort to finally feel in control of his own life. It’s like a former child star melting down upon entering adulthood after being denied agency and independence by the studio they’re contracted with and their financially profiting family for so long, only with magic and the forsaking of one’s own humanity involved.

That underlying theme of metamorphosis throughout the game, echoed in Kotlin’s “dream,” could’ve been capitalized on here. The people loved the shiny gold cocoon the weak, helpless larva formed, begging it to never emerge so they could enjoy its beauty forever. But he knows, he knows that if he never breaks open the shell encasing him, he’ll die before he ever gets the chance to unfurl his wings. The form they love is incomplete, shallow, temporary. He’ll die if he can’t discard it. He would rather be alive and horrible to behold than dead and perfect. The people will hate what emerges from their jewel, but in this new shape he can sting and bite back, so let them hate him.

But, also, just…could you imagine if we had a chance to meet The Cocoon and the people who worshipped it, saying how much they love their king while knowing absolutely nothing about him, only to find out he had his own “secret sanctuary” much like Zelda did? Somewhere we could glimpse the soft, hungry insect of his soul that yearned to break free? What we’d see in the pieces of his secret joys scattered around and the scratches of his notes would be something ugly, bitter, childishly self-centered, yes. But in there would also be real passion, real feeling, a real life desperate to finally live that would make the handsome shell brandishing a sword feel hollow, uncanny, and downright off-putting by comparison.

#loz thoughts #totk spoilers #ganondorf #caps warning #gettin’ real speculative here #i doubt nintendo put THAT much thought into this guy #but it’s still a possibility that intrigues me

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hwaightme · 1 year

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Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.”

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.

457 notes · View notes

kittenofdoomage · 6 months

Text

Midnight

Summary: New Year’s Eve brings a surprise at the end of a crappy year.

Pairing: female!reader (Y/N) x unnamed male

Word Count: 3610

Warnings: angst, mentions of break ups of long term relationships, anxiety, fluff, masked dances, semi-public smut, some mild breaking and entering, fingering, full vaginal sex, some mild feelings of unhappiness

A/N: This is another one of those "pick your character" fics that I can't really post on Ao3, so I'm posting here to wish you all a very happy new year. I hope everyone has a peaceful and blessed 2024, and that the fall of the patriarchy/death of capitalism finally comes to fruition. Enjoy!

Originally, her plan for New Year’s Eve had involved a family-size bag of Doritos and whatever movies she could find on Netflix. She had no work for the next week, no boyfriend since Andrew had dumped her in the summer, and when Dee had surprised her with a ticket to the annual city New Year’s Masquerade Ball, she had ultimately failed to provide an excuse good enough to turn it down.

“All of us are going,” Dee had informed her excitedly, making sure Y/N had no wiggle room. “I’ll help you find a dress, we’ve got a huge car booked -”

“Okay, okay,” Y/N smiled, internally dying at the thought of an evening around strangers, even ones in masks. “I’m in.”

Maybe it would do her some good. Since the end of her relationship, she’d been unable to summon enthusiasm for anything, and she had to admit, shopping for a dress and giggling over imagined possible events at the ball with her friends was more fun than she had had in a while. She hadn’t realized just how stale her life had become, even before Andrew broke up with her.

The downside to the evening presented itself with the understanding that she would very much be the proverbial fifth wheel. Dee and Jenny both had dates for the night in the form of their long term partners, David and Leanne, respectively. Still, they assured her that they wouldn’t ignore her in favor of their company - Leanne had even offered up a blind date, but Y/N quickly turned her down, politely, because although she didn’t want to seem ungrateful, she didn’t think it would make her evening any more enjoyable. It would probably have had the opposite effect.

New Year’s Eve rolled around faster than she wanted it to, despite her excitement for the party. She started preparing ridiculously early, and by the time her cab arrived to take her to Dee’s, she was trembling with nerves. Her friends didn’t make it any better when she got there, chatting excitedly, making her feel like she’d be wallpaper the entire night. Still, she smiled and nodded along, following quietly when the car arrived to take them to the hotel downtown.

The Masquerade Ball was held in the same place every year. It wasn’t exclusive, but it was limited, another reason Y/N had been reluctant to turn down the ticket. They arrived in plenty of time to join the queue, and the chilly evening had her wishing she’d brought more than her light jacket. She shuddered in silence, keeping up with Dee as they shuffled closer to their destination, feeling more and more underdressed in her simple unembellished evening gown as she took in the stunning dresses and tuxedos everyone else was wearing. Of course, she couldn’t see anyone's faces, which made it marginally better, but she still felt underwhelming in comparison.

They made it inside within thirty minutes, accepting direction to their table in the grand ballroom several floors up. It was busy, and loud, and the dancefloor was already bustling with bodies grinding together to the late nineties pop tune that was currently playing. The ticket had stated a mixture of classical and popular music, with opportunities for “proper” dancing. Around the room there were several booths, the capitalist side of the event, and as the group seated themselves at the table, Jenny grabbed Y/N’s hand and pointed toward one booth at the back of the room.

“Look, they’re doing the Dance Card stall this year!”

Y/N scrunched up her face. “What’s that?”

“It’s like a game, people can sign up and get matched with a dance partner for a song. You can do it as many times as you like.”

“So it’s like Speed Dating?” Leanne asked, pulling a similar face to Y/N.

“I don’t think so,” Y/N giggled, shaking her head at the thought of getting up close and personal with a stranger. “I just wanna enjoy the party.”

Dee leaned into her, smiling. “I’ll dance with you, baby girl, don’t worry.”

The ballroom was filling quickly, and for the first part of the evening, Y/N stayed with the group, chatting over the music and drinking. Occasionally, Leanne would drag Jenny off to dance, or Dee would make David, but they never left her alone, something she was grateful for. She shared a dance with Dee, but quickly found the crowd overwhelming, so she remained at the table while the others took turns in dancing.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna try the dance card thing?” Jenny asked, leaning in as Dee pulled her boyfriend from the table. “Just once?”

Y/N looked over at the booth again, ready to deny it, then her gaze caught on one figure that seemed to stand out from the crowd. He was standing off to the side of the booth, leaning against the wall, a full glass in one hand with the other in his pocket, and she was certain he was looking right back at her. There was something familiar about him, not that there was anything extraordinary that would have made him stand out in the first place. The tuxedo he wore was the same as a dozen others she’d seen, and he was wearing the standard mask they were handing out on the door for those who forgot or didn’t have one.

“Oh my god, you’re thinking about it,” Jenny giggled, touching her forearm and bringing her attention back to the table. When she looked over at the booth again, the man was gone, and disappointment settled into her stomach.

“I’m not,” she assured her friend. “I thought - nevermind.”

Her mind was already wandering as Leanne distracted her girlfriend from badgering her. It couldn’t have been him, even if her gut was telling her it was. He wouldn’t be in the city, let alone at the same party she was at, it was impossible. The one that got away had gone away permanently, a long time before Andrew was even a blip on her radar, and it was just wistful thinking making some random stranger look like him.

Dee returned, breathless from her dance, though David didn’t return with her. “He’s getting more drinks,” she explained as Jenny asked where he went. The two other women took their turn to go and dance, and Y/N drew back into herself a little, realizing they were spending their time keeping her company when they should have been enjoying themselves.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, looking at Dee, who blinked in confusion.

“For what?”

“You’re -” Y/N gestured wildly. “Looking after me, like usual. I’m a buzzkill.”

Her friend laughed. “Honey, do I look like my buzz has been killed? I can’t dance to every single song anyways, I’m not seventeen anymore.”

“You’re sure?”

Sighing, Dee leaned in, covering Y/N’s hand with her own. “You need this,” she insisted. “Since Douchebag McDouche left you - yahoo, by the way - you’ve been in a slump. And I hate seeing you miserable.”

“I know,” Y/N mumbled, sagging in her seat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so… boring.”

“You’re not boring,” Dee replied, squeezing your hand. “You just need to rediscover yourself a little.” She picked up her almost empty drink, draining the last of it. “You could always try the dance card thing. Maybe you’ll find someone to kiss at midnight. Even if it’s just for midnight.”

The idea was less than appealing but Y/N looked in that direction anyway, just in case the mystery man was there again. When he wasn’t, and she sighed, Dee frowned.

“Not up for it?”

“It’s not that,” Y/N murmured, wary of their companions returning. “Do you remember after college, there was that guy -”

“I got fresh drinks for everyone!” David announced, arriving back at the table with a tray in his hands. Instantly, Y/N fell silent, and Dee quickly realized she wouldn’t be getting anything more out of her. “Another rum, Y/N?” David asked, handing her a drink regardless of her answer.

She got to her feet with a forced smile. “Actually, I’m going to find the ladies room,” she informed both of them, stepping away and waving off Dee’s almost immediate offer to join her. The crowd wasn’t as dense as it looked, and she easily found her way to the lobby, following the posted signs for the restrooms. There was a queue that she quickly joined, pulling her phone from her purse, scrolling through her Twitter feed to pass the time.

Someone across the lobby yelled, which made everyone look that way to see a gentleman being forcefully exited by security. Y/N watched along with them, and as the scene died down, she went to turn her attention back to her phone, only to see him again. This time he was at the other side of the lobby, standing with a group of people, and when he caught her eye, he smiled, raising his drink a little in her direction. She froze in surprise, staring back, and it took the woman behind her in the queue jostling her to get her to look away.

He was gone again when she glanced back, but the queue was moving too quickly for her to do anything. Her heart was in her throat as she rushed to be done in the restroom, scanning the crowd the second that she was out in the lobby again, finding the group he was with gone and him with them. It was stupid how disappointed she was, when she wasn’t even sure if it was who she thought it was or even if it was the same person.

For all she knew, she was going crazy.

“Idiot,” she muttered to herself, heading back into the ballroom to find the table again. None of her friends were there, all busy on the dancefloor, and her stomach dropped, anxiety rushing in at her. “What am I doing?” she whispered, certain she was going to cry.

“You look a little lost,” said a man from behind her, in a voice she recognized even after all this time.

“Yes, well,” she replied, keeping her gaze on the dancefloor in case she was imagining him. “These things are more for couples, aren’t they?”

He laughed, and her insides churned with a need to see his face, to make sure it was really him, because she felt like it was a dream. She still remembered the last time she’d seen him, just the back of his head as he left, taking her whole heart with him even if he didn’t know it. “I suppose so,” he agreed, and a hand brushed the small of her back, making her inhale sharply. “Would you like to dance?”

Why was he here? How? What was happening?

She nodded, holding her questions in as he took her hand to lead her to the dancefloor, just as a slower classical number came on. Finally, she turned her head, disappointed that the mask covered his face, but recognizing his features underneath. Her heart soared, nerves gathering as butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn’t help but smile through her mask at him. He smiled back, pulling her closer as they reached a spot with enough room not to feel cramped.

Neither of them spoke. Her desire to know where he had been, why he was there, was held at bay by the simple comfort of just being in his arms. He was still fond of the same aftershave by the scent clinging to his clothes, and his hair was slightly different, but otherwise he was exactly as she remembered, and she couldn’t help leaning in to rest her cheek against his shoulder as they moved slowly to the music. Across the dancefloor, she met Dee’s confused gaze from where she was dancing with David, recognizable by her hair, and Y/N smiled at her so she knew everything was okay.

“You look just as beautiful as the last time I saw you,” he murmured, making her lift her head to look at him. “Can’t believe it’s been so long.”

“How can you tell that I look the same?” she asked playfully. “I’m wearing a mask.”

He chuckled. “I just know,” he shrugged, smirking at her.

“You’re still just as big,” she said shyly. “Your hair is different.” The music picked up speed a little, transitioning to a faster beat, and Y/N frowned as couples around them started to get a little showy with their movements. “I don’t think I like this song,” she joked.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he agreed, stepping back and taking her hand again.

As they moved through the crowd, they passed Dee, who stared at the man with her in shock, recognizing him, and mouthing a “is that who I think it is” while pointing at him. Y/N nodded, not stopping to explain as he led her into the lobby and towards a fire exit. “Wait,” she hissed, “where are we going? It’s gonna be midnight soon.”

He glanced back with a grin. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “No one’s up there.”

The there he was referring to escaped her, but she had always trusted him, and she had no reason not to now. With a nod, she followed him through the fire exit, into the stairwell and away from the noise. He started to climb the steps, looking back to make sure she was with him, and on the next floor, they entered a larger, empty room that was only lit by a few lamps.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“A lounge,” he replied. “There’s a balcony we can watch the fireworks from.”

“Won’t someone catch us?”

His eyes sparkled behind the mask. “Only if we’re not quiet.”

The balcony was separated from the room by large doors that weren’t locked. Y/N followed him out into the night, feeling her breath get snatched away by the view of the city. There was a balcony on the ballroom floor too, and she could hear the music below and the chattering of people on the balcony. She pulled away from him to approach the stone ledge, unsure she’d ever seen anywhere look so pretty.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He was behind her, one hand on her hip as he pressed into her, burying his nose in her hair. “Isn’t it?” he mumbled, though she wasn’t sure they were talking about the same thing.

“You’re really here,” she turned to look up at him, “after all these years, you came back.”

“It would have been sooner. But… things happened. And when I came back to see you, you always seemed happy with someone. I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Guilt made her insides churn because she hadn’t been, not really. Enough to fool herself, enough to hurt herself, maybe, but she’d always known what had slipped through her fingers. “And now? How did you know I’d be here?”

His cheeks darkened. “Dee posted a picture of you guys getting ready,” he explained, a little sheepishly. “I pulled some strings. This is not actually my tux.”

“You know,” she whispered, “I had a pretty crappy year.”

“Me too.”

Lifting a hand, she pressed it to his cheek. He leaned into it, covering her hand with his own. “I never thought I’d see you again. This feels like a dream.”

“It’s not,” he replied softly. “Lemme prove it.”

She wasn’t quite expecting him to kiss her but after the split second of shock, she melted into it, wrapping her arms around his neck as his tongue slipped between her lips. The action made her moan, and he groaned in reply, clutching at her like she might disappear. When they broke apart, she felt almost high, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“We never had a chance to do that before,” she gasped breathlessly. His fingers were digging into her hips, pulling her body flush with his, and she could feel his erection through the fabric of his pants. Her body reacted with a rush of warmth between her thighs, and before she could stop herself, a lustful whine tore itself from her lips.

His gaze grew hungrier. “There’s a lot of things we never had a chance to do,” he practically growled, voice so low that she shuddered in his hold.

“There’s no one here,” she said abruptly, surprised at her own words.

Her dress was already bunching in his hands as he tugged it up. “Tell me to stop,” he grunted as he pulled the fabric higher, pressing his mouth to hers in a desperate, quick kiss. “Tell me to stop and I can wait, I promise -”

She stopped him with a deeper kiss, rubbing her hand against the bulge in his pants. “I can’t,” she whimpered.

He turned her, pulling her back against him. “You’re so beautiful,” he hummed, pulling her dress up again until it was bunched over her ass, pinning it there with his body. Sliding a hand underneath the fabric still covering her front, he rubbed his fingertips over her mound, pressing his lips to her throat. “Are you wet?”

Her answer wouldn’t come out as she struggled to process what was happening. He chuckled, working his fingers underneath the waistband of her panties, finding the answer himself when he stroked her slit. She moaned, throwing her head back against his shoulder, rubbing herself into his erection.

Two thick fingers spread her open, sinking into her with ease, and she yelped, lurching forward. The roar of the party below became clearer as she caught herself on the balcony edge. “Someone could hear,” she panted, unable to stop her hips from rocking into the same rhythm as his fingers. “They’re right below us -”

“Guess you’ll have to try and be quiet,” he replied with a low chuckle. “The fireworks will be starting soon.”

She nodded, gasping as the heel of his palm ground into her clit, thick fingers still thrusting inside her. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and a breathy groan made her shudder and push back against him. The consistent stimulation was making her head swim; her eyes fluttered shut and her hands tightened on the stone balcony.

“Are you going to cum?” he asked. She whimpered, nodding when she couldn’t make herself speak, and he laughed again, working his fingers a little harder until the tremble that had started in her knees seized her whole body. Her cunt clenched around the intrusion, the sound of her wetness reaching her over the party noises below them, and finally, she cried out once, covering her own mouth as she shuddered around him.

His hand withdrew, leaving her bereft. She gulped down air in her brief reprieve, then inhaled sharply as his hot and heavy cock landed against her exposed bottom. He didn’t wait, thumbing the tip down until it slotted between her thighs, rubbing right against her sensitive labia. The hunger for more returned, and she tilted her hips, allowing his thick head to find its target, and she arched as each inch filled her until she could feel the soft fabric of his pants pressed against her ass. Only when he was fully sheathed did he stop, dropping his lips to the bare curve of her shoulder with a tiny, contented sigh.

“Only ever dreamed of this,” he whispered, grinding deep inside her. “Feeling you wrapped around me -” He sighed again, the same happy little noise. “Fuck -”

She whimpered his name when he pulled back to sink home again with his hands grasping her hips tightly. His height forced her to lift slightly, but he quickly bent his knees, enabling him to drive into her a little harder, forcing a squeak from her lips when he bottomed out again.

“Listen,” he grunted, leaning in close, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. Below them, the crowd was chanting, and it sounded like the whole city was too. Her lover started to count with them, slamming into her hard enough to punch the air from her lungs with every number. “Seven, six, five -”

Her pussy clenched around him, and as the countdown drew to an end, she cried out, letting the sound be drowned out by the sudden burst of fireworks that lit up the night sky. She pushed back into him as she came, and his pace quickened, his own climax filling her hot and thick as the party music struck up again from the floor below.

A pleasurable buzz left her dizzy and she clutched the balcony, letting her blurry gaze linger on the city underneath. The sensation of his withdrawal made her hum happily, and when he pulled her to her feet, she stumbled right into his arms and his kiss. His lips left her dizzier than before, and she gave him a dopey smile as he chuckled and cupped her cheek.

“Happy New Year.”

She leaned into his touch. “Happy New Year.”

“Your friends will be wondering where you are,” he murmured.

“Let them wonder,” she replied, almost drunk on him, clinging to the front of his tuxedo. “What now?”

He inhaled deeply, wrapping his arms around her. “Well, I was hoping to take you home,” he said quietly, lips twitching with a smile.

“And tomorrow?” she asked, daring to hope.

His smile became a grin. “I waited so long for this, you think I’m gonna give it up now?”

Her heart pounded as she smiled back up at him. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”

Psst, if you wanna tell me who you were imagining, send an ask or reblog 😘

#fanfiction #fiction #adult fiction #smut #who did you see?#fanfic #reader insert

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