#thinking like... a group of characters are told their world is going to end in [x] years

[justmeexistinghere]

W H E R E S H A D O W S M E E T

pt.6 Trespass

*⁀➷Masterlist

Summary: A training session among friends takes an unexpected turn. Not long after, you find yourself at the Unit’s meeting point—caught off guard by how quickly everything changed.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-> Geum Seongje x fem!reader (about to be) -> Warnings: violence/physical assault, bullying/harassment, threats/intimidation, emotional distress, swearing/strong language (hopefully I didn't forget anything) -> all characters are portrayed as being of legal age -> Wordcount: 2.905 -> 📝English isn’t my first language & this is my first series — thank you for your patience ♡

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

What happened that day sticks to your mind like gum pressed under a school chair—forgotten by everyone else, but impossible for you to ignore.

You can’t shake the image of Seongje’s eyes turning cold, his smile shifting into something almost inhuman. The way he seemed to relish the fight, drawing strength from every jolt of pain, as if each blow only made him more alive. But on the other hand, he was almost shy, with red ears, as you helped him with first aid.

But it’s not fear that lingers. There’s something else—a twisted kind of fascination. You hate how your mind keeps replaying the way he moved, how every hit seemed to fuel him. You tell yourself it’s just curiosity— just wanting to learn from his style to improve your own. And you have to admit: he’s a unique fighter. Almost reminds you of the one who taught you how to fight in the first place.

But your own moves are getting sharper too. You and your friends have been training ever since, and you can feel yourself improving with every session. No more annoying muscle aches after practice—you feel in shape again, stronger, more confident. Sometimes, you even catch yourself looking forward to the next fight. Plus point, you also get to see your abs again—slay...

Maybe you’re even a little too eager to test yourself against Seongje.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Today, the whole group is together— even Juntae wants to train with you. Gotak takes it upon himself to show him how to throw some proper kicks and punches. It isn’t easy for the untrained one to accomplish the moves Gotak shows him. Especially the high kicks seem to be impossible. As he tries to kick, he loses balance, fear in his big round eyes clearly visible as he falls to the soft grass. Looking like a totally adorable little puppy.

"Wow, Juntae, if you keep practicing like that, you’ll be a pro at grass wrestling in no time." Baku jokes, while Gotak offers him a hand, grinning. Juntae scrambles up, brushing grass off his pants, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and laughter.

“Don’t worry, everyone starts somewhere. Just keep your guard up, or you’ll end up eating dirt again.”

Juntae puffs out his cheeks, determined. “I’ll get it this time. I am ready. Let's go.”

You can’t help but smile at how he motivates himself to be stubborn in achieving some skills. You appreciate his energy— even when he fails, he’s impossible not to root for.

Meanwhile, Humin calls you over, waving at you to pull you out of your thoughts. “Ready for round two, y/n? No time to lose focus. Or are you still daydreaming about that Ganghak guy? Seongje?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart skips a beat at the mention. You’d only told him a little about the guy you've met quite often in the past weeks— but just enough to get it off your chest. “Keep talking, Baku. Please, I’m just trying not to embarrass you in front of the others. You know, public humiliation and all that. No time to think about something or someone other than fighting techniques.”

He laughs, and the two of you square up, the world narrowing to the rhythm of footwork and breath. You are locked in a focused sparring match. Every punch and block is controlled, your movements sharp but careful— not out to hurt, just to push each other’s limits.

Baku’s fighting style is all about raw power and street-born instinct. He doesn’t waste time with fancy moves— every punch and kick is meant to do damage. Emotions over tactics. Unlike you, who had to rely on some steady technique to prove yourself against opponents.

The air between you crackles with friendly competition, each of you testing the other’s reflexes and technique. Sweat beads on your forehead, your muscles burn, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips—and Baku’s, too.

"Come on, y/n, is that all you’ve got?” Baku taunts, dodging your jab with exaggerated ease.

"I just want to give you a slight chance so your ego won’t be bruised," you tease, a smirk finding its way to your face.

Neither of you is willing to back down, but you both know when to pull your punches and when to let up. It’s about learning, not winning.

Off to the side, Sieun sits cross-legged on the grass, a textbook open in his lap, but his gaze fixed on the sparring. He’s not just learning the moves, he’s observing every detail— the way you and Baku shift your weight, the subtle tells before a strike, the rhythm of the fight. You know he’ll replay it all later, breaking it down in his mind, preparing himself in his own quiet, methodical way.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

After a while, all of you sit together on the grass, desperately needing a break. Everyone looks completely worn out— shirts sticking to sweaty backs, hair plastered to foreheads, breaths coming in heavy, uneven bursts. If anyone asks, you’re just testing gravity. Extensively.

Baku and Gotak mock each other, trading jabs about how terrible they look. Sieun has to suppress a smile, and Juntae sits across from you, elbows resting on his crossed legs, holding his head up with both hands. Moments later, Baku and Gotak let themselves drop backwards with a loud thump, groaning dramatically.

If you look at them, you have to admit that they look like a bunch of half-melted popsicles— glad you cannot see yourself, and just the others have to deal with it. Wait, that reminds you... Why do you do this for fun?

“Anyone else craving ice cream?” Juntae breaks the silence. Can he read minds? A collective “Yes!” echoes across the field.

Juntae gets up and volunteers to go fetch ice cream for everyone. As you start to rise to join him, he gently presses your shoulder back down. “No need, I’ll be back quickly,” he says, flashing his puppy-like smile before heading off.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The sun is already low when he returns— you notice right away that something’s off. As he comes closer, you can clearly see that Juntae’s hands are trembling as he holds out the bag. His shirt collar is askew, and there’s a fresh scratch on his cheek.

“Fuck, what happened?” Gotak blurts out in shock.

Juntae tries to brush it off. “Just tripped, nothing serious,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to the ground as if he’s too ashamed to meet anyone’s gaze. You can tell by the shaky way he breathes that he’s on the verge of tears, doing his best to hold it back— probably not wanting to make anyone worry.

But you’re not the only one who isn’t buying his story. Baku doesn’t let it slide. “What really happened?” he asks, his voice calm but insistent. You notice how his whole body is tense, his concern barely hidden.

Juntae finally looks up at Baku, and you can almost feel his fear. He can’t hold it in any longer— his glazed eyes fill with tears that spill down his cheeks, followed by loud, shuddering sobs. All eyes are on him, worry etched into every face. What the hell happened? Why would anyone target Juntae? Out of all of you, he’s the least equipped to handle a real fight. He’s got guts—never backs down, even when he should—but courage alone doesn’t stop fists. He’s still learning, still figuring out how to stand his ground. It’s probably the Union, you think—and the sick twist in your gut tells you you’re right.

Juntae finally explains what happened, his words tumbling out before he can stop himself. A few Union members had been waiting for him, knowing exactly who he hangs out with. He should deliver a message. To Baku. They want him to come to the head of the Unit, and that had to be clear. It was a warning. Baku was supposed to get the message, and the message was clear. But Juntae, sweet as he is, didn't want Baku to worry or get into trouble. He thought it was better not to tell him, but he really isn't good at keeping things.

You can’t help but feel responsible. Maybe if you’d paid more attention, if you’d walked with him, this wouldn’t have happened. But the truth is, the Union would have found a way, no matter what. That’s how people like them work—they never back down until they get their way. Every crack or weakness of anyone who dares to stand with the wrong crowd was an easy target for them. May that someone be Juntae or anyone else in your group.

Baku tries to play it off, acting unconcerned and overly bubbly—it’s too much. Even though you haven’t known him long, you can see right through him. You see the anger building inside, the thirst for payback simmering just beneath the surface. His body betrays him, not matching up with his mouth. He wants to handle this on his own, that much is obvious. Stubborn idiot… does he really think everything depends on him alone? And what exactly is that message supposed to mean? What’s Baku’s connection to the Union, anyway? Questions you can’t answer.

The mood has dropped, heavy and tense, but Gotak tries to lighten things up by pointing at the ice cream.

"Come on, guys, this ice cream isn’t gonna eat itself. And i don’t wanna drink it. Honestly...”

Juntae joins in, desperate to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“Tak’s right. Let’s just eat the ice cream.”

No one wants to argue, knowing exactly it won’t help anyway. Silence falls. You can even hear your own heartbeat. Maybe it's nothing... maybe it's louder than usual due to the anger filling your veins. But everyone just eats, lost in their own thoughts.

Baku and Sieun are unusually quiet. Well, Sieun is always quiet, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you things are definitely off. His gaze is sharp, restless, fixed on a point you can’t quite identify—as if he’s searching his mind for the missing piece to complete some badass revenge plan. He keeps fiddling with the wrapper of his ice cream, not really eating, just staring at the ground. Some of his ice cream just drips to the ground like patience running out, one drop at a time.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

When Baku suddenly gets up to leave—he’s never the first to go—you know exactly what’s going on. He’s definitely not heading home to cool off. He’s about to do something reckless, something he might regret later, but right now, he is ready to break loose.

Fuck. You can’t just let him go. That idiot shouldn’t do something alone, acting on impulse. That never ends well—you know that better than anyone.

The way he looked just now— unpredictable. He could be out to break bones or just kick the hell out of some trash cans. You never really know, because if it's about his friends, Baku changes drastically.

You say your own quick goodbyes, checking in with Juntae one last time, trying to offer a reassuring smile even though your mind is already racing. You catch Sieun’s eye and hold his gaze for a moment, hoping he understands what you’re about to do—hoping he’ll watch over the others while you’re gone. There’s a silent agreement in the way he nods, just barely.

Your heart pounds as you turn away from the group, the weight of responsibility and worry pressing down on your shoulders. What the hell is going on in his head? Why is he so damn fast? Come on! Every step feels heavier, but you push forward, determined. You won’t let him face this alone. Not tonight. Not ever.

As you finally catch up to him, he’s pacing along the edge of the street, fists jammed deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched and tense. You're still behind him, following him quietly, as if you belong there. As a backup. Support. A friend.

But without turning, he mutters, “Go home, y/n. You shouldn’t get involved."

You couldn't care less about his wish at the moment and just reply a determined "I already am. So don’t even think about getting rid of me, idiot." You take a step closer, locking eyes with him. "Understood?"

He finally stops, exhaling hard, his breath fogging in the night air. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is thick— full of anger, fear, and something else you can’t quite name. You study his profile, searching for a crack in the armor. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

"Someone has to deal with them, they are going too far, y/n."

"I know. But it doesn’t mean that someone has to be you alone." You nudge his arm, trying to lighten the mood. "So let's go. Let them see who they are dealing with, ok? Come on, Mr. Knight in shining armor," you let out, trying to ease the mood.

A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth— just for a second. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it shifts, just enough for you both to breathe. Side by side, you walk into the night, ready to face whatever comes next— together.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

"How do you even know where we have to go?” you suddenly blurt out, only now realizing you’ve been following him without thinking.

“Oh, I’ve been there. But don’t mention it. It’s... complicated.”

His usually warm demeanor fades, his face seems drained of color, and his expression turns cold. Something is going on here, something you can’t quite grasp. Baku stops abruptly. He inhales sharply, his eyes suddenly serious. You’re not sure what to expect. Why did they want you here? Okay, maybe not you exactly—but Baku? What’s his deal with them?

You freeze as well, catching the sharp scent of smoke in the air. Just ahead, a few rough-looking guys linger in the shadows. The longer you stand there, the heavier that uncomfortable feeling grows in your chest. The walls are run-down, the neon lights you passed outside flicker overhead, and the entrance looks anything but welcoming.

When Baku moves on, the oppressive atmosphere closes in with every step. He’s too focused to notice you—or maybe he’s just lost in thought. You follow quietly, watchful.

You’re caught off guard as a familiar face passes you in the hallway. It lasts only a second, but that glimpse is enough—you recognize him instantly. The scent trailing behind—smoke and aftershave—confirms it. It has to be Seongje. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Whatever this is, it feels strange. What are you doing? You want to turn around, but stop yourself. Did he notice you? Did he look back? Why do you kind of hope he did? Nevermind. You have more important things to worry about.

As you reach the bowling area, more Union guys are hanging around—some slouched at a table, others play bowls or are clustered around a pool table, cues in hand. The sharp click of billiard balls echoes in your ears, slicing through the heavy silence that fills the room. Laughter bursts out from one corner, but it’s harsh and hollow, nothing like the easy banter you’re used to with your own friends.

A couple of them glance up as you and Baku enter, their eyes lingering a little too long— measuring, weighing, maybe even recognizing. One guy nudges another, and you catch a muttered word you can’t quite make out. The air smells faintly of cheap cologne, cigarette smoke, and something greasy from the snack counter. Not the kind of welcoming you prefer.

You feel every gaze on your back as you move forward, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. This is their turf, and you’re intruding— unwelcome, and very much noticed.

One of these guys, he probably knows who you are and why you are here, gets to you and quietly leads you to some random ass door. Knocking. The metallic sound rings in your head. The guy opens the door, only to peek in. Telling somebody that Baku and some random girl—ouch that kinda hurts— are here. "I want to talk to him only," a male voice, cold and emotionless, is heard. Wait! If he just wants to talk to Baku... What about you? You feel goosebumps rising on your arms. You are not sure if you can convince these guys to let you in as well. As if Baku could read your thoughts, he tries to calm you down. "It's fine, y/n. It probably won’t take long. I'll talk to him, and you wait here. Or better go outside. I will be fine."

Usually, your personality would just let you bump in without any second thought, but this time you feel inhibited. Something is holding you back, and you just stay there and let Baku go in alone. Trust? Your eyes meet, and he probably wants to signal to you that everything will be fine once again. You could wait here, but the atmosphere really isn’t to your liking. Being kind of locked up with all these shabby guys isn’t how you imagine a fun night at a bowling hall. That's why you go out, breathe in some—almost—fresh air. Praying for Baku to be fine.

"Hey, pretty face." An all too familiar line breaks the silence.

Seems like waiting won’t be as boring as you thought.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

to be continued...

picture generated with AI

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Taglist @slovesyouuu @quaff-le-science

[multi-lefaiye]

i am. this close to translating my dark crystal hyperfixation into a new wip

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Ways I can think of that “DanDaDan” differs from other shonen series:

* Female MC is as important as male MC

* Canon romance gets consistent development through the series. I think that’s part of the reason why the MC ships with the rivals (Aira, Jiji) aren’t as popular with the fandom for once. The main ship is actually getting good development, so the fanbase doesn’t have to make up headcanons to fill in the space.

* Flips the found family trope on its head by having the main group despise new people whenever they show up and they even actively try to kick them out. The new people only end up staying because they keep lingering around to the point that the main group just gives up and lets them stay.

* The rivals aren’t emo or angst-ridden. Aira is a delusional tryhard popular girl while Jiji is a himbo drama queen. I’d even go as far to say that the MCs are the ones who are emo and angst-ridden.

* Supporting cast is more than just important, they become integral to the story. I’d say that the further you read into DanDaDan, the more it becomes an ensemble cast where everyone is a protagonist in their own right.

* World-building is all over the place, but in a good way. Most other shonen are pretty consistent with what kind of world their characters live in. MHA is superhero-based, Naruto is ninjas and magic, Bleach is spirits, and so on. DanDaDan feels like the author just throws whatever cool shit they can think of into the story. That’s actually the reason why I wrote in a different post that DanDaDan reminds me more of Marvel/DC than any other shonen series, it manages to capture the catch-all insanity of those comics.

* Doesn’t rely on hidden power-ups. The main characters either have to outsmart the villains or they have to train to get better with the powers they already have.

* The pervert comic relief guy is actually endearing for once. Not because of his pervert tendencies, but because he’s so oblivious to how socially inept he is that it’s kind of funny. This is gonna sound strange, but he sorta reminds me of Thor in Thor Ragnarok. Full of himself and oblivious to how dumb he can be. He’s Thor without the good looks lol.

* Flips the “nerdy outcast loser somehow gets a harem” trope. Instead of making Okarun cooler than how he actually is, the story emphasizes that the women who fall for Okarun are as weird as him. Momo is a weird outcast, Aira has main character syndrome, Vamola doesn’t understand how to human because she’s literally not one, Rin thought Okarun was a vampire (and wanted him to be).

* Flips the “elderly figure in charge of the teenagers” trope. I don’t really get motherly figure vibes from Seiko Ayase, I get more “cool wine aunt who is stuck with her niece” vibes. In fact, there was the arc where Okarun showed up to her in spirit mode to get her help with fighting off the alien invasion and Seiko’s response was, “Well, I’m not in the area and I have other shit to do, so you kids figure it out.”

* The series takes the piss out of the trope of mystical/magical items that the group acquired to get their powers. I mean…the main mystical MacGuffin in the series are Okarun’s balls.

* Okarun was about to go into an “I’m weak / I wish I was stronger / I want to get stronger for my friends” breakdown, but Turbo Granny told him to shut up and keep fighting.

* Not afraid to put the “cool girl” in as many funny situations as possible. Off the top of my head, the series built up Momo as this cool, tough girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone…then several chapters later, Okarun found out she got a job at a maid cafe.

(Feel free to add to the list!)

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Jamil Viper

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Jamil Viper x Reader 🐍🦐

TAGS: Fluff; a little angst; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Jamil’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 6.220 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I would also like to say: I kept the endings "sama" and "bocchan" because I thought they would make more sense, and since "sama", from what I researched, is gender neutral it could be used with Yuu. I don't know if Jamil's shawl has a specific name. And I'm not good with color names.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy 🐍

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / (Jamil) / Floyd / Jade / Azul / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

Kalim seemed to have enjoyed the dream-to-dream journey, and even compared it to his carpet rides. But Vil didn't look or feel very well. It seemed like some kind of motion sickness specific to those dream travels. Everyone agrees that Vil should rest. Silver and Ortho stayed with him in the shade, while you, Grim, Sebek, Kalim and Idia, or rather his tablet, went for a walk to analyze the world of that dream a little more.

After walking around for a while, Sebek comments that it is as hot as in Kalim's dream. Which is explained by the fact that both dreams take place in Scalding Sands. Kalim recognizes the Camel Bazaar and suggests that you all should buy Vil some coconut juice, it's cold and refreshing and might help him feel better. Grim agrees, but Idia and Sebek fear that this could cause problems because they don't have the local currency. However, Kalim assures that everything will be fine.

Kalim orders, to everyone's surprise (or almost everyone's), TEN coconut juices. The vendor gives him a heap of whole coconuts with an opening at the top and a straw each. Kalim encourages you all to try a sip and you do so. It really felt good in that heat. Kalim prepares to leave with the coconuts when the vendor calls his attention.

“Excuse me, sir! You need to pay.”

“Pay? Sorry, I don't have any cash on me.” Kalim responds too naturally and tells the vendor that he can just bill his house like usual.

But the vendor didn't know what Kalim was talking about. When Kalim told him his name the vendor recognized the name, however...

“Al-Asim, huh? If that's true, that's even less reason to put anything on a tab. You think you can dine and dash at MY stall? You've got some nerve, kiddo!”

“This is going south fast...” You say. “There's no returning the juice now that we've drunk it...” You approach Kalim to talk to him about that situation and that's when the vendor finally sees you well.

“OH! (Y/N)-sama!” The vendor practically stutters your name and completely changes his attitude. “I-I didn't see you were in this group. Are they your friends? I am so deeply sorry for my bad manners. If you don't have money with you either, I can just bill the Viper's house if you'd like.”

“The Viper's house?” Kalim wonders. “Why Jamil's house?”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Grim whispers loudly at your feet. “Just say yes and get us out of this!”

You accept the vendor's offer and he lets you go with all those coconuts and a smile on his face. But a slightly scared smile. Returning to Vil, Silver and Ortho, you all discuss what happened.

“So, (Y/N) seems to have more power here than Kalim.” Ortho observes. “And apparently they are also somehow connected to Jamil Viper's house.”

“But how?” Sebek wonders. “And why?”

“Well, by the way the vendor reacted when he saw (Y/N)...” Idia says. “I have an idea... but let's analyze this place better first.”

Vil and Ortho exchange glances with each other, probably thinking the same thing as Idia.

“We can start by checking my place.” Kalim suggests. “Jamil's place is on our grounds.”

Arriving at the place where Kalim's house would be, it was deserted... Literally.

“Wh... This can't be right... MY HOUSE IS GONE! The main building, the annexes, Jamil's home, they're all gone! Where'd everybody go?!”

A local resident who was passing by asked if you were tourists and told you that the Asim Palace had a change in ownership years back. The new owner had it relocated to high ground on the outskirts of town. He didn't know who the new owners were, but he know that the Asims had to give up their house after their business failed.

You go look for the palace.

You all go to where the palace was now and Kalim is shocked to discover that it was true that his house really did get relocated to higher ground. And not only that, but it looked like the exterior's been repainted too. The roofs have gone from teal to red, and the walls from white to black.

“Hey!” A Guard suddenly approaches. “What are you kids doing here? This is a private－ ah! (Y/N)-sama! It's you, and Kalim. My apologies, I hadn't recognized you from afar. Jamil-bocchan has been looking for you to go to school together.”

“Jamil?” Kalim steps forward. “Jamil is here?!”

“What kind of question is that? This is where Jamil-bocchan lives... Viper Palace!”

You discover that the one who bought up Kalim's home was Jamil's father, the head of the Viper family. He bought that manor from the Asims when they were in sore need of money, and know the Vipers were the richest family in Silk City.

After the guard's explanation, you hear music coming from somewhere and an elephant emerging through the front gates at the head of a whole parade. You see that the guy riding the elephant was none other than Jamil, wearing a uniform just like the one the fake Jamil wore in Kalim's dream, but this one was red and black instead of turquoise and white.You also see the dreamer's silver bird around his head.

“Make way! Coming through!” Another guard announced. “Make way for Jamil-sama!”

You all step aside.

“Why are YOU making way, Kalim?” The guard who was with you questioned him. “Take this parasol and join the procession!”

Since you were distracted looking at that guard and Kalim, you got startled when you suddenly felt something grabbing you by the waist and lifting you into the air. When that thing finally lets go of you, you are in Jamil's arms and you realize that that thing was the elephant's trunk.

“Where were you, my desert bloom? You are quite late.” Jamil asks you and then looks at your clothes. “Have you been shopping? Hm... no offense, but I've seen you in better clothes.” He smirks.

Jamil lands you on the elephant's back, but you can't stand on your own and cling to Jamil. He laughs.

“You haven't gotten used to it yet, have you? But let me just change those clothes real quick. You can't go to school without a uniform.” He uses his magic pen to turn your NRC uniform into a uniform similar to the black and red clothes with gold jewelry he was wearing. “Much better~” he says in a lower, slightly seductive tone. “Black already looks good on you, but red looks even better.” He grabs you firmly by the waist to hold you, before turning to the people in the procession behind you. “Get marching, and don't break formation!”

“Jamil looks like he's having a ton of fun!” You hear Kalim say right behind the elephant.

“You there, quiet down! Less talking, more walking!” Jamil orders him.

You look back and see two lines, in front of one of them is Sebek, followed by Vil and lastly Silver, in front of the other is Kalim, followed by Ortho and lastly Grim, who you imagine would be complaining.

“So...” You try to chat with Jamil. “How long is the path to school again?”

“Is it just me, or are you more spacey than usual?” He looks at you slightly suspicious. “Unless... Oh, you're asking because you're tired from shopping, aren't you? Well, Jahar Sahir College is on the other side of the city, but the path is straight so you'll see we'll get there in no time. Enjoy the parade.” His watchful gaze returns to the people behind the elephant. “You there － your parasol is drooping. Hold it properly!”

“Whoops, sorry! I'll fix that right away.” You hear Kalim apologize.

Jamil is very suspicious and attentive. If you take too many risks, he might realize that you are not one of the NPCs from his dream. And it’s not a good idea to take that risk more than 2.5 meters above the ground.

Suddenly, in the midst of the euphoria of the moment, Jamil pulls you to lie on his other arm, making you lose your balance and scaring you. Even if you shouted in fright, it was just another scream in the middle of the cheers. Jamil laughs before pulling you back to your feet and grabbing you to hold you steady. If you hug him or cling to him, he will like it even more.

“What was that?!” You ask, it really looked like you were going to fall off the elephant.

“Ha ha ha!” He laughs in a way you don't remember ever seeing. “I just felt like surprising you.” He smirks. “Or maybe it was a little punishment for disappearing on me and arriving so late to the parade.”

And as another surprise he kisses your lips quite lovingly, but only for a couple of seconds. When he breaks the kiss, he laughs at your surprised face.

“I know, I don't usually do this with so much attention on us. But no one will dare tell us anything.” his smile had a hint of menace.

“All right, we're here.” Jamil finally announces. “Parasols closed, elephants to the stables!”

Jamil leads your elephant to a special platform for you to get off, and he helps you, giving you his hand to support you. You look around and see a school just like the school in Kalim's dream, but once again red and black instead of teal and white. And the statue in the fountain was also different. It wasn't the Ruler of the Oasis's, but you recognized this one, it was a statue of the Sorcerer of the Sands, the same man from the Scarabia Dorm.

“We should go look for Kalim.” Jamil bends his arm to invite you to intertwine yours with his. You do so and he starts walking towards the fountain. “Kalim! Where are you?!” He shouts displeased.

“Oh, I'm right here!” Kalim waves with a big smile. “Hello!”

“Don't give me that!” Jamil retorts. “How can you loaf around without looking after your boss...? Wait. What's with that outfit? Did you botch your color-changing magic again?”

It was as if all that joy of his had disappeared as soon as he approached Kalim. It was a little sad to see, both from Kalim and Jamil's side.

“Huh? I didn't botch this.” Kalim explains. “It's supposed to look like the Ruler of the Oasis. Cool, right?”

“The Jahar Sahir College uniform uses traditional red and black colors like what the illustrious Sorcerer of the Sands wore. What were you thinking, bleaching them to your whims? The nerve.” Jamil takes his magic pen and changes the colors of Kalim's clothes to the same as his.

“Ooh, the colors changed! These are pretty nice too, actually. Thanks, Jamil!”

“I think you mean to say, 'Thank you very much, Jamil-sama, sir.’” Jamil corrects with an offended expression. “Honestly... You'll never let go of that pampered rich boy demeanor, will you? Look. The Asim family owes the Viper family more money than you could pay off with a lifetime's worth of work. So you should try to make yourself at least a LITTLE useful to me.”

“Jamil!” You say, as if asking him to moderate his words.

“I know, you don't like it when I'm like this to Kalim, but he needs to know his place.” He looks at you strangely, almost sulking. “You always had a soft spot for him that I never understood.” he addresses the group again. “By the way, who are you people? Jahar Sahir College isn't open for the general public to just waltz in.”

Silver explains that they are from Night Raven College and Vil says that the reason they came to Scalding Sands was a Film Research Club project, but that they had heard so much about Jahar Sahir College that they had to visit it. He said they were looking for the reception and it was shortly after that Kalim spotted them and approached them. Jamil seems suspicious at first, but after thinking about it for a while he supposes there is nothing strange about it.

“Considering their shabby attire and vapid expressions, I'm sure they're simply students.” Jamil murmurs.

“Hey, I heard that!” Grim informs.

“Oh dear, I beg your pardon.” Jamil says smugly. “I let my inner voice slip out there...”

“Wait a minute...” Grim notices the way Jamil talks to him. “You don't recognize me?”

“Recognize you?” Jamil repeats, confused. “My apologies, but I don't remember ever meeting a little beast like you.”

“WHAT?! You know (Y/N) but you don't know me?!”

“What does one thing have to do with the other?” Jamil turns to you. “Do you know this strange cat?”

As Grim complains that he's not a cat, you think about what to say. But what should you say? That you don't know him? That you met him once? But when? And how? The more time you let pass, the more suspicious Jamil would become.

“We crossed paths with (Y/N) before the parade.” Vil saves you. “I think Grim developed a special liking for them after meeting them.”

You see Grim look surprised at that excuse and then lower his ears a little sad, reluctantly accepting his new role in Jamil's dream.

“I can see why.” Jamil smirks. “I've never met anyone who wasn't enchanted by (Y/N). Which is ironic coming from someone who is not a mage. Allegedly.” He looks at you with that mischievous smile and raised eyebrow.

“Forgive my indiscretion if so.” Ortho says. “But would I be correct in concluding that you two are a couple?”

“Yes, you would.” Jamil answers casually.

“However, you said that they are not mages, but they are students of Jahar Sahir College?”

“An exception was made due to personal circumstances.” Jamil said defensively. “Nothing you need to... worry about.” He finished in a slightly threatening tone despite the smile. “Returning to the subject of your visit. As the student council president, I would be a far more fitting person to show you around campus than Kalim.”

“Oh, truly?” Vil smiles. “How fortunate for us to receive hospitality straight from the student council president himself.”

“I wouldn't want Kalim giving them the impression that our students are subpar.” He mutters.

Jamil says that, personally, he is interested in hearing about Night Raven College. He knows about the Dark Mirror and says that Scalding Sands also has long been a flourishing producer of magical artifacts.

“There's the Magic Flying Carpet, the Great Serpent Staff, the Hourglass of Clairvoyance...” He looks at you for a split second with a smile on the corner of his mouth, when talking about the hourglass. “And the Magic Lamp.”

Jamil says that the Sorcerer of the Sands himself employed such artifacts in his great deeds, and that to this day many people in Scalding Sands, including students from Jahar Sahir College and Jamil himself, are interested in them. He also brags about his family's treasure being bursting with artifacts collected from all over the world.

“I'd love to hear more about the ones housed at your school.”

“Ooh, wow! You liked (Y/N)? I had no idea!” Kalim says. “I'm so happy for you two. And you're the student council president? That's great, Jamil!”

“Why are you acting like this is the first you've heard of it? Not only do you GO to this school, but you and (Y/N) are friends. Now stop standing around and prepare a proper reception for our guests”

“Whoops! Right, I'm supposed to work for Jamil. Okay, a proper reception means a party, right? I got this!”

Kalim starts by asking someone to prepare a party, until Jamil reminds him that this was HIS job. Then Kalim says that a party needs drinks, but instead of going to the kitchen to get some, he uses his signature spell, Oasis Maker, to make it rain.

“You fool!” Jamil says to Kalim as he uses his own shawl to cover you and try to keep you from getting too wet. “Who goes around spraying water without any warning?!”

“We'll need food, too.” Kalim continues, oblivious to what Jamil was saying. “I'll go grab some food from the kitchen! Be right back!” The rain dissipates as he runs away towards the interior of the main building.

“What's gotten into him?” Jamil mutters again. “He's never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's usually not THIS bad.”

“Maybe he's just too excited that we have guests from so far away?” You suggest.

“Trying to alleviate his incompetence as always.” he mutters to you, slightly disapprovingly, before turning back to the others. “Ahem... I'm sorry you all had to see that.”

“Please, don't worry about it at all.” Silves tells him.

“Here you are, Jamil - uh, I mean, Jamil-sama!” Kalim comes back. “I brought a bunch of your favorite foods. Look! I've got a whole pot of curry, some dates... Oh, and lots of silky melons! Where should I put them?”

“I had a bad feeling, but seriously... Who brings the food out before they even set out rugs and tables?! This is beyond bad. You're utterly useless!”

“Ah hah hah! Sorry about that! I've never done this sort of things before.” Kalim apologizes, good-humored as always. “Jamil-sama, could you hold the pot of curry? (Y/N), Grim, you hold the dates and melons.”

“Mrah! Don't plop a whole pile of melons on my head!” Grim appeals unsuccessfully. “Geez, this is heavy!”

“Okay, I'll get some rugs next!” Kalim announces excitedly and runs away again.

“Hey, wait! What kind of staff makes their bosses and guests do the work?!”

“I thought you hated dates.” You say, looking at the large basket full of them that Kalim passed into your hands.

“And I do.” Jamil confirms. “At least someone remembers. Ahem... I'm so sorry about this.” he apologizes to Grim too. “I'll keep the dishes levitated with magic. You don't have to hold them.”

“Ooh, it's all floatin' now.” Grim says relieved. “That's much better!”

“Ugh, that dimwit gets on my last nerve. Mom and Dad are far too lenient. And so are you.” Jamil tells you.

“I see you don't like that about me.” You concluded as the others spoke amongst themselves.

“It's not that I don't like that side of you and you know it. But there are people who don't deserve it.”

“Well, I think Kalim deserves it.” You defend him.

“How stubborn.” Jamil sighs. “But I'd be lying if I said I disliked it. Depending on the situation, it's quite attractive.” he smirks.

You didn't know, but while the two of you were talking about Kalim, the others were also talking among themselves about Jamil and you.

Grim wondered if Malleus's spell wasn't supposed to be giving people happy dreams, but Jamil was in a snit, he didn't seem all that happy to him. The Shroud brothers concluded that this dream followed the same pattern as Vil's dream. Kalim was a source of stress for him, just like Neige was to Vil. But Kalim exerts an outsized influence over Jamil's personality and capabilities in reality. Removing a figure that influential would make the dream more prone to major paradoxes. Unlike Grim, and maybe that's why Jamil didn't remember him.

“Nonetheless...” Ortho sees Jamil smiling at you, even after that silly little argument. “He seems pretty happy with (Y/N).”

“True, he seems more relaxed with them.” Silver agrees.

“We must not deviate from the main point!” Sebek reminds them. “We need to make Jamil realize this is a dream as quickly as possible!”

“Right.” Silver agrees. “Between this place and the bazaar, Jamil's definitely got a strong imagination. I don't think a simple shock would do the job. How do we approach this...?”

Kalim returns, saying he went to Zahab Market and got some nice pieces from the rug merchant. Vil comments that those "nice pieces" look like they'd cost an arm and a leg. Jamil finally seems satisfied with Kalim's work, taking the opportunity to boast again about his family being the richest and most influential in the city.

“Anyway, check this out! Doesn't this carpet take you back?” Kalim shows him a carpet almost identical to the flying carpet of his that you knew, but instead of red, this one was purple.

“Take me back? Why would it?”

It was a regular, unenchanted replica of the flying carpet. Kalim talks about a time when the two of them and his father went to a rug merchant, Kalim thought it was a real flying carpet, spread it out on the ground and walked right onto it. That got him a scolding.

“How could I forget? The look on that merchant's face when you stepped on a vintage silk carpet with your muddy shoes－HRK!” The dream world begins to distort. “Wait... I would never take someone as overeager as Kalim to a high-end store. Rgh... What's going on?! I suddenly feel dizzy...”

Seeing Jamil wavering, the others encourage Kalim to keep talking. Kalim remembers a time when they snuck out of the manor to visit the Camel Bazaar and drank coconut juice together, but Jamil says that Kalim was the one sneak out on his own and Jamil had to scramble after him. Then he remembers a time, just before they enrolled in Night Raven College, when Jamil used his signature spell to make the bad guys fight each other to get him and Kalim out of trouble. But this time Jamil insisted that he didn't know what he was talking about.

Kalim says that he was always the best and most dependable friend he could have, and that he trusted everything would work out just fine as long as he left it in Jamil's hands. But he was the only one of them who felt that way and now he know that Jamil hated it all along.

“That's why you used (Y/N), Grim, and the students in Scarabia to try and get me kicked out and sent home, right? Winter break sure threw me for a loop. I was super crushed when you betrayed me and told me you hated me.”

“Used (Y/N)?! How dare you... I would never... I... I did... What I did... That Winter break...? Betrayed? Augh! My... My head!”

The world distorts a little more.

Kalim says he doesn't know what Jamil is thinking, but he knows that the person he is right now isn't the person he really wanted do be. He wanted to be the best version of himself, but that isn't this.

“Remember who you truly are!” Kalim transforms his clothes into his Scarabia Housewarden uniform, which makes Jamil start to remember.

“What was that scene just now? It shouldn't be familiar to me, but... it is. The... The real me is...”

“JAMIL-SAMA!” You hear someone shout, and a second Kalim, wearing a Jahar Sahir College uniform, appears running.

“There are two Kalims!” Silver says. “That means...”

“Yes, it must be the darkness.” Vil completes.

“Jamil-sama, when I heard you went to school earlier than usual. I scrambled to catch up...” Fake Kalim says, worried. “Oh no, how could this be?! Please, hold on! I'll get you to a doctor! Guards! GUARDS!”

The ground was painted black and Jamil began to sink rapidly into darkness, surrounded by a dark fog that prevented him from seeing you all well. And guards of black goop formed to prevent you from approaching them.

“Kalim...?” Jamil says with some difficulty.

“Yes, that's right. I'm the real Kalim, your loyal retainer.”

“Huh? Jamil, look again! That's not me!” the real kalim tries to warn him.

“He's an assassin sent to end you.” the fake Kalim tries to convince him “Don't listen to a word he says.”

“Wait...” Jamil looks directly at you with heavy eyelids struggling to stay open. “(Y/N)... they...”

Black goop rises from the ground and forms a figure, a perfect copy of you, also wearing Jahar Sahir College's uniform.

“I'm right here, my love.” your copy tells him. “They had the nerve to impersonate your beloved as well. But I'm here now. The real me. The real (Y/N). Look in my eyes. As long as you stay here, you can be a ruler forever. Money, land, freedom, love... Everything is yours!”

“Yes... That's the truth...” Jamil gives in. “You're absolutely right, both of you...”

“Wait! Trust us, not them!” Kalim shouts again. “JAMIIIL!”

But none of that stopped the darkness from swallowing Jamil.

“Stop disturbing Jamil-sama's sweet dreams, you street rats!” The false Kalim commands you.

“As if we'd listen to you!” Sebek retorts. “Let's do this!”

You all change your clothes and fight the darkness. And after defeating it, Kalim jumps into the pool of black goop without hesitation behind Jamil, followed by all of you.

When you open your eyes again, you see that you’re in the Hallway of Scarabia Dorm. By the red light that dimly illuminated the place and the dark fog, you realized that it was the same scenario as when Jamil overbloated. Suddenly, you hear a creepy laugh you've heard before and you all go to the lounge.

“I did it... I finally got Kalim ousted from school and claimed the position of housewarden for myself!” Jamil is the center of attention in the room, wearing his drom uniform, and had that psychopathic smile on his face. “Bring on the food and drinks! This calls for a celebration. The foolish king is gone, and the true power behind the throne has risen in his place!”

While the Scarabia students follow his orders, you see Azul next to Jamil with that red glow in his eyes.

“Wait a minute, those eyes...”

“Hey, (Y/N). You put it together too, right?” Grim tells you in a whisper. “Looks like Azul ain't fakin' it like he did during winter break. He's really under Jamil's control.”

Most of the dorm's students, who were all actually the darkness in disguise, were gathered in the lounge. You were decidedly outnumbered. Idia says that the best thing would be to get into a more advantageous position and make a surprise attack, so you will quietly make your way behind the students and then launch a coordinated strike on cue. Silver says that Idia should give the signal and the others would carry out the attack.

“Ahh, I feel on top of the world. So this is freedom! How sweet it is.” Jamil keeps chattering. “The biggest thorn in my side, Kalim, is gone. Azul has fallen into my hands.” he looks to his right side to see Azul standing right there. “And (Y/N)...” He looks to his left side, but finds no one. “...is trying to escape again? *sigh* Bring them back to me!” he orders the Scarabia students.

Silver pulls you behind a pillar and you all hide.

“Mrah! What do we do now?!”

“Hand (Y/N) over.” Idia says to everyone's surprise.

“What?! Have you gone insane as well?” Sebek protests as quietly as he can. “What about the surprise attack?”

“Listen, if Jamil really likes (Y/N) he won't hurt them.” Idia explains. “And (Y/N) can help distract him and provide a more effective surprise attack.”

Sebek, Silver and Grim are reticent, but you are the one who takes the initiative and gives yourself to the Scarabia students while the others remain hidden. Two students hold you by the arms and take you to Jamil. And to your surprise, as soon as they let go of you the darkness forms shackles around both of your wrists.

“It pains me to see you reduce to this, (Y/N).” Jamil tells you and pulls you by the chains of the shackles to bring you closer to him. “But you insist on resisting me. Oh, and those clothes... Let's give you more suitable ones, shall we?” He uses his magic pen to turn your NRC uniform into a Scarabia Dorm uniform. He laughs with satisfaction. “A beautiful desert bloom such as yourself should be on the arm of the most powerful housewarden in Night Raven College. What do you say, my dear? Why refuse to be my new Vice Housewarden, and partner?”

“To be honest... I also have a crush on you, Jamil.” you admit and he smiles, too pleased. “But not this version of you. The real you. Or rather, the best version of you, that I know exists behind this senior psychopath.”

“The... real... Hrk!” his head hurts and the world distorts a little, but Jamil pushes you, making you stumble and fall to the ground.

“I'll teach you some respect... but until then...” he orders that the Scarabia students grab you by each arm and lift you up. “Let's just calm that rebelliousness of yours for a while.”

As the students hold you by the arms, he holds your chin to make you look at him. You knew what he wanted to do to you and struggled to keep him from using Snake Wisper on you. You are saved by Kalim, who attacked Jamil before the signal with a solid blow.

“Wh... Kalim?! What are you doing here?!”

Silver and Sebek attack the students who were holding you and free you from the shackles by breaking them.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Silver asks you, holding you in his arms in case you need a little comfort.

“Huh? I don't understand...” Sebek says. “The students aren't attacking us...”

“YOU BIG DUMMY!” You hear Kalim say.

“D... Dummy?!” Jamil responds in disbelief.

“The biggest one there is!” Kalim punches him again. “How can you treat (Y/N) like that?! I may not have realized you liked them, but I know you would never do these things to them. You don't want to force them to like you. You want them to like you for who you are. That's why you started getting nervous whenever we met with (Y/N), right?

“Nervous? ... Hrk!”

The dream world begins to distort as he remembers the first time he felt good around you and then begins to worry if you secretly hated him for what he did to you and Grim on Winter break.

“You don't want to use them, you don't want to deceive them.” Kalim continues. “And the same applies to competing with others. What you wanted wasn't a prize earned through dirty trickery! And you know it! Wake up right this instant, Jamil!”

“What I wanted? ...Hrk!”

The world distorts again with another memory: Jamil telling Kalim to shut up! Telling him not to give him orders! That he was through following other's orders! That he was going to BE FREE!

“Argh, you keep trying to tell me my business...” Jamil says, annoyed. “What would someone as oblivious as you even know about me?!” he punches Kalim.

And the two of them begin to fight while insulting each other. Until the insults are reduced to one adjective at a time between punches. Cynic, Imbecile, Jerk, Airhead, Blockhead...

“Such childish bickering...” Sebek comments. “The other students and Azul are all pawns made from darkness, but they're just standing there staring.”

He suggests that you aid Kalim, but Silver stops him.

“Let them get it all out of their systems.” Silver says. “Sometimes a fist fueled by emotion is more effective than any words. ...It definitely was for me.” He gives a small smile.

After some time of fighting, Kalim starts laughing.

“Huh? What could you possibly have to laugh about right now?” Jamil questions.

“Y'know, Jamil... I think this is the first time in our 17 years together that we've ever fought like this!”

“What?! Well, obviously! If I beat you up in reality, it would spell disaster for... Ah?!” The world distorts again. “Gaaah! Augh! It hurts... My head! In reality...? Why did I say that? Rgh, augh...!”

“That's right. This is all just a dream! Please, Jamil, remember! Remember the real you!”

“Right... That day... What I did to you... What I did to... Ah, aaagh...” Jamil remembers what happened on winter break, the dream shatters and he wakes up. “Heh. Haha... Ahahaha... That's right. I failed to oust you that day.”

Kalim celebrates that you all managed to wake up Jamil, but after a little chit-chat the ground starts to shake and fissures began opening all over the place. The dream was starting to break down because Kalim wasn't supposed to exist in it.

Idia warns everyone to get out of the dream as quickly as possible, but then the floor started giving out beneath Kalim. Jamil dove in to save him and the darkness began to dragging him in. Kalim grabbed Jamil to try to get him out of there, but Jamil told him to leave him and punched him when Kalim refused to do so. If you had also tried to help Jamil, he would have just push you too. And Jamil was swallowed by darkness.

When you returned to the dream after the Shroud brothers informed you that it was safe, you landed in Jahar Sahir College. And when you see Jamil he is wearing his Scarabia uniform. Kalim ran to hug him but Jamil dodged successfully.

You and Silver say you're glad he made it back, and Jamil says that he owe all of you a great deal before asking if someone could please fill him in on what was going on.

After the Shrouds show him the explanatory video he says he gets the general gist, and admits that he wasn't entirely sure the rest of you weren't more illusions he subconsciously conjured up, but he never would have thought of the cheat tools idea that Idia came up with. And continued talking about the possibility that it was part of Malleus' spell but it didn't make sense to bring it up to him at all, if that were the case.

“So it's probably safe to accept that all of you aren't illusions created by me or Malleus.” Jamil finally concludes.

“Dude, you were questioning our whole premise...” Idia comments.

“Why wouldn't I, after having my mind, my memories, and my whole world rewritten? But... if you're all real that means...” Jamil looks at you and starts to get worried. “W-when exactly did you get here?”

“Some time before you appeared riding an elephant at the start of the parade.” Ortho answers.

“Yes, we were even part of it!” Kalim adds smilingly. “It was super fun!”

“S-s-so... those people at the parade...” Jamil stutters as the panic grows. “T-the person w-who was with m-me on top of the elephant...”

“Aaaall that until we lost you to that black goop after our fight.” Kalim adds, oblivious to the main point.

“So... that means... that (Y/N)... that whole time...”

“Jamil Viper, please breathe.” Ortho asks him. “I am detecting worrying imbalances in your aetheric structure.”

“Jamil looks like he's going to explode with embarrassment.” Idia says. “I don't even know if that's possible in a dream, but I'd rather not find out.”

You realize the best thing to do is to calm him down, he was unable to say a single word anymore. You take his hands, tell him everything is okay and ask him to breathe.

“I-I-I'm really sorry...!” He says still in panic and almost petrified. “I-I don't know why I did that... I-I didn't want to... I didn't...”

You hug him and feel how tense all the muscles in his body are.

“It's okay. I don't blame you.” You say in a whisper close to his ear. “We don't control our dreams. If you remember what happened, do you remember what I told you?”

“W-what did you tell me?”

You confess that you like him too and that you knew that wasn't the real him. Maybe you even say that you’re willing to forget all that and start over as it should be when you return to the real world.

You then feel Jamil’s muscles begin to slowly relax. Until he reciprocates your hug, is as gentle as it is strong.

“I'm sorry...” He apologizes in a whisper, probably the most sincere you have ever heard or will ever hear from him.

“Aww, GROUP HUG!” Kalim says excitedly.

“NOOO!” Everyone else grabs him and stops him from joining you.

“My goodness, Kalim!” Vil scolds him. “You really need to learn how to interpret social insights.”

When you break the hug, he still tries to look you in the eyes, but can't. You chuckle and cup his face to make him look at you.

“Ironic.” You say with a reassuring smile. “You being the one who doesn't want to look into another person's eyes.”

A small smile begins to form on his lips and he brings a hand to one of the ones you have on his face. He looks at your lips for a second and when he sees you smiling connivingly, he kisses you.

A kiss that lasts until Grim loudly clears his throat. As soon as Jamil breaks the kiss and looks at the others, remembering that they exist, he... isn't embarrassed. He smiles smugly at them, still holding you.

“Hey, last time I checked, it was still my dream.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[agnireed]

THINGS UNSAID

summary 🏹 others notice what you and daryl feel for eachother but it takes longer for the connection to reach the two of you.

word count 🏹 4.8k

warnings 🏹 large age gap, side character POVs at the start, smut lol

thanks to @irisdixon1023 for the fun idea! hope i did it justice even if i changed somethings

There were plenty of events that you had found yourself in the background of throughout the apocalypse.��

You’d had to put things together at the drop of an eye because there were some questions you just didn’t ask. You didn’t need to be told the new man approaching camp was Carl’s father, evident enough by the way his mouth dropped open and Lori’s eyes flashed with hot fear and betrayal.

That unfolded in your mind exactly the same way as when you saw Shane come back from the woods with a busted nose and a manic look so intense it almost took your breath away, something cold and knowing settling in your gut but not quite strong enough for you to accuse him of planning anything. 

You never put much thought into how you might come across to somebody just observing new people you’ve met on the road that might be making their own judgements on you. The end of the world had brought one relief and that was from the constant thought about your own presentation and what a stranger might think of you. 

These already drawn conclusions were exactly the reason you were so confused with yourself for being so absorbed with why the red headed man kept glancing in your direction.

Truthly Abraham had never been somebody who bothered sugarcoating his words and pretending to be something he was not and that included being the type of person who was extremely curious about a certain dynamic he had seen unfolding in front of him.

He had only spent a few hours with you in the train car but he had managed to make a damn near solid case if he did say so himself and he was juggling with how much it was being challenged as soon as a few more bodies were thrown into the mix.

Both of you had looked worse for wear when his team found you alongside the gravely road, Glenn barely standing upright as they approached and then fully face planting the asphalt while you stared at him with a look that seemed to be a mixture of exhaustion and determination.

You kept your sentences short and sweet while Glenn was unconscious and you climbed into the back of the large truck but Abraham had a hard time being upset about your lack of manners considering you’d clearly been through hell's asshole before they had arrived. 

His plans continued to be derailed and you proved to be a serious pain in the behind but he had felt strongly enough about his people reading to assume that you were one of two things, either just a bit slow emotionally or completely in love with the man you were traveling with.

Of course he felt only a bit disgruntled when said man actually woke up and spoke only of a loving wife that he clearly would stop at nothing to find in a very large haystack but then that could explain the heartbroken look you wouldn’t stop carrying around.

It made full sense to him that you were in love with a taken man and so desperately that you were willing to risk your life to help him be happy with somebody else so he was now fully offended when he offered this idea to Glenn one night after you’d fallen asleep, just for him to laugh in his face.

Then you had been thrown into the traincar and you suddenly took on a heavy expression of grief, like you had only just now accepted you were not going to find whatever it was that you were looking for. He had figured beforehand that you had lost someone permanently but apparently you had a mission of your own. 

When the doors were opening again, this time he was happy to be an observer.

The two men entering the car looked equally as deadly as you had standing on that road side and ready to go to war for your friend's limp body and he almost pieced together they were a part of your larger group before any of you actually had turned to notice them.

Everybody tensed at the same time and then it felt like the air in the train car suddenly got much lighter. 

You’d barely looked at the bearded man that seemed to automatically capture everybody's attention first, almost like they were waiting for him to give them a command before they even processed he was standing in front of them again.

Your eyes were stuck on someone else entirely and he was happy to finally have some entertainment after being sat next to a mumbling Eugene for far too many hours. 

He didn’t need a lick of guessing to know what type of man the second was and he almost wanted to have his guard farther up if it wasn’t for the young boy beside him, peering around with big scared eyes. (Plus the fact he had come to respect you and the sight of you staring like the rugged man had hung the stars was good enough reason to relax).

The bearded man seemed to finally notice you standing there and he gave you an overwhelmingly fatherlike look, seeming like he wanted to pull you into a hug but deciding against it for reasons Abraham couldn’t quite figure out just yet.

His counterpart didn’t have the same problem and you let out a sob when he finally looked over to you, his entire tense frame melting like a little kid as he stumbled his way through the dark train car so he could fall against you.

You cradled his head like it was the single most important thing in the world and your friends around you seemed like they were suddenly walking on eggshells to avoid disturbing you and making you pull out of the emotional moment. 

First assumption was that you were related in some way but that quickly faded when he noticed the way the man had his hands low on your back, squeezing and pulling you closer and closer like he could feel you slipping through his fingers.

There was nothing overtly romantic about it and certainly not sexual, not with the way you sobbed harder seeing his bruised face and sullen expression, but it definitely was too close for comfort if you were father and daughter adjacent.

Second assumption was gone as fast as it came, absolutely not lovers judging by the way you were quick to stumble out of his grasp as soon as you noticed Maggie and Glenn watching curiously, his hands lingering but eventually having to fall back to his side once you were out of reaching distance.

You made haste to hug the young boy and distract yourself from the blatant showcase of something that most likely was a secret, both to each other and the others but possibly to yourselves.

The man didn’t take his eyes off of you the entire time you all sat there devising a plan and you sobbed like a woman scorned when they were throwing flash bangs inside the car before dragging him away, having to send a swift kick to your ribs to get you to let go of his arm.

Abraham observed a scary switch in you now that he was gone again and the small almost fragile girl from before was once again replaced with the silent and constantly armed one, all emotions stripped down to your bare bones until you were left with instinct alone. 

He kept watching your group during the days that followed the fall of Terminus, building up his strongly held opinions on each of them individually and then again in pairs and larger clumps. He couldn’t help the fact that you and Daryl struck his interest, boredom taking over for the most part although Rostia had told him he needed to get a better hobby.

It was impossible not to wonder now that he knew more about the two of you, although he’d yet to speak to your male counterpart. There was a large part of him that figured it wouldn’t end too pleasantly and he was halfway busy with sucking up to you all so you’d accompany him to the end of the line for Eugene and the cure.

So he didn’t pick a fight with the archer although he wasn’t sure you would have allowed it anyways.

You were small in size but he had managed to get a few glimpses of what you could do with rage and a blunt wooden stick alone back at Terminus so he wasn’t particularly interested in seeing how you fared with a knife

You were constantly next to Daryl and it was almost a foreign sight to see one of you without the other, a strange feeling settling over anyone whenever you’d wander in alone or the rare times he went hunting without you.

There was a glint in your eye whenever somebody talked to you, like you were ready to pounce on your own family members if you needed to just to keep the man next to you safe at all cost. He was halfway to asking Maggie if you had been like that before you were separated or if it was a new adjustment but he decided against it when he saw her fondly holding Rick’s baby.

He was finding it a bit ridiculous that there were so many moving parts in your poorly oiled machine yet it was running smoothly and, not only that, but you actually seemed to love and care about each other beyond means of survival.

Abraham decided it wasn’t any of his business anymore as soon as he ruled you and Daryl off the list of potential people who would come along on his mission, pushing you to the back of his mind to will off any distractions.

_____

Maggie had always known there was something lingering deep in you for the older man but she was quickly realizing she didn’t know the half of it apparently because the way you gripped onto him for dear life was extremely telling.

She was already surprised enough that you had practically leapt into his arms but what really struck her was how willing he was to fold over into you and meet your sobs with cries of his own.

She knew Daryl was more than what he looked like, more than what he even said most of the time but that still didn’t mean he was ever this open and vulnerable around any of them before. Even Rick sent her a thrown off look that she fought hard in the few seconds it lasted to try and understand.

Your mood had been sour for the time it took you all to find Terminus after reuniting her and Glenn but there were a thousand things she would’ve guessed as the cause of it before assuming you were mourning Daryl Dixon.

Maybe she had been blinded by her own worries and the blossoming of her love so she didn’t pay attention to the signs or maybe they were just new but they were impossible to ignore now although every one seemed to be trying their very best.

Did he always hand you your portion of food first, followed by sneaking bites of his own onto your plate when you both pretended you weren’t watching him do it?

Had it always been almost instinct that you would fall asleep next to each other, never touching but close enough to touch if you ever just reached out? She was thinking now that she wasn’t sure you slept the entire time you spent on the tracks, always awake on a watch shift when she drifted off and staring into the dying fire by the time she opened her eyes again.

Yet you seemed to have no problem drifting off with your head on Daryl’s shoulder.

When did Daryl stop flinching under your touch and since when were you so touchy anyways? Your hands were almost constantly rubbing up and down his arm or holding onto his wrist like you were stopping him from leaving except he didn’t seem to ever be going anywhere, not from you at least.

She wondered if you always looked so calm and gentle when peering up at him or if that was also a new development. She couldn’t read his gaze back down on you and she wasn’t really sure she wanted to, feeling guilty about her silent spying.

Glenn told her that it wasn’t a big deal and everybody people watched but he also denied seeing anything between the two of you so either he was lying to make her feel better or he simply wasn’t watching hard enough. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with the age difference in her mind but she still occasionally caught Rick sending the two of you glances and she almost hoped it was just his fatherly urge to protect you like he always had.

_____

You could tell something had changed between you and Daryl but you weren’t too focused on defining whatever it was. 

He had always been the number one person you paid attention to and you couldn’t stop thinking about him your entire stay at the prison but the pain of losing him and thinking it was for forever was clearly the push you needed to never let him forget this again, even though you hadn’t told him directly.

There was no way he didn’t know how you felt when you stared into his eyes and kept your hand on his chest, whispering lowly how happy you were for him to be back with you. He would have to truly be the dimmest person in the world to think your reaction to seeing him again was just a fluke or you not thinking straight. 

Daryl must be aware of how you feel because you don’t think he would risk treating you the way he did if he didn’t.

He was sweet to you and doted on you like you were already lovers and his favoritism was apparent to anybody who paid attention for more than a few minutes. He remained as gruff and abrasive as always but he let you brush the hair from his face and his tone sounded far sweeter aimed towards you.

You knew he had feelings for you and you also knew he wouldn’t let you in on that secret unless he suspected you felt similarly.

“Couldn’t even breathe.” You had found yourself outside the stuffy church together again, somewhere just off in the treeline and leaning against a thick tree stump.

His back was pressed into the bark but your own was against his chest, sat on the drying leaves between his spread legs and laying back on him, his hands resting skillfully next to your thighs so he wasn’t touching you too directly.

“Hm?” His hum was low and sweet and you noted that he sounded like he was drifting off to sleep, a light smile on your face at his abandoned defensive walls even though the topic of conversation was rather heavy.

“I pictured them all going one way or another but not you, never ever you.” You picked one of his hands off the ground so you could hold it in your own, resting in the air above your stomach as you smoothed over his rough calloused skin and traced shapes on his palm.

He said nothing when you sighed and relaxed your limbs again, this time with his hand landing on your stomach and being enclosed by yours so he couldn’t remove it so easily. You could feel his heartbeat pick up on your back and your mouth turned up with fondness. 

You didn’t need him to remind you for the hundredth time that he hadn’t gone anywhere and he was still right here with you but it was still nice to hear him grumble it in his low voice, almost a shy whisper that you had to preen to hear.

Daryl may have needed to actually feel the effect of your death before he started to slowly showcase his affectionate side but you thought it was well worth the wait, feeling beyond grateful that he hadn’t pulled away from your clinginess yet.

You figured it would just be a few days of needing him close to process that he wasn’t gone after first losing him in the smoke of the prison and then watching him get ripped away in a similar fog as soon as you had him back finally but days turned into weeks and you were still trying to find a way to silence the ache.

His heart was only picking up in speed when you were using your hand to move his slowly, so slow you could barely tell it was going anywhere at all. You pushed it until his pinky finger was under the button of your small jean shorts and you paused when you heard his breath stutter.

Part of you wanted to turn back and check his expression, make sure this was something that he wanted but you couldn’t gather the courage. Instead you sat there with your hands like that and you felt a jolt of electricity when he was moving his hand on his own.

You didn’t let it get far, barely brushing the hem of your underwear before you were swiftly sitting up in a way that clearly startled him.

He didn’t have long to overthink and wonder if he had misread the situation because now you were on your knees in between his spread legs, as close as you could get and swaying forward like you were going to lay on his chest again.

The reality was much different than he expected and lifetimes better, your lips slotting against his and automatically drawing a high pitched sound from you. There had been countless times Daryl wondered what you sounded like and the knowledge was seering itself into his brain now, longing to bring more out of you.

Your hands were on his face and you were scrambling forward so you could be sat in his lap, legs on either side of his waist as you desperately leaned into the kiss. He was easily matching your pace and you felt an overwhelming heat when you heard him groan into your mouth.

“Daryl.” The sound of his name in that tone was enough to make anybody insane and his hands on your body proved it, one hand on your lower back but the other directly touching those godforsaken jean shorts you wore.

They were poor excuses for fabric and there had been a dozen times when you'd bent over in front of him long enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties underneath, long enough for him to run a hand over his face and disappear into the guard tower for a few hours.

Now there was no reason to pretend he wasn’t looking at you, wasn’t running his rough hands over your perfectly smooth and innocent body. That seemed to be the only innocent thing about you considering your hips were starting to rock in his lap, just slow enough to make his head spin dangerously.

His big hands were both cupping your ass now and helping you move against him, loving the way you could barely kiss him as you struggled to hold your whines in.

“Feels so good.” You sounded absolutely pathetic and wrecked and he knew right then and there that he was truly perverted, grunting into your open mouth and thrusting his hips up to make you really feel him against your sensitive core. One of your hands had been running through his hair and you tugged at the feeling, crying out in surprise. 

“Cmon sweetheart.” His voice was so low and raspy, vibrations going straight to your core and making you rock harder against him. 

Your lips were swollen and wet when you moved them from his mouth down to his jaw, sucking and biting the skin wherever you could and making sure he was grunting straight into your ear so you could commit the sounds to memory.

He barely flinched when you sat up to pull your tank top off, a bit too hasty considering it was getting stuck on your arms for a second and he had to help you, eyes hazy when your head finally emerged and he could really look at you.

You felt touched that he watched your eyes for a few heavy breaths before he even bothered to let his gaze move down to your bare chest, rising and falling with your nipples standing at attention off his stare alone. His hands weren't wasting any time before gently cupping your soft mounds and your mouth parted in another high whine at the feeling.

Hips moving slower but still just as addicting, you were letting him worship your tits and really take his time memorizing the way your body looked on top of his like this.

Daryl had pictured you in a hundred scenarios that brought shame to his core and sometimes the disgust was enough to bury it back down but more often than not, he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted this no matter how wrong it may be.

“No idea how much I thought about these hands.” Your voice was the highest pitch he’d ever heard and you were softly stuttering through your words like you’d forgotten where to place them, hand back in his hair and trying to be sly with the way you were moving his head downwards. “This mouth.. f-fuck.”

He may not be the most experienced, certainly not with girls as young and pretty as you but Daryl wasn’t as idiot. It was almost second nature to wrap his mouth around your nipple once he understood that’s what you were silently asking for, his entire arm wrapping around your back to keep you locked in place.

His muscles flexed when you made an extra loud sound and you suddenly remembered just how strong he really was, capable of really doing some damage to you right now if he decided that’s what he wanted. The thought sent heat further through you and you gasped out his name in repeated cries.

You were fully humping against him now and trying to get as much pressure on your core as you could but he was firm in his hold on your middle, practically making out with your tits in a way that was so lewd and filthy you felt lightheaded.

“I need more.” You were desperate now and on the verge of a sob, yanking on his hair impatiently and immediately diving into a nasty kiss the second he lifted his head to glare at you. Your tongue was so deep in his mouth he was able to fully suck on it, low sounds leaving him constantly now. 

You hadn’t even realized you were falling until you hit the ground with his heavy frame falling over you, spreading your legs so he could slot himself between them easily.

“F-fuck you’re so hard.” You knew you sounded beyond fucked out already just from some dirty kissing but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. Although you clearly didn’t need to considering you weren’t at all exaggerating and Daryl was fully hard and moving his core against yours like he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Pretty little thing.” His lack of vocalization didn’t bother you, not expecting it from him in the first place but you were almost grateful for his silence because it made every word he did say sound so much sweeter. 

Daryl had never complimented you so directly before and it sounded ridiculous to flush over him calling you pretty while you were laying in the leaves, bare chest out and his hard on rubbing against you but it still made your body warm in a much purer heat than the rest of your body.

He did everything in his life with an aged roughness you had realized a long time ago, hands weapons even when he didn’t mean for them to be and even when it ate him up inside afterwards so you felt particularly touched that he had a gentle grasp on your ribs and hip like he was terrified of hurting you. 

Although the thought of him hurting you did light something deep inside of you on fire but you decided to push that away and deal with it another time, slowing down your kisses once he started to fidget with the button and zipper on your shorts.

It was quick to go from dirty to romantic and you were grateful for the change even though you enjoyed the former just as much, the longing in your heart for a real sign that he felt similarly being slightly fulfilled when he was moving a hand to cup your cheek and really pay attention to the softer kiss.

 

You could tell he found amusement in his own patience bringing forth the opposite in you, a whiny annoyed noise leaving you as you started to tug at his belt impatiently and try to get him to resume what he was doing before you distracted him.

“Take it easy girl.” He was so close and the whispered words, light and affectionate enough that you almost forgot how lewd you were currently, made your eyes widened as you stared up at him hovering over you.

 

He made eye contact with you for only a brief second before he was looking away and you could see a heavy shyness in him that was directly opposite to the way he was pulling your shorts down your thighs and touching you before you’d even felt the wet air on your core.

Your breath caught in your throat and you wrapped your hands around his back, resting on his shoulder blades and you knew his vest would have the shape of your fingernails indented in the leather for a long time to come.

The low humming noise he was making against your neck seemed to be approval towards your neverending wetness and you were letting out a breathy laugh of pure hazy disbelief when you felt the head of his hard cock pressing against you. 

You could hear him softly shushing you in a soothing manner, trying to get you to relax enough that he could actually push inside without seriously hurting you. You wondered if he could tell you had never done this before, suddenly self conscious that your inexperience was radiating off of you.

Unknown to you, he was thinking the same thing about himself and hoping you couldn’t feel the way his entire body was tensing to stop from pushing in before you were ready out of pure desperation that only you could bring out of him. It was hard not to act like a horny teenager when you were panting like you were getting fucked hard just from him touching your tits.

The combination was deadly and the sound he made when he started to actually fuck you was even worse, damn near ending your life then and there just to be immediately brought back when you felt the hot pain between your legs.

Now your pants were telling a different story and he did his best to slow down and let you get used to the sheer size of him stretching you out, not realizing the way your pupils were dilating and you were purposefully tightening your legs around his waist.

“M-more.” You were begging now as the pain started to go down and he gave you a look that told you he thought you were crazy, eyebrows furrowed as he started to shake his head in disagreement. “Please Daryl love it so much, hurts so good.”

That seemed to silence both the man above you and the entire forest, his body stiffening for a few seconds too long and your heart started to race with something not as nice as the flirty nervousness you normally felt around him.

You almost opened your mouth to apologize to him for making him uncomfortable, try to explain yourself and why you liked something like that without actually knowing the reason yourself. Instead your lips parted with another high whine when he started to move, clearly getting over whatever had made him pause and making it his personal mission to give you exactly what you wanted.

Daryl would never leave your sight again and you would stop at nothing to make sure of that so you had plenty of time for gentle, endless days to fill with romance and soft kisses that made your cheeks red. Today, however, was going to be reserved for something else entirely and you could’ve truly died happy there on the leaves with him on top of you. 

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

[princesssarahblog]

𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

SFW and NSFW

warnin: there may be a mention alcohol, weed, adventure, sex (first sex too) and romance

author notes: I am writing for the first time smut.. I want to write something like this with many more characters obx, next one might be rafe (idk)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SFW

get ready for this naughty blonde diva to come to your house almost every day, at first you thought he just had nothing to do but over time you realized that your house is a new refuge for him, where he can relax and be away from his tyrant father

he is quite clingy to you (only you) jj will hug you almost constantly or especially kiss you. if you both have to be separated, he will grab you by the waist with his strong muscular arm and pull you in for a gentle passionate kiss. before the relationship, he would touch you often and try to touch you subtly to feel your skin.

we all know that jj is also a bit of a wild guy, and he might make bold and spontaneous decisions and you constantly dissuade him from his "brilliant ideas" and advise him to think logically together. but it would be better for you to make a decision yourself, and jj would help you implement it

lets you braid and style his hair when his head is on your lap or stomach, you’ll do little tiny braids or buns all over his head and he’ll love the giggles it brings out of you.

I think he's one of those guys who will sing some stupid songs he made up on the fly if you get offended by him. you start laughing at those moments, and you just shut him up, saying you forgave him, just so you doesn't have to listen anymore.

he's the kind of boyfriend who would go to great lengths to make you happy and will always be there for you when you need him. just be ready for a lot of playful banter and sarcastic remarks, this is just another display of affection from jj

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ NSFW

lots of quick rounds, this blond guy is constantly horny and needs sex urgently. he often gets horny at the wrong time and can take you away right in the middle of a conversation with friends without embarrassment

he likes it when you just turn into a puddle and can't say anything

he drives you crazy in bed, jj is just unrelenting. he needs to fill you with his cum at least 3 times. and he also loves when you hold on to his chest. he basically likes your touching his chest

you both remember your first time having sex very well. it was at your place, you were sweating and your pussy was on jj's thigh when you first saw his dick. and the guy often reminds you of it, teasing you and making you embarrassed

actually he comes to your house not only to hide from the world but also to have a good night with you. you are always afraid if your parents find out about it, your father often checks on you at night and once you almost got caught but everything worked out

will stimulate your sweet spot very strongly using your fingers, mouth and tongue. jj pulls you back in by your ankles when you try to squirm away from him, whining that you're too sensitive, you can't take anymore. it's too much

even during the solstice festival he somehow ended up having sex with you. he found you in the great hall after he escaped from rafe and you locked you in the closet. he showered you with kisses and told you how beautiful you were in the dress you wore for the festival. it was only because of you that rafe lost him and after that you and your group of friends left. and jj got to enjoy you and his favorite sweet spot.

asks you to sit on his face so he can eat your pussy!

jj intertwines your fingers together while you're riding his face cause he like that, murmuring how much he loves you, how perfect you are, how you're such a good girl for him. he also loves to squeeze your breasts and nipples in this position and naturally drive you crazy

- jj is the kind of person that will be hard to just start dating. In order to date him, you need to gain his complete trust in you. he is very protective and devoted, but all this can also quickly disappear. even if you date him, you will date him for a maximum of a week and blonde guy will dump you and you will be another girl for his own entertainment

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Lunch Date

Summary: Steve Rogers x fe!Reader -> You have a lunch date with Steve Rogers before you realise who he is to the rest of the world.

Disclaimer: This has been sat in my WIP for a while. Mostly fluff, humour? Reader works as a historian. I haven't written for any MCU characters for a while so hopefully this isn't terrible. Not Proof Read.

If someone had told you when you were six years old and running through the park playing superheroes that one day you would be having lunch with the Steve Rogers…

You probably would have believed them since you were six and was going to have lunch with your next door neighbour who was the one with the trash can lid as a shield. 

But it was true. 

You’d been working at the museum since you graduated from University. First as just a tour guide but it wasn’t long before a spot opened up to become one of the curators. Mostly you worked with war artifacts. You still did the tours, though. 

You found it fun, walking a new group around every couple of hours, seeing their faces light up with wonder as they looked at the plane parts and the genuine diaries of some of the soldiers. 

Then one day after finishing the second tour of the day, you took your lunch break. 

“I’m sorry, is this seat taken?”

You looked up and found a man dressed in a blue shirt and black trousers. He was handsome, but the thing you noticed was the look in his eyes. 

Kindness. 

“No, go ahead.”

You were a little surprised when he sat down, rather than taking the chair to another table. But when you looked around, you noticed how busy the place had gotten. 

“Sorry for disturbing you.” The stranger nodded over to the book that was laid open at the side of you. 

You shook your head. “It’s no issue. Besides, I think I’ve read the same page three times.”

It was from him asking what you were reading that you started continuing the conversation to the point where you’d learned he’d actually taken one of your tours once. 

“Be honest with me, is it boring?”

“Boring?” He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

You gave a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”

He gave you a genuine smile. “Of course, I’m sure. Why? Did someone give you a bad review?”

You shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

You laughed a little. “There is-” 

You caught a glimpse at your watch and almost died. “Shit- sorry. Shoot, I’m gonna be late.”

He panicked along with you. “I’m sorry if I kept-”

You shook your head as you went to stand and pack your things away. “No, no. Trust me, it’s not often I enjoy a conversation so much that I lose track of time. I-I have to get to another tour but if you…” You were about to offer him your number but then you thought of something a little better. “Actually, would you like to tag along? I-I know you’ve seen it before but if you’re not doing anything…”

And for a moment, you thought you’d fucked up. But then he smiled. 

“I’d love to.”

“Great.” You looked at your watch again. “I-I will meet you there. I have to hand out the fact sheets and- you already know. See you there?”

He smiled. “See you there.”

You smiled too before rushing off in the opposite direction. By the time you were catching your breath, half way through handing out instructions, facts sheets, some promotional sheets, too, he met you there. 

“Hi, again.”

You smiled, handing him his pile. “Hi.”

And for the next hour you led him and the rest of the group on a tour of the museum giving every fact you already knew and each time you looked back to the tour group, he caught your eye and you found yourself unable to stop smiling. 

You probably looked like some mad cheshire cat by the end of the tour; especially after you and him continued your conversation privately as the tour group were given freedom for ten minutes to look around one of the larger exhibits. 

“You know what I’ve just realised?”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know your name.” You said as you looked up at him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He smiled and shook your hand. “Steve.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

“Same to you, Y/n.”

By the time the tour finished and everyone dispersed either to go home or return to the exhibits they wanted to spend more time in, you and Steve took a walk back around the museum. 

“So, what brings you here? If you’ve already been before, why come again?”

Steve shrugged. “I had free time and I was in the city. Plus, it’s nice to come somewhere that feels familiar.”

“Familiar?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer your question without completely telling you who he actually was, or completely lying. 

“I grew up with a lot of historical stuff so sometimes walking around a museum can feel like home.”

You smiled and looked around. “I know what you mean.”

The museum, ever since you were a kid, had felt like a second home. One filled with even more wonder and amazement. 

Then Steve asked you a question. 

“Forgive me if this is a little forward, but would you like to have dinner with me this week?”

You stopped walking and turned towards him. 

“I’ve been told I’m meant to direct message and do a lot of ‘in between’ conversations but, if I’m being honest, I don’t see the point in it.”

You couldn’t help but smile. 

“But if you have someone already, or if you don’t want to, you can just…tell me to leave and you never-”

You stepped forward a little and laid your hand on his arm. “Steve, Steve, Steve. Stop. I would love to have dinner with you. And thank you for asking me.”

Then that smile that you’d come to find comfort in, despite only meeting him a few hours ago, flashed onto his face. 

“Thank you for saying yes.”

It took two days from swapping numbers at the museum for you to both find a time you were available and for Steve to turn up outside your apartment with a bunch of flowers in his hand. 

“These are for you. I-I didn’t know if you were allergic to any so I picked the ones that shouldn’t affect you as much if you were.”

You politely took them from him and smiled. “They’re beautiful, Steve. Thank you. Let me just find a vase.”

You invited him in and he slowly walked a little further into your apartment, taking everything all in. Your walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves where an array of different books were stationed. A desk was under one of the windows where sheets of paper were cast. Your sofa was worn in, but not in a bad way. It was well-loved and looked after. Your kitchen was similar. He could imagine you on a Sunday morning cooking yourself dinner as one of the movies from under your TV were playing inside the DVD player. 

Placing the flowers in the centre of the kitchen island, you grabbed your bag and Steve followed you out of the door. 

Every door you came to, Steve held it open for you. He walked on the outside of you as you both walked down the street since the restaurant wasn’t too far from your apartment block. He held out your chair for you before seating himself. It was the first date you’d been on in a long time where the guy hadn’t ordered for you. The conversation was constantly flowing, so were the smiles and the laughter. At some point between you going to the bathroom and coming back, the bill had been paid for. 

If he had waited, you would have fought him to split it, but it was nice to accept something for a change. He helped you get your coat on and for the next hour, you both just walked through the city. 

It was still relatively early so you just walked and talked. At some point, he’d taken your hand in his. Your gut had erupted in butterflies, and so had his. Especially when you leaned a little into him and held onto his arm. 

And as you both reached a small community park, you sat on the bench together. 

That was where you had your first kiss. It was equal parts shy, unnerving and steady. With his arm around your shoulders and his other hand holding onto yours, you found something in your kiss with Steve. 

It was unlike any other you’d experienced. It wasn’t lustful or yearning. But it was…strong. Your head, heart, gut and lungs were doing summersaults inside your body, but at the same time, you felt safe. 

Almost as if, despite it being your first kiss, it also felt like your millionth with him. 

And you both couldn’t help but want more. 

However, that was cut short by the ringing phone in your pocket. 

“Shit, sorry.”

Steve just laughed a little. “It’s okay.”

Pulling it from your pocket, the Museum ID badge flashed across the top. “It’s work.”

“Answer it.”

You did so and pulled the phone to your ear. 

“O-okay, just, stay calm. I’ll be right there.”

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked. 

“There’s something about a shipment. I think I need to go.”

Steve just nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you.”

Taking his hand, you both hurried back towards your apartment where Steve helped you onto the back of his motorbike. 

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Steve gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Just hold on tightly.”

And you did. 

By the time he pulled up outside of the museum, the lights were still on inside but all the shutters were down except for one. You unclipped the helmet and hopped off before hearing your heels click up the stone stairs towards the door. 

Steve was quick on your tail following you through the museum and towards the employees only area. Finally, you both made it to the storage lock-up. 

“I’m here, what’s going on?”

“We’ve been sent these but there’s apparently been a mix up with the deliveries. All the fact cards and processing files are missing and the exhibits are meant to be ready for Monday.”

You took a breath and looked at all the new crates surrounding you. “Okay. Okay, it’s okay.”

Immediately, you got to work. 

“I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t apologise. Do you want some help? I don’t know what I can do but I might be able to do something.”

You nodded. “That would be amazing.”

Setting Steve to work helping move some of the crates out of the way so they could be opened. Most of the items were from the thirties and forties, but mostly early war days. 

Which, you soon came to find out, was a personal favourite of Steve’s when he, somehow, knew what each item was and where it was from. Between the heavy lifting, directing and processing, you heard him mention something about cereal numbers and a manufacturer he had met. 

But despite all of that, the biggest shock was still yet to come to you. 

There was a piece of a plane that was delivered. You had made some estimations for when it was made and who for when Steve had given you an exact date and a few different locations. 

That was when something clicked. 

You didn’t know why it had only just clicked, or why it had taken you so long to realise, but it had. 

And something must have clicked for Steve, too. 

You gasped. “Oh, my god!”

One of the other curators looked at you. “What?”

You looked at some of the artifacts before looking at Steve and back again. Between the shock on your face that you tried to swallow back, Steve grinned. 

“N-nothing.” You plastered a smile on your face. “Nothing. I just thought I’d seen…” You looked at Steve and your words trailed away, but you snapped yourself back into reality. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

The curator just shrugged and went back to trying to contact the shipping company of the items. 

“Oh, my god. I can’t believe it…no, no you’re not. Are you? No, you can’t be. But the…” You put your head in your hands, finally accepting it. “Oh, my god, you are.”

Steve just chuckled and walked over to you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Didn’t tell me?” You lowered your hands and looked at him. “I’m sorry it didn’t click sooner. I’m a historian for crying out loud, I should have known. I’m so sorry.” 

You hid your head in your hands again as you heard Steve chuckle. Gently holding onto your wrists, he lowered your hands from your face.

“Does this change anything?”

“Steve,” you lowered your voice. “You’re freaking Captain America.”

“But does it change anything?”

“Not particularly, no. But you’re…you’re a superhero. You-you’re an Agent and a superhero. You rescue people for a living and put your life on the line. Oh, my god, I can’t believe I asked you what you did for a living. Is this even legal? Are you allowed to go on dates with total strangers who don’t do some kind of highly secure, world-saving, job and, like, Shield level background checks?”

“Why? Is there something I should know about?”

You leaned back, realising how it sounded. “What? No. No, nothing. Not unless I’ve done something I didn’t realise I did. No, nothing.”

Steve smiled. “Relax, I was kidding. God knows I lied enough times to try and get into the army.”

“Wow, is Captain America a rule breaker?”

He just chuckled. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Does this mean I have to salute you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Good, because I don’t know how to salute. I’d probably do it wrong anyway.”

Steve laughed once more before pulling you into his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was nice for someone to treat me as me without them treating me like Captain America.”

As you leaned back from him, you admitted something to him. “I feel like my history degree is going to be taken off me for not knowing.”

Steve laughed, rubbing his hand up and down your spine before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, let's get this packed away.”

A few hours later, items that could be given an info card were before being locked away safely with the rest. 

Steve drove you home and walked you to your front door. 

“I’m sorry our date got cut short.”

Steve just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was kinda fun having it come full circle with us back at the museum. It was also fun seeing you figure out how I knew what everything was.”

You groaned a little. “I can’t believe it never clicked with me, but I am kinda glad it didn’t. It was nice to get to know you.”

“Do you still want to?”

You nodded slowly. “So long as it’s Steve and not Captain America.”

Steve smiled and nodded. “It will be, I can promise you that.”

You smiled. “Good, I’m glad.”

Kissing you goodnight, Steve waved up at you from the street below before riding back home, already planning your next date. 

[catiuskaa]

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

from: love bites burns.

chapters: intro / EP 1 / EP 2 /

short syn. trapped in a devastating fire, you’re rescued by firefighter Seo Changbin, and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something more—either way, neither of you is walking away from this unshaken.

wc. 20.7k (IKR IM SO PROUD OF MESELF)

cw. angst, character self-doubt and insecurities, life-threatening situations, high-tension moments of danger, intense physical strain, medical procedures, emotional vulnerability, minor injuries sustained during the fire, hospital checkup, unresolved issues, fluff, sweet and tender care, silly banter and emotional conversations, and I think that’s all, folks!

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

You blink a couple of times, as you stare down at the table in front of you. It was… a weird sentence. One that after hearing it —even if it doesn’t mean to— leaves a soap-like aftertaste in one’s mouth.

“I overstepped, didn’t I?”

Your eyes drift back at your friend’s, and suddenly, it’s as if the noise coming from the room next door pops back into play, the rest of the friend group already back on track. as if someone noticed they pressed pause by accident, and then mindlessly started back up and kept on going.

You’re not sitting in front of the table anymore. You’re in the kitchen, and your friend meets your eyes with what seems to be genuine emotion.

She’s trying to apologize.

Quick things aren’t scarce in life, and one of them has to be how your smile reaches your face before your friend gets to frown worriedly. She does eventually, before you start speaking.

“No, like, I get it.” You sigh gently, turning to face her and comfortably leaning back on the counter behind you, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re all a bit worried for me, it’s fine.” You wait until the nervousness leaves your friend and she lets her shoulders relax. Only then, you continue. “But really, it’s not like that. it’s just…”

“Complicated.”

Your friend repeats the same word you mentioned when the topic first struck. You pay attention to the tone she uses, and you too relax, because she’s taking this seriously.

“Yeah. I… I’m sorry…”

Your hand reaches her shoulder, and that’s as far as the conversation goes.

However, when you get to your car and let your head fall limp against the steering wheel, less than half an hour later, it’s almost as if you don’t believe it yourself. As if complicated was nothing more than a mere excuse.

If someone had told you back when you were in high school that you would end up within the same troubles as a grown up, you would’ve frowned —curse, even—, but it still remains true. Just like stages of some kind of game —a boring one, perhaps, but a game nonetheless. A game that with each world, one encounters the same obstacles.

It’s not like you have anything against anyone in particular. These people you were with were your group of friends— but are they your friends, though.

As if it wasn’t self-deprecating enough, you buckle your seatbelt and leave your friend’s home early, like always. With no one wondering about it. Like always.

Surely, exclusion comes off too strong a word for it. Besides, they probably didn’t know about it —except for today, of course, because someone noticed, and you’re sure the others did too—, but there’s little to no use in lying to yourself, which you have done before.

You lied to yourself when you started feeling insecure because your group of friends started liking and dating and doing all sorts of things— just not with you. You lied to yourself when you noticed that most things within the group you were unaware of. You hadn’t known about the issues prior to a big fallout before high school ended. No, you lied to yourself and shrugged it off, because even with two people less in the group, five people were a number high enough. Good enough. Then, you lied to yourself when you started dating in your first year in college, something that ended just as fast as it had started. Something that didn’t quite feel… right.

But you refuse to lie to yourself now, when all of your friends are starting to get married. It’s ridiculous because you can’t really do anything about it. Marriageable men don’t show up on your doorstep, and even if they did, considering the ten-story apartment you lived in —located on the cheaper side of the city—, they were probably busy being already married to your other neighbours.

You can’t even recall exactly why it was that your friend had made that specific comment. She hadn’t started the conversation, someone else had, going on and on about how her soon-to-be-husband and her were really excited for their wedding, that would happen sometime in june, because —as she repeated on, and on, and on…— the weather in june is not too warm yet and it still feels nice, but she wants a wedding in summer, not in autumn. You couldn’t help but get a bit tired of the topic, while cheers and giggles continued all over the room, as she was met with understanding hums and comments about how they too wanted a wedding in the summer, because they couldn’t be bothered to prepare in case it rained…

And then it hit you. Unrestrained, unprepared, and unwarranted. The tone, teasing, as if it was just some sort of joke. The sentence, weirdly prickly. Like some sort of cactus that stings your tongue as you force yourself to swallow it, feeling it as it passes down your throat.

Your name first, followed by, “Don’t you ever get worried that you’ll be the last one left? Or are you having too much fun being single?”

You scoff as you park, and you jingle your keys in your hand as you walk to your doorstep. Marriage. What was marriage even for? Originally, marriage made sense when the main purpose was the exchange of assets. A wealthy lady meets a wealthy man, they marry, and they stay wealthy. A not-so-wealthy man meets a wealthy lady, they marry, and problem solved.

“Maybe I should marry rich,” you mumble absentmindedly as you go up the floors inside the now-empty elevator, and you shrug when you reach your floor, opening your door.

And as you kick your shoes off by the entrance, leave your keys in the nail that sticks out the wall because of the painting you removed, and discard your clothes to the chair, you can’t help but feel a bit tired.

You can’t really place it. Like some nagging feeling in the back of your head. Not quite fuck-i-forgot-something, but rather one that sinks in your chest.

You close the window before heading to bed, and whatever it is that you last think of before falling asleep, it is not related to marrying rich.

[.]

Fire.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind once you wake up, smoke all over your room, as one does.

Now, we’ll keep the sarcasm because it’s funny, but still, words happen to scatter away at the thought of the fire, because, how to describe a fire except from scary, far too hot, and… scary again? Well, no one can blame you for that, so, this author thinks we should leave it to someone who has a little more experience with the flamy subject.

Changbin wakes up that Tuesday with no thoughts in his head. Maybe it’s because he wakes up really early, but when I say no thoughts, I mean it. Completely blank. Nothing. Zero. Nada. He doesn’t quite remember how he mentioned that to his buddy and coworker either, but he remembers how Chan laughed.

“Blank?” Chan chuckles, opening another medical kit to check if everything was in order or whether he’d need to restock it, as he sips from his too-dark-for-normal-humans coffee.

To which Changbin shrugs, a downturned smile on his face. He doesn’t mind Chan laughing. He likes it, if he is honest. Refilling oxygen tanks alone with his blank, empty mind on a chilly Tuesday at around 5:30 am isn’t exactly how he had expected he’d go about his day. He’d rather listen to kangaroo giggles and smell burnt coffee in the air.

“As white as… I don’t know. Snow?”

“Wow,” Chan does exactly what he’s there for, and he giggles, refilling the Band-Aids in bag number 4. “I can’t believe you’re not some sort of poet. What a simile, dude.”

Had the firetruck been closer, Changbin would’ve dosed that stupid Australian with the hose. He says that out loud, which only makes Chan giggle even more.

“I’ll beat you up with this oxygen tank,” Seo threatens with a cheeky smile.

“What’s that thing Hyune called you back in the bar last night?” Chan asks out loud, but his eyes widen as his smile gets bigger, figuring it out himself, “Ah, yeah! Omega male!” He laughs—no, cackles, his eyes like slits as he throws his head back. “Only omega males do that.”

Maybe Changbin should throw the oxygen tank to his flatmate, Hyunjin.

“I’m so not an omega male,” Changbin starts. “In fact, Hyunjin’s an omega. Because I say so.”

Chan’s laugh ends with that weird sigh that people sometimes do after they laugh. Like a sigh, but with sound, and he scratches his eye, smiling funnily.

And surely you wouldn’t expect a conversation like this between two firemen. The best of the best in the city, as it stands. But hey, omega males can do anything. Even be firemen.

“Shut up,” Changbin side-eyes at Chan, who can’t help but snort. “Let’s change the subject. Was it your turn to make lunch for today, or was it mine?

But as if someone had heard that —won’t say god, because it’d be quite dark to think that god starts all fires, and it’s far too early for that— and decided that talking about lunch wasn’t a good enough change of subject, the alarm shatters the little silence that remains in between different sentences.

Changbin’s body falls right into alert mode with a quick flinch. Not because he’s scared —which does happen, don’t get me wrong—, but because of the sharp, blaring tone that now echoes through the station, followed by the dispatcher’s voice crackling over the intercom:

“Engine 3, Engine 5, Engine 7, Engine 9—Ladder 2, Ladder 5—Battalion 1, Battalion 2—respond to a structure fire at 143 City Street. Ten-story residential building, fire reported on the second floor, spreading upwards. Multiple occupants trapped. Time out: 5:26.”

The shift is instant, almost as fast as how a video moves in two times speed, but even with the urgency, it still comes out routine-like. Everything moves fast: how he closes the oxygen tanks and loads up the trucks —the engines available in the station—, how the whole station chaotically wakes up, sleepiness forgotten.

Chairs are scraped back, half-eaten meals are abandoned. Boots thud against the floor as the firefighters bolt for the gear racks, moving on muscle memory.

Changbin steps into his boots—one, two—yanking the heavy turnout pants up over his waist. His coat followed, the Velcro and buckles snapping shut as his brain caught up to the adrenaline now pounding in his chest. Huh. Maybe a snow-blank brain can actually be helpful for something. The Nomex hood was next—over his head, down his neck.

Someone shouted the address again, and he’s glad he’s not the one who drives today, because he can’t think of the fastest route to get there.

Helmet on. Gloves stuffed into his coat pocket for now. He settles the oxygen tank’s straps over his shoulders, the familiar weight pressing into his back. His hands work fast—clipping his radio to his coat, checking his mask, securing everything.

By the time he climbs into the truck, sirens already wailing, his blank mind starts buzzing alive. Four engines, two ladders, and two battalions? His palm itches, and he’s glad he hasn’t put his gloves on yet, scratching it subconsciously.

Four trucks solely to extinguish the fire —engines manage the hoses and water supply—, and two ladders —self-explanatory enough, thanks— together don’t sound good.

His mind turns from white to smoky grey, as the two trucks from his station leave barely three minutes after the alert.

[.]

Fires in real life look quite similar to those in movies, only this time, the fire is real.

There are no make-up artists waiting at the entrance of some fake building when the firetrucks pull over the closest to what used to be your classic, everyday building in the middle of a busy city. That's a real building— a shell of what it used to be, covered in ash, thick black smoke on top, and fire that roars through some broken windows. Changbin's heart beats to the rhythm of glass windows shattering due to the amount of heat that takes hold of the structure.

Other fire teams are already there, and his team swiftly joins them, as he and Chan rush towards the building, following the rules of their Incident Commander.

"Team 3!" the Commander lets out loudly as soon as they jump out of the fire engine. "You three, with the attack team. You —that’s him and Chan who he points at—, join the search team. Get inside, now!"

Protocol isn't something Changbin needs to revise before an emergency. After all this time, it rushes through his veins like the adrenaline he so desperately needs right now.

Steps one and two are done, because the other engines have already assessed the situation —bad, very bad, terrible in fact, or so it seems to him— and located different sources of water throughout the neighbourhood. And so, step three follows. Search and rescue.

And, vulnerably so, with his mouth dry and his pulse beating in his ears, he enters the inferno of a building in front of him.

There are no colours except the dull yellow of his suit and the darkened tone his helmet glasses settle over his eyes, as the orange tone of fire seeps and destroys everything in its way.

"What were the quick assessment results?" Changbin hears Chan on the helmet's headphones.

"Four victims reported on different floors, seen through the windows." He recognizes the voice of one of the members of Team 6, Yeonjun. "Commander said we should check for victims on the higher floors. The fire spread really fast."

It's tense, it's fast, and it's heavy, everything happening like a buzz behind his eyes as Changbin and the rest of the firefighters sprint up the stairs.

Doors and windows, broken. Changbin doesn't know the name of the person he's searching with, as the teams separate into different pairs to search.

"Floor six is hellfire!" Team 4 member Jeongin lets out, and Changbin sweats as he hears his erratic breathing through the headset in his helmet. "I need backup, stat!"

"There's someone here!" his neck almost hurts when he turns to watch his pair partner exit the apartment's main room with a young man in his arms.

"Unconscious?" Changbin watches the fireman nod, and he nods, too. He lets out a heavy breath as quickly as he moves to activate the microphone on his shoulder. "Is floor five handled?"

"Floor five is clean now!" Team 4 Hongjoong replies in less than a beat. "Me and Taehyun have our hands full!"

Changbin's eyes roam over his partner's suit until he finds his name tag. "Jongho will join you downstairs. Join the attack team after leaving the victims outside. Jeongin, status?"

His last question is said as he rushes upstairs. He crosses the ventilation team, breaking windows. Everything that happens around him feels nothing more than madness, as he feels the fresh air on the back of his neck.

Whatever he thought floor six could be, he underestimated it. Smoke—thick, dark, and suffocating—billows out, rolling down the side of the building like a heavy fog, threatening to climb even higher. Still, inside, the air is unbearable. The heat doesn’t just sting—it crushes. It moves like a living thing, clawing at oxygen, making it harder and harder to breathe were it not for their oxygen tanks. The ceiling groans under the strain of the fire eating through wooden beams and drywall. The wallpaper has curled back into ash.

The floor is a danger zone. Flames creep along corridors, swallowing door frames. Sprinklers either don’t work or sputter uselessly, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the blaze. Every time a door is forced open, the sudden rush of air feeds the fire, making it roar louder, hotter.

It’s a nightmare. The heat distorts his vision even through his face mask, and the smoke reduces visibility to almost nothing. His radio crackles with reports of the attack team several floors down, about how the fire is spreading—crawling into the walls, threatening the floors above. It’s a race against time—if the fire breaches the stairwell or weakens the floor too much, the structure might give. And we all know what that could mean.

More members dash in, but they all halt by Seo’s side. 

"Jeongin, status?" he asks again.

He hears the sound the suit makes when one of the members by his side moves and calls for what he hasn’t done yet—or maybe he doesn’t quite dare—as the fire burns and creates havoc in front of his eyes, and dares to trespass and ruin his insides too. He hears what he hasn’t done yet, and someone calls for the rapid intervention team. A team whose sole mission is to rescue firefighters in trouble.

"RIT team, stand by —firefighter unaccounted for."

“RIT team ready, waiting for further instructions.” 

Speedy as always.

Seo’s heart stops in his chest, and Chan joins him, patting his shoulder. "Bin, we should let the RIT get in with the attack te-"

"I'm okay!" Jeongin unknowingly interrupts Chan, coughing out panted words through the mic. "Floor six is a fucking nightmare, but it’s clear!"

And Changbin's ears stop making his world spin. He takes a big breath, thanking science for his oxygen mask as Jeongin comes out of the fire and another fireman —Chan, maybe, from what Changbin’s lost, weary eyes could decipher— hugs him tightly.

Downstairs, downstairs, downstairs. His breathing is all over the place, the weight of his gear pressing down on his shoulders, the oppressive heat seeping through his suit like a second skin, and he’s grateful for all the times he’s done cardio this full month, thankful he does exercise on a regular basis, and he thanks deities he doesn’t believe in that he doesn’t fall down the stairs. The five people he is with all need to get the fuck out and join the attack team or ventilation team, depending on the Commander’s orders.

Until, as if someone had summoned him, his voice roars in his helmet. 

“Search team, report status.”

Chan’s hand is faster than his in getting to his microphone and replying. “We’re heading down, sir.”

“Sir, we have an issue.” 

Changbin frowns. He doesn’t recognize that deep, low voice, and he’s been working with the same people for years. He may be bad with names, but not with voices. And it seems his ears stand corrected, for he hears distinctly the Commander’s voice again. 

“Who else is using this line?”

“Sir, it’s a man from the medical unit.” He recognizes Wooyoung’s voice, member of Team 4 and one of his old training partners. 

That isn’t good. This is out of the usual protocol.

“What the fuck is he doing in my voice channel?”

There’s a slight gasp of hesitation as the low, unknown voice speaks again. 

“I’m using the microphone on this man’s jacket because I have a hyperventilating patient who claims that there’s someone still in the building.”

And that is the moment Changbin’s heart sinks. There is no rain outside —that would have been too good for how the situation is now— but he feels as if a storm is settled right over them. Not with the clarity and hope it would usually mean for a fireman, but with the dread that a bolt of lightning has struck, and another fire is on its way.

“What?” He doesn’t know which of the firemen he’s with said that, but they all stop in their tracks, slowing down in the hall on the third floor.

“What?” The Commander repeats the question, unaware he has done so. “Search team, the floors were all clear, yes?”

“Affirmative, Commander,” Yeonjun replies, uneasy as he stands next to Seo. “Firefighter Yang Jeongin was the last one to need to check floor six.” 

Changbin’s arms rest impatiently on his sides, the heat radiating through his suit, sweat pooling at the small of his back despite the heavy protective layers, as the situation unfolds. He grows restless as the wood in the building creaks, burns, and churns, his body sweaty and his suit covered in deep, dark ash. He looks at Chan, only to find his own reflection in the fireman’s glasses.

“Who does she say is missing?”

“A young woman in her late twenties. Lives on the seventh floor.” He hears the low voice groan softly in what seems like tense annoyance. “The patient is refusing care until that woman is taken care of.”

It’s then and there when Changbin’s soul threatens to leave his body. It’s… It’s practically a death sentence. If the sixth floor was that bad, the seventh floor…

“Commander, there’s… there’s no way that woman is still alive.”

Changbin can almost hear the gears on the Commander's head tick and clack as the man thinks, and as silence claims the chat for itself. Like glissandos in a violin piece, it all falls in one solid, stoic slide of a hand. 

“Changbin.” 

Seo hasn’t even realized his body has moved toward the stairs again, the heat gingerly intensifying with each step closer, a blistering yet somehow teasing reminder of what awaits him above. As if the fire is tempting him to go upstairs. Threatening him with the life of a woman he does not know. 

His feet stand before the first step. “Chan, I-”

“No.” Ye-ouch. “We all need to leave.” He states lowly. Clearly, too, if it weren't for the slight tremor in his low voice. “Now.”

“Commander.” Seo turns his head to his microphone. “It’s Seo Changbin. Permission to head upstairs.”

Changbin can’t see how Chris’ piercing stare threatens to kill him before he heads up, and he, on his own, risks killing himself.

The Commander, however, doesn’t hesitate to tell him. 

“Permission?” The Commander’s voice crackles through the line with incredulity, a rare pause stretching too long. There’s a beat of silence—just long enough for the weight of the question to settle. It almost weakens him. Almost. “You want permission to barbecue yourself, Changbin?”

He doesn’t turn around, but Jeongin does, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing the shorter man to look at him, Jeongin’s visor off, allowing Changbin to see the buzzing tension behind the young man’s eyes, right under his deep frown. Seo doesn’t allow himself to accept and truly feel how the fireman’s grasp makes burning shivers travel through his whole body. He’s a proud coward, because accepting how scared he is nearly threatens to make him sob.

“What are you-?” A question that Jeongin fails to end, his voice shattering just as Changbin reaches for his microphone again. 

“Commander.”

It isn’t a question. Maybe it’s because he truly doesn’t want to ask again, in fear of feeling glad to be rejected. 

“Goddamnit.” Someone murmurs, as the six of them all pace around in the third floor’s hall. 

“You can’t be serious, Bin.” Chan’s voice is low. “That floor is suicide. The woman could already be dead.”

“And if she isn’t?” Changbin states in a fierce, stoic tone, determination being one of the sole things that makes him able to hold himself straight. “Commander, orders.” 

“I can’t fucking think.” 

The Commander lets out a sharp sigh. His hesitation only adds to the gravity of what Seo is truly asking, as the six firemen stand motionless while the building gives in to the roars of fire. Until, finally, he lets out the six words that could have damned his sleep for long. 

“Officially, you have my absolute denial.” 

And it could have ended there, with a quick snap of the commander's sharp-edged tongue. Until he sighs, and quieter, almost like he’s spitting out the words, he mutters. 

“But damn me if I know you’re gonna do it anyway, so make it worth the fucking risk. Understood, firefighter Seo?”

“Bin.” Chris’ hand is faster than Changbin’s affirmative response to the Commander. “If you so much as hesitate, you turn the hell back.”

The words slam into him harder than the heat pressing against his suit. For a brief, flickering moment, something cold trickles down his spine—not from the sweat pooling at the base of his neck but from the weight of what Chris is saying. Hesitate. Like the word itself could tether him to the ground, hold him back from running headfirst into flames. He clenches his jaw. 

There’s no room for hesitation. There can’t be.

Hesitation is not and will never be part of protocol.

“Chan-”

“It’s an order as your team’s captain.”

Both of their faces turn solemn. The air between them feels heavier than the smoke outside.

“Yes, captain.”

At 5:44, the firemen and engines arrived. 

At 5:54, the search and rescue team were in the third floor’s hall, already exiting the building to let the attack unit manage. 

It’s at 5:56 that firefighter Seo Changbin runs straight toward what could be his final rescue. 

[.]

His body moves on instinct, muscle memory propelling him forward even as the heat gnaws at his suit. The building groans, an eerie symphony of burning wood and collapsing metal, and Changbin doesn’t think—he can’t think—because if he does, he might stop. He might hesitate. And there’s no room for that now.

He keeps going up the stairs. Up, up, up. If he stops before the seventh floor, he fears his legs might give out. And his knees do buckle once he realizes the state in which the stairs are now.

The heat meets him like a wall as he keeps on going up the stairwell, each breath through his oxygen mask feeling thinner, shallower, like the air itself is fighting back. The roar of the flames above isn’t just a sound—it’s a presence, a living thing that crackles and howls, angry and impatient. Every step is a countdown, every second a reminder that he’s racing not just against the fire, but against death itself.

His weight threatens to damage the stairs further. The crackle of flames overpowers the chatter and loudness that takes hold of the voice chat the attack team uses, coordinating with the ventilation unit to attempt to control the fire in the floors below him. 

He coughs, not because of the smoke, but because his breathing is erratic now, and he has to find a way to calm it before his oxygen tank betrays him and leaves him stranded. 

Changbin jumps and keeps running. He does not care if the stairs have just fallen beneath his feet. He does not care if he has to duck and roll before the ceiling crushes him. He keeps running until he finally reaches the seventh floor. 

It’s then and there that the view before him threatens to change his beliefs. He wouldn’t describe himself as a religious man, but as the scene unveils right before his very own eyes—a place of “black darkness” where “weeping and gnashing of teeth” is all that will be heard, and what awaits before him can only seem “a lake that burns with fire and sulfur,” Changbin isn’t sure if it had been God or himself that had damned him, but as he curses and rushes in, he swears the feeling may compare with that of entering the thresholds of Hell.

The apartment on the seventh floor is a blur of grey. Smoke bleeds from door frames, and the air is so hot it feels solid—like breathing through wet fabric. Seo keeps his right hand against the wall, moving fast but steady.

“Fire department!” he shouts through his mask. “Call out if you can hear me!”

But he himself can’t hear anything. There’s a loud beeping noise in his ears that buzzes with his every move, fueled by the adrenaline that keeps him moving. He swears, biting his lip. He needs to stop thinking he’s going to die buried by scraps of burnt wood. 

“Firefighter Seo, the structure is weakening faster that we can control it.” His dizzy mind can’t tell if that’s the Commander speaking or someone else. “Get the hell out!”

He looks back. As if to punish him, the door he has just broken down falls and collapses into the flames nearby. He ignores protocol and trusts his gut. He faces forward again. The conditions are the same, if not worse. The stairs could fall. The ceiling could cave. He doesn’t stop.

“Fire department! Call out if you can hear me!”

He doesn’t know why he’s not walking towards the exit, but his legs move him against the only safe wall he can find, and he gasps as he leans against it for a millisecond. 

It’s as if then, the beeping noise in his ears goes away. He can faintly hear the Commander swearing, but he lowers the volume of his headphones, the flames sounding even more, until he hears it again.

A faint cough. Then another.

He pushes forward, boots heavy against the heat-buckled floor.

“Fire department!” He screams, louder than what his throat can manage before feeling sore. 

He moves around, trying to find a way toward that room in the apartment, to no avail. The floor had collapsed close to the door, close to the sole entrance. 

“Firefighter Seo. Commander, I’ve found her.”

“Jesus Christ on a motorcycle, Changbin, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

He doesn’t know how, but Seo finds the energy to chuckle.

“Window on the east side, facing the street,” he pants into the mic, his head popping out the window and looking below. “I’m going to need a ladder rescue.”

“Mate, I can’t get you a ladder to the seventh floor,” Chan answers speedily. 

“Get one.”

His tone is matter-of-fact, and Changbin doesn’t care if there are no engines with tall enough ladders, nor does he hear Chan anymore as he breathes in slowly before breaking the window and turning toward the coughs he had heard. 

You know that feeling you get sometimes when you’re standing on a high place? Sudden urge to jump? Changbin swallows as he steps on the broken windowsill.

He doesn’t have it.

His body screams at him—not to move, not to step, not to breathe. Every instinct drilled into him from years of training begs him to stay put, to retreat, to survive. The human part of him, the part that understands fire as a predator and not an opponent, wants to back away.

But the part of him that’s a firefighter—the part that moves without permission, without fear—pushes forward.

He doesn’t have the urge to jump. He has the urge to save.

Changbin grips the jagged edge of the broken windowsill, the glass biting through his gloves, but he doesn’t flinch. His pulse is a relentless drumbeat in his ears, louder than the fire raging behind him. The other window —the one leading to the room where the woman is trapped— feels both impossibly far and dangerously close, a cruel tease of safety.

He knows the floor won’t hold for long. His body screams at him to back away, to anchor himself somewhere solid, but there’s no time to think—only move.

Without a second thought, he plants one foot on the frame, his heel slipping slightly against the blackened wood. The drop yawns beneath him like an open jaw, but his focus tunnels to the window ahead. His legs coil, muscles burning, and then—

He jumps.

The air feels thick and unforgiving, a second too long stretching between him and the next ledge. His fingers slam against the other windowsill. The impact rattles his bones, but he grips tight, white-knuckled, and hauls himself up. His knee scrapes against the frame, the fire’s glow licking at his back, and all at once, he’s there.

He’s on the windowsill.

“Firefighter Seo, just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

He doesn’t answer just yet, because he isn’t dull enough to let his hands off the top part of the window. No, instead, he breathes in, breathes out, grabs the brick-like edge over his head, and pushes himself forward, breaking the window with hard kicks.

He’s in.

His head snaps toward the sound, and he sees it. A shape, moving shakily behind a thin curtain of smoke. 

Finally.

You’re huddling by the door, one hand pressing against it as if trying to push the air outside closer. Your other arm clutches your chest—struggling to breathe, coughing so hard it doubles you over.

“W-what?” you mumble weakly, drowsily turning to the big silhouette that stands over you. “How did you-”

“My name is Changbin, I’m with the fire department,” he says, his voice soft as he kneels beside you, moving you from the smoke that creeps from under the door. “I’m gonna get you out.”

But you don’t move. You don’t think you can, even if your arm attempts to reach for him. Your wild, tear-streaked eyes aren’t focused on his uniform or his words—they dart past him, back to the now broken window.

“No—no, it’s too hot—” you gasp, voice breaking. “I can’t—We can’t go out there—and I certainly can’t jump out the—the window—”

He slowly passes his arm behind your back, careful not to spook you. “Listen to me," his voice is low, a honey-like kind of soft that threatens to lull close your tired, weary eyes. "We can’t stay here. We need to move—now.”

You shake your head, panic pinning you to the spot. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—I—”

Changbin’s heart slams. If you froze up, if you refused to move—this can turn deadly very fast. Too fast, if what he wants is to get out and brag about his jump to Chan.

He crouches a little further, keeping his voice calm even though the fire is growling below them.

“I know it’s hard—" his hand reaches for his mask, unclipping a spare oxygen mask from his gear—"but you need to trust me, okay, gorgeous? Put this on.”

Your hands tremble so badly you can’t grab the mask, so he does it for you—gently but quickly pulling the straps over your head.

You suck in a sharp, filtered breath—and something cracks outside. The broken window? No—a floor beam, groaning under the weight of the fire.

The sound is like a gunshot, and Changbin’s spine stiffens as you flinch, stumbling forward—and clinging to him.

Your fingers fist the front of his turnout coat—clutching so tightly it almost knocks him off balance, and your hands don’t stop yet, surrounding his neck and hugging him tightly as you sob.

The weight of you against him—the human desperation in your grip—hits him like a blow to the chest. But there’s no time to feel it.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not without you.” Changbin’s voice is steady, but his mind is already calculating: the stairs might be gone. The fire is moving fast. He can feel the heat pushing up from below—this floor isn’t safe.

While his left hand keeps you steady, the other grabs his radio.

“Commander, we need a ladder rescue, stat.”

The windows. That’s your only shot now.

Your breathing is still ragged even through the mask, and you are still clinging to him like a lifeline—but he would be out of his mind to think about pushing you away. Not after what he’s gone through to get to you. 

He’s not letting you go.

“We’re getting out of here,” Changbin smiles, his hand firm on your shoulder. “Hold onto me, okay?” He takes one of his gloves off, his palm sweaty and his touch cold in contrast to your face, red from crying and dirty with soot. 

Seo coos at you as he wipes off soot and tears from your cheek. “Can you stand up?”

He watches you hold back tears and softly shake your head. “I… I tripped when I woke up… I don’t know if I can—”

Licking his lips, he doesn’t wait for you to finish your response. “Hold onto my neck, gorgeous,” he says, letting out a soft sigh before carrying you in his arms. His muscles scream—not from your weight, but from the gear, the heat, and the unrelenting pressure burning through his nerves like a second fire.

Moving now the both of you, Changbin looks out the window—no ladder in sight. He clicks his mic. “Commander, I really need a ladder at the fifth or sixth floor—somewhere I can actually reach.”

A crackle, then the Commander’s gruff voice. “We’re working on it. How about you get your asses somewhere safer, huh?”

His mind works quickly, scanning for another path—an adjoining room, a hallway that hasn’t collapsed. Anything to get you closer to a floor the ladder can reach.

And all the while, the fire creeps closer, threatening the four walls and door that protect you two.

The heat gnaws at his back, at his neck, at the seams of his suit. His ears ring—not from the fire, but from the thundering beat of his own heart. There’s a fine line between panic and focus, and Changbin knows if he slips into the wrong side of that line, you’re both done for. 

There’s so much he can risk, and he will not risk your life. Not when it’s in his hands. Quite literally, in fact.

A broken window too far to reach is the shittiest escape he can fathom, so he forces himself to think. Think, Changbin, think. He moves and, with his free hand, punches the wall in front of him, and he lets out a grin. It’s drywall—a thin drywall, already blistered from the heat. His jaw tightens, but he can’t help but let out a chortle. 

He can break it. Sure, he can. 

He must.

“Hold on tight,” he mutters, although unsure if it's more to himself or you. Shifting your weight carefully, he presses your face into his shoulder to shield you from the smoke, dust, and scraps of drywall that will come out, then grabs the halligan bar strapped to his side.

With a sharp, determined breath, he swings.

The drywall cracks, a jagged hole splitting through the center. Another hit, and the gap widens. He’s not thinking—just moving, muscle memory guiding every strike. His shoulder slams into the weakened wall, breaking through in a cloud of dust and soot.

“Almost there,” he breathes, feeling your arms clawing at him in weakened strength.

He kicks pieces of drywall, and he sighs, stroking your head with his ungloved hand as he passes to the now-open room. “It’s okay, gorgeous. I need you to breathe slowly for me, okay?” He looks at your face, and although your eyes are red and teary from the smoke and from crying, you press your lips together in a thin line, trying to control your breathing. The sight shoots hope straight to his heart. “You’re doing great.” 

The next room is just as bad—scorched walls, a half-collapsed ceiling—but through the haze, he spots it: the emergency stairwell, right through the window, barely hanging onto its hinges. Fucked up is certainly a way to describe the full view. The stairs are damaged, warped by heat, parts of the railing missing. It’s a death trap—but it’s your only shot.

“Commander,” Changbin says into his mic, voice steady despite the chaos, “we’re heading for the emergency stairs, north side. Let me know when that ladder’s ready.”

“Changbin—” It’s the Commander’s voice, sharp and urgent. “Ladder’s set at the fifth floor. You need to move.” He’s pretty sure the Commander sighs. “You’re out of your goddamn mind, Changbin.”

“Copy that.”

He tightens his grip on you. “We’re gonna take it slow, alright?” he says softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I need you to hold onto me like your life depends on it.”

Because it does. But he’d rather not say that out loud, judging by how your eyes —wide, tense, scared— water once more. Now, taking that you’re alive, breathing next to his chest, he’d take crying over dying any day, but his mom taught him better than to make pretty girls cry.

He sits on the windowsill and rests his boots on the metal surface. It creaks below him, and you shriek, tightening your grip on him. He shushes you quickly, while he steps onto the narrow platform, his boots skimming over the metal that shudders beneath his weight. It creaks again, an awful, high-pitched sound—like the building itself is warning him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he smiles. “At the count of three, we’re heading downstairs, okay?” He states toward you tenderly, smiling widely when he watches you nod. 

He notices you shivering, and he nibbles on his lower lip. And while a reasonable part of his head screams curses at him with a voice that resembles that of the Commander —or maybe Chans’?— he lets the other part of him win —not sure which, if his heart or his brain, but still.

“Hang on.”

He shifts his grip on you, careful not to unsteady you both as he sits on the windowsill and he sits you on his lap, unzipping his jacket with one hand. It’s a clumsy, rushed motion, but he still manages to slip it off and drape it over your shoulders. He grins sheepishly. His heart also grins, proudly so when you, too, grin as he helps you pull your arms through the sleeves, and you chuckle, tugging the zipper up as high as it’ll go.

“Better?” he grins, heart thumping louder than the creaking metal beneath his feet.

You blink at him—then smile. Small, gingerly weak, but real. 

And that’s enough for him.

He stretches his shoulders and holds you again, his arms traveling behind your nape and your knees. The moment his boots shift further onto the emergency stairs, the metal groans again—louder this time. A sickening crack splits the air, echoing up the side of the building. The platform dips an inch.

You gasp, clinging tighter to Changbin’s neck, your breathing sharp and panicked against his shoulder.

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs, though his own heart is hammering against his ribs. He just hopes you can’t hear it. He doesn’t want to make you nervous —not more than you are. “We’re okay. I’ve got you.”

But the stairs don’t feel okay. They feel like they’re hanging on by a thread. Seo knows they are.

He grips you tighter, arms firmer beneath your knees and your nape, and locks his gaze through the bars, on the surface below—the fifth floor, a safer floor, where the engine ladder will meet them. He sees the engine moving, the ladder turning towards them, just a few meters lower.

“See that, gorgeous?” He says with as much cheer as he can muster up. “We’re getting out. Just a bit more.”

Every step is a gamble, the heat from the floors below curling upward like a living thing, licking at the metal. Changbin moves slowly—one boot, then the next—testing the strength of the platform with every shift of his weight.

Another screech. Another shudder beneath his feet.

“Firefighter Seo,” the Commander calls through the headset. “Fuck that. Changbin, don’t run—” the Commander’s voice crackles in his ear.

He sighs, pondering, but his mind is back to its snow-white state. He’s aware he can’t move carefully—there’s no time for careful. 

“Okay.” He’s running out of words, and the building is running out of time. “Okay. One… Two…”

He has to make this quickly. 

“...three.”

And Changbin, taking a leap of faith, runs.

There’s a garbled response that comes from his headset right after he starts moving—static, probably a curse—but Changbin isn’t listening, not when the sounds next to him—the stairs and the loud scream you let out—overpower the Commander’s voice. He can’t care. Secretly, he doesn’t. His focus is on the next landing. The fifth floor. The place where the ladder settles is close now—so close—but the stairs beneath him tremble like a dying animal.

Each rushed step sends a pulse of movement through the brittle structure, the stairs groaning under the strain, but they stay intact—just enough to keep going. His breaths are sharp, controlled. His legs move on instinct. The world shrinks to the next step, the next landing—his grip on you and the echo of the Commander’s voice crackling in his ear. 

He’s on the fifth floor in the blink of an eye. A firefighter waits at the top rung of the ladder, hands outstretched. “Changbin!” That voice. 

It’s Chan. Chan is here. Oh, thank God.

The stairs keep letting out sickening screeches behind him. Changbin doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate.

“Hold tight,” he breathes, and then—he steps onto the ladder.

It wobbles beneath their combined weight, but Chris grabs Changbin’s arm, steadying him as he transfers you carefully into the other man’s waiting hands.

“Got it!” Chan shouts, his grip firm as he pulls you in.

And then—for the first time since entering the building’s seventh floor—Changbin stops.

He leans heavily on the fence-like structure at the top of the ladder, his mask slipping off with a rough tug. His chest heaves, each breath jagged as if the air itself is too thick to fully inhale. It’s not just the smoke or the heat—it’s the adrenaline, the sudden crash of it, roaring through him like a second fire. His muscles, once taut with instinct and urgency, now feel like they’ve turned to water. His fingers twitch against the ladder’s metal frame, and for a brief, dizzying second, his mind struggles to catch up with his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

And then he exhales—long, shaky, almost like he’s forcing the flames inside him to burn out.

His head turns, and he sees Chan setting you onto the ladder’s surface. 

Chan’s okay. He’s okay.

He sees you nod to Chan, but he ignores what you two are talking about, watching you as you zip up his jacket on further and you stuff your hands into its pockets.

You’re okay. 

[.]

He knows he physically couldn’t, but had he had the ability, Changbin is pretty sure his ears would have perked up at the pained gasp you let out when you try to walk off the engine’s ladder by yourself. 

Chan is already gone, because the job isn’t done yet and he’s needed elsewhere as team 3’s captain, so Changbin approaches you, his hand stopping you from moving any further as he gently settles it on your shoulder.

“Wait, I’ll get down first and help you,” he solves with a charming smile, and easily hops off the engine, his calves screaming at him for such nonsense considering what he has already put each and every of his muscles through in the past hour or so. 

He turns and looks up to face you, and in the quietness of his mind —ignoring the screams and barks from the Commander on his helmet’s headset— he giggles a bit when he sees how you look. He didn’t call you gorgeous out of the blue —for the lack of a name, sure, but it still matches the subject at hand. You do look pretty. Pretty covered in soot, and pretty tiny as you wear his gigantic turnout coat. 

Pretty, nonetheless.

In your eyes there’s still leftover fear and tension, but you let his warm ones help as his now ungloved hands hold you by your waist to get you off the engine. 

Still, Changbin doesn’t put you down. Instead, he maneuvers you without letting your feet touch the ground, holding you with his arms behind your nape and knees again as he takes you to the closest ambulance. 

“Is that her?” 

Changbin recognizes the low voice from minutes ago —even if it feels like ages— that had used Wooyoung’s microphone to warn them of your absence. He turns, and he’s met with a blond guy with freckles. His brain tells him that his low voice doesn’t match his face, but he shrugs off the thought.

“Yeah.” Changbin lets out as he puts you down, and you sit on the edge of the ambulance. Two paramedics rush closer, hand him his jacket back as they cover you with a blanket, and he just… stays there. He knows what he should do, so he isn’t really aware if he’s waiting for something to happen. 

He should go back to his team. Join whatever unit the Commander tells him after what most likely will be a heated, well-deserved worded beat-up. He kind of kicked protocol in the shin, so he gets it. 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t move. His eyes stay glued to you as the low-voice blond approaches you. 

“Hi, my name is Felix,” the blond smiles, but you don’t, coughing instead. You would smile, but you don’t have it in you just yet.

Changbin sighs as he watches the blond start protocol. He should follow it too, so he lets out a low sigh and moves to leave the ambulance as paramedics start hovering over you, voices sharp but steady, oxygen mask back and snug against your face. A blood pressure cuff wraps around your arm, the beeping of the heart monitor a steady pulse in the chaos. And he just stands outside the open doors, his boots still covered in soot, his turnout coat hanging from his arm after a paramedic returns it to him. Like his body is here, but his mind is still back in that burning building. 

His chest heaves with every breath, but now it’s not just from the smoke. It’s from the way you're looking at him.

Dazed. Scared. Still clinging to him in ways he didn’t expect nor fully understand. 

“We’re taking her to the hospital,” one of the paramedics says, voice firm but not unkind. “She inhaled a lot of smoke.”

Changbin nods, even if he isn’t sure if the paramedic is talking to him or to his team. 

He should step back. Let them do their job, at least. 

He’s done this before. This is the part where he leaves.

But then—

“Wait—”

Your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper behind the oxygen mask, but it’s enough. Your hand, still trembling, shoots out and catches his wrist.

“Don’t go,” you rasp, your fingers curling around the grimy fabric of his coat. “Please, just— stay?”

It’s a small, broken plea, but it slices through him sharper than any scream or flame he has ever encountered during his career.

He blinks, his throat working around words he can’t quite form. The paramedics exchange a glance, but neither of them tells him to move away. 

“Hey,” Changbin says softly, his free hand resting over yours, swallowing the tremor in your fingers. “You’re safe now. These guys are solid, trust,” he attempts to joke.

Your grip doesn’t loosen.

For a second, just a second, the world goes quiet. No sirens. No smoke. Just the weight of your hand on his, your trembling gaze holding his. And though he knows he can’t stay, a part of him —the part that still feels the heat on his back and the way your heartbeat pounded against his chest— doesn't want to leave either.

And that’s… new.

“Alright, alright,” he breathes, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, while the other cleans a bit of soot on your forehead, moving your hair out of your face. “I’m right here, gorgeous.”

To say the ambulance ride passes in the blink of an eye would be true, but only to you, because you pass out the moment the vehicle starts. 

Thinking back now, the only memories that appear are the fleeting thought regarding the intense white light that doesn't favour anyone, and the distinct memory of a young man smiling at you before your eyes drifted. A paramedic, perchance. You can’t be too sure. You remember thinking he was cute. 

When you blink your eyes open, the first thing you notice is the smell, antiseptic and faintly floral, the sharp sting of alcohol wipes mixing with the artificial sweetness of whatever cleaner they use on hospital floors. It’s sterile, cold, but there’s an undercurrent of warmth in the room, maybe because of the thin blanket draped over you, you breathe in slowly, noticing the lingering scent of smoke still clings to your skin.

But what you’re sure also contributes to the warmth in the room is the second thing that you notice.

The weight on your lap.

It’s late. Well, not late late, because judging by how the sun attempts to peek through the blinds, it’s probably barely past dinner. Lunch, if you’re lucky. Still, the soft glow of the bedside lamp is the main source of light, which ends up casting some very interesting long shadows across the white walls. The muted beep of the heart monitor hums in the background, a steady rhythm, as if reminding you you’re still here. Still alive.

You blink slowly, your head heavy, but when you shift —or at least try to— there’s resistance. And that’s when you notice him.

Changbin, right? 

Guess the handsome young man in the ambulance hadn’t been a paramedic after all. 

He’s slumped over at the side of the hospital bed, head resting on his folded arms —and on you. His temple presses against your thigh, his body curled awkwardly in the small space that the hospital stool allows him, his turnout jacket draped over the chair on the corner he clearly gave up on using. He isn’t wearing his firefighter clothes anymore though, instead wearing a no-sleeves shirt and glasses, crooked on his face as he lets out shy snores.

Asleep.

For a long moment, you allow yourself to just stare. 

His brows are slightly furrowed even in sleep, like some part of him is still braced for disaster. His hand, rough and calloused—one of the hands that had saved you—, lies close to yours, as if he had fallen asleep holding it and only let go when unconsciousness took over. His hair is a mess, dark, curly strands falling into his face,  and there’s a faint streak of soot he must’ve missed when wiping himself clean.

It’s only then when the realization somehow clicks in your head: he is human. A human —a handsome human— who saved your life. Dared to almost sacrifice his own just for that. Heck, you can’t even believe he had jumped from the windowsill and then broken a wall, but now you’re forced to believe that the huge, caring guy that has carried you through a fire and two floors below is the same man whose head is curled up in your lap? 

Your chest aches, but it’s not from the smoke. You fail to hold back a smile as your heart happily prances around. 

It’s a true fear that suddenly strikes when you think that if you get too flustered, the machine you’re plugged into might speed up and wake him. Because of that, your heart can’t help but giggle, nodding at what your brain starts to ponder. 

You want to move, to touch him, to speak —all at the same time, and a sneaky part of your heart wants to add in a kiss to his cheek too—, but you’re scared the moment will shatter like glass.

Still, it isn’t a deliberate motion when your fingers move and settle his glasses right. You don’t even know when you pieced that thought out. 

“Changbin…” your voice is soft, hoarse from hours of smoke inhalation. It doesn’t seem yours, the low sound of your voice unfamiliar. 

He doesn’t stir, but you don’t mind. Your heart high-fives your brain to that, in fact. A part of you prefers it that way. You can’t be too sure you would have known what to say. “Thanks for not letting me die?” Ew, you shake your head sideways softly, smiling like an idiot. You swallow, watching the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, and something warm flickers inside you.

He… stayed.

Even after you made it out of the fire, even after the ambulance ride, he stayed. And now, he’s here, asleep at your side, like keeping watch over you was the only thing that made sense after everything.

Your fingers twitch, hesitating for a moment until then, carefully, you lift your bandaged hand and brush a strand of hair away from his face.

He shifts, murmuring something under his breath.

Your lips tremble into a soft smile.

“Thank you,” you mouth, not risking speaking just in case he wakes up, and to take care of your throat.

And for a moment, it feels like the fire or the smoke never touched you at all.

But then, the soft thud of steps sends a jolt through you.

Your heart stumbles in panic, instinct even, and before you think about it, your eyes flutter shut. You steady your breathing, slow and measured, feigning the steady rhythm of sleep, hoping the beeping machine collaborates just this once. 

The footsteps are quiet, purposeful. They’re heading here. The door creaks open. 

“Bin.”

It’s a whisper, but you recognize the voice in a pulse. Chan. The other firefighter. 

There’s a rustle of fabric, followed by a quiet sigh —maybe a groan, honestly—, and you can almost picture the way Changbin must be running a hand through his hair right now, stretching his back because of the uncomfortable position he has been resting in for a while. 

His voice drifts in from the doorway, the faint creak of the hinge a quiet reminder that the door remains half-open, as if Chan’s unsure whether to step inside or let Changbin be.

Silence. Chris sighs, leaning against the doorframe. 

“She’s stable, mate. I just talked to the doc. Said she just needs rest now.”

The words linger in the room, gentle but firm, in that classical Chan tone that at least makes Changbin chuckle out a smile. You hold back a gasp when the calloused touch of his hand holds yours, and he starts fidgeting with your fingers, almost absentmindedly. It’s not the same as how Chan’s words echo, but still similar in meaning. Chris' words remain in the room and surround Seo, like a hand meant to guide him back to reality —back to the part where his job is done. Where he can leave.

Another pause.

Changbin’s voice follows, rough with exhaustion but steady as ever. 

“I know.” 

It’s a muffled response, and you can only venture and guess why, not daring to crack your eyes open and interrupt them, in fear of what would happen and secretly hoping Changbin’s warm hand doesn’t leave yours for a bit longer, but his voice and diction make it seem like his other hand holds his face up, his palm resting on his chin. 

His words carry a weight that the silence can’t quite swallow, not a protest, but something like a quiet refusal to move.

There’s another beat of silence, and it’s somehow heavier this time. Not empty, but full, swollen with something unspoken, something clawing at the edges of the quiet.

Until Changbin finally voices what’s been eating him alive, his words slow and rough, like they hurt coming out.

“But the nurse said she doesn’t have any emergency contacts,” he mutters. “Something about her file or something—I don’t know. I don’t care.” His voice dips lower, hoarser. “But what that means is that no one’s coming for her.”

The words hang there, sharp and aching.

“No one… no one knows what happened to her. Or if anything happened at all.”

There’s a break in his voice, subtle but there, a quiet grief for someone he barely knows, for someone who asked him to stay because there was no one else.

Your heart clenches so hard it almost hurts, and you pray the machine besides you doesn’t rat out the sudden motion.

Chan’s voice drops lower, almost cautious. He’s never seen Changbin like this after an alert. Not ever, if he thinks about it hard enough. 

“So you stayed.”

It isn’t a question. It doesn’t remotely sound like one, but nevertheless, Changbin shifts. You hear the faint scrape of his shoes against the floor, the rustle of the bed sheets as he readjusts his weight. His hand doesn’t leave yours, and his voice sounds as if he was talking to you. 

He doesn’t turn to Chan to answer the no-question. “She… she asked me to.”

The words hang there, simple but heavy. And yet, there’s a quiet edge to his voice, not defensive. Like a man standing his ground over something that doesn’t need explanation. Like leaving was never even a choice. 

You can hear his shoe and his leg move restlessly.

“She didn’t want me to go,” he says softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “And I promised I would stay.”

Chan doesn’t respond right away. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more careful. “Bin… you don’t have to take this all on yourself.”

A long sigh escapes Changbin. “I know.”

It’s not defensive, just tired.

Another rustle of fabric, and a few soft steps, and you feel a presence closer. Chan pats him on the shoulder, a silent gesture of support. “Alright,” Chan says at last, his voice calm but firm. “But don’t burn yourself out,” he jokes. 

Changbin chuckles softly, though it lacks humor. “Sure, mister insomnia.”

A quiet snort from Chan. “Yeah, yeah.” A pause. “Want some?”

You don’t see the exchange, but you now can hear the faint sound of someone eating. 

“Chan,” Changbin says after Chris heads back towards the door. Seo licks his lips, a hand over his mouth, food inside. “You can leave. It’s okay.” It’s like his sentence is meant to end there, but then he grimaces. “Bitch, you gave me a burger with pineapple?”

There’s a faint chuckle. 

“I’ll check in later.”

The door clicks shut, and the room is silent again.

You don’t dare open your eyes yet, not when your heart is thudding against your ribs, not when the weight of his words still hangs in the air.

He stayed. Because you asked him to.

Because you have no one else.

And even though your eyes are closed, you can feel it, the way his presence anchors the room, the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing as he eats whatever leftovers Chan gave him.

For a moment, there’s only stillness, like when it’s really late at night and the only sound in the house is made by the fridge’s engine. 

Then, a small sound, the faint scrape of a chair leg being nudged back. You hear the quiet shuffle of his shoes, and the gentle creak of the furniture as it is moved, accompanied by the soft grunts the firefighter lets out.  

You dare to open your eyes, but not fully, and it’s at the view that your heart threatens to swoon. 

Changbin’s making himself a bed on the sofa. 

You close your eyes when he turns around, and he’s close again. So close you can smell the faint traces of smoke still clinging to his clothes, the clean bite of hospital antiseptic mixing with something undeniably him, a warm, steady scent.

A rough sigh escapes him —almost a whisper—, and you feel the shift of his hand as he carefully brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His touch is soft, barely there, but it sends a ripple through you.

“Still asleep, huh?” he murmurs, although he can't be sure if it’s more to himself or to you. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but the tenderness in it makes your chest ache again. Your heart reels in happiness, starting to roam around your insides, looking for a ring.

His voice is low, almost careful, like he's afraid anything louder might break something fragile. Afraid the reality of sound breaks the illusion that his heart screams as his hand can't seem to leave yours. As if your touch is one of the sole things that keeps him there, hooked to your side searching for time to answer the questions in his head, because why is his chest so tense? Why does he want to stay until you wake up and help you leave the hospital in one piece? What makes you so different that he can’t bear the thought of leaving? 

There's a weight to his words, not from familiarity, but from everything you’ve both been through tonight, the smoke, the fear, the fact that for a moment, neither of you were sure you’d make it out at all.

He doesn’t move away. Not yet. His heart tells him to kiss your wrist to feel your pulse, his brain asks him if he’s looking for a mental asylum, because he’s definitely going crazy. His fingers linger at his side, and his breathing is just a bit slower now, like he's still steadying himself. 

For a fleeting second, you wonder if this quiet, this ginger ache in his voice, is how he holds onto the people he saves. 

Because even if you're just another name on a report, to him, you're still here. Still breathing. And to you, he’s still there. He’s staying. 

And somehow, that seems to matter.

Another quiet sigh threatens to make your heart feel like it might break in tears, because it’s just ridiculous how much it suddenly means to you that he’s keeping his promise. Not the silly little thing he added when he entered the ambulance, no. He’s keeping the promise he made after he had run up flame-filled halls and jumped from the windowsill to find you. The one he had cooed at you softly before he broke a wall and rushed down broken stairs to get you both to safety.

And now, even as sleep tugs at him, even as exhaustion threatens to drag him under, he’s still… protecting you. Even in sleep. Prepared to fight flames if they dare trouble you in your sleep again. 

You fight the urge to lift your hand, to brush your fingers through his hair, to soothe the lines of tension etched into his face.

No. Instead, you stay still, pretending to be asleep, even though your heart is wide awake.

And so, you stay like this —him asleep, you pretending—, the silence between you thick with things unsaid. The hospital room hums softly with the rhythm of machines, the distant murmur of voices in the corridor, but it all feels far away. Here, there’s only the quiet rise and fall of his breath, the slight furrow of his brow even in sleep, like he’s still bracing for disaster.

Your fingers twitch at your side. The urge to reach for him —to brush a hand over his hair or trace the slope of his knuckles— simmers beneath your skin. It’s foolish, really. He’s just a firefighter. You’re just a girl he saved. That’s all this is.

And yet. And yet.

The weight of his head on your lap, the way his body has angled itself as if to shield you from something unseen feels like more. Too much.

A lump rises in your throat, and you swallow it down, willing your heartbeat to settle.

But then, a sound.

The door creaks open again, its hinges groaning softly into the hush of the room. Your heart stutters, even if your eyes stay shut the entire time.

Footsteps. Quiet, but firm. Someone trying to be gentle but too used to rushing. Soft footsteps that pad into the room, and you hear the faint rustle of fabric. It can only be a nurse, moving with silent efficiency. The clipboard clicks as they check the monitors beside you, the steady beep of your heart rate betraying the erratic thrum in your chest.

There’s a pause, a slight hesitation, as if they’ve just noticed the man asleep at your side.

“Sir?” The nurse’s voice is soft, polite, but questioning.

A beat. Changbin stirs, a slow exhale leaving him as he blinks himself back to consciousness. His head lifts from your lap, and as his cheek loses the warmth of your leg, a strange, pained feeling settles in his chest.

For a moment, he just stares at you. At the soft rise and fall of your breathing, the bandage peeking out from beneath the hospital gown. Even asleep, you look fragile, too still, and something tightens behind his ribs. He wonders, not for the first time, if you have someone —anyone— coming for you.

He clears his throat, voice rough. “Sorry,” he mutters, straightening in the chair. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to shake off the haze of sleep and the lingering feel of your warmth. “I… uh… she asked me to stay,” he solves. 

The nurse is quiet for a moment, the sound of a pen scratching against the clipboard filling the silence.

Changbin shifts, his jaw tight. He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have made it sound like it mattered so much, even if his heart keeps screaming at him that it does.

“The doctor said there weren’t emergency contacts listed,” he adds quietly, like an explanation, though he’s not sure if it’s for the nurse or himself. “I… didn’t want her to be alone.”

It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?

Because when you grabbed his arm in the ambulance, voice hoarse but certain, something in him buckled, as if the moon had suddenly made the tides raise havoc upon the shore, salt and water raining all over the port —all over his heart. Because, even now, hours later, he’s still here. Because the thought of you waking up alone in this sterile, empty room feels… wrong.

“Well,” the nurse says softly, a faint smile in his voice, “seems like she’s not alone, then.”

You nearly flinch at that.

And to him, the words shouldn’t hit as hard as they do.

But oh, they do.

And as Changbin lets out a slow breath, settling back into the chair, his gaze drifts to your hand —inches from his own— and he wonders what it would feel like to take it again. Maybe you’d wake up. And maybe you’d squeeze his hand in reassurance, and thank him for staying. He’d say… well. He’d figure it out.

His fingers twitch once, then go still again.

The nurse moves with practiced quiet, his hands gentle as he checks the monitors, the steady beep of your heart rate, the soft hiss of oxygen flowing through the tube near your bed. He jots something down on a clipboard, his pen scratching softly against paper.

Then comes the IV check. A light touch on the line running from your arm to the bag hanging by your bedside. He adjusts the flow, tilts his head at the readout. Everything seems normal.

Changbin’s jaw tightens.

He’s watching him now, not fully awake, but not asleep either. His gaze flickers to the monitor, tracking the subtle jump in your heart rate when the nurse gently lifts your bandaged hand to inspect it.

“Has she woken up at all since she was brought in?” the nurse asks, his voice a whisper.

Changbin's throat bobs with a swallow. “No,” he mutters, his voice hoarse from sleep and something else. Something heavier. He doesn’t quite know how to describe it. “She hasn’t.”

The nurse nods softly, lowering your hand back onto the blanket. Another note scribbled onto the clipboard.

“Did she mention any pain or trouble breathing when you got here?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “She didn’t say much. Just…”

He stops, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the edge of your blanket in a small, repetitive motion. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t say: she only asked me to stay.

The nurse lingers for a moment longer, adjusting the blanket over you. When he turns away, Changbin watches him with a careful intensity, as if making sure he doesn’t miss anything, as if his presence alone might be enough to keep you safe.

“I’ll be around this hallway for the rest of the evening and night,” he says softly. “My name is Minho. If there’s anything you need, or anything happens to her, I’m right here.” 

Changbin acknowledges him with a nod and a soft smile, and the door clicks shut softly behind him.

Silence again. Changbin curls up his head in his arms, and finally caves in, holding your hand.

He just hopes you wake up soon to fill it.

And you too fall asleep, feeling the warmth that radiates off of him lull you back in.

[.]

The room remains dim, bathed in the muted glow of a single white light near the doorway. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor is the only sound, a quiet metronome against the hush of the hospital night.

Changbin hasn’t moved much, only a small shift here and there, the weight of sleep keeping him grounded, his hand still wrapped loosely around yours. His head remains pillowed on his arms, his breathing deep and even, though a slight furrow still mars his brow, as if even in sleep, he’s standing guard.

And for a while, so are you. Asleep, but not fully. Your mind drifts in that fragile space between rest and remembrance, where the smoke still curls at the edges of your thoughts and the heat still nips at your skin.

It happens slowly at first. A subtle twitch of your fingers. The tiniest furrow of your brow. Your breathing —steady, smooth— starts to shift, each inhale just a bit sharper than the last.

Then the dream grips you.

A flash of fire. The suffocating weight of smoke. The roar of collapsing walls. 

Your chest tightens. The flames creep closer. You can’t move. You can’t breathe—

A ragged gasp rips through the silence as you bolt upright. The heart monitor spikes, a frantic beeping that shatters the calm.

Changbin is already awake.

“Hey, hey, gorgeous.” His voice is raspy from sleep, but his hand is steady, already reaching for your arm, until it reaches your cheek, careful not to touch anywhere bandaged. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Your wide eyes dart around the room. The sterile white walls, the IV in your arm, the dim glow of hospital lights. No fire. No smoke. Just… a hospital.

And him.

Your breathing stutters, and your hand —the one not hooked to the IV— grips his forearm before you even register the movement.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t move an inch.

“You’re safe,” Changbin says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek in slow, steady circles. It’s the same motion you felt on your knuckles before falling asleep. “It was just a dream. You’re here now.”

It’s his voice that grounds you. The rough gentleness of it. The steadiness, like a hand on your back guiding you out of the smoke and helping you cough it out.

And finally —finally— the world stops burning.

Your grip on his arm loosens slightly. You close your eyes for a second, trying to steady yourself, but when you open them again, he’s still there. Still watching you with that same quiet intensity.

“Did I… wake you?” you rasp, voice hoarse from sleep, and from the lingering effects of smoke.

Changbin’s lips twitch into the faintest smile. “You could say that.”

But there’s no frustration in his voice. Only relief.

Because you’re awake now, and that's all that matters.

The heart monitor slows, the beeping settling into its steady rhythm again. The silence that follows feels… different.

Not like before.

It’s not the heavy quiet of waiting or the emptiness of unspoken fear. It’s something softer, a silence that hums with everything left unsaid. Something lighter, as you and Changbin sit there, breathing, your hearts yearning for any kind of excuse to justify the need to keep looking at each other eye to eye.

Your hand still rests on his arm. His thumb still traces small, timid circles on your face. 

Neither of you moves to pull away.

And for a long moment, you just… stare at each other.

His dark hair is a mess, strands sticking out in every direction, evidence of too many hours spent with his head pillowed on his arms. His shirt is wrinkled, the smell of smoke still faintly clings to him. His eyes, though—those sharp, intense eyes—are soft now. Warm in a way you weren’t expecting. You notice a faint shadow beneath them. A subtle tightness around his mouth, almost as if there’s exhaustion carved into his every movement, but his gaze is steady. 

And you? You’re pretty sure you're a mess too. Bandages, an IV, a raspy voice —but you’re awake. You're alive.

And so is he. With no injuries, too. 

Your breathing hitches for a beat. It’s not from panic this time, but something else entirely. Something harder to name. A raw blend of relief, disbelief, and something soft and fragile that flutters in your chest every time his thumb brushes your skin. 

And by how his eyes seem to soften, chances are it hits you both at the same time. A sudden, silent realization that you made it. That he saved you. That he’s still here. That for some reason —some quiet, unspeakable reason— it means more than it should. That the danger is behind you. That there’s no fire, no smoke. 

Just… this. This strange little pocket of quiet where you’re both here, in front of each other, still breathing, still here, and it feels... unreal.

The seconds stretch.

The weight of it presses into your chest, something fragile and unfamiliar, an ache that isn’t painful but still makes it hard to breathe. The kind of feeling that grows in the aftermath of fear—when the adrenaline fades but the person who pulled you through is still standing there.

If he’s feeling the exact same thing, you don’t know. With a sheepish lick of his lips, Changbin lets out a short sigh, as if he had just remembered that breathing is a necessity, not a choice. His arm gingerly moves from your face, afraid at the possible implications of his tender touch, but at the same time, he ends up with his hand over yours. As if the intensity of him holding your hand was a tiny bit more manageable than your face. 

And then, you…

You laugh.

Quiet at first, just a soft exhale, but it bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Breathy, almost startled by its own existence. You don’t know why. Maybe there is nothing that can describe whatever it is that you’re feeling, so you keep laughing. It’s not funny —not even close— but the feeling is too much, too big to contain. It spills out in giggles, a release of all the tension that’s been wound tight since the moment you woke up, and even before, when you faked being asleep. The fire, the rescue, the nightmare, and now this, sitting in a dim hospital room, staring at the firefighter who saved your life like he's the only person in the world.

Changbin blinks—once, twice—before his own lips twitch into a smile.

Then, he chuckles.

Not because it’s funny —although it’s starting to seem that way, because your laugh is cute—, but because what else is he supposed to do? He doesn’t have the words for what he feels —not yet, at least— so the laugh comes instead. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, you’re both giggling. Like mad teens after a stupid joke. Like children that get away with breaking mom’s favourite mug even when they were told not to play with the ball inside and they managed to blame dad successfully.

It’s not loud, rather still hushed by the weight of the night, but it’s… real. You can’t really describe it with many other words that could convey its full meaning. It’s that shaky, breathless kind of laughter that sneaks up on you when you least expect it, like you both just realized how ridiculous this all is. A fragile kind of laughter, that trembles at the edges, as if acknowledging how close everything came to breaking. How strange it feels to be alive and here, together, after everything.

For Changbin, it’s a release. A break in the tight grip of fear he hadn’t even noticed was still holding onto him. The fear that you wouldn’t wake up, that you’d slip away silently like smoke through his fingers. A smoke he couldn’t control, burning in a fire he couldn’t save you from. But now, you’re laughing, and it’s the most beautiful sound he's heard in days.

You cover your mouth to muffle the sound, but Changbin just grins wider, his shoulders shaking as his hand drags down his face.

“Sorry—” you whisper between small gasps of laughter. “I-I don’t know why—”

“I don’t either,” Changbin admits, his eyes crinkling at the corners. But his voice is different now—less rough, less burdened. Like, for the first time since the fire, he’s let himself breathe.

And for a few stolen seconds, there’s nothing. Just two people, safe and awake and alive, sharing silly giggles in the quiet.

You can’t piece together how he ends up too shy and moves away, standing up, still giggling, but now, unbeknownst to you, blushing. He curses for the new-formed distance he can only blame himself for, excusing it with not wanting to overwhelm you by being too close. 

He manages —you can’t comprehend how— to fit, broad back, huge muscles and all, into the tiny surface area of the makeshift bed he’s created with the sofa in the room. 

Then, he turns off the lights. 

And then, nothing. 

You’re too afraid to move around in your bed, now painfully aware of the IV line plugged into your arm, and afraid to damage the bandages on your hand. 

But it’s too quiet. Too still. And even though the fire is gone, the smoke long cleared, something inside you still smolders. Some kind of restlessness, a need to fill the space with something. Anything. 

“Can you sleep?” your voice comes out in a whisper, rough but soft enough not to break the delicate quiet.

Changbin huffs a breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, but close. He could kiss you right now just for speaking, and —according to a dark, hidden part of his heart he didn’t usually listen to— if he wasn’t such a damn coward, he would. “No, not really.”

You purse your lips together and shift slightly against the pillow, careful not to jostle your bandaged hand. “Me neither.”

There’s another beat of silence, but this one feels expectant, like both of you are waiting for the other to speak.

And then, you turn on the lamp on the nightstand. 

“Would you rather…” Your voice is a little stronger now, a teasing edge creeping in. “Fight one horse-sized duck… or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

For a moment, there’s nothing.

And then Changbin lets out an incredulous chuckle. Soft, and full of disbelief. 

“You’re kidding.”

You shrug. Well, the best version of a shrug you can manage with your injuries. 

“You’d be surprised to know I am deadly serious.”

He sits up on the sofa and turns to face you, sitting almost crisscrossed, with a knee raised. There’s a soft ‘hmm’ he murmured as he ponders while stretching, the tension in his shoulders easing bit by bit. 

“The duck,” he says after a moment, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Get it by the neck and hold on for dear life.”

You blink, biting back a smile. “Solid strategy.”

He tilts his head, his own smile creeping in again. “Your turn.”

“Ask ahead then,” you grin teasingly. “Or should I say fire away?”

Changbin blinks. “Oh, god no. You’ve spoken with Chan once and you already have his stupid jokes.” He teases with a sarcastic dread in his tone. 

“Sure, sure, but go on. Blaze ahead.”

“Shut up,” he whines playfully, laughing, trying to come up with another would you rather question. 

“C’mon, mister fireman. Ignite me.” You giggle, hugging your knees. “I’m burning with curiosity.” 

“Okay, okay, goddamnit,” he laughs. “Would you rather… have to wear a superhero cape every day or bunny ears for a year?” 

You smile. “That’s easy. Bunny ears for sure.” He leans against the sofa, propping his head up with his hand as he listens to you. “I mean. They can look half decent,” you solve with a shrug. “Besides, if good cinema ever taught me anything, it’s that capes are nothing but a nuisance.”

“Isn’t that from The Incredibles?” He snorts. “Like, the kids movie?”

“Oh, hell yeah it is. But that movie is solid gold, c’mon.”

And just like that, the weight of the night shifts again, the stillness breaking apart as the two of you slip into this quiet, strange game.

Two people who can’t sleep.

Two people who survived.

At some point you tease him to such an extent he moves back to the stool —to prove a point, sure, and to shorten the distance, most likely. You find out that Chan had packed clothes for Changbin to change into in the hospital, and when he goes to grab a sweater, out of the backpack falls a forgotten deck of UNO cards, loosely tied together by what Seo recognizes to be one of Hyunjin’s lost hair ties.

There’s only a chorus of playful snickers as the duel begins between the two of you and the colourful cards being settled on the edge of the nightstand. 

Two people who don’t want to sleep right now.

Two people who are alive.

And maybe —just maybe— two people who are starting to feel something more. 

At least, more than your average firefighter-victim relationship.

[.]

Eventually, the game slows. The stack of UNO cards sits forgotten on the nightstand, a few strays scattered across the blanket between you. Neither of you says it, but the thrill of competition has fizzled out, replaced by something quieter. Something neither of you wants to name just yet.

Changbin leans back in the chair, his arms crossed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess we’re both too stubborn to lose,” he says. You grin. 

A beat of silence. Then…

“So…” you say, shifting slightly under the blanket. “Would you rather… go back to Would You Rather?”

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head, but there’s no protest, merely teasing. “Fine,” he says, his grin matching yours. “But only because you’re clearly terrible at UNO.”

You gasp in mock offense, and the banter starts again, light, easy, a comfortable rhythm.

The questions start off silly.

“Would you rather only eat spicy ramen for the rest of your life or never eat ramen again?”

“Would you rather glow in the dark or leave a trail of sparkles everywhere you go?”

But slowly, without either of you meaning to, the questions shift. Until. 

“Would you rather be anywhere else but here right now?”

It’s a quiet question —not a joke, not a tease— and it hangs between you for a moment too long.

Your smile trembles in your lips.

You think quietly. Would you? Be anywhere else? Because, if you dare to be true to yourself, this is the first time you’ve felt at home ever since you moved to the city. No fake smiles. No jokes you don’t understand. No friends with inside comments you don’t get, and that apparently you can’t because ‘you just had to be there.’ No stingy comments. Just the warmth of a foreign body next to yours. A stranger. 

The warmest stranger you’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter. And even though warmth —fire— seems quite scary right now, your answer still stands. 

You don’t look at him when you answer. “No,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t.”

The words are simple, but the weight behind them isn’t.

Because you’re still here —still breathing, still alive— and maybe you don’t want to be anywhere else because here, at least, you aren’t alone. With him, you don’t feel alone. Not as much as you felt the moment you went to bed. 

Changbin doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, his thumb absently brushing over the edge of the blanket. A small, repetitive motion.

And then softly, like he’s choosing his words carefully —almost like it’s not a game anymore—, his tongue twisted with the weight of his next few words, almost as heavy as yours. 

“Would you rather… be alone tonight?”

Your heart skips.

The answer is already there, caught in your throat. But it still takes a moment for you to say it. To admit it. Although you’re not quite sure if it’s to you, to him, or rather the certainty that saying it out loud brings. 

“No.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, your voice, quiet but steady this time, breaks it again. 

“Will you… stay?” You swallow dry. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—“

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay.”

And for a long moment, neither of you moves.

Until, finally, you shift. Barely, just slightly, but still making enough room on the bed. An invitation.

He hesitates again. A part of him knows it’s not because he doesn’t want to, but because there’s a line he’s not sure he’s allowed to cross.

But then, carefully —like he’s afraid to disturb the moment, the bed, the silence, and the worded weight around you two— he sits.

The bed dips under his weight, a soft shift that somehow makes the silence heavier. You don’t move away, and neither does he. There’s a space between you, but it’s small. Smaller than it was before.

His shoulder brushes yours, his hand too, and for a moment, that’s all there is. The quiet thrum of the heart monitor. The faint buzz of the nightstand light. The soft rhythm of two people breathing in the same pocket of air.

Changbin leans back against the wall, his head tilting just enough that the side of it barely grazes the top of yours. He smells like faint smoke and clean laundry. Like something steady. Something safe.

For a long while, neither of you speaks.

Until you do.

“Do you do this often?” you whisper.

He blinks. “What?”

There’s a tremor of hesitation in your voice. As if a part of you doesn’t want to know. Nevertheless, you clarify the question. 

“Stay with people like this.” You lick your lips.” After saving their lives.”

His throat bobs with a swallow, and there’s a beat before he answers. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t.”

Your fingers curl into the blanket, but you nod like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like the fact that he’s still here doesn’t send a quiet flutter through your ribs.

His voice, rough but gentle, breaks the silence again. “Would you rather… talk about what happened?”

The question hits like a spark in the dark, soft, but impossible to ignore.

Your chest tightens. The fire, the smoke, the feeling of heat licking at your heels, your arms, your hand, your face.  It’s all there, just beneath the surface.

But then there’s him. Here. Real.

“No,” you whisper. “Not right now.”

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask why. Instead, he shifts —the smallest movement— and for a brief, fleeting second, his hand brushes yours. A ghost of a touch.

And maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s something else.

But your fingers catch his before he can pull away.

He freezes. 

Outside the hospital, the night is cool and quiet, the air thick with the lingering scent of rain. Rain after the storm of fire that raged, and now, calm. The pavement glistens under the dim glow of streetlights, slick with leftover droplets that catch the light like tiny stars. A soft breeze rustles through the trees lining the sidewalk, their leaves whispering secrets to the dark. In the distance, the occasional hum of a passing car cuts through the stillness, but here, just through the window of your hospital room, the world feels hushed. As if it, too, is holding its breath.

“Would you rather… stay like this?” you ask softly.

His hand, rough and calloused, slowly —carefully— closes around yours. His warmth seeps into your skin like a quiet promise. His grip, steady but gentle, as if afraid you might regret it and pull away, as if anchoring himself just as much as he’s anchoring you. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, absentminded motion, a silent reassurance, a quiet reply. 

He voices it. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I would.”

And for the first time all night, the silence doesn’t feel so heavy.

It feels like a promise.

The warmth of his hand lingers, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. You swallow, the weight in your chest shifting—not disappearing, but settling into something softer, something known. 

It triggers what, at first, you don’t mean to say out loud. But the words slip past your lips, quiet and a little broken. It’s a confession that hangs between you both, soft yet heavy, like smoke that hasn’t quite cleared.

“I’m scared to fall asleep.”

Changbin lets the silence settle, not uncomfortable, but steady, giving you the space to breathe through it. To own the fear without rushing to fix it.

Then, just as your chest tightens from the weight of your own words, his voice cuts through the quiet. Low, rough around the edges.

“You don’t have to,” he says simply. “Not alone.”

And something about the way he says it —as if it’s the easiest promise in the world— makes your throat burn. Not from smoke this time.

You inhale slowly, shakily, and exhale even slower. And before you can stop yourself, you shift —again, just a little— until your head finds the slope of his shoulder.

It’s tentative at first. A question more than a gesture.

But when Changbin leans into you and squeezes your hand, just enough to let you know it’s okay, the tension inside you unravels.

Your breathing evens out, the beep of the heart monitor blending into the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath your cheek.

And for the first time since the fire —since the fear— you start to feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re safe. At least with him by your side. 

And yet, even if his actions don’t let you see through it, your words tug at something deep in him.

Because for hours —since pulling you from the flames— he’s been fighting a battle no one can see. A war of what ifs and almosts.

What if he hadn’t found you in time?

What if the fire had moved faster?

He’s a firefighter. He’s used to running into danger, to carrying people out of the worst moments of their lives —but it’s never felt like this before.

It’s never felt so… personal.

And now, with you here —breathing, alive, safe— his chest still aches like he’s been the one pulled from the smoke.

Your head rests lightly on his shoulder, and Changbin doesn’t move.

At first, it’s because he doesn’t want to startle you —doesn’t want to make you second-guess the small, fragile moment unfolding between you. But then the reason changes.

He doesn’t move because he can’t.

Because suddenly, the weight of you against him —soft, real, alive— is the only thing holding him together. It hits him like a slow burn, the kind of feeling that creeps in quietly before it consumes everything. All the panic he’s been swallowing since the fire. All the fear he’s ignored since he carried you out of that building.

It’s never bothered him before —the risk, the running headfirst into danger —but this is different. He has no idea why, but you are different.

And now that you’re here, leaning into him, trusting him enough to admit you’re scared, he feels the ache in his chest shift into something else entirely. Something harder to name.

He lets out a slow breath, careful not to disturb the way you fit so perfectly against him, your head on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck.

It’s terrifying, in its own way. How easy this feels. How natural it is to have you this close, like you’re not a stranger he pulled from the fire, but someone he’s always known. His hand moves, fingers threading, his thumb stroking the back of your palm. Touch you like he needs it. To reassure himself you’re still there.

He watches the rise and fall of your chest, the soft flutter of your eyelashes as you fight to stay awake, and somewhere in the quiet, with the scent of antiseptic in the air and the distant hum of hospital machines, a single, unshakable thought roots itself in his mind.

He’s not just protecting you anymore. He wants to.

Not because it’s his job. Not because he’s a firefighter. 

He doesn’t move because… he likes it.

It’s quiet,  the kind of quiet that only happens in the middle of the night, when the world feels smaller, softer. And somehow, despite the distinct sterile smell of hospital all over, and the distant hum of machines, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

It feels safe.

And that’s what surprises him most. Not that you leaned into him, that he doesn’t mind. His heart dares to encourage it, screaming at him to put his arm around your shoulders, to try and make you more comfortable. 

What surprises him is that it feels… easy. He isn’t sure what to make of it. You’re still somewhat of a stranger —someone he pulled from the fire, someone he met hours ago— but that doesn’t change the fact that right now, the weight of your head against his shoulder and your hand in his feels more grounding than anything else has all night.

He’s not overthinking it, not really. He doesn’t have the energy to pick it apart. All he knows is that you asked him to stay, and somehow, that is all it takes.

So he stays.

It’s daring, his heart beating in his chest loudly. He’s almost afraid you can hear it, but his actions don’t falter, as he softly —tenderly— moves the two of you lower on the bed, and even softer now, he moves your head closer to the crook of his neck, letting you use his arm as a pillow below your head. 

He lets out a slow breath, careful not to disturb the moment. For the first time since the fire, since the smoke, since the chaos, the silence doesn’t feel so heavy.

He smiles as you fall asleep next to him. 

And he, too, as he watches you breathe, ends up falling asleep. 

[.]

The morning light filters through the thin hospital curtains, casting soft golden stripes across the room. The world outside has begun to stir —distant footsteps in the hall, the squeak of a wheel on a gurney— but here, in this small pocket of time, it’s still quiet.

Changbin’s eyes flutter open first.

For a moment, he doesn’t move —doesn’t even breathe too loudly—, because the weight of your head is still there, resting on his arm, that while he was asleep dared to surround your shoulders and pull you just a bit closer. The scent of antiseptic and smoke has long faded into something softer, something he can’t quite name, but it feels like you.

He should move. Move you, too. He should sit up and stretch the cramp out of his neck, maybe step outside to get a coffee.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his lashes lower again, and he lets himself go still, pretending to be asleep, even though his heart is wide awake.

He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s the way your breathing syncs with his, soft and even. Maybe it’s the fragile stillness of the moment, and how moving might break whatever delicate thread is holding it together.

Your eyelids twitch before they lift, a slow, groggy blink as the world slips back into focus. The dull ache in your limbs, the sterile scent of the hospital, the soft warmth of a body against yours —it all comes back at once.

And then you notice him.

Changbin, head tilted just slightly toward your neck, your face, breathing steady, eyes closed. 

Still here. Your heart gives a little stutter, almost like a giggle.

For a second, you just watch him. Watch the way his dark hair falls across his forehead. You miss that, contrary to the last time you watched him asleep, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep isn’t there. As if even the part of him that is always ready to wake up, always ready to move also relaxes against you. The calloused hand that rests near yours, not quite touching anymore, but close enough that a shift —a single slip of your pinky— would bridge the gap.

It’s a quiet, still moment. One you could hold onto for a little longer if you wanted. But then your body betrays you —a sight, a slight shift of your neck, a sharper inhale— and Changbin’s lashes flicker. His breathing changes.

And even though you don’t notice at first, the rise and fall of his chest is a little too controlled, his head just a little too still.

You blink at him.

He’s awake.

Your lips twitch.

He’s pretending to be asleep.

The corners of your mouth lift, your heart a strange mixture of warm and restless in your chest. You dare to wobbly move closer to him, and you almost laugh when his breathing stills. 

“You’re a terrible actor,” you murmur next to his ear, voice hoarse from sleep but carrying enough playfulness to break the quiet.

Changbin’s lips twitch —just barely— before his eyes open softly, a dark brown gaze meeting yours like he’s been caught.

“Was worth a shot,” he rasps back with a smile. His cheeks blush without him knowing. 

“I’m glad you’re a firefighter,” you tease again. “Keep in mind not to act.” 

A small laugh escapes you—hoarse, a little fragile, but real. It slips through the quiet like a spark, and you catch the way Changbin’s smile softens in response, his head still resting against yours.

“You do this often?” you tease, your voice still scratchy but playful. “Fake sleeping next to… strangers?”

His smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Only when they ask me to stay.”

The words hang in the air for a second too long.

Something shifts—like a silent inhale neither of you dare to take—and suddenly, the joke feels heavier. Not enough to crush the moment, but enough to remind you both why you’re here, why his shoulder is under your head, why neither of you really want to move just yet. He’s close. Really close. 

It’s Changbin who speaks first, his voice quieter now. “How… how do you feel?”

You swallow, licking your lips. “Well.” Your bandaged hand travels to scratch your eye. “Like I’ve been in a fire.”

That earns a chuckle from him—a little rough, but genuine—and the sound makes your chest swoon in a way that has nothing to do with smoke inhalation. The smile lingers on his face, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it. Concern, maybe, or something close enough to it. His hand shifts, fingers that move a strand of hair away from your face, and then lowering, grazing the hem of your blanket, like he’s not sure what to do with them now.

“You really stayed the whole time?” you ask softly.

Changbin’s gaze drops for a beat, then lifts back to yours. “Yeah.” A small shrug. “Didn’t really want to leave.”

Your heart does something strange—tightens and warms all at once.

Neither of you speak after that. Not immediately.

And when you shift just a little closer, as if wanting to melt in the warmth that surrounds him and that lemon-scented soap he must have used, your shoulder still pressed against his, your hand resting near his on the blanket—he doesn’t move away.

If anything, it feels like he leans in too.

The quiet between you stretches —not uncomfortable, but something else. Something that feels like a held breath.

You glance at his hand, resting just inches from yours, and for a fleeting moment, you think about closing the distance. Last time, it came out as a reflex, but now, you can’t help but think. About what it might mean. About how absurd it is that this man —this firefighter you barely know— has somehow anchored himself into this strange, raw part of your life.

But before the thought can settle, there’s a soft knock at the door. Changbin’s heart panics and he sits up, although his hand doesn’t move an inch away from yours. 

It’s the nurse. Minho. He pokes his head in, offering a small smile. “Good to see you awake,” he says warmly. “The doctor will be in soon to talk about your discharge.”

Discharge.

The word hits harder than you expect. And it shouldn’t, because this is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? To get out of the hospital, to go back to your life, to leave all of this behind —the fire, the smoke, the fear, the sterile smell of antiseptic.

But suddenly, it feels like a thread is about to be cut.

You nod slowly, murmuring a quiet “thank you,” and the nurse slips back out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence again.

Changbin’s hand twitches —just a small movement, but enough to pull your attention back to him. His jaw works for a moment, like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t know how to spit out.

“So,” you say, because the quiet feels too heavy now. “Guess I’m leaving soon.”

His gaze flickers to the door, then back to you. “Yeah. Looks like it.” There’s a smile on his face, but it’s softer now —something caught between relief and hesitation. “It’s a good thing.”

Another pause.

You should say something —anything— but the words knot in your throat.

It’s Changbin who finally breaks the silence.

“Will you be… okay?” he asks, his voice quieter than before. “When you go home?”

The question is simple, but there’s something underneath it —something more than concern. Something almost like please don’t make this the last time we talk. And you feel it too.

It’s then when it hits him.

You haven’t called anyone. Not since you woke up. Not once.

He keeps his voice steady, but there’s a new edge to it now, a careful sort of concern. “Did you want to… let someone know? That you’re okay?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

“Family, a friend, a…,” he says, a little too quickly, like the words have been sitting on his tongue for a while now. The last one somehow doesn’t come out, as if he struggles with it. “I just… noticed you haven’t called anyone.”

Your throat tightens. He’s right, you didn’t. You hadn’t even thought about it.

The realization makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with smoke inhalation.

Your lips part, but no words come.

Because the truth settles in like a stone in your chest.

You can’t call your family, your dad long gone, your mom in another country and your grandma in a nursing home too far away. Calling would just make them worry. 

And you… don’t want to call your friends.

The realization creeps in slowly, like smoke slipping under a door. Quiet, suffocating. There’s no one waiting outside the hospital for you, no missed calls from anyone who knows what happened—because no one knows, at least not that you know too. Just silence.

Your throat tightens. You blink down at your lap, your fingers curling into the edge of the bedsheet, where Changbin had slept. “I… don’t know,” you mutter finally. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either —just something soft enough to hide behind.

Changbin watches you carefully, his gaze steady, the line between his brows deepening. “No one?”

You shake your head once, keeping your focus fixed on the folds of fabric in your lap. “Not really.”

It’s quiet for a moment, long enough for your heart to thud against your ribs, for the ache behind your sternum to press even harder.

Then Changbin clears his throat softly. “What about… a partner?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

He shrugs, his voice quieter now. “Just thought… maybe you’d want to call them. Let them know you’re okay.”

A pause. Then, a small, dry chuckle slips from your lips —not bitter, but slightly amused. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Changbin blinks, his mouth parting just slightly. “Oh.” It’s not much, but the surprise in his voice is unmistakable. His brows twitch, his lips part slightly —like the answer catches him off guard more than it should.

The room feels quieter now.

You glance down at your lap, your fingers playing with the edge of the hospital blanket. “No emergency contacts… no boyfriend…” you say softly, more to yourself than him. “It’s just me.”

It’s the first time either of you really acknowledges it. The fact that when you woke up, there was no one else to call.

No one but him.

And Changbin, without thinking, starts fidgeting with his hands, scratching the small bits of dead skin around his nails —not out of anxiety, but something else entirely. Something he can’t name yet.

Another beat of silence.

Changbin doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits there, still as stone. It’s not like he expected you to have someone waiting in the wings — a boyfriend, a best friend, a sibling— but the fact that you didn’t… the fact that when you woke up, he was the only one sitting at your bedside…

It settles into him like a slow-burning flame. Like a candle that cheekily refuses to light while you battle to not burn your fingers as you hold the lit match closer to it. Because suddenly, it’s not just about the fire anymore. It’s not just about the rescue or about saving someone because it’s his job.

It’s about you.

He thinks about the way you clung to his sleeve when he tried to leave you in the ambulance. The way you asked him to stay, like he was the only steady thing in the chaos. The way you fell asleep in his arms last night, breathing slow and soft like maybe, just maybe, being close to him made you feel a little safer.

And now, the quiet way you admit like it’s just a fact, not a tragedy  that it’s “just you” makes something tug in his chest, something sharp and strange, because you don’t have anyone else right now, but his heart somehow stands with pride. 

You’re still here, his heart says. You can stay longer. 

And for reasons he can’t explain —reasons he’s too mentally drained to untangle— Changbin suddenly wants to be someone for you. Maybe not the person. Maybe not anything special. But someone.

Someone who stays.

[.]

The discharge process moves forward around you, impersonal and efficient.

A nurse removes the IV from your hand with practiced ease, placing a small piece of gauze over the spot before securing it with medical tape. “You’re all set,” she says. “Doctor will be in soon with your paperwork. Just take it easy for the next few days.”

You nod, murmuring a quiet thanks, but your attention is elsewhere, on the way Changbin hasn’t moved from his spot by the window, arms crossed over his chest, staring outside like the world beyond the hospital walls holds some kind of answer he’s not ready to face.

You crack your knuckles absentmindedly —only the ones in your healthy hand, just in case—, and also rubbing at the faint indentation the IV left behind. The room feels… different now. Lighter, maybe. Too light, like something’s being lifted away before you’re ready to let it go.

“So,” you say, just to fill the silence. “Guess I’m finally getting kicked out of here.”

Changbin exhales a short, amused breath, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess so.”

A pause. Too long. Too loaded.

You don’t know what to say to make this feel normal. You should be relieved—you are relieved—but there’s something about the way the past several hours have unfolded, about how much space he’s taken up in them, that makes leaving feel… strange.

He turns to you then, shifting his weight like he’s about to say something important, but the door swings open before he can.

The doctor steps in with a clipboard, professional and efficient, talking about medications, follow-up care, rest. You try to focus, nodding in the right places, but your thoughts are still tangled somewhere between the hospital bed and the quiet weight of Changbin’s presence beside it.

And when the doctor finally hands you the discharge papers and tells you you’ll soon be good to go, the realization settles in.

You don’t want to. Not yet.

And you’re not sure if it’s the hospital you’re reluctant to leave—or the person standing across from you, watching you like he might not be ready either.

Changbin turns around again. Changbin hasn’t moved from his spot by the window. Arms crossed, shoulders tense, he watches the city outside, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights. The world keeps moving—cars humming down rain-slick roads, neon signs flickering against the glass, people going about their lives as if nothing has changed.

But everything has changed.

He exhales, watching his breath fog faintly against the cold surface, only to realize something else reflected in the glass.

Someone else.

You.

Seated on the edge of the hospital bed, fingers grazing the fresh gauze on your hand, eyes lowered in quiet thought.

He stops looking at the view. And Seo starts looking at you.

Your expression is unreadable, lips slightly parted like there’s something on the tip of your tongue you haven’t decided whether to say. There’s something almost fragile about the moment—like if he moves too suddenly, it might break.

And he doesn’t want to break it.

So he just… watches. Takes in the way exhaustion still clings to you, the way you breathe a little slower now, steadier, but not quite at ease.

And then, as if you can feel his eyes on you, your gaze lifts—and meets his through the glass.

His breath catches.

And suddenly, the view behind the glass doesn’t seem so important anymore.

“Take a picture, mister firefighter,” you smile. “It’ll last longer.”

You shift in the bed and pat the space beside you, inviting him closer. His eyes tell some kind of story you want to read but don’t know the language. Yours blink. Your heart knows it’d make you learn it in a beat if it meant staying longer in this no-smoke bubble. 

Changbin huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head, but he doesn’t look away just yet. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s debating saying something, but instead, he just watches you for a second longer before finally pushing away from the window.

He hesitates for only a breath before accepting the silent invitation, moving to sit beside you on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and for a moment, neither of you say anything.

Up close, you notice the exhaustion still clinging to his features, the way his shoulders seem a little heavier, the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable. And yet, there’s also warmth there, something steady in the way he stays.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable, but thick with something unsaid.

You steal a glance at him, only to find him already looking at you. His lips part slightly like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

And you… Well, you don’t want this to end.

Your fingers curl slightly into the blanket as if you could somehow hold onto this moment, but before you can find the words, he beats you to it. Except—

“You—”

“I—”

You both stop, startled into a quiet laugh. Changbin exhales through his nose, shaking his head, and then—he gives up.

“I want to…” He hesitates just long enough for your breath to catch. But then, instead of finishing the thought, he turns to the nightstand, grabbing the pen from the forgotten clipboard.

The scratch of ink on paper is soft, deliberate.

And when he’s done, he tears the corner of the page and holds it out to you.

“Just… call me when you want someone to stay.”

He presses the slip of paper into your palm and steps back. Not far, just enough. Just enough to pretend like this is normal. Like this doesn’t feel like some invisible —red, perhaps— thread pulling tight between you.

Then he turns, heading for the door.

And even after the nurse steps in, after she greets you softly and pulls out a bundle of neatly folded clothes, Changbin lingers just outside. Not leaving. Not quite staying. Just there.

Seo exhales—long and slow, like it might clear the weight pressing down on his chest. It doesn’t.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, fingers tapping restlessly against his bicep. He should go. He should be walking out of here, leaving this behind like any other rescue. That’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s what he always does.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead, his mind latches onto the way your fingers brushed his when you took the paper, and how you held his hand even asleep. The way your lips parted, like you wanted to say something but never did. 

His chest feels too tight.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He’s done his job. You’re safe. That should be enough.

But it’s not.

He lets his head thud lightly against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He shouldn’t be indulging in this. Not when he knows better. Not when he’s spent years keeping distance between himself and the people he saves. Not when he’s been told what happens when one gets too close, again and again by the other firefighters he works with. 

But it’s already too late, isn’t it?

Because you’re not just another person he pulled out of a fire. You’re the one who looked at him like you weren't afraid anymore. The one who made him laugh at two in the morning with dumb would-you-rather questions and stupid UNO strategies. The one who fell asleep on his shoulder like you trusted him.

And now, as he waits—just a few feet away, just out of sight—he can feel it. That quiet, aching part of him that already wants to go back inside. Just to see if you’re still there, even if he knows you are. Just to see if you’ll look at him one last time before you leave.

The hospital lobby is quiet at this hour, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the low murmur of the receptionist confirming details on a form. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a dull glow over everything, making the world outside the glass doors seem softer, almost unreal in contrast.

Changbin stands a few feet away, hands tucked in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He tells himself he’s just waiting. Just making sure everything is settled before he goes. But really, he knows that’s not it.

You’re focused on the papers in front of you, signing where the receptionist points, nodding along to instructions about rest, about medications, about things that should concern him far less than they do.

He should leave.

Really, he should.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

His gaze drifts to the reflection in the glass doors. He can see you there, the slight furrow of your brows as you concentrate, the way you lift a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. It’s nothing. A simple, everyday motion. But for some reason, it tugs at something deep in his chest.

Changbin knows he shouldn’t linger.

Not just because of the hour or because his shift technically ended long ago—but because of what he is. A firefighter. His job is to step in when disaster strikes. To pull people from burning buildings, to keep them breathing, to make sure they see another day. But that’s all it should be. A duty. A moment in time. He’s not supposed to indulge in anything beyond that.

He’s not supposed to care like this.

And yet, he stands there, watching you in the reflection of the glass doors, fingers curling and uncurling in his pockets.

You don't look at him. Don’t seem to notice he’s still here. But maybe that’s how it should be. Because he shouldn’t be here still. 

You keep your eyes on the forms in front of you, pen poised but unmoving. You could look at him—just once, just for a second—but you don't. You can’t. 

Because if you do, you’ll see him watching you. You’ll see the way he lingers, the way he hesitates. And you’d know. You would know that whatever this is, it’s most likely not one-sided.

And that terrifies you, because it would be easier if it were. It would be easier if this was just gratitude, just the remnants of fear clinging to your bones. If you could shake this feeling off like soot after a fire.

But you can’t.

And you’re scared that if you reach for him, if you hold on too tight, he’ll slip through your fingers like smoke. So you keep your head down. Focus on the receptionist’s voice, on the weight of the pen in your hand, on anything but the man standing just a few feet away. If you look at him, you might do something reckless. 

Like ask him to stay.

Neither of you will know what the other one thinks, not as you scribble and nod to the receptionist in front of you, or as he exhales, slow and quiet, and turns toward the exit. Steps forward, each footfall feeling heavier than it should. Out into the night, away from whatever this was, full of a strange tightness in his chest and a sense of melancholy, driven only by his own thoughts.

Maybe it was just a moment, they both think, hoping it that way in a chance to make it easier to leave. Maybe it’s not something worth turning back for.

Still, something inside Changbin makes him look back, wondering if he should go inside again, until his phone rings. He picks it up, and quickly heads outside. 

The receptionist smiles at you, but then curses lowly, apologizing and telling you she needs to go print another document for you to sign. As she stands up and leaves, you look back. 

Changbin isn’t there anymore. 

Maybe it’s the receptionist, in that absentminded, routine way people have, that when she gets back and hands you the last document and casually says, “Sign here, and then you’re all set.”

All set.

It should be a good thing, shouldn’t it? You should want to leave. You do want to leave. But the words land too heavily in your chest, and for a split second, you forget how to move. How to write your own stupid signature. 

Because all set means it’s over. It means the space between you two is about to stretch too far, and suddenly, it feels like there’s not enough air in the room.

You grip the pen too tightly, signing. He looks inside the hospital one more time, and clenches his fists at his sides, leaving.

You don’t look at each other. Because if you do, you might not be able to let go.

You might be all set after exiting the hospital on your own.

But with the weight on your chest as you look up to the window of the room you’ve just been in, there’s a gnawing feeling in the back of your throat that makes you think—

things are far from over.

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

~kats, who’s brain did indeed rot and is now in love with firefighter binnie.

catiuskaa, april 2025 ©

ep 2 will be out in two weeks time! <3

[eldritchamy]

I think I've figured out a good way to articulate one of the reasons Human Domestication Guide is hitting for me in a way really not much else has done for a long time.

HDG is an inverse fandom.

Whereas a lot of fanfiction (maybe just for the sake of the pun we can expand outwards, wink, and call them "transformative works") takes at the core of its nature a specific character or group of characters, and then transplants (sorry, I had to) those characters into Alternate Universes in order to keep telling altered, revised, and original stories with those CHARACTERS, while changing everything else, HDG does the opposite.

It takes the SETTING as the core defining feature, and creates original CHARACTERS in order to tell original stories.

And that's really cool for reasons that, of course, ended up becoming another gigantic one of Amy's Patented Infodump Posts.

Most fanfiction gets to appeal to its audience because of the associations and attachments readers have for the CHARACTERS, and then create a new story from there without having to spend time setting up WHO THE STORY IS ABOUT for you. I don't say this as a bad thing, that's just the attraction. The readers bring their attachment to the characters WITH them before they start reading.

HDG gets to assume you understand the SETTING as a basic premise, and then tell new stories with original characters without having to hold your hand through as much of the set up work, because you already know the SETTING going in.

So instead of discovering how the characters you know relate to a world you don't (and to each other within that context), you get stories where you get to discover who the characters ARE, in the context of a world you already understand.

It's not "what does a different setting do to these characters." It's "how do different people navigate this setting."

You get to meet and learn and identify with the CHARACTERS because you see how they as unique people react to a set premise.

So much of what I've read so far has done exceptional work establishing who the characters are, even making MINOR characters within the story feel like fleshed out people.

You'd think in a setting that takes at face value the premise of humanity being subjugated and doted on by a species that uses mind control drugs to turn them into docile, obedient pets, the stories would struggle a bit with sameness as the individuality of the characters failed to shine through or were inevitably suppressed over the course of the plot.

In practice, it seems like almost the OPPOSITE is true.

The Affini always win. But every character chooses to lose to them in a different way that speaks to who they are as people.

Getting to explore these unique stories through the eyes of unique characters seems like it's making it EASIER to latch on to what makes THESE characters the focus of the stories being told.

And so far the stories being told are fucking great, and have such a huge range to them.

The original story for the setting is a VERY non consensual medfet/drug play subjugation story where Elvira (captain of a ship for the Free Terran feralist rebellion) is ABSOLUTELY brought into domestication by force (at first), and we get to see the PROCESS of her being broken down and becoming something new over the course of (what we later learn has been ONLY) about three weeks. She's not the same person she was at the start of the story. At all. She's been utterly replaced by a new identity and personality that the old version of her would never have accepted. (Also it's kinda hot that it's actually good for her, and that she very much DOES end up happier for it. She's still Elvira. But she's safe, and she's loved.)

That's a pretty specific vibe for a story.

But the next story I read in the setting takes place over the course of several hours in-universe, and basically follows a dysfunctional, clearly neurodivergent woman stagnating in the limbo of having been failed by capitalism (or in her mind, failing at it) and having mixed feelings about the staggeringly powerful alien civilization that is currently part way through conquering her planet and its people.

The story starts off when she's so hungry after scraping through what scant, nutritionless garbage she was able to find in the capitalist dystopia that it finally overrides her fear, and she goes to the border of Affini-controlled territory in her city. She figures, they're going to do whatever they're going to do to the rest of the city within a few days anyway, so there's no sense pretending whatever outcome she's walking into wasn't inevitable, and even if it's not as good as the Affini promise, at least it's not what she's been stuck in. Fear of sameness finally becomes more traumatic than fear of change.

She proceeds to go on an adorable lesbian grocery date with a 10 foot tall plant that gently flirts with her while remaining very firm that all of this human's needs CAN and SHOULD and WILL be taken care of FOR her from now on, and it's OKAY that she has trouble focusing because it's OKAY that some people need more help than others.

She spends several chapters experiencing repeated Lesbian Bluescreens because of this sweet, doting alien who insists it's no trouble at all and she's happy to help. Then said alien takes her back to her apartment on the human side to make sure she feels safe getting there through the anti-Affini protests, and then in a matter of minutes she has cleaned this girl's entire disaster of an apartment and promised to cook her a nice Terran pizza.

Then the girl has a lesbian panic attack while coming to terms with how much misery she didn't have to be living with, and whether this future isn't exactly what she always hoped for and more, so the alien offers to give her some alien drugs to calm her down, and her now fuzzy brain accidentally crumbles under the weight of all the secret petplay fantasies that have been turning her face red all morning and she accidentally calls the alien "Mistress", and then she goes home to THEIR place back in Affini territory with her new owner and gets absolutely spoiled until she falls asleep feeling safe and loved for the first time in her life.

COMPLETE tonal shift from the original story, but the LOGIC of the story is fully consistent with the setting. It's just a different character responding to that setting in a different way.

The range of what's possible is ENORMOUS.

I went from there to "two humans captured at different times struggle to find their way back to each other and end up with neural implants plugged into each other's brains by their shared Mistress, and the feedback loop helps them domesticate EACH OTHER" and then from there to a mostly historical context story about an Affini who lived for almost 300,000 years and how she feels about the Compact's role in everything they've done to the universe.

And then I got to read "I have to pretend to be a good little floret maid at an Affini Compact hotel because that's my Genius Spy Cover WHOOPS it turns out being a maid means getting teased and played with a lot WHOOPS, OHHhhh NOOOoo~ I'VE BEEN TURNED INTO A FREE USE HYPNO DOLL because EVERYONE KNEW I WAS A SPY THE WHOLE TIME, I'm going to resolve my mixed feelings by erotically betraying my co-conspirator so we can be floret girlfriends together," which was cute, funny, and INCREDIBLY hot.

Seriously, chapter 10 of that story. Holy FUCK. I think my brain has turned fully inside out. I had a DREAM kinda like it afterwards that I wish I could remember more of.

I guess my point is HDG is less like a fandom and more like DND.

It's a shared universe of collaborative storytelling, even if any individual work within it was made by one person.

You get to play within a core set of rules for how the setting works, but the stories that can come out of playing by those rules are so incredible and diverse and interesting, and I'm really enjoying getting to explore all of that within the context of a basic premise that has absolutely grabbed most of my kinks by the throat, stared menacingly into my eyes, and smirked knowingly.

Also it's INCREDIBLY queer and very obviously made specifically for gay autistic trans women who take progesterone, so I guess just like the rest of the little Terrans, I never stood a chance.

[yallthemwitches]

Like a lot of other authors/content creators in the HP fandom, I am feeling a sense of heaviness over the rulings that happened in the UK and feel the need to speak on my (albeit very complicated) feelings.

What JKR is doing is terrible. It will ruin lives. It will end lives.

If you feel like that is being hyperbolic, please go look up the suicide rates for the trans community. It's a staggering number and it only grows as people seeking information, comfort, and support are locked out of proper resources due to heinous legislations like the one passed yesterday.

It saddens me too because I know that so many in the LGBTIQA+ have found characters/stories in the HP universe that have spoken to them and helped to understand their personal journeys---only to have that comfort ripped away by the very person who created them.

If you can permit me to be personal for a second: My brother is trans and before/during his transition (this was early 2010s) he always cited Remus Lupin as one of the foundations for coming to terms with his trans identity because he saw some of his own internal struggle in Lupin's character. He even went so far as to write a letter to JKR (which, thank GOD he never sent...) thanking her for creating a character that aided him with the complicated feelings he had when there were no other resources for him.

My brother is now a psychologist specializing in the young trans community and speaking to him recently, he has said that he comes across this same story constantly and each one ends in tragedy because that little piece of solace and comfort was not just taken from them, but told them that no, actually. You thought wrong to see yourself in this character. You don't matter.

Watching what happened yesterday and knowing the long history of bigotry JKR has spouted for years now weighs heavy on my heart every time I step into this fandom and often I question if I should still contribute to it. I know it's not much, but I would like to share some of the things that keep me going--even when it all looks really fucking bleak:

Fanfiction and fanart are, at their foundation, anticapitalist works--and can be used to fight JKR's agenda. By consuming fanfic/fanart zero money goes towards JKR. None. And further, JKR has no say in how you use her characters in these spaces. So, if you want to use these creative outlets to uplift trans voices, please do! Support trans writers/artists and urge them to PERSIST--because I promise you nothing is going to tick off the ole' bitch more than trans bodies/ trans supporters writing her characters.

Just because the writer is the devil, doesn't mean the art has to be. I won't go into the concept of "death of the author" because I think it can be pockmarked to hell with various examples, but what I DO subscribe to is that once the art is out in the world, it is now owned by the person who consumes it. To put it simply: when I read HP I am POSITIVE I imagine characters/settings differently than the person next to me. It's the beauty of the imagination: the creator can give us the blocks but how it is built is contingent on how WE perceive it.

Did I mention money? DON'T GIVE IT TO HER. Buy the books/movies second hand. Pirate the media you wish to consume around the fandom. Don't give her any reason to give any more hate funding and instead send that money to trans communities and groups who need it (they REALLY need it.)

Maybe I'm naive to say this, but I don't think interacting with the story as an art form is bad. She invented it, sure, but she isn't in charge of what goes on in my brain. If anything, this fandom NEEDS the trans community and supporters within it because not only can they push back, but they can educate those who otherwise are listening to the author. Don't let her win the space even though she's the author. It's no longer hers to have.

If you are someone who wants to leave the fandom because you can't bear to watch her continue to destroy it--I completely understand. But, as someone who has been in this fandom for over 20 years, the one thing I've learned is: besides monetarily she doesn't own shit. Don't let her take what you love from you and don't let her get away with scaring people out of their community spaces. Support and love our trans brothers and sisters and enjoy your HP despite it all. The things you love are worth fighting for.

[usedpidemo]

Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth. 

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them. 

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them. 

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam. 

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing. 

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head. 

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else. 

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.   

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her. 

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door. 

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face. 

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again. 

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking. 

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty.  Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way. 

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked. 

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say. 

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to. 

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart. 

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning. 

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do. 

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection. 

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support. 

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw. 

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works. 

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down. 

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle. 

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin. 

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning. 

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits.  If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.” 

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it. 

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little. 

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we���ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless. 

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt. 

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.” 

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.” 

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out. 

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”  

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied. 

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall. 

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy. 

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely. 

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants. 

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.” 

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness. 

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom. 

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene. 

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking. 

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right. 

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her. 

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by. 

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers. 

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue. 

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body. 

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes. 

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’ 

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

[kuraidesuraven16]

Miraculous identity rant

I have seen videos, comments, post about the latest season 6 episode The ruler, mainly the aftermath of how Marc and Nathaniel decided to reveal to each other their hero identities.

People are saying that “ Ladybug should/ would take back their miraculous.” “They shouldn’t have a miraculous if they’re going to do that.” “They’re putting each other at risk.” I’m NOT saying people can’t have thoughts and opinions about the episode just Careful on how you phase your theories, watch back to some of the episode if needed to.

My main point

Since most aren’t reading it 💢

How is it far and acceptable to all these side characters revealing their identities and secrets but not when it comes to those two. Where was the hate with Alya and Nino or Kagami and Felix? Heterosexual couples that revealed their secrets to each other?

Since the comic was based off of them, Nath changed the ending so we don’t know what it is unless they choose to tell us. We also don’t know much about their character as they weren’t seen much in previous seasons other than the fact that they enjoy each others company, into fantasy, they love to work on comic and that’s about it.

Them knowing the identities of each other would help make them stronger in battle and future challenges just like the best friend group, Kagami and Felix, or probably with Myléne and Ivan.

I think the lesson on that last scene especially for Nathaniel is that he shouldn’t hide who he is with being bisexual in the term of him hiding his comic.

Marc being the one who had always been there to support his struggles, defending him by making up lies to his mom about a school assignment, jumping into danger to protect him from an akuma and being the shoulder for him to lean on.

I believe that they came to that term of their relationship where they shouldn’t keep any secrets from each other. With Nathaniel wanting to protect Marc but trusting him with that information.

Similar to gang of secret with Marinette dealing with an extremely difficult and stressful situation of now being the new guardian. Alya being her best friend was willing to wait and offer to help with whatever was on her mind until Marinette broke down and revealed to that she was Ladybug.

So why can’t Marc and Nathaniel do the same?

May I also remind the fans that in earlier seasons there has been countless reveals.

First off Chloe not only revealing a miraculous but also transforming into Queen bee in front of everyone and to the world.

Ladybug stated she could not give her the bee miraculous anymore as she had put herself and her loved ones in danger but proceed to still give it to her when they needed help.

Until the episode Miracle Queen where she betrayed them

Chloe had revealed the other heroes identity to the enemy breaking Ladybug’s trust in her.

Hawkmoth already knew Chloe and Kagami but that was just added more to the list with that information and the translation of the miraculous book which were probably saved in Tomoe Tsurugi’s laptop that’s now in Lila’s possession. She knows their identities.

Felix had also done the same in season 5 Emotion during the Diamond dance in front of people but not on screen for the world to see compare to Chloe.

His mom also knows but chose to keep it secret as she loves her son.

Ladybug did demand the miraculous back twice but randomly gave up.

Nino and Alya during season 2 Heroes day. Ladybug gave them the miraculous at the same time being unable to separate them from the current situation they were in even let them be permanent holders too.

When Alya went into hiding as Rena Furtive in season 4 Marinette told her to keep it a secret but she still told Nino.

Nino had also revealed his and Alya’s hero identity to Adrien in Rocket tear and Marinette finding out in Deflagration.

In season 5 Multiplication. Alix as Bunnix was revealed to the whole class by her dad with the addition of a Marc included in episode Reunion and Luka in the season 5 finale probably more but we’re unsure about that.

If they were to get akumatized ?

They haven’t been akumatized since their introduction in season 1 and 2

Puppeteer does not count as Nathaniel was not affected by the akuma but more forcefully transformed and controlled by a doll.

Same goes for Gamer 2.0 as everyone literally got turned into akumatized video game characters.

Even if they were in a upsetting or sad state to where they’re about to get akumatized. They’re able to break the hold knowing that they are both Miraculous holders just like Sabrina did in Daddycop.

Ladybug told them to keep it a secret.

Where? When? If you all are referring to the penalteam episode in season 4 Ladybug never told that to either of them.

During the part where she gave them their Miraculous she was reassuring Marc and suggested that Nathaniel joins. Never once did she say that people are forbidden to know their identities.

Ladybug to Marc: you’re too hard on yourself, you’re more talent than you realize.

Ladybug towards Nathaniel: you’ll use the power for the greater good and return it to me once the job is done.

What if people saw from the outside ?

Nathaniel’s window was being covered by the sun and if you ever look at building where the sun is shining then you’ll know can’t see nothing but bright light even when it’s setting.

The window could be tainted on the outside for privacy. Hardly doubt the bed frame did any help as that entire area was covered in glass.

Trees were covering some parts so we don’t know how tall Nathaniel’s place is.

Heck even Adrien has transformed in his room before countless time and one section of his wall is literally made of window.

What if one of them goes into hiding?

I don’t think it’s possible due to the fact they only knew each others.

If they knew Ladybug and Chat noir’s identity like Luka and Alix then I can see why.

The antagonist always to seem to want one thing which are the bug earrings and cat ring due to its ability to make a wish and not the other miraculous jewels even if some are extremely powerful like time travel, reset time, teleportation, transfer objects, have any power or object you want.

What if Chat Noir erases their memories?

His new ability to erase parts of memories are if the person is willing to accept it but that’ll erase only that part of their memories and throw away the whole point of trusting in each other.

[blorbologist]

Y'know, I think I figured out why the Hells still feel like a new low-level party to me, even though they're level 13 and almost 100 episodes in.

I don't quite think it's the lack of conversations, or the fact half the party's plot hooks are big ties to past campaigns - though that definitely plays a part.

... Bell's Hells still primarily rely on quest givers.

Most of their goals are given to them and do not feel organic to the party, and constantly remind us that the Hells are pretty much never the most powerful people in the room. Which is usually something you see with a low-level party.

NPCs offering jobs is not a bad thing; it's a very common plot hook. Matt has been extremely skilled with using NPC quest givers in those two campaigns. Not only do they provide an obvious plot thread, but they can put the party in the path of others (say, the Nein running into the Iron Shepherds while doing a job for the Gentleman and everything that came of that). And the Hells had a solid start with it too - Eshteross was an excellent quest giver!

The problem is that Bell's Hells have never really not had a quest giver.

Maybe it's a byproduct of the more plot-heavy structure of this campaign? But while prior parties have felt like they decided on their course of action and what they prioritized, Bell's Hells feels less like level 13 (13! Level 13!) experienced adventurers and more like an MMO group clicking on the exclamation point over an NPC's head. Where does the plot demand we go next? Who do we report back to?

They're level 13.

At level 13, Vox Machina had just defeated a necromantic city-state to clear their name and Percy's conscience. And, you know, the Conclave just destroyed Emon. No one was explicitly telling the group to gather Vestiges and save the world (though Matt guided them there), and they were usually among the most powerful people in the room. They chose which Vestiges to prioritize, which dragons to tackle when, even if the over-all plot was pretty clear.

At level 13, the Mighty Nein were celebrating Traveler Con (another PC goal, I'll note) after brokering peace between two nations, accidentally becoming pirates and heroes of the Dynasty. The Nein regularly chose what to do based on personal goals, not grand ones. Though definitely smaller fish than Vox Machina at this level, they were very independent and gaining solid political clout.

While we're at it: level 13 is one level lower than the Ring of Brass, who had a huge amount of sway over Avalir. They ended the world, and also saved it, while in the grand scheme of things being only a smidge more powerful than Bell's Hells are now.

Can you really see the Hells wielding that amount of influence, when they're constantly being told what to do next?

The god-eater might be unleashed, so Bell's Hells have no time to do anything but what is asked of them. No time for therapy unless stolen from Feywild time, no travel on foot and late-night watches. They haven't even had time to grieve FCG. Percy was grieved in the middle of the Conclave arc. Molly was grieved when half the party was still in irons.

Matt is in the very unfortunate spot of not being able to give the Hells the same agency as the other two parties. Not only because of the world-ending plot introduced so early on; they are surrounded by characters they know (and the cast knows) are stronger and wiser than them - the familiarity of the past PCs and NPCs is to their disadvantage.

Why would the party reasonably ignore Keyleth's task that will help save the world and go off on a romp? Why would the cast when they know well Keyleth has to be sensible and with the best intentions in mind? The stakes are just too high.

It means that the Hells still feel like they're running errands instead of pursuing their own destiny. Their accomplishments are diminished as just being parts of a to-do list, and any stakes feel padded by several level 20 PCs/NPCs standing 5 steps away ready to catch them.

This isn't Bell's Hell's fault, nor is it Matt's. It could be amended, I think, if the Hells are really left to their own devices for a long period of time without support and shortcuts (like during the party split)... which would be really tricky to pull off at this point in the campaign.

They're level 13. They're big fish, but they're stuck in a pond full of friendly sharks, so they don't feel big at all.

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 33

(Rook is one of the few to actually swear himself as a Knight in service of the Human and he wears this title like a badge of honor. Rook doesn't need the actual armor part of his ensemble, but he likes the way they look on him and he appreciates the consistent theming of the Queendom garb. The Knight of Roses is actually a style in the Queendom reserved for royal guards. Most royal guards in the past were tasked with protecting the royal Humans and the royal family, so it is more tradition in the Queendom to dress the current day Human's guards in this armor.)

Warnings: yandere, yandere behavior, multiple yanderes, violently protective yanderes, poaching attempt, unnamed character injury, Queendom Citizens, speciest behavior, mention of weapons, mention of clothing of various kinds, dancing, Harpy, Alicorn, Dragon, Merfolk, Drider, Hellcat, Selkie,

(If you have trouble imagining songs for the ending scene, this is the song I imagine this one is playing:

~~~~~~~~

You were out with your guards once again to take in the sights and maybe even look for random souvenirs to bring back to Night Raven. If you were going to be visiting almost every country and countless cities within the countries, you may as well get random knickknacks to keep. Though you had no money of your own when you fell into this world, Crowley was sure to shove Thaumarks into your arms before you departed.

Apparently, during his extensive conversations about what you would be doing in the Queendom, he mentioned the many funds and grants NRC had been given. Most of those grants were from larger countries that wanted to financially support you and support Night Raven for as long as you called the campus home. As the reason for the grants coming in, no doubt Crowley decided that you deserved a fair portion of the Thaumarks.

Now you were visiting the many different stalls in the market side of the city, anything you bought quickly being carried by the men that guarded you. Ortho and Rook were continuing their usual scanning of the rooftops as you marveled over the craftsmanship of the trinkets before you.

Riddle had been in a noticeably better mood even around Alistair despite the tragedy of the day prior. If anything, he seemed saddened but not dragged down by the events as if he had been freed of the obligation. It certainly made him brighten up even more when you told him Papa Hades agreed to pay for his schooling so he was no longer tied to that cruel Unicorn woman.

It was while you were examining a rather lovely sun-catcher that a sudden warmth wrapped around you, darkening your vision. You were about to question Malleus as to why he had moved to shield you when a particularly loud eruption of screams sounded out.

"It was the Lion! I saw the Lion did it! Get that beast away from the Human!"

You saw several people seemed to be antagonizing Leona who was actually standing close by with his Knobkerrie drawn. Not far from Leona was what looked to be a Pigeon man laying face down in the gutter with arrows of a different make strewn about him. Rook was quick to step between Leona and the hounding onlookers with his bow raised.

"Non! Roi du Lion was not the one who took out the archer. I saw him take aim at Mademoiselle Trickster, he is not to blame."

"So you, some Drider from outside the Queendom, think I didn't see what I saw with my own two eyes? How dare you!"

Ortho stepped in next, his screens enlarging as a quick video played back over. The video was of Rook quickly drawing his bow and firing at the pigeon man. The man in question was clearly aiming towards your group with his own notched arrow before he was pieced through the shoulder by Rook's golden and red arrow.

"You are wrong! Video doesn't lie! Leona didn't do anything wrong, stop being speciest towards him! Even if he had shot the assassin, he would have been doing it to protect (Y/n)! He is within his legal rights to protect her!"

The onlookers- who had been up in arms- now looked somewhat sheepish at the clear evidence to the contrary of any wrong doing. They glanced at one another before the most outspoken of them- a woman with multi-colored fins on the side of her face crossed her arms.

"Well, he could have done it!"

That sentence set an anger burning in your heart as you pulled out of Malleus' protective embrace, turning on your heel to face the woman who looked so smug. It was as if she were saying he was guilty of association and therefore deserved punishment of some kind. No way were you going to stand for anyone treating Leona as lesser.

"How dare you?"

"W-well, I-"

"How dare you make such false and baseless accusations against my chosen guards!? What, because he is a Nemean Lion you think you are allowed to show cruelty to him? You think you can claim such a horrendous lie and be believed, even with evidence to the contrary? How dare you speak so loudly and so incorrectly about someone else like that? Shame on you! Shame on your whole family for your backwards way of thinking! A Lion he may be, but his hands are cleaner than your own as you are so keen to sling lies at someone who is not in the wrong. For shame!"

"I- but I thought he-"

"You thought wrong! He is a guest in your city- a Prince- and you deem it appropriate to lie about him because of your own fragile view of reality? How quick you are to assign blame when you should be ashamed of yourself for jumping to the conclusion he was out of line!"

The woman was now shrinking in on herself, despite being much taller than you and dwarfing you in height. Though you were small and weaker compared to the towering giants around you, you could still bare your teeth. Naturally, those around her- who had been on her side- turned on her like a pack of dogs and began snapping their own disappointment and disgust at her actions.

"Don't all of you jump in like you are innocent in this matter! You all blamed him too and were on her side until I started shaming her. Shame on all of you as well! Have you no honor, no pride? Is this the decorum I can expect from the citizens of the Queendom of Roses? You all are the citizens, the blood of this Queendom, I would expect you all to uphold the best qualities of the Queendom, not the worst!"

The group had shied back from your admonishment, none of them willing to look you in the eye. It was around this time the Pigeon man was coming back around, raising his bow with an arrow notched as it pointed directly at you. He was fast, but Floyd was faster.

The bow snapped under the grip of the Eel Merman who sneered with bared fangs at the pigeon. It was clear most hadn't expected him to try again, especially with an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, so they were quick to detain him. Even those you scolded were feverish to stop the Pigeon man as if they were vying for your approval.

It seems even those met in passing were impacted by your aura. Why did something like this always have to happen? The more important thought was when Idia planned to get back to you about a weapon to protect yourself. Though, it wouldn't protect you from someone shooting arrows from the rooftops.

You had suggested many ideas to Idia and he promised to have something soon. For now you had to rely on those who protected you and proclaimed themselves to be your knights. It was mildly concerning to you how little you were concerned with this attempt, as it was not supposed to be so common place.

"We should return to the castle, Mon Trickster. One attempt surely means there will be another. Roi du Selkie is to be arriving today as well, seeing as the execution is slated for tomorrow. Something tells me we should not encourage anything more today."

"If you say so, Rook."

You allowed the Drider to pick you up, thankful Grim was back at the Palace of Roses with Alistair. He had asked the Alicorn for a few of his colorful feathers and the Alicorn offered the Kit most of his collection, which was a beautiful assortment of prismatic feathers. The kit agreed to stay and choose his favorite feathers of the grouping and Alistair promised to keep an eye on the kit.

At least Grim being at the castle kept him from having to endure the assassination attempt. Thankfully this Pigeon Harpy man was not as skilled a marksman as Rook and the superior hunter won. The soft fur of the Drider beneath you was a comfort as Leona fell into step with the Drider you sat on the back of.

"Why do you care so much about how they treat me, Mousey? It's nothing new to me."

"Because, you're a good guy, Leona. A genuinely good guy, and I appreciate the hell you have gone through for me. I don't care how they stare at me, but to blame you as if you deserve poor treatment for being a Nemean Lion? Hell no. I'm not letting that happen."

Leona smiled slightly, a warm expression as he gazed at you affectionately. He was used to everyone outside of Sunset Savana treating him disdainfully but it still warmed his heart to know you saw more than his species. Maybe Falena was right in believing you could help end the hate towards his Kingdom.

"You're too good to us, Mousey. Never change."

"I thought only RSA was the do-gooders of Sage island?"

"Don't even joke about switching over to that school. I look best in black, not their white uniforms."

You chuckled softly noticing that Leona indicated he would switch schools to stay near you if you went to RSA instead. Slowly, you rest your head against Rook's shoulder, feeling protected by the lovely Drider as he walked back to the Palace. He ensured to wrap his cape over you to shield you from the onlookers just in case.

The guards of the Palace were quick to receive your group as you all were looked over for any potential injuries. Word had no doubt gotten back to them about what had happened and what had been done to the perpetrator of the crime. It was while everyone was being checked that a loud and familiar voice cut in.

"Puppy!"

A wave of relief washed over you as a familiar black and white coated Selkie with a worried expression stormed into the room. You were quick to run straight into his arms as the Selkie wrapped them around you, letting you burrow your face into his fur as he sighed in relief. He gently pet your hair as you rest your head on his shoulder and accepted the parental affection.

"My poor puppy, being attacked and hunted by the scum of the world. I'm here now and I'll keep you safe. I also brought some gifts for you."

You pulled back to see the bag he had set down, the Selkie picking it up to hand it to you with a warm smile. His hand gently rest on your head as he moved his hand in a petting motion to soothe you. Despite everything, you did feel relief at seeing the paternal Selkie that seemed to care for you with his entire heart. He was a good fatherly figure, if nothing else.

Digging through the bag you realized there was a blanket with instructions handwritten. Apparently, this was to be your heated blanket and Idia decided to gift you with it early. He must have sent it with Divus after word got back to NRC of the events in the marketplace.

Beneath the blanket was a fine leather box no longer than your phone. Attached was a note.

'Hey, Hellkitty, made that knife you wanted. It doesn't run on magic the way other things do, but it will absolutely get the job done. It uses DNA recognition software I coded, so there are only three it won't hurt; You, Grim, and Papa Hades. Goes without saying this thing is dangerous, so use it sparingly! By the way, you can change the color of the blade with the adjuster on the side if you want to.

-Gloomurai'

Inside was a handle that seemed to have grooves to fit your hand comfortably. It sat well in your hand and hummed under your touch as if waking up in your palm. Slowly it formed a bright blade that glowed in your hand and sparked with energy. It enraptured you quite a bit as it harmlessly passed over your skin and shined against your flesh. Divus seemed less than pleased to see you were now armed, but he also seemed to understand you needed to be able to protect yourself.

"Careful, pup. I'll teach you how to wield that if you need, but we can't be too hasty with something so dangerous."

You nodded, relaxing your grip as the blade faded from the handle in your palm, returning to a dormant state. It made you feel a little better with it, but now you had to check in on Grim. Though you trusted Alistair to not harm the Hellcat, that didn't mean they couldn't get up to trouble while out of sight.

"Welcome back, (Y/n)!"

The Alicorn happily trotted forward, a pleasantly pleased feline sitting on the equine back of the prince. Attached to his bow over his collar were three bright feathers that shined with rainbows of their own and you recognized them as Alistair's. Sitting in the arms of the Alicorn seemed to be a pile of his feathers which he proudly held up to you as he trotted up.

"I heard what happened, are you okay?"

"As okay as I can be, but Rook is a good watchman."

"Well, Grimmy and I sorted through all of my feathers so he could find some he liked and we got an idea! Since you both like my feathers so much, I decided to make you a cloak using them! I don't have much use for them, so I figure you may as well have them!"

He held up the cloak in his arms, showing you the beautiful arrangement of feathers that made it look like a crystalline waterfall. Though it really didn't match with the outfits you had been gifted by the Queendom, it was still a lovely piece. You allowed the Alicorn to place the cloak around your shoulders and it felt much lighter than you had expected it to.

"Thank you, Alistair, it's beautiful."

"Well, I didn't want to sound too proud of my own feathers, but I am glad to hear you like them. They should help you out too, in the event anything happens."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Pegasus feathers- and Alicorn by extension- have certain characteristics to them that you don't find in a lot of species. For instance, if you fall off of something while wearing that cloak, you won't fall as fast due to the air magic properties of the feathers. Plus they are great at temperature regulation and impact absorption. Again, I don't really need them since I grow them, but they should help you."

You smiled at this, reaching out to gently pet the Alicorn's hair. He seemed somewhat surprised by the affectionate gesture, but leaned into your touch happily. Lilia did say petting was a good way to show affection and appreciation. Unbeknownst to you, several of your guards glared jealously at the Alicorn.

Grim was not bothered by their displeasure and instead was happy to leap into your arms, purring in elation. The kit seemed quite pleased with the feathers he added to his bow, likely having picked them himself.

"Clouds is so much fun, Mama!"

"I'm glad you had a fun time playing with Alistair today."

"I did, but Clouds said someone attacked you. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. Rook is a good shot and an even better lookout, so I wasn't in any danger."

"I like Spooder!"

"I know you do, dear. I like him too."

The kit continued to ramble off about his day and you patiently listened to the excitable kit expound and chatter about how much he enjoyed. Though the day was only half over, he still had to tell you everything that happened because he adored you. Around you, your many guards waited for their own moment to be in the blessed spotlight of your attention. Perhaps they should try befriending Grim to earn your favor.

~•§•~

The evening was setting down and you stood out on the balcony of your room. It gave a lovely view of the Queendom and you couldn't help but admire the beauty of it all. Part of you was sad that the stars were somewhat blocked out by the lights of the bustling city and you longed for a moment beneath the stars.

Resting in your hands was the floating skull bot that Kalim had enchanted, a few songs playing in your head as the skull was dormant. Most of the songs were- oddly enough- slow trailing waltzes that would be best suited for a slow dance. Something about the Palace of Roses and the city lights had your mind focused elsewhere even with the execution looming overhead. The next day was going to be a bloody event indeed, with that kind and boyish Alicorn acting as the official headsman for the execution.

"Enjoying the evening?"

The smooth voice of Malleus drew your gaze over your shoulder as the Dragon approached. His outfit much like the others yet pursuing a certain air of regality that paired well with his ethereal beauty. He was a nocturnal creature of the night and it certainly was shaping up to be an auspicious evening.

"As well as I can."

"Are you worried for what tomorrow may bring?"

"Of course I am."

The Dragon leaned next to you against the railing and looked out at the gentle glowing lights of the city before him. Malleus had been a good ally to you and a very useful friend despite how clearly he was impacted by your aura. If you were going to have everyone you've ever met become obsessed with you, you would at least need to keep strong allies at hand.

"What troubles you? I will always be an ear to listen, should you need to lay your worries upon someone."

"I'm worried about everything. From outside poachers trying their luck, to an Overblot taking place during the height of the event. It seems like- no matter what I do- I am constantly in danger of some kind or put on some pedestal and expected to be some paragon of kindness. I can't always be the voice of reason among madness."

"It does seem like anything that can go wrong, will go wrong more days than not. You are a species others would kill to keep, and one many of us would kill to protect. I do wish this place were safer for you, especially given how much this country previously cared for the Humans among them. If it is of any comfort, we won't allow anything to happen to you."

You sighed, nodding and conceding to his words as you tried to keep your mind from running off with anxious stress. Naturally, you were well aware of your fragility compared to other species, but you hoped with your new weapon that you would be able to protect yourself from others. It was still nice to know that Malleus intended to keep you as safe as possible.

"It's just so hard to keep my mind off of it all, you know?"

Malleus stood in silence for a moment before he picked up the skull from your hands, setting it on the banister and turning towards you. You turned to face him as he caught your other hand, kissing the back gently as he guided you to place your first hand on his shoulder. He slowly began to sway with you as if in a small dance.

The enchanted skull seemed to sense the change in mood and began to softly play a slow rolling song similar to what had been on your mind before Malleus showed. He seemed to take the music in stride and began slowly leading you around the balcony to the gentle tune that turned rich and soulful. Something about the way his eyes gleamed in the dark seemed to enchant you as you allowed the Dragon to lead you slowly through the dance.

It became harder to focus on anything else excepting Malleus as your concern for the next day fell to the wayside. He was at least a very pleasant distraction from what was to come.

Each slow movement had you melting further into the Dragon's embrace as you trusted him to move you to the music. It was nice to forget about things for a while and slowly dance into unawareness with the powerful mage.

He even began to slowly try and hum with the tune of the song, as if he were enjoying the moment of time spent with just the two of you dancing beneath the moonlight. Slowly your eyes began to close as your head rest against his chest, listening to the Dragon hum and croon while he led you through the sweet dance. You didn't know exactly when you began to nod off in the Dragon's arms, but he was quick to bring you to your bed when you stopped dancing.

The last thing that occurred to your brain was the sensation of your clothes being magically changed to an outfit meant for sleep before you succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep.

Outside of your sugar spun dreams of dancing to gentle music, the Dragon purred adoringly. His clawed hand gently dragging over the skin of your cheek as he smiled in response to your peaceful expression.

"May your dreams be pleasant, and your rest deep, my precious (Y/n). My most beautiful jewel..."

[inkooro]

Some WHB AU ideas I thought about on a whim:

Daycare AU! The MC is now a proud owner of a daycare after their grandpa Solomon handed it off to them so he can retire with God. All the nobles are babies and the kings are the fathers of the kids (adopted or biological, that’s up to you). The dilfs kings end up falling in love with the MC n try everything to court them.

Bonus! The baby nobles also help their respective ‘dads’ when the MC’s favor b/c they want a step-parent.

Exchange Student AU! All the characters are in a school setting and the MC is the new human exchange student from Earth; there hasn’t been another human exchange student since Solomon. All the kings are the leaders of the student counsel and Juno/Ppyong is the one that gets sent to Earth (living with Minhyeok) Also all the angels go to a rival school.

Bonus! The kings are also club leaders/part of gangs, eg. Satan is the leader of a delinquent group, Levi is the club leader of the occult group, etc.

Dragon AU! (This is based on @r0-boat post, thank you for the idea!)

The MC is the new ruler of their kingdom after the death of their parents, and discovers an old, closed off room in the castle that harbors many worn-out notebooks and tapestries of dragons—something that their parents always told them stories about when they were little. The MC finds out the old king Solomon, their ancestor, wrote about actual dragons that he was friends with—and with this, the MC drags their knight, Minhyeok, to go on an adventure to find one of these dragons. Many weeks later, they enter a seemingly abandoned village, stopping at the mouth of a large cave. Minhyeok tries to get MC to turn around only to be stopped short by a large creature breathing down their neck. It growls lowly, angry (and also curious) at the humans entering his kingdom. They found one of the dragons King Solomon wrote about—Satan.

The MC eventually meets the other dragon kings and warms up to them, the kings acknowledging that they are the key to uniting the dragon species and humans together finally, so they can come together to stop the angels (and possibly becoming their little human spouse 👀)

Bonus! Whenever the MC feels like they’re being screwed over while trying to negotiate with neighboring human kingdoms—they bring their dragon friends to intimidate them a little bit :)

(Added: 03/05)

Trapped AU! After defeating all the angels, MC is finally ready to get back to their normal life! However, the devils were not. They hold up to their promise about not letting the MC go so easily and now the MC has to find a way out to get back to Earth.

Bonus! There are some devils who aren’t fully on board with kidnapping MC and can easily be manipulated into helping the MC out if they use their words carefully.

(Added: 03/07)

Self-Aware AU! The MC is just a regular otome player in the real world and all the characters are aware that they are in a mobile game on MC’s phone/Ipad. As MC progresses through the story, the characters slowly fall in love with them—as they could hear and see MC, and some are even bold enough to say things that are outside their programming to let them know that they’re aware low-key. (the MC is confused but brushes it off as Easter eggs in the game—like a 1 in a million chance to get those quips). Now the devils are desperate to find some way to bring the MC into their world or enter MC’s world.

Bonus! The kings, seraphim, and Minhyeok have special access to their Notes app, contact list, Spotify/Apple Music, and sometimes leave love notes/messages (or semi-threatening messages from the seraphim) by making albums, texting them, etc. However, instead of being flattered, MC is unnerved by this—thinking someone hacked their device—and doesn’t touch it for a several days (they stopped doing it again after that, deleting the messages—they also have to stop Beel from doing it b/c he would forget)

(Added: 03/14)

Hybrid AU! While stranded on one of a chain of islands, MC discovers that half-man, half-animal creatures live there; all of them living in 7 different environments. MC is treated almost like royalty on each of the islands, since they’re the only human that treated them with respect in a while, and not like a monster (and they consider MC to be their mate). The MC also agrees to help defend the hybrid’s island from a ‘research’ group called H.E.A.V.E.N., that has been terrorizing/killing the hybrids in the name of science.

Bonus! The types of animals I think the kings & some of their nobles would be: Satan—goat, Sitri—ram, Mammon—African lion, Bimet—African bat-eared fox, Leviathan—sea snake, Foras—glass squid, Beelzebub—Tsetse fly, Bael—Hoverfly, Lucifer—bat, Gamigin—leopard gecko, Belphegor—Japanese serow, Beleth—albino leopard cat, Asmodeus—black widow spider, Dantalian—jumping spider (?)

(Pls Note this is based on my redesigns of the kings and their lore—the animals are not picked based off the original characters)

CEO/Coffee Shop AU! MC owns a small, yet semi-popular, coffee shop in the city; everything is going great until they somehow managed to get the attention of 7 of the biggest CEOs in their country—all of them coming in one place for a business retreat. It doesn’t make it any better that they constantly try to fight for their attention, altering the cozy atmosphere in their coffee shop.

Bonus! The MC does low-key take advantage that the CEOs were willing to pay for their rent and bills (I mean why not? They’re offering 🤷🏾)

(Added: 06/05)

Android AU! MC is an aspiring inventor who wants to build little robots just like their late grandpa Solomon. The MC ends up stumbling upon one of their grandpa’s greatest robots—seven androids all deactivated and hidden away from the outside world, so the government won’t get their hands on them and use them as war machines. MC takes it upon themselves to take care of the androids in honor of their grandpa, without knowing that the androids have taken a great interest in their late creator’s grandkid. (Slight Yandere androids too)

Bonus! Minhyeok is MC’s human assistant who is understandably terrified and concerned of the android’s obsession towards MC. The angels and Seraphim are apart of the government assigned to hunt down the androids (they’re also androids themselves).

———

This is all I got for AU ideas, plus I’m not too good of a writer so it’s not something I can write full stories about n execute it well 😭, but hopefully when I get a chance I’ll post art for that after I post the second part of the full monster forms for the kings.

I’ll add more to the post if I got more AU ideas!