#mx imagines

[taexual]

Montsa x fake dating pleaseeee

hope you enjoy, love!

monsta x / fake dating

[ciel-elyseen]

20:51, paris

glittering lights from the eiffel tower bounce off of the seine.

the air is warm, romantic.

the city of light and love holds extraordinary beauty and passion.

it’s where changkyun feels most at home.

with you.

hand in hand, you wander down the champs-élysées.

you’ve only been here a few days, but you believe as though you could live here forever.

taxis whizz by down the famous road as mopeds and parisians on bicycles join them.

you smile at the life moving around you.

you stop in front of a small patch of roses as changkyun turns to face you, a warm smile on his pretty face.

in the yellow street lights, he is captivating.

you reach a hand to his cheek, a soft smile glanced at him and him only.

the love in your eyes is unparalleled.

you lean closer on your tip toes, and lift your foot

like they do in the movies.

you kiss him softly, washed in paris and its beautiful glory.

toujours et à jamais, mon amour.

[ciel-elyseen]

tw: mentions of suicide, alcohol, drugs (just one), depression, angst

- i promise i write more than just this shit, lol.

</3.

with a bottle of bourbon in one hand, and your seemingly unattainable hopes and dreams in the other,

you climb onto the ledge of the bridge that arches over the river.

about a ten-minute drive from you is what you wish you were.

happy.

perhaps arm in arm with a good friend who’s telling you some dramatic tale about a guy she met at work.

youthful.

you heave a sigh in sad disappointment.

who are you disappointed in?

surely no one else but yourself, as your mother would say.

you’re the reason why you’re at the bridge in the first place.

the area around the bridge is quiet, as it should be, you check your watch, at 1:03 am.

the bridge, or 50/50, as its known as to the locals, is infamous for a plethora of things.

late night thinking.

bashful kisses after a date that went well.

a haven for a good cry.

suicides.

50/50 has seen it all.

tonight is no different,

though,

you don’t even really know what you’re there for.

the gravel behind you rustles.

you turn,

a man stands behind you, hands shoved in his sweatshirt pockets.

you turn back to face the blackness of the river, bits of light from the city and the moon casting a shadow.

“i don’t know if there’s ever been two people here at one time,” you say, taking a swig from the bottle of bourbon.

the man says nothing, just walks over to where you sit and hoists himself up, sitting next to you.

he takes your bottle and puts it to his lips, staring into the abyss.

you look at him incredulous.

“uh, yeah sure, have some why don’t you,” you scoff.

“name’s changkyun. you?” he says, casting a glance at you from the side.

you ponder for a minute.

“whatever you want it to be,” you chuckle, taking another drink of bourbon.

it’s halfway gone.

“sapphire,” he says.

you smile.

“sapphire it is.”

you sit in silence for what seems like forever.

“what are you sitting up here for? someone like you should be out partying, living your life with no regrets,” he exaggerates, throwing out his arms in dramatic fashion.

“someone like me?” you raise an eyebrow, mildly annoyed.

“you’re pretty. witty. people like you are always living life large,” he hums, kicking his feet back and forth like a child would.

“pretty people have issues too. weird family detachments, cocaine addictions, divorced parents, blah blah blah,” you roll your eyes.

he shrugs.

“what are you doing here is the better question. you live the good life, really, traveling the world, women throwing themselves at you, screaming your name. it’s a man’s wet dream,” you snicker and then sigh again, “yeah i know who you are. i’m not obsessed, but i pay attention to the world of idol-ry every now and again.”

he rolls his eyes back at you, the bourbon is now gone.

his smile fades.

“i haven’t gotten a proper night of sleep in five years. i’m always fucking doing something. i have no time to rest. it’s: wake up at six a.m., eat a shitty breakfast, down my first espresso and black coffee of the day, no sugar or milk, i might add,” he points at you dramatically, “can’t fall asleep in the car otherwise i won’t wake the fuck up, and then after schedules it’s three a.m. and back to sleep i go.”

he sighs deeply, head drooping.

“my mom hates me, kicked me out a few months ago. my dad died when i was in high school and my last relationship went up in flames. i go to work at the same shitty job, making just enough to keep me alive,” you pause, sighing audibly.

 “which i don’t even want to be sometimes, but here we are; and i have no idea what the fuck i’m doing, which led me here this evening,” you finish.

changkyun’s eyes meet yours and he holds out a hand,

“it’s been a pleasure to meet you this evening, sapphire. looks like we saved each other tonight.”

and you think he just might be right.

[ciel-elyseen]

the paper route

June 9th, 1942 – Alsace, France

It’s cloudy out, a promising thunderstorm peeks over the horizon, as the sleek black Mercedes rumbles over the gravel towards a new home, a new life.

Thousands of miles away from his now-occupied home country of Korea, Changkyun slumps against the car door, staring through the trees that surround the gravel streets on all sides.

--

He’s always dreamt of living in France. He always imagined the beautiful cobblestone streets filled with produce markets, lilies blooming out of flower pots, women strolling down the avenues smoking cigarettes, dressed in the latest fashions.

The France he has moved to is not the same France he dreamt of. France now lies in the hands of his father’s allies. Riddled with debris of bombed buildings, once bookshops, restaurants, and cafés; they now lie in ruin. Swastikas now fly on flag poles; the French flags are torn down and torched in the streets.

France is no longer free; no longer home to vibrant life and beauty. It has been destroyed by greed, inhumanity, and desire for power.

--

Changkyun’s sister, Chun-hei, is asleep next to him. At the tender age of six, she knows very little about the war. She only knows that her father has a special job to do, one that requires leaving their home and everything they know.

His mother, now addressed as Frau Im, sits elegantly in the front passenger seat of the car. Changkyun doesn’t know how his mother feels about the war or the people her husband aligns with, she keeps quiet most times. It frustrates him.

--

Changkyun hates his new life. Hates everything his father works for and hates everyone his father works with. The Nazi Party is wretched and inhumane, cares of nothing in regard to human life. He hates the power they hold over Europe and the world. But Changkyun is developing a plan, a plan that could most definitely get him killed, along with his family, if he’s not careful.

--

The car finally pulls up to a brick house, more of a mansion than a house, but a house no less. He lightly shakes his sister awake, her eyes fluttering tiredly.

“We’re here, Chunnie,” Changkyun says softly.

“Family, welcome to your new home and to Alsace, France. It’s most definitely not what we’re used to but I’m sure you all will get acquainted here soon,” Changkyun’s father, now Herr Im, boasts, hands on his hips as her surveys the freshly cut grass in the front yard of the home.

Changkyun stuffs his hands in his pockets and shudders. This place feels ominous and dark, unwelcoming. He wonders for a brief moment who lived here before him. Chun-hei is ecstatic with her new home and fully awake as she runs delightedly up the front steps.

“Look, guys! They have pretty potted flowers in so many different colors! Eomma, can I go play in the garden before supper?” Chun-hei asks politely, a large smile gracing her child-like face.

Frau Im chuckles softly, “Yes, my flower. Go ahead. Be careful and try not to get too muddy.”

Chu-hei bounds off, her delighted squeals echoing off the walls.

His mother stands behind him, eyeing the house carefully. A pained look crosses her face for a brief moment.

“Bienvenue à la maison, eomma,” Changkyun says, bowing dramatically.

She sighs at his antics, “Kyun-ah, please go inside and unpack. Supper will be ready at 6.” She brushes past him and into the depths of their new home or new hell as Changkyun would like to call it.

A couple of hours later, he’s sitting in the rose garden at the side of the house just before dinner, nose delved deep into the exciting adventures of Sailing Alone Around the World. He’s read the book probably fifty times, but the adventure draws him in every time.

He suddenly hears a knock at the front gate, confused he closes his book and walks towards the front lawn.

He peeks around the corner, body out of sight, and spots a man, seemingly around his age, holding something.

He’s staring in Changkyun’s direction, forcing Changkyun to leave his hiding place now that he’s been spotted. Carefully, he walks to the man at the gate.

The man appears to be around Changkyun’s age, maybe a little older, as he nears closer.

“Bonsoir, how can I help you?” Changkyun asks warily when he reaches the gate entrance.

“Bonsoir, monsieur, I’m Hyunwoo. I’m here to drop off the evening paper but I wanted to make sure it arrived in human hands,” The stranger, now known as Hyunwoo, asks.

He’s alarmingly cute. Brown hair falls over his tan forehead, brown eyes shine even in the dull setting. He’s taller than Changkyun and his small smile has Changkyun’s heart fluttering.

Dressed in tan khakis and a white shirt, suspenders clipped onto the belt loops, he’s the epitome of an innocent man delivering newspapers, unsuspecting.

Changkyun takes the newspaper from him through the gate bars, bowing shyly.

“Thank you, Hyunwoo. Have a good night,” Changkyun says politely.

“You as well, Mr. Im,” Hyunwoo bows, getting on his rickety bike, he pedals away, down the long path.

He turns, noticing his father at the doorstep, arms crossed.

“Who was that Changkyun?” His father asks sternly.

“His name’s Hyunwoo, he delivers our newspapers I guess. He seems nice,” Changkyun shrugs, handing the paper to his father.

His father hums, now uninterested, the news now more important.

Changkyun looks back down the road, now empty, and wonders:

What side is he on?

[ciel-elyseen]

ii. secreta

tw: suggestive, making out, mentions of weed

it’s much later in the evening when the two of you make your way to the secluded dressing room.

pressed formalwear falls to the floor in the dimness.

you crave his hands on your heated skin, his slim, skilled fingers in intimate crevices.

he sits with his pretty thighs spread out on the mahogany couch.

he licks his lips tauntingly, admiring the black lace adorning your figure.

your hips sway as you walk over to him, a blunt resting between your figures.

a white puff of smoke leaves your glossed lips slowly, swirling in the warm air.

you pass the blunt to the ethereal man in front of you, he takes a drag.

you come to rest yourself in between his thighs.

he tangles his nimble fingers in your hair, pulling your mouth to his.

he exhales in the warm crevices of your mouth, smoke swirls in your lungs.

you gasp lightly as his lips meet yours, desire and need fuels the kiss further,

it’s nothing more than a purely sensual makeout.

your tongues dance as the scent of his roses fill your lungs.

his tongue licks into your mouth, one hand resting on your neck, the other on your thigh.

he rubs his thumb over your skin, sending sparks through the skin.

you pull apart, a thin line of spit connects your lips.

your eyes are dark with need, matching his filled with lust.

your fingers twirl the small hairs at the back of his neck, then tangling deep into his roots.

he lets out a rough gasp, hand now gripping your thigh.

the door to the dressing room swings open, and

you and your lover are graced with a man, smirk plastered on his beautiful face.

he stands in the doorway, arms crossed.

he enters and locks the door behind him.

you have a guest.

[ciel-elyseen]

12:00 am, où que tu sois

changkyun works late in the studio again,

scribbling lyrics to new songs down and then scratching them out,

unsatisfied.

he’s missing a key part of his creative process,

his partner in crime,

he calls jooheon, hopeful he’s still awake.

hello? it’s groggy and raspy, and it sends a shiver down changkyun’s spine.

please meet me in the studio in ten minutes, i need you.

jooheon’s silent across the line, heat rises to his cheeks.

i’ll be over, a soft whisper of a reply.

the line cuts dead.

he reaches changkyun in ten minutes, slowly opens the door.

changkyun looks up, holding jooheon’s gaze for what seems like eternity.

it makes jooheon gasp inwardly, swallows thickly as he takes in changkyun’s flushed, tired, beautiful face as the door closes behind him.

--

to changkyun, jooheon’s breathtaking. his sleepy eyes look so loving even if he’s exhausted and beaten down by their schedule.

he lifts a hand, drags his thumb across jooheon’s cheek, warming under the touch.

to jooheon, changkyun is heaven.

his voice,

his touch,

his everything.

he’s his best friend, always will be.

changkyun steps in closer, slowly closing the gap between them.

in this proximity,

they can see each other more intimately,

deeper.

jooheon surprises himself and changkyun by leaning forward,

lightly pressing his lips to changkyun’s.

he tastes like dark chocolate and cherries.

it’s dark and alluring, sensual.

--

in the dim light, their true feelings for each other are revealed.

[ciel-elyseen]

2:44 am, heartbreak

tw: angst, breakups

you hadn’t been expecting this when shownu asked to come over to your place.

you thought your relationship had been perfect for the two of you.

clearly, you were wrong.

tears stream in rivulets down your cheeks,

pain blossoms in your chest as his words continue to stab your soul;

i can’t do this anymore,

i don’t have time to be with you,

i love you, but i can’t be with you.

i’m sorry.

he looks remorseful but his gaze fuels anger and resentment in your gut.

it’s his lame-ass excuse of an apology that makes you angry,

then what the fuck are you leaving me for?

your words are bitter, hurt flickers in his irises as he looks at you,

his hands fidget in front of him as he attempts to grasp at the right words,

something to soothe your pain;

but what you want him to say cannot be said.

he needs to do this for the both of you, even if he doesn’t want to.

is there someone else?

it leaves your thoughts and through your lips suddenly,

you glare up at him, hope blossoms in your chest that he’ll say no.

that there isn’t anyone else.

but it’s the way his eyes widen and

his face frozen in visible panic

that the filthy truth has been exposed.

you wipe your tears angrily and rise from your spot on the couch.

please, let me explain.

you look into his pained eyes, anger and fury glaze your own.

there is no explanation needed, hyunwoo,

you lied to me.

you used me.

you didn’t fucking love me

and you’re not fucking sorry.

with only your phone and car keys, you shove past him,

you turn,

hope she’s fucking worth it. you’ll never have me again. ever.

you swing the front door, tears slipping down your reddened cheeks,

looking back once more at your past lover,

you slam the door in his face.

time to move on.

[ciel-elyseen]

royal purple;

cat-like eyes flicker across the studio recording area.

it’s dim,

empty.

confusion envelopes the lone man;

he’d been expecting someone.

his lips part softly as cold hands wrap around his arms from behind.

orchid-like hair drapes over his widened eyes.

the scent of sandalwood and cedar reaches his nose,

fuses with the scent of red roses;

it’s silent, tempting.

he turns around, desire passing over the other’s face.

palpable, waiting.

lips meet, tongues dance.

cold hands intertwine with warm ones.

passion invigorates the two;

they pull away, hearts racing

a warm glow envelopes the dim room, a shade of amber.