Grace, may I please request Zen and backstage. Thank you lovely ♥️♥️
You're not supposed to be here.
You are allowed in his dressing room and the green room and even the prop closet, if you ask nicely. But the stage manager would yell if she saw you here in the wings—it's dark and crowded and you're sure that you're in the way.
But this is the way he likes you to watch: closer than anyone else; more a part of his world than his audience will ever be. And you helped him learn all these lines—you know the play by heart.
You know when he enters and you know when he exits.
He exits now.
The lights change, and he comes to you. The music swells and the scenery shifts, but all you see is him.
"How was I?" he mouths—silent, but you understand. You open your lips and then his arms are around your waist and the world tilts sideways.
He dips you and kisses you with all the fervor of the famous lines he's just spoken and all the radiance of being seen.
It's dark here, but you kiss him back and everything is bright.
I’M BACK FINALLY AND I BRINGING A SELF SHIP ASK!!!! I hope you enjoy ♥️ What would Saeyoung think the first time he walks in to find you wearing his clothes??
LEA!!!!! I missed you (here) even though I talk to you every day—and I missed these asks, too. I love you immensely.
So. I'm a serious clothes-stealer. I hardly ever wear my own clothes, in fact: at least half of my outfits are made up of my partner's clothes and friends' clothes and clothes somebody left at my house once and literally who do they even belong to?
Why wear your own clothes when it's warmer to wear someone else's?
So I'd already be taking his clothes when we're on the road together. Even pre-cabin (and pre-all the things that happen in that cabin), I'd absolutely be making outfits out of his things. I imagine we're staying somewhere together overnight and sort of awkwardly sharing a bed because we haven't really done anything yet, and he gets out of bed before me and goes to the car to get a cable or something that he needs, and I'm left all alone.
I look at the dwindling pile of clothes that I packed and hate every single one of them. I feel stiff and sticky and altogether uncomfortable.
I spy the jeans he wore the day before slung over a chair (he tried to sleep in them at first, but I convinced him to at least wear pajamas) and laugh out loud to myself. That's one way to feel more comfortable.
By the time he's back from the car, I'm in his jeans (rolled way up, because I'm 16 cm shorter than him) and a clean t-shirt I found in his bag (I'm a horrible snoop), sitting cross-legged on the bed pretending I've done nothing wrong.
He's not easily fooled. Not by anyone—not by me.
He sees what I've done and his beautiful eyes go wide.
"Um," he says. "Uh."
I look up at him and grin. His face is all red and he's running a hand through his hair like he's not quite sure where it goes. His eyes are trained on the way his shirt is tight around my chest and too loose everywhere else, and he can't seem to string words into a sentence.
"I borrowed a couple things," I say. "Do you mind?"
"You, uh," he stammers. He's still got his car keys in his hand. "That's—m-my..."
"Does it fit okay?" I can't help teasing him. He's hopeless when he's caught off guard.
"It—" he mutters. "You—" He shifts his weight from side to side and runs anxious fingers through his hair again. "How am I supposed to drive when you look like that?" he asks, his voice coming out high-pitched and strange.
I giggle and hop from the bed, and he goes even redder.
Grace ♥️♥️♥️ Inquiring minds (mostly Lux and I) want to know in your opinion what did Unknown and Elizabeth hang out and do when he kidnaps her in Jumin’s route?? Was he a good cat dad?? Thank you for answering dear friend!!! ♥️♥️
Unknown and Elly, best friends forever.
Honestly? I think Unknown would be an excellent cat dad.
He sort of like a cat himself. He sleeps at whatever time of the day or night he feels like sleeping; he wanders the city and watches from afar. He bristles when anyone gets close—and he'll never admit it, but he loves to lay in a warm spot and feel the sun on his face.
And there is something special about a pet's affection, of course. They don't wonder whether you're good or bad. They love you no matter who you are and what you've done—they look to you for food and shelter and fall asleep by your side. It's why Saeyoung is so drawn to cats—and Unknown, though he'd never say so, feels just the same.
He's so lost.
He doesn't think about things like this anymore—what he wants, what he needs, who he is. He works till he can't work anymore. He feels anger that he can't explain and takes it out on the people around him. He does as he's told, for the most part; he's dizzy a lot of the time, and sometimes he looks around and realizes he doesn't know where he is or how he got there.
And Elly is sweet and good. She leaps into his lap and ignores him when he tries to brush her away. Without really meaning to, he buys food for her—and when he offers it, she purrs and flicks her tail and he feels something he hasn't felt in a long time.
He feels warm.
He doesn't let that feeling linger, of course. He goes right back to work, and he types faster and more furiously than before. But Elly finishes eating and jumps onto his desk and curls up in the spot that’s lit up by his screens—and it's not the sun, but it's something.
And Unknown can type with one hand, so he reaches for her and strokes her soft little head. He can't even remember why he took her in the first place. Yes, he wants to see the RFA go up in flames—but he’s not even sure if kidnapping this strange, quiet creature has anything to do with that. She can stay, though. He thinks he’d be fine if she stayed.
But that isn’t what happens. When she's gone, he goes into a rampage—and his Savior assumes it has something to do with his brother, but she's wrong.
For one day, he had someone by his side who didn't think he was a bad kid or an evil man. She didn't fear him or despise him or pity him. She just was.
And Unknown doesn't always remember who or where he is, but he's not going to forget that feeling. It was like laying in the sun.
Happy Monday!!! I hope you’re week started well friend?? Different kind of question this week. Does Saeyoung have a signature scent? Like you just know they are around because you smell this?? ♥️
OH YES OH YES OH YES I SURE HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS YES I HAVE.
Ok, so like. Hear me out.
In my imagination, Saeyoung smells like hot honey and amber with a hint of pine and sandalwood.
When I say hot honey, I mean this. It's super sweet and spicy—that sort of flavor that burns your tongue and melts your mind. I think the honey scent comes from his hair, actually (no, he doesn’t just smell like chips all the time). Saeyoung doesn’t pick products to use based on whether they’re actually right for his hair type or whether they’re “nice” or "good quality”—he picks them based on the name and how cool the bottle looks. Honey-infused shampoo does exist—and it’s certainly not the right product for his hair, but he picks it because the bottle’s a pretty golden color and it has pictures of bees on it. The spicy smell is partially his own natural scent and partially some other product; he doesn’t really wear cologne or even scented lotion, but he definitely uses a deodorant with a warm, spicy amber smell. Honestly? Vanderwood probably got it for him ages ago, and then he just kept on buying the same one.
The outdoorsy smells are from a body wash—and they change, because he’s not consistent in what he uses. In spite of his lifestyle, it’s actually very important to him to be clean (I wrote about that here), and even when he’s working through the night he still takes a break to shower. He doesn’t really care if he’s using “men’s” products or “women’s” products (what even is gender?), and he makes a point of picking something different every time just to keep life interesting. He prefers warm, woody scents, and he chooses these often. Once you move in with him, he’ll definitely use your body wash—so some days he’ll wrap his arms around you and you’ll laugh, because he smells like you.
“You smell amazing,” you tell him early on—and you nestle closer, your head on his chest and your arms around his waist.
“Really?” He giggles and pulls you close. “I’d never even thought about it.”
Of course he didn’t. And sometimes he’s pressed up against you and you catch a whiff of his scent and feel dizzy—even later (and much later, and much much later). The years go by; he never fails to entice you.
I love you a lot, my dear @quirky-and-kind. Here is a little story to start your day 🤍
She is starting to nod off in his arms when Zen whispers her name, pulling her back from the brink of a dream.
“Lea.” He sees the way his breath ruffles her hair and smiles, pushing it back off her face. She is curled up against his chest—and at the sound of his voice, her eyelashes flutter and she wriggles closer. There is the slightest crease on her cheek—the imprint of the fabric of his shirt—and for a moment he is frozen (captivated by her peacefulness).
Lea, he thinks, is the sensation of sunrise—when the world is flooded with light and everything springs to life. She fills the space around her with the ferocity of her love and the strength of her gentleness; she radiates vibrancy in a way he can’t even comprehend.
She is full of energy and dedication all the time, and so he loves to see her resting like this: she deserves to sleep soundly. Zen hears the way her breathing has deepened and wonders if he should just let her be.
But tonight is too important; but he needs her to see this.
“Lea,” he whispers again, kissing her forehead. This time, she stirs.
“Sorry,” she murmurs groggily into his neck. “I fell asleep.”
Zen laughs softly because she has nothing to apologize for. He pauses the movie they were watching and runs a hand through her hair.
“I know you’re tired, princess,” he says (and she twists in his arms to look at him, smiling and shaking her head as if to reassure him that she’s already up). “It’s just that it’s nearly midnight and I have something to show you.”
Lea yawns and stretches her arms over her head and something stirs in Zen’s chest. Again, he thinks of abandoning his plan—thinks of pulling her tight against his body and making her melt for him. But it is almost time; but he needs to—
“Come with me, angel,” he murmurs. Lea slips from his lap (he can’t suppress a little groan of disappointment) and stands, looking remarkably alert.
“Where are we going?” she asks. Ah: she trusts him incontrovertibly. It makes his heart shiver.
“You’ll see.”
Zen rises slowly. This couch is so much larger and softer than the one they have at home; it’s easy to sink into it. This whole room, in fact, feels gigantic in comparison to their apartment. And it’s beautiful: the lights are a soft shade of amber; there are fresh flowers on all of the end tables.
And, in the distance, Zen can hear the whisper of waves hitting the shore.
“Is it okay if I’m in my pajamas?” Lea glances down at herself, laughing. She’s wearing the set he bought her for this trip: cute little shorts in a pattern that matches his shirt. And she didn’t ask why it was that he wanted to match even in their sleep: she understood—as he knew she would—that it’s not about being seen, but about knowing that they are a pair.
A set; two halves. It’s how they’ve always been.
“It’s nighttime, darling,” he says, reaching for her hand. “There won’t be anyone out but us.”
So Zen leads Lea across the spacious room; she follows him, curious and eager. Their feet make a gentle patter on the hardwood floors. He holds the door open for her.
“Shoes?” she asks, arching her eyebrows. Zen smiles widely (and it has the desired effect: Lea blushes and her eyes twinkle).
“We’re not gonna need them.”
Lea steps through the door and Zen lingers for a moment. The resort where they’re staying opens directly onto the beach; Lea stands on the sand with moonlight in her hair and Zen forgets how to speak.
“What are you doing?” she asks him. A gentle sea breeze blows her short hair all around her face; Zen thinks his heart is going to burst.
“You are…” Zen shakes his head; the wind catches his hair and whips it around and he struggles to find the words.
“In my pajamas on the beach?” Lea asks.
“Magnificent,” Zen says.
Lea shakes her head and gets that look in her eyes: the one where he knows she is going to turn the compliment back on him. He lets the door fall shut behind him and runs to her side, wrapping her in his arms and sweeping her off her feet.
“Hyun!” she shrieks. He stumbles a little in the sand but maneuvers her easily onto his back. “I can walk in the sand.”
“You can do everything,” Zen tells her (and it’s true). “But I’m still going to carry you, angel.”
Lea’s arms settle around his neck as he sets off down the beach. He flexes his shoulders a little for her and hears her breath stutter; ah, he knows how to set her whole world spinning.
“You were right,” she says (and her voice is so close it gives him goosebumps). “There’s no one out here this time of night.”
“It’s all ours,” Zen says. He means the beach—he means the universe. He means this single moment in time and every second of their bright, shimmering future.
When he reaches the water’s edge, he sets her gently on her feet.
“Now,” he says. He wraps an arm around her waist and points at the ocean. It’s calm and quiet, lapping delicately against their bare toes. “Look at the water.”
“I’m looking.”
“It’s empty,” he tells her. And it does look that way: so clear you can see straight through it. It’s dark and practically colorless.
“It’s pretty, though,” Lea says, leaning into his side. Zen chuckles, because of course she’d think so.
“That was me,” he says plainly (and Lea peers up at him through the hazy darkness, puzzled). “For a long time, that’s who I was. I was here—rushing against the store, drifting in and out with the phases of the moon—but there wasn’t anything more.”
Life was monotone, he thinks. He worked and slept and dreamed and yearned; he saw everything in shades of black and white and silver.
“Hyun,” Lea says (forceful in the way she gets when he’s hard on himself). “You were always—”
“Take a step,” Zen says.
Lea looks up at him—looks at the ocean—and steps into the water. It rushes over her ankles and shivers around her legs.
Then:
“Oh,” Lea says. Her breath catches in her throat. There it is.
As Lea walks into the water, glitter bursts all around her: bright sparks of light, shining bright as the moon just under the surface of the waves. She looks back at Zen and the awe in her eyes makes him weak.
“Bioluminescence,” she says, her voice raspy. She knows—of course she knows.
She’s brilliant, Zen thinks. He’s always thought so.
“Yeah.” He wades in after her and the lights grow brighter all around them. Tiny radiant plankton dance beneath the water; everything shines.
“And this is—”
Zen comes to stand behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.
“What you’ve done to me,” he says.
Lea waits, knowing he’ll say more. Zen drops one hand to dangle it in the water and sparkles trail behind his fingertips.
“You stepped into my monochrome world and flooded it with light,” he whispers. There’s no sound but his voice and the gentle rushing of the waves, breaking and swelling around their bodies. The bottom edge of Lea’s pajama shorts is getting damp, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
Lea turns, then, so she’s facing him; her eyes reflect the sparkles on the surface of the water. He can see that she’s thinking—that she has a million things to say—that her heart is racing.
But: “I love you,” she says simply—and that’s all she needs to say. Love encompasses all of it: adoration; gratitude; devotion.
Just then, Zen’s phone buzzes in his back pocket. It’s the alarm he set so he’d know when it was time.
Lea raises her eyebrows and he grins and kisses her—bends her all the way back, a firm hand on her waist keeping her from dipping beneath the water’s surface. Her smaller hands grasp at his back and tangle in his hair and he feels as though the water has taken him and carried him away.
“What was that?” she pants as he tugs her upright. Yes: her shorts are definitely wet, and the ends of his hair glimmer with water droplets.
Zen pulls out his phone and holds it up to her. Midnight.
“Happy birthday, princess,” he says.
“Oh,” Lea breathes, and then she throws her arms around his neck. The water is cool but her body is warm; he kisses her again and again and feels like he’s dissolving.
Around them, the ocean glitters. Zen feels himself rocking to the rhythm of the waves and thinks of tides—drifting in and out; endless and unbound. He has always been like that: rushing and breaking; never sure where to turn.
But Lea taught him what it is to be whole. She is the light that shimmers under the surface of the waves; with her, everything shines.
It’s that thirsty time of the week to get you ready for your weekend! How loud is Saeyoung? Does he moan/whine/whimper? Does he curse? Does he call your name like it’s the only thing he’s ever know?
Lea, these questions are always on point. I truly admire your mind.
Saeyoung is definitely loud.
I think he, like...moans a lot. He doesn't necessarily mean to—he just gets really excited. If Saeyoung loves you, he loves you. Sex with you is like the whole universe going up in flames every single time. He's so sensitive to you—like his skin is glass and it cracks if you so much as breathe near him. For the first few months (years?) he's ready to go at any moment—any time, any day, any place.
And he just can't help but be vocal. You're totally blowing his mind.
I don't think he talks a lot, though—at least not at first. He's so chatty most of the time (nervous chatty, like he just doesn't know when to stop). Once he's got you naked in front of him, all the words dry up: his genius brain is spinning out of control, and he forgets how to speak altogether.
Over time, though, he talks more. He doesn't curse or scream your name, but he will tease you. He'll taunt you till you're blushing (blushing, even with him inside you!); he'll tell you how much he wants you—plead with you—praise you—beg you to keep doing whatever you're doing because dear god, he's going crazy..
It's okay to shush him. Put a finger to his lips and tell him he's pretty; kiss his flushed cheeks and tell him to stay quiet till the very end.
See if he can. It could be a fun game: shake your head and pull away if he moans; don't touch him till he's dead silent.
He'll try his best for you, but he'll probably win in the end.
He's so into you he forgets to do as he's told. Kiss his skin and he's whimpering; oh, he loves you—it's the feeling of your body against his, the rhythm of your breath, the sound of your voice. He loses himself entirely.
