#THEY - even in an alternate universe are so THEY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hannie-dul-set · 2 days ago

Text

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — FOUR.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this.

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is.

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 10k.

NOTE. whewwww so much happens in this. like a lot WAHAHAHAHAH. would love to hear your thoughts and comments, maybe even predictions HAHA. there’s a bit more violence in this than in the previous chapters, but y’all know what you’re getting into. anyhow, enjoy!

THAT DAY WAS PERHAPS THE MOST EVENTUAL DAY YOU’VE HAD AT NALKEUTTA. It’s been two weeks since then, and in the past week you’ve been plagued by contract drafts and notarizing documents, meeting with the groups new clients (i.e. victims) to trap a few more poor souls into this burning death trap, and giving legal advice to Mark Lee whenever he calls and needs.

Honestly, if this was all that your job consisted of, you’d be a pretty happy camper, especially considering the zeroes your bank account is set to accrue. No more hearings every other day. No more angry clients trying to get a slap on the wrist for attempted assault or embezzling company funds or whatever shit. Your work at present is more peaceful than expected— that is, of course, if you exclude what’s been causing you to work overtime these past two weeks.

“I feel like I’ve been seeing you more often lately, attorney.”

Yeongdeungpo Police Station. Officer Jung tries to entertain you while waiting for Mark’s favorite mutt to get fished out of his cell. No shit, he’s been seeing you often. This is your third time this fucking week. “He didn’t get into any more trouble overnight, did he?”

“No, we made sure to put him in a single cell this time.” You sigh in relief. They should’ve done that the first fucking time. “Hey, attorney…this may be out of line, but—”

“Then stay in line, officer.”

Maybe your neuroticism is finally slipping through your stiff mask. Your eyes flash up at Officer Jung. He appears taken aback at first, but nods, smiling, and maintains a respectful distance. Sure, he’s hot and all, but you have no intention of hooking up with a cop just to put your career, life, and safety in jeopardy. Mark has eyes everywhere. You’re pretty sure he even has a handful of the officers here under his control.

“Damn. My guardian angel came early today,”

Enter the bane of your existence itself. He wears an annoying grin on his face while being escorted to you, free from handcuffs meaning he can with his hands whatever he pleases— which, unfortunately, is sticking a middle finger up in the air when the guy that he got into an altercation with passes by, and a second fight almost breaks out while you dumb ass of a, executive just cackles like a madman as the second guy gets held back by the officer escorting him.

You do nothing but yank on the sleeve of his arm, nails digging into fabric and the skin underneath. You’re not strong enough to dislocate him, but by god you wish you were. “Thank you, officer. We’re heading out now.”

Officer Jung smiles at you. “I’d say I hope to see you again, but I doubt you’d want to drive up here for the fourth time this week.”

“Haha.” It’s eight in the evening. You’re tired as fuck.

The moment you succeed in dragging him out of the station to avoid another count of misdemeanor, you wipe your hand on your blazer and quickly march to your car, not even checking if he’s following when you rip open the driver’s seat of your car and slam it back close. Unfortunately, he shoves himself into the front seat before you can lock it.

“Whew,” he says, buckling himself in. You look at him through the mirror. He’s leaned against the window and his torso is pointed towards you. “Want me to take over the wheel?”

The rev of the engine. You hear Na Jaemin scoff and turn his head away.

“Tough crowd.” He props up an elbow on the window ledge, cheek resting on closed knuckles as you continue to drive to the office when you’ve clocked out three hours ago. “You were pretty chummy with that cop earlier. If I remember, the fucker is the same prick who jumps out of station to wag his tail in front of you whenever you drop by.”

God, you don't have time for this. You block your ears. You continue driving. You just want to go home, but Na Jaemin isn’t done pissing you off yet.

“You’re pretty amazing aren’t’cha, attorney? That why it only takes a second for you to get us all out?”

Screeeeech!

“Whoa. You’re finally looking at me for once.”

That’s fucking it. You’re not dealing with his shit anymore.

“Get out.” With all this and that damned death threat letter you received, you haven’t exactly been in the most amicable mood. “Get out of my fucking car.”

Yet somehow, Na Jaemin just starts grinning wider in response to your death glare. “But the office is too far away, attorney.” You click your tongue, grip tightening on the steering wheel as you leer away. It’s the dead of night. You’ve pulled over next to a closed laundromat. Your body still refuses to look at the psycho next to you directly. One day, you swear you’re going to rip him apart.

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know.”

Your car lets out a loud honk when you slam your forehead into the car horn, breaking the peaceful quiet of the night. “Ugh.” You release a breath,the sound rasping against your throat. One day, you’re going to kill him. One day.

‎*‎

“Damn, attorney. You look like shit.”

The next morning, Lee Haechan interrupts your coffee break by being an asshole.

“There’s no one worth looking hot for in this dump.”

“Now, I think that’s what you call a hasty generali—”

“Haechan, I don’t want to fuck you.” His face is a stiff smile, just on the verge of cracking from a fatal injury. You step aside to give him space on the coffee machine, swallowing an almost scalding gulp of your drink. Come to think of it, Na Jaemin isn’t the only idiot you’ve fished out of the police station. “Hey. Hold on. I have a bone to pick with you, bitch.”

Haechan’s mug makes a rattling noise when he prematurely drops it onto the counter. You see a trail of sweat trickle down his neck. “What do you mean?”

“You nearly ran someone over the other day,” you start. “If I have to bail you out for another DUI, you’ll be seeing your car in a landfill.”

They’re so lucky that none of their victims chose to press charges. Thinly veiled threats usually allow you to settle with a compromise for the barest minimum amount for the damages they incur, but your words won’t always work. Still. It seems like Mark doesn’t mind pouring out whatever amount of money to save his valued lap dogs. These mutts are so god damned spoiled.

“Monster! Don’t you dare touch my Penelope!”

You wanna bully him for naming his porsche Penelope, but that’d make you a hypocrite. You don’t want to give up the remaining integrity you have left, so you choose to remain silent instead and finish up your coffee.

At the same time, you notice a third presence enter the breakroom, and you make the unfortunate decision of peering back, just in time to find Lee Jeno looming behind you. You nearly choke on your coffee. “‘Scuse me,” he says, voice low, and you waste no time scrambling to the side and coughing your lungs out.

Haechan talks to him while the latter pulls out a back container from the cupboards. “Hey, man. How’s the Daeghwang contract going?”

At that question, Jeno’s brows close together and you flinch when he replies with an annoyed grunt. “Bad.” He taps the open mouth of the container against the rim of a glass of water, white powder cascading out. “Cheongang is a pain in the ass.”

“That’s rough. Well, good luck. See you later."

He starts leaving with the glass and you can finally get back to breathing. Seriously. Na Jaemin may scare you and piss you off, but this guy is just intimidation incarnate.

“Hey, what was his fucking deal?” Your voice is both fear-stricken and appalled, pointing at the break room entryway the moment Lee Jeno’s shadow disappears from the floor. “Did I do something to him? He looked like he was gonna punch my teeth out for getting in the way of him and his creatine!”

Haechan has finally finished making his coffee. Instant coffee, which he brings up to his mouth to take a sip. What was the point of giving him way to the machine? “Oh, Jeno? That’s just his face. Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “He’s a nice guy, but Mark likes to bring him around when he’s out doing business. Adds to the aura.”

The fuck? Well. Now that you poke into your brain, you finally remember why Lee Jeno had seemed oddly familiar when you were introduced to him. That day you found out your (former) literati, over the bar crush was actually a fucking gang leader who’s actually kind of crazy. Jeno was the one with Mark carrying that big, suspicious duffel bag. That makes sense.

“He doesn’t look like it, but he’s actually very diligent and organized. He’s basically Mark’s secretary.”

This is very hard to wrap your head around, but maybe you’re just being too judgmental. Huh. If this is the case, then Mark has formed a pretty well rounded inner circle for him. Lee Jeno’s the one helping him make sure the oil keeps running, pretty much an all-rounder. Huang Renjun deals with Nalkeutta’s external partnerships. Now, all this makes you wonder—

“Then…what about Na Jaemin?”

There’s a flicker in Haechan’s eyes. He looks at you, eyes peeking above his coffee mug, and you don’t break your gaze. “Curious?” he hums, setting it down onto the counter behind him. “What about me? Don’t you wanna ask about what my role is?”

“I already know that you’re a desperate son of a bitch. What else do you do?”

“God damn, you never hold back.” You know he manages most of the internal affairs. Gratified HR, but you don’t want to grant him the satisfaction that you give a fourth of a shit. “Jaeminnie’s our clean-up dog. Mark knows how to put his maw to good use.”

Clean-up dog. Hah.

“If there’s anyone Mark needs to be beaten half to death, Jaemin’s the man for the job. The guy basically lives off of the adrenaline he gets from fighting. I think the money is just secondary to him, but who knows. Mark likes to keep him busy with chasing down debtors or else he’d take it out on the nearest Nalkeutta member within arms reach. He seems like a lazy prick, but he’s actually pretty competent and meticulous. Only when blood and bruises are involved, of course.”

Now, that makes you feel like absolute crap. Not for him, but for you— finding out that you and a psycho have been relegated to essentially the same demeaning position, one judicially and the other extrajudicially. That’s a dig into your pride. It leaves a sourly bitter taste on your tongue, and you don’t even have any coffee left to wash it down.

“Well. That is until someone pisses him off. Then things get pretty messy,” Haechan continues with a drawl, checking out his fingernails. Then his eyes flicker up, tipping his head back to flash you a grin. “Which has been more than often lately. He’s been getting into a lot of unrelated fights and trouble. Wonder why.”

Your mouth folds up into a sneer. “Talk about yourself, you serial drunk driver.”

“Let me take you out on a spin with my Porsche next time, attorney. It’ll be fun.”

“And fucking die? No thanks.”

“Aww, cmon! I promise you’ll get the rush of the century, babe, you won’t regret—”

Swoosh!

Thwack!

“Ow, hey, what the the fuck!”

You jump back, gaze darting down to check out the flying object that was punted into Haechan’s temple right. You snicker. It’s a vape pen. You’re about to thank the culprit until you actually find out who it is: lo and behold, Na Jaemin at the break room entrance, looking as smug as ever, and he successfully ruins your day at nine in the morning. “Whoops,” he says, sauntering up to you both, ducking down to swipe the vape pen off the floor before holding it back up. He’s not looking at you. He’s looking at Haechan. “Hand slipped.”

Haechan’s expression gets twisted. “Oh, you wanna go?” The gap between them closes. Uh-oh. Time to find an opening to leave. “Been a while since our last fight, Jaems.”

“Yeah, you mean the day I used your fucking face as a windshied wiper? Was it fun? Wanna try it again, you little bitch?”

“If you idiots wanna paint the carpet red, let me leave first—”

“No, wait.”

Haechan grabs onto your arm. He beams.

“We need a referee.”

And that’s how you got held hostage for a dog fight at the parking lot of your company building. It’s not even noon yet. These fuckers need to get sedated.

You question your existence as Haechan and Jaemin warm up, a considerable amount of distance between each other. Why are you even here? “I’ll make sure to give you a show, attorney.” You stare dead forward at the empty space in between, face not looking particularly entertained. And then he shrugs off his jacket, revealing his tank-topped chest, and you choke on your spit. His face lights up at your coughing fit. “Keep your eyes on m—”

Thwack!

“Whoops.”

Oh, what the fuck, you blink and all of a sudden Haechan has lunged forward to sock him straight in the kisser.

“Hand slipped.” Haechan draws back his arm, grinning. Oh shit. You’re unable to see the entirety of Na Jaemin’s face. His head is turned, eyes covered up by his hair. You watch as he hacks up his throat to spit out a blotch of red on the concrete ground. For a second there, you think he’s pissed.

Then he lifts up his head, revealing the crooked, blood-stained grin on his teeth.

“You been practicing for me, Donghyuckie?”

This guy just got punched. He just got punched in the face and he’s smiling.

That’s when things start getting uglier and you’re forced to watch two grown men brawl as their favorite pastime. Wow, they’re just going at it. Haechan lands another hook into Jaemin’s jaw and he quickly jumps away before the former can grab onto him. From what you can tell, Haechan’s a very sneaky fighter, retreating after every strike— almost as if he’s buzzing around Na Jaemin and nipping at him like a mosquito

“Oi.” Na Jaemin’s jaw is tight. “There’s no fun in this. Get over here.”

“Whoa!” Haechan manages to dodge another one of Jaemin’s attempts to grab at him. “No thanks!”

Yeah. Now Na Jaemin is definitely getting pissed. You can almost see the vein popping out of his neck when Haechan fails to duck quick enough, allowing Jaemin to grab a fistful of his hair. Haechan lets out a pained grunt when Jaemin yanks his head down, allowing full access to his face— allowing you to witness the blood drain from Haechan’s face in real time, at the very moment.

“Quit running away, you fuckin’ rat.”

Jaemin winds his arm back. You squeeze your eyes shut. And then you hear the sound of a fist hitting bone.

“That’s more like it.”

Jesus, his voice is nothing but pure elation. That’s it. You’ve seen enough of this demon’s madness to conclude that Haechan had just lost. This is where they differ— Na Jaemin doesn’t like fighting. He likes watching the willpower drain from his opponents eyes after each blow until they’re back and blue and have lost the will to live. A textbook sadist. The moment Na Jaemin has you in his grasp, you’re as good as a dead man. And that much is obvious with how much Haechan is struggling to get out of his grip without ripping a chunk of his hair off.

He looks like he’s having the time of his life “Grit your teeth, buddy.”

Haechan responds with a nervous laugh, dangling half on the floor. “Hey, man, I thought we were just sparring for fun, yeah? Let’s take it easy, ok— oof!”

Aaaaand, that’s your cue to stop watching. If the roles were reversed, then maybe you’d be more interested. You’ve seen this show and multiple encores back in high school already. So while they’re busy killing each other, you quietly sneak off to your car just a few parking spots away to retouch your lipstick. Maybe grab a snack from the glove compartment. Anything other than this mess, for sure.

Anything. Yeah, nevermind. Maybe not anything because the moment you reach your car, you notice something stuck on your windshield wipers.

There’s a wrinkly slip of paper there.

When you fold it open, it’s revealed to be a mortuary pamphlet. There’s scrawl all over it. Red marker. Count your fucking days, attorney. Wow. Not very up for interpretation. Does this fucker think you’re fourteen?

“Hey.”

You flinch. You turn your head back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing here, but apparently long enough for Lee Haechan to gather a collection of blood and bruises as he tries and fails to wiggle out of Na Jaemin’s grip.

The latter isn’t even looking at him. He looks at you as he jerks Haechan back to his knees.

“What’s the matter?”

It’s only now that you notice your hands are shaking. You hiss out a swear and crumple the sheet in the tight lump and stuff it into your slack pockets. “Some bastard left their trash on my car,” you grunt, stomping away from your car and back up to them. “Anyway, are you two done playing? Unlike you two, I have a semi-normal job here and still have work to do.”

“Not until you declare the winner, attorney.”

Na Jaemin finally decides to let the poor guy go. Haechan gets dropped to the ground with a thump, groaning in obvious pain. You look down at him, sighing. “Why’d you even provoke him if you were gonna lose anyway?”

Yeah, you’re not giving Na Jaemin the satisfaction. Haechan lets out a breath and a laugh as he settles on the parking lot floor, propped up by his elbows. “I thought I’d stand a chance toda.” He cracks at you. “But it seems like my plan backfired. Too bad.”

Although you refused to declare Na Jaemin the winner, it seems like his fight with Haechan was enough to pacify him for a while.

Seems like the bastard had his fill. You didn’t get any phone calls from Mark or the station nor did you receive any more threatening death threats over the weekend. It’s great. You hit 10,000,000g in Stardew and will soon have the same amount in your bank account. Monday rolls around again though, and you have to spend the entire day out of office to join Mark and Jeno for the Daehgwang meeting.

It’s so peaceful. The thorns in your side have been so well behaved. Haechan’s porsche got seized by the government because he forgot to pay last month, meaning he no longer has a vehicle to drive under the influence with. Na Jaemin hasn’t even gotten into another altercation.

At least not for the past three days.

On Tuesday evening, you get another ring from the station.

“It was a 5v1,” Na Jaemin informs you, grinning with a new busted lip on top of his bruises from Haechan. “I won.”

This time, you drive off before he could even get into your car.

‎*‎

“I swear to god, Renjun, it’s like he gets off from getting handcuffed and ruining lives.”

Renjun is your favorite Nalkeutta member so far. Meaning, he’s the unfortunate soul that’s stuck with hearing your whines and complaints over a jenga game in his office. It didn’t take much to convince him into joining you to get paid for goofing around on company time— however, you didn’t exactly advertise having to be your unpaid therapist for the time being.

“Who are you talking about again?” he asks after pulling out a successful block from the tower.

“Na Jaemin.” You crane your neck, squinting at the remaining blocks for an opening. “Does he die if he can’t get into trouble with law enforcement once a week or some shit? God dammit, this tower is tight.”

You’ve always known he was a sadistic fuck since high school. But you thought that only extended to physical pain. Apparently he has a penchant for inflicting psychological pain as well. “Uh-uh, sure he got into messes before— try that one.” You prod on the block he points at until it becomes loose. “But he wasn’t always this bad.”

The block slides out. You put it back on top and sit straight. “Haechan said something like that too.” Your brows furrow. “What exactly do you guys mean by that?”

Renjun shrugs, poking around the block tower. “He’d usually get into fights outside the job like twice a month max.”

He pulls out the wrong block. The tower collapses on the coffee table.

“I think it was around the time you joined that he got worse.”

It clicks. You understand now.

“Hey, let’s play again, that was a— wait, where are you going?”

You storm out of his office and stomp into your own. Na Jaemin doesn’t get off from ruining lives in general— it seems like he gets a special kick out ruining yours in particular. Fuck’s sake. You thought he was just a lunatic for getting into bar fights thrice a week. Apparently being his high school alarm clock for two years wasn’t enough. He needs you to contract occupational depression too.

Inside your office now. You bang a hand into your desktop keyboard because the printer is taking too long to vomit out the shitty piece of paper. You rip it out from its mouth and march into Ganghak Division, heels clicking against the tile— a sound most have already attributed to your presence, but this time so, so loudly that heads turn at each hollow clack— and the sound halts the moment you see one of his employees that you’ve flagged as a pushover the moment he’d been admitted here.

“Park Sion.” You grab him by the shoulder. “Is your dickhole of a boss in?”

He flinches and blinks his wide open eyes at you, gulping. “Y—yes?”

You grunt and push past him, printout in hand. You spot the door that has a frosted glass window in the middle. You make a beeline and kick it open with a loud bang!

“What in the name of fuck—”

The words get cut out from Na Jaemin’s throat the moment you lock eyes, and the pissed off expression on his face gets replaced by the cold splash of surprise and something you don’t give a fuck to decipher.

“A—attorney.” He clears his throat and tries to scramble himself back together. “Wow. Came to give a little visit?”

There’s someone else in the room— another Ganghak high schooler, standing straight and firm and nervous before his desk with a deck of papers pressed to his chest. You click your tongue barrel forward, shoving yourself between them and slam the piece of paper on his desk, a huff escaping your nostrils as you stare him down with the animosity of a thousand suns. He’s still a little shell-shocked, brows uplifted and eyes blinking before he looks down and slides the paper up to him.

“I hate your fucking guts,” he reads out your message printed in Cambria 14. You smile when he looks up from the page to meet your stare. It hurts your cheeks. Then you spin your heels and may your merry way out of his office in the best mood you’ve ever been since getting here— and this change of demeanour is very much noticed by every single Nalkeutta member that you walk past, turning heads of both horror and concern as you hum back to Huang Renjun’s territory.

Renjun turns his head to the door when you knock and swing it open.

“Whew.” You fall back onto his office sofa, causing his newly built jenga tower to tumble down. “Shit, that was cathartic. I needed that.”

He stares at his fallen tower, a somber expression on his face. “Are you gonna share it with the class?”

You do, in fact, share it with the class alongside your hypothesis that Na Jaemin hates your particular guts to the point that he’s actively making your living hell. Renjun is attentive throughout your whole rant session— nodding along to your cries and swears while he rebuilds your tower, and he places the last block on top just in time for you to finally run out of steam. “I swear to god, he has it out for me, Renjun” you finish off with a huff, sinking deeper into his sofa.

That in itself is bad, but apparently it could get worse.

“He could be doing it because he hates you, sure,” he starts, prodding into the newly built tower. “But have you considered the opposite?”

Because Huang Renjun injects a truly horrifying idea inside your head.

“What?”

He hums, locking into the middle piece at the very bottom of the stack.

“I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but on the days you give Jaemin the slightest bit of tolerant attention he doesn’t act out.”

He, then, slides the piece out.

“And whenever you flat out ignore him for the entire day, I get a colorful text from you that Na Jaemin is in a holding cell again and you’re on the way driving to get him out.”

He takes it into his hand—

“Maybe he’s just doing it to get your attention.”

—and finally sets it on top of the tower to restart the game.

“Your turn.”

You’re frozen in your seat. You carefully think back to all the times you’ve been plagued to bail him out— the first time, which was the night of the recruitment bullshit, and you did talk to him then. Granted it was to insult his smoking habits, but that completely debunks Renjun’s theory right? How about the other times— like the day after the first incident and you were far too pissed to even give him the light of day— wait. Wait.

No fucking way. Did you see him the day you left with Mark and Jeno to deal with the Daeghwang contract? You did pass him by, but why the fuck would you have greeted him? Shit. Oh my god. This is the most depraved shit you’ve ever been cursed to consider and you’d once debated offing a man just to win a court case.

You don’t want to believe it. There’s no fucking way.

So, you put it to the test first thing in the morning to make sure that Huang Renjun is nothing but a delusional fuck who just wants you paranoid.

You walk out of Mark’s office with him after a quick discussion on how to strengthen their loan contracts. He asks if you’ve been getting enough sleep lately and the answer to the question is in the very same hallway that you’re passing through, walking the opposite direction as the both of you.

“Jaemin-ah, good morning,” Mark greets him. The guy only stifles a grunt in reply before turning his attention to you.

You look at him. Not at him, but on the silver chain hanging around his neck because you don’t feel very brave at the moment. “Good morning, Na Jaemin-ssi.” Then you immediately scuttle away, leaving a nonplussed yet still pleasant demeanored Mark behind to catch up with you and bounce for coffee.

That entire day, you wait for a phone call from the station to arrive.

Night comes. You’re about to go to bed. Your phone does not make a single buzz. Nothing.

You’re horrified. You’re really, truly horrified.

Listen, you’ve never been dense to a man’s advances. You’re not stupid. You know when someone has a crush on your because always a standard operating procedure, the cut and dry tactics of trying to take you out for a meal or a drink, calling you pretty, or whatever the fuck. No one fucking flirts by violating the law multiple times a week just so you’d pick him up from the police station. So, you can’t exactly be blamed when you never saw this coming.

This singular thought plagues you for the rest of the week. So much so, that you don’t exactly trust yourself driving almost an hour over the weekend to Gyeonggi to meet up with some friends from law school, so you take public transportation instead.

The problem is, you couldn’t even enjoy your fucking brunch because they kept asking why you quit JSS, so all you could think about is all the men that have plagued you to ruination— one bastard standing out in particular.

“Seriously, is he a fucking lunatic or something?”

“Who’s the fucking lunatic or something?”

You’d been waiting at the bus stop on the way back to Yeongdeungpo when a convertible you don’t recognize pulls over, but the person sitting in the driver’s seat definitely is. Your face sours. Then dread washes over.

“Heard from Mark that you needed a ride,” Haechan tips down his sunglasses, smiling. “Hop in. Let me take you out for a spin on my new baby, attorney. It’ll be fun.”

Oh no. Fuck. Your days of relative peace from the police are over. You need to hire someone to wreck this orange-painted nightmare before you’re forced to deal with an inevitable hit and run case. This thing is an accident waiting to happen. It needs to fucking go.

Not right now, though. You do need a ride.

“Mind stopping by a pharmacy first? I think I’m having fucking indigestion.”

You also need to know where he parks this thing. You take a few steps back and snap your phone camera at his license plate before hopping in the car. “Why? Shitty date?” he hums, starting up the engine. “I can do you one better, sweetheart.”

“Shut the fuck and drive or else I’ll be needing more than just antacids.”

“Gotchu.”

It’s not that being a stuck-up bitch is your default. It’s just that you know better than to get yourself entangled into Nalkeutta more than you already are especially when the one thing you’re looking for is an out. The both of you make a stop at the nearest pharmacy in Gyeonggi and you pick up your medicine. Outside the store, Haechan spots a small hotteok stand to bribe you to hang out with him a bit more before heading back to Yeongdeungpo.

Ugh. You don’t wanna get back in there. That’s where Na Jaemin is and lately he’s been mentally perturbing you more than pissing you off or scaring you. You take a bite into the warm snack and start talking with a semi-full mouth. “By the way. Renjun told me something interesting.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” he muffles out.

“That Na Jaemin deliberately gets into trouble to get my attention,” you flatly say, looking at the syrup you just wiped off your mouth before licking it off. “I need a dissenting opinion or else I might actually go clinically insane.”

“Oh, you just noticed?” he says, walking back to his car and you follow. “Everyone in the office knows he has a crush on you. It’s pretty obvious.”

Well. No dissenting opinion. Guess you’ll have to go insane.

“I thought bringing you to our fight the other day would distract his messed up brain. But apparently the sick fuck just got more excited knowing that you were watching. He got bored when you went back into the office. I really should’ve known better.”

“Wait, if you knew that your insane friend has a fuckied up crush on me, then why have you been trying to hit on me in front of his face?”

The both of you get back into the car. Haechan spares you a glance and a grin.

“It’s funny,” he cackles. The car starts moving. Slower than you expected. It’s surprising that this guy is actually receptive to feedback, but you appreciate it nonetheless. “I never get a reaction out of him otherwise. And, I gotta correct you about something, attorney. There are no friends in Nalkeutta.”

There’s a soft breeze brushing past your ears. You peer at him, a tug on your lips. “So, we’re not friends?”

You almost snort seeing the way his shoulders flinch. The first time you speak to him without an ounce of venom, this idiot folds.

“I thought we’d gotten closer recently, Haechan.”

There’s no missing the way his ears flare up despite keeping his eyes on the road. God, this is pretty funny. The reason why you’re not as creeped out by the idea that another one of your co-workers harbors a petty crush on you despite the fact that they’re both demented and violent is simply because one has singlehandedly turned your last two years of highschool into a traumatic hell while also not giving enough of a fuck to remember the trauma he caused, and the other has not.

Still, you’re not indulging Lee Haechan any more than this because you still have some self respect. You wanna continue dicking around with this newfound power a bit more, but your high is quickly shut down by a shiver down your spine.

You jolt in your seat. Your eyes flash to the rearview. There’s a taxi trailing behind.

“Haha, have—have we gotten closer…? I thought you were more friends with Renjun, and—”

“Haechan, turn right.”

“What? That’s not the route ba—”

“Just fucking do it.”

With a concerned yet suspicious furrow of his brow, Haechan obliges your abrupt request, and what do you know— the moment you guys make a turn, the vehicle behind you does the same. “Now, make another right.” Your narrowed eyes remain fixed on the back mirror. “Left. Keep going.”

Your companion isn’t dull. He notices the same thing as you do at the third nonsensical turn. You hear him click his tongue, feigning annoyance, but no form of play pretend could even attempt to hide the wicked grin sprawling on his face in excitement.

Ah, shit. You instinctively clutch onto the seat belt straps as if you’re holding onto your dear life. “Hey, attorney,” he starts, shifting pedals. “Hold on tight.”

What the hell does it look like you’re doing?

The blazing hiss of rubber screeching against asphalt. This might very well be the day you die.

‎*‎

“C’mon, it’s been two weeks! Are you still mad?”

Yes. It’s been two weeks since your latest near death experience and it wasn’t even at the hands of your stalker, whom you managed to shake off thanks to Haechan, but the fact that these very past two weeks was spent trying to settle with his fucking hit and run victim has clearly pulverized any semblance of gratefulness you felt towards him.

Right now, he’s trying to win your forgiveness over by dropping a box of macarons from the new bakery in the district onto your lovely desk Savannah. You flip the box open as aggressively as you can and rip apart the unfortunate pink cookie with your teeth while you stare at him dead in the eye. He flinches. He tries to form a smile but it’s all crooked and nervous. “Sooo…are we good now?”

You finish up the remnants of your first victim and pull open your drawer, and Haechan watches as you take out a few staples pieces of paper before handing it to him.

“What’s this?”

He opens his mouth first before reading. You marvel at the decline of man’s average intelligence.

“It’s a contract,” you hum. “Sign it, and I’ll hang out with you again.”

“Oh, sweet!” he enthuses and fishes out a pen from your variety assortment, setting the sheet down onto the polished mahogany surface. He’s already started the first stroke of his legally binding signature when he actually inquires into the nature of the contract. “You should’ve just given this to me days ago, damn I even went to— wait. What’s this about impounding my car?”

You quickly try to snatch the paper back, but Haechan may be dumber than you but he is stronger. He quickly flits back to the first page, squinting at the fine print very close to his face, and after a moment of realization, he jerks his arms down to release a horrified gasp.

“Evil! Evil woman!” He points an accusatory finger. “How could you attempt to do this to me and my Josephine?!”

His curses fall on deaf ears. You remove a bushel of lint from your blaze lapels and flick it off into a corner of your office. “I think it’s a fair agreement,” you languidly say. “We get to be friends for so long as you refrain from getting into another traffic accident. Otherwise, say goodbye to your dearest Josephine.”

“No!”

A knock on your door interrupts the tantrum you caused. It gets quiet. A head peeks in. It’s Mark.

“Are you two busy?” he asks, likely having heard your…conversation from outside. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Immediately, you shift your attention away from the high speeding demon and straighten your back towards your boss. “Not at all. What’s the matter?”

Haechan quietly greets him as well in a grumble, stepping aside in order to surrender his spot in front of your desk to Mark. “Oh, it’s not at all a source of worry,” he assures with a hum. “It’s just that, it’s been over a month since you’ve graced Nalkeutta with your expertise, but we haven’t even thrown you a welcome party yet. Things have indeed been hectic with our clients one top with our ongoing problem with Cheongang, yet these issues aren’t justifications to prevent your warm welcome.”

There’s a smile on Mark’s face. Oh no. You know where this is going and despair befalls over your face.

See, you’re not exactly against company dinners. Back in JSS, it was a regular opportunity to get your bosses and partners blackout drunk so they don’t remember you recording their not-very-proud moments. But right now, you’re not exactly keen on going home late considering your whole stalker death threat situation.

“I already booked a bar near the bridge. Let’s all take the evening off.”

Well. Now that there’s no way out of this, all you can do is hope that today isn’t your due date yet.

Evening comes, and you’re suffered to be in Na Jaemin’s presence again. He’s in the company car that Mark ushers you into, sitting in the front seat next to Jeno and you two make a split second of eye contact through the mirror before stumbling into the car seat with an annoyed grunt. God, you’ve been so busy these past two weeks that you weren’t even given the chance to stress about him. Now you’re trapped with him for the rest of the night with little to know chance to escape.

Throughout the drive, you contemplate faking sickness again but unfortunately you never got the opportunity to set it up, so you just come up with your roster of excuses in case the amount of men inside the lounge starts becoming noxious to you.

“Cheers!”

The moment drinks start rolling in, they’re cheering for your name and title—- under duress, maybe, because it was preceded by a late welcome speech from the big boss himself. Mark pours you a drink and you’re obligated to swallow it down, burning your throat. Ugh.

Obviously, not every Nalkeutta member is here right now. Aside from Mark and his four executives, two to three lower ranking members from each division have also been extended the invitation. You recognize Zhong Chenle from Hyeongshin and Na Jaemin’s favorite lackey, Park Jisung, held hostage by his boss in a torture chamber of shot after shot after shot.

“How are you holding up?”

Renjun settles into the velvet seat next to you— unoccupied for the last hour because Haechan is still throwing a tantrum after your attempted vehicular slaughter, Na Jaemin maybe, finally took the eloquently worded message that you delivered the other week to heart, and the rest of Nalkeutta’s members are too intimidated to sit near the in-house lawyer that regularly stomps around in a flurry of swears throughout the office and your heel clicks harbors fear.

“Fantastic,” you deadpan, bringing the god rush you ordered to your lips. “I’m tipsy and cold and want nothing more than to knock myself out via head injury right now. You think if I announce that my period just arrived, they’d be too uncomfortable to stop me from leaving?”

“You’d probably succeed, but I don’t exactly recommend you leaving by yourself.”

“This is Nalkeutta’s territory, what kind of fucking idiot would try to jump me?”

“Well, things are precarious with Cheongang right now, and—”

You’re interrupted by a meek “Ex—excuse me,” from a Daehyeon subordinate. Lee Jeno’s subordinate. You look up and raise a brow at him. The guy’s face is embarrassed and he’s holding out a jacket. “The…the boss told me to give you this.” Your eyes flit down to the article, hanging sleeves barely brushing against the bare skin of your thighs that your pencil skirt is failing to cover, and you look up across the room to see the said co-worker conversing with Jaemin, now in a compression shirt when you could’ve sworn he was more covered up earlier.

Again, you briefly meet eyes with Jaemin. You cough and look away, accepting the jacket with a thank you before the grunt scurries away. Then you recall Haechan’s words. He’s a nice guy. Man, if only you went to Daehyeon in high school, you’d probably be a lot saner today.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Renjun continues. “It’s a little dangerous right now and those guys are just across the bridge. They could be loitering around nearby.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine, I don’t go around unarmed you know.” You adjust the newly acquired cover on your lap. “Well. Maybe I do have something to worry about considering there’s a creepy stalker threatening to kill me.”

It’s like the entire room screeches into a tense halt.

“What?” Haechan finally decides to grow up and talk to you, marching up to your side of the lounge with a knitted look. “What do you mean stalker?”

The repetition of the word attracts everyone’s attention if your first utterance hadn’t already. Drinks stop pouring. You notice eyes on you— particularly from across the room, which you promptly brush off to entertain Haechan’s question. “Oh, you know the day you ran over that grocery owner? The one I had to beg just so he wouldn’t sue you?”

“Yeah, I fucking know, but what do you mean you’re being stalk—” It hits him. “Fuck. The taxi. I thought it was just another one of my enemies training me!”

“Attorney, is this true?” Mark finally enters the conversation, uncharacteristically concerned. “And did you say this person is threatening to kill you?”

You meant to say it as a self deprecating joke. You didn’t expect these guys to actually clock your words and take you seriously.

“Attorney?”

You don’t answer verbally. Instead you grab your purse and pull out the envelope that’s been cozying up in there since you first got it. You set its contents down on the table for everyone to see, followed by the mortuary pamphlet you retrieved from your windshield. “This one was attached to my car in the company parking lot, but I’m pretty sure it’s a personal vendetta and has nothing to do with Nalkeutta, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

It’s disappointing, but this is all you have. There are no texts or phone calls. You have nothing on this bastard but a letter and a note.

Mark’s holding up the letter. You notice the pamphlet wrinkle in between Haechan’s fingers. “When did you get this?”

“Uhhh, the day Na Jaemin beat the shit out of you?”

“God fucking dammit.” He tosses it back to the table and throws his hands in the air before stomping off in frustration. Renjun scolds him and gives the note back to you, and you promptly fold it to return to your purse, along with the letter Mark offers back to you.

“There’s security cameras there,” he says. “Have you checked them yet?”

“I did and he was masked and covered up. Same with the footage from my building. I checked in with my landlady the day after I received the note at my doorstep, and she wasn’t around when it happened.”

“He knows where you live?!”

“Jesus,” Renjun breathes out. “You’re practically buddies with the cops at the station, why didn’t you report it?”

You simply sigh in your seat and set your purse aside. Honestly, you’re getting annoyed. Do they think you’re fucking stupid? Do they think you’re just letting this freak run around because you want to? Fucking ridiculous. “There’s barely any evidence to identify him, much less to penalize him for anything more than a fine and a warning. I thought I’d wait until I have enough under my belt to ensure a final conviction.”

“And continue risking your life? Are you fucking stupid?”

It’s Na Jaemin who says that.

He’s still sitting in the same spot as earlier, unmoving from his seat across the lounge, staring at you with a weight that practically digs into flesh and bone. Your jaw clenches. You ignore his insult with a roll of your eyes and you down the remaining half of your cocktail.

“This isn’t something we can just take lightly, attorney,” Mark tells you as though he’s genuinely concerned, but you call bullshit. He just doesn’t like the idea of losing his safety net from the law. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Your brows twitch. You firmly set the glass down on the mess of a table. “It seemed personal,” you answer, pointedly. “I didn’t think it concerned the company. That’s all.”

There’s quiet. You don’t look up from your seat, pouring yourself another drink. There’s a ticking in your ear. You’re frustrated. A groan scratches out of your throat and you quickly try to wash it down with a lean glass of whiskey, but Renjun manages to snatch it out of your hands with a disappointed click of his tongue before you succeed with your attempt.

You snap your head at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Maybe you should call it a night,” says, taking out his phone. “What’s your address? I’ll book an Uber.”

“He’s right, but you shouldn’t go alone,” Mark interjects. You look at him like he’s vomiting out shit from his mouth. He ignores it and instead turns back— gaze directed to the set of seats across the room. “Jaemin, make sure she makes it back home safely.”

“What?” Your voice is a shriek. You jolt onto your feet. “I understand you’re trying to look out for your employee, but why does it have to be him?”

Na Jaemin is already pulling on a jacket. Your bite down your lip. You already have one crazy asshole knowing where you live. You don’t need another one.

“He’s the only one capable and hadn’t had anything to drink.”

“What about Renjun!”

The man in question looks the slightest bit sorry and embarrassed. “Listen, I don’t wish upon your death, attorney, but if that threat comes tonight, I can’t protect you. I already told you that I don’t fight.”

Fucking hell. You deflate like a balloon. Mark takes your lack of further complaints as surrender and nods at Jaemin, who promptly starts ushering you out of the reserved room. “I already know that you fucking hate my guts, attorney, but now’s not the time to be picky.”

“Just take your damned orders as is like a good dog and don’t fucking talk to me.”

Frankly, you’re heated right now. That entire situation was patronizing. You can’t stomach being treated like some goddamn helpless bitch who can’t handle her own dirty laundry when you’ve been cleaning up for them for most of your fucking career. You just need time. You just need enough cards and opportunities to fuck this stalker over. It’s not beyond your capabilities. It’s not something you need a dysfunctional circus gang to fix for you.

Thankfully, your guard dog doesn’t try to pick a fight throughout the uber ride home. He’s garnered enough tact this past week to figure out your sour mood.

It’s just as quiet when you finally arrive at your building. Na Jaemin follows you all the way to the entrance. The key remains slotted into the doorhole, unturned. “What are you doing?”

You hear him scoff from beside you. “Doing my fucking job like a good dog. Your stalker left the love letter on your doorstep. You think I’d stop here?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Begrudgingly, you lead him up to your unit. The moment you reach the door, you spin your heels to look at him without exactly looking him in the eye. “Alright, we’re here and I’m alive and not dead. Now leave me al—”

You stop. You stop because just when you’re reaching out for your doorknob— almost relieved that you can finally rest and end the day with a shower and good night’s sleep— you notice dents on the metal that weren’t there before.

Na Jaemin notices the same thing. His brows are furrowed. He brushes your hand aside and the handle rattles with a twist. It’s unlocked. You didn’t leave it unlocked this morning.

You remain glued to the hallway floor as you watch Na Jaemin open the door.

The moment an opening cracks, he gets smashed on the head with your wooden counter stool and you let out a squeak and yell.

“Fucking hell!”

“W—wait, you’re not—!”

He hisses in pain but takes less than a second to recover, grabbing onto one of the chair legs to jerk the entire thing back and reach out for the extended arm of the person wielding it before he could let go. You hear a fit of fighting grunts from inside. The chair gets dropped to the ground. Na Jaemin disappears into your apartment with the thrashing culprit, exchanging threats and swears, and it takes you a moment to get back to your senses, the thumping in your ears becoming less and less deafening, and you take your few steps inside.

To say the least, your living room is a mess.

The couch is tipped over. Your rug is in tatters. This fucker was gracious enough to spare your T.V., and your wide eyes immediately dart over to the center of it all— the sight of Na Jaemin pressing the struggling culprit against your once clean floors.

“Fuck, let— go! Get the fuck off me! Agh—!”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll break your fucking arms.” Na Jaemin nods his head up, not even budging. “Hey, attorney. You call the shots. What do you want me to do?”

You stare at the man underneath him— the man responsible for making the mess out of your apartment and everything that preceded this very moment. You look at his face, bunched up in rage and shame and frustration, and that’s when you recognize him: your last case at JSS. The sweet, sweet old lady you helped pen her will. The same will that disinherited her two prodigal sons. You met them before. Both of them, because your client wanted to break it to them personally even though she wasn’t legally obligated to, all because she’s such a kind person.

That same person gave birth to despicable trash like this one.

They weren’t happy to hear the news. And since their mother is still under the protection order you arranged, this guy decided that the next best thing to take his anger out on is the lawyer that helped his mother screw them over.

Na Jaemin is still waiting for your answer. The right thing to do would be to take him to the station, finally file the report so they could force an admission of guilt. There’s a CCTV camera in the hallway and even if he was covered up, there’s still clear evidence of breaking and entering on top of everything he’s done to torment you so far. That’s the right thing to do. The legal thing to do.

But right now, you’re simmering.

No, fuck it, your blood is boiling. You shrug off your blazer and toss it as a new addition to your messed up apartment floor. You roll back your right shoulder. You take a few more steps forward, staring him down on the ground. “Hold him up,” you tell Na Jaemin. It takes a second for him to register your instruction. But when it does, you couldn’t even miss the wild grin that stretches on his face— even if you wanted to.

“Since you asked nicely,” he says with a lace of amusement, ignoring the bouts of protest from the guy when he lugs him up to his feet like a ragdoll, locking him in place with two arms, and leaving him open and vulnerable.

The first thing you do is yank his chin up by the hair. It’s a sight to see— the sheer hatred and animosity someone is capable of mustering on their face, even when they’re at someone else’s mercy.

It’s funny. You sneer. Then you grab the other side of his head and slam his nose into your knee.

“Fuck!”

“Son of a bitch.” You jerk his head back up, watching the blood dribble down from his nostrils. “Did you have fun pulling your dumb ass tricks?”

He lets out a pained groan, but still has the strength to shoot you a glare. You let go of his scalp to grab him by the collar so you can have a better grip of slapping him in the face.

Smack!

“Shit—”

“May life is already a living hell dealing with these Nalkeutta fuckers every single day—”

Whack!

“And then your ugly ass rears in to make things all the more worse.”

Thwap!

“Your disinheritance is none of my fucking business.”

Slap!

“To think I was scared and paranoid for weeks and weeks and weeks because of some broke ass pathetic prick.”

Crack! Your bloodied fist draws back from his jaw. He sputters out a bubble of red. You’re practically holding him up by the stretched out collar of his shirt.

“Hey,” you say, giving him a rattle. “What gives you the right to do all of that to me, huh? Huh?”

When he doesn’t answer, you feel a tick in your temple. You go in for another smack to his face, but it doesn’t happen.

“That’s enough.”

You’ve always thought that if Na Jaemin were to grab you by the wrist, he’d immediately snap it into two.

“You’re gonna regret it tomorrow.”

The shock from the gentle fitness of his grip sends you back to reality, and you finally feel the dull throb on the knuckles of your right hand, the sharp tingle on the skin of your palms that seeps into muscle and flesh. You let go of him. You see splotches of red all over, and the eventual sores and bruises that’ll show up by the morning.

You call your landlady. Na Jaemin accompanies you to the station to turn your stalker in along with all the evidence you managed to acquire. Officer Jung questions the state of the perpetration, and when you chalk it up as self-defense, he doesn’t press further and simply wishes you a good rest.

The moment you walk out into the lobby and see Na Jaemin waiting, you’re hit with an uncomfortable whiplash at the unprompted role reversal. You don’t fight him or anything when he takes you back home. All you could do was muster a quiet, “Thanks,” when he tells you that he sent over some Ganghak members to clean up the mess of your apartment in the hour and a half that you spent at the precinct.

“Mark says you don’t have to come in tomorrow,” he tells you before you go on.

“Wasn’t planning to,” is what you say before finally closing the door on him.

‎*‎

Unfortunately, Na Jaemin was right.

“Ow! Shit! Fuck me!”

You are, indeed, regretting your whole fit of violence right now— over your bathroom counter with your med kit sprawled open. Your hands are a mess. You bandage yourself up before attempting to make breakfast. The attempt ends with you hissing in pain every time you try to hold something with your right hand, so you end up ordering something to eat instead.

While waiting, you plop down on your down fixed couch to answer the flood of messages that had been coming in since last night. Mostly from Haechan. One text from Renjun checking in on you. The last few from Mark telling you to take as much time off as you need— paid, he emphasizes. His fluency in your way of communicating is starting to scare you. You tell him you’d be clocking in back to work tomorrow.

A new notification comes in telling you that your order is almost here. You groan and peel yourself off the couch, grabbing a pair of slides from the entryway before twisting open your already unlocked door.

The moment you breathe the hallway air, you’re met with another commotion.

“Get out! Go away!”

“Ma’am, I’m telling you I know the resident here, I’m just— ow!”

Thunk!

“Don’t you lie to me, I know Miss Attorney doesn’t have any friends or a boyfriend! Get out!”

You stop by the doorframe, taking in the sight of your middle-aged landlady beating the high and mighty Na Jaemin with a convenience store bought frying pan. He looks so distraught shielding himself with his arms, before finally noticing you, and his expression shifts. “Hey! Tell this woman to stop, I’ve been—”

Thwack!

“Attorney!” your landlady greets you after landing another metal blow to Na Jaemin. “This weirdo has been loitering around your unit ever since I got here! Should we call the police?!”

Your eyes flit over to Jaemin. He looks annoyed and pissed and disgruntled, but apparently even someone like him won’t raise a hand against a woman old enough to be his mom. You stifle out a short sneer, then turn to your landlady with a smile. “Ahjumma, it’s alright, he’s my co-worker,” you assure. “He’s the one who helped me last night.”

You hear him scoff. “Oh,” your landlady gasps. “I’m so sorry, dear. You just looked awfully suspicious.” Then she quickly forgets about him to address you instead. “I already called a repairman to fix your broken door. They’ll be here before lunchtime.”

“Thank you. I’ll handle it from here!”

“Take care, dear. Have a lovely morning.”

When she goes off up the staircase, you look at the weirdo loitering around your unit. You cross your arms, brow raised. “What do you want?”

He stares you down, and you catch his mouth twitch when he lets out an incredulous huff. “Your damn landlady should get heating in the hallway. My back’s all sore and all I get in return is attitude,” he snarks. “Can’t believe you had a good night’s sleep even with your lock broken after the shit that went down. I don’t know if you’re brave or fucking stupid.”

You’re hit by a sudden pang against your chest. Oh. Oh. You notice he’s still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. You let his insult slide this time, telling him to follow you downstairs to pick up your food. It’s a good thing you ordered enough for two meals today. You don’t thank him. Instead, you invite him in for a doenjang-jjigae breakfast.

“Want coffee?”

“You gonna spit in it?” he chides from the dining table.

“Just say no, you prick,” you grunt, dragging out a pitcher of water from your fridge instead and slamming it down onto the table. You’re starting to second guess your act of gratitude. You should’ve just let your landlady beat him to death with the pan.

He pours water into the two empty glasses while you struggle to open the delivery bags and containers. You curse the plastic knot getting in the way of your doenjang-jjigae, hissing every time the plastic brushes against your still raw skin despite the bandages. Na Jaemin seems to notice your struggle because he clicks his tongue and snatches it from you to do it himself. Your face grows hot. Your pride is in tatters.

You two start eating in silence. God, this is so fucking awkward. “So, uh,” you try to crack it. “The food is…great…right…?”

“Cut the shit, attorney. Just spit it out.”

“Jeez, fine, alright,” you set your utensils down a little too aggressively, and you feel the sting deep within your palms. Your glare zeroes in on the spot on his head that you recall getting ambushed by your counter stool. “Is your head fine? It didn’t bleed or anything, right?”

He just shrugs and continues slurping down the soup. “I’ve had my head split open before. It’s no biggie.”

You stare at him. Was…was that supposed to be a brag? How many concussions has he had? Is that the reason why there’s a screw loose in there somewhere? He’s so fucking insane.

“You worried, or some shit?” He sets down his spoon to fish out a ply of tissue from the box on your table, dabbing away at the shit-eating smile on his face. “That’s cute. Does it mean you don’t hate my fucking guts anymore?”

The tofu you’re trying to eat stops midway into your throat. My god, you didn’t expect him to take that note so seriously.

You swallow it down with water. “I just wanted to know if I had to reimburse you for any hospital bills,” you explain, somewhat defensive. “I still hate your fucking guts.” His past transgressions aside because he can’t even fucking remember them. “You were the shittiest and most stressful client I’ve ever had and I will hold this grudge until I die. I would’ve dropped your case if Mark’s very existence wasn’t a threat to my life.” All he does is cackle in response. You leer at him. “Fuck off, you treated me like crap then. I don’t get why you’ve been changing your tune lately. It’s throwing me off. Why the hell did you even help me?”

The ideas that Renjun and Haechan injected into your poor brain start to surface. Maybe he’s just doing it to get your attention. Everyone in the office knows he has a crush on you. You hope that’s not the case. You really hope it’s not— and now’s the opportunity to finally get the real answer.

Your heart is thumping like crazy waiting for Na Jaemin to open his dumb mouth. “Ah. The visiting room,” he starts, eyes wandering up like he’s reminiscing a pleasant memory. You don’t share the same sentiment and your expression sours. “I thought you were a pushover at first and it annoyed the hell out of me. Not a big fan of spinelessness and cowardice.”

Wow. You’re speechless. He’s this close to getting kicked out.

“But then you pulled me into that room during recess in court.”

His eyes flicker over to you— forcing the eye contact that you’d always been running away from. The look on his face forces a lump in your throat. You gulp it down and feel a rattle in your bones. What is this? What’s his deal? Is he trying to fight? What in the name of—

“And then I realized just the kind of woman I was into.”

—fuck?

“Last night, too. But it would’ve been pretty inappropriate to tell you I was turned on considering the situation.”

You blink. You gape at him. You’re not sure if your face is steaming because of anger or embarrassment, so you chalk it up as both.

“Get out.”

This is it. This is enough. It’s time to call it a day.

“Get out of my house.”

“I’m not done eating ye—”

You grab his glass of water and douse it over half-eaten stew, some of which spills and splatters over him. “Yes, you are. Out. Now.”

Na Jaemin lifts his brows and raises his hands up in surrender as he gets up from his chair without protest, an infuriating simper playing on his face, and it just all the more pisses you off. He makes a comment about your broken door lock before you tell him to fuck off and shove him out into the hallway, his cackles finally get muted the moment you slam the door into his face.

You press your back against the wood. You suck in a deep breath before releasing it as you slide down to the floor.

“This is nuts.”

Seems like you might need another day off. You text Mark that you’ll be coming in on Thursday instead.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

#jaemin x reader #na jaemin x reader #jaemin x you #na jaemin x you #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #nct x reader #nct x you #na jaemin fanfic #na jaemin scenarios #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #na jaemin smut #jaemin smut #nct smut #nct dream smut

168 notes · View notes

partygirlpiastri · 14 hours ago

Text

GIRL, SO CONFUSING! ; OP81 + LN4.

synopsis: A combination of a fic and SMAU (Social Media Alternate Universe), following new F1 teammates Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris. . . and Oscar’s childhood best friend, Y/N L/N.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Use of swear words in English; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks; Depiction of a love triangle and polyamorous relationship (MMF)

a message from the author: My first hybrid post! I really love this idea – Landoscar is one of my favorite driver pairings – and I hope you all do as well 🥰 This took me forever to make, but I think it’s worth it.

yourusername: Summer went away, still, the yearning stays ☀️

tagged oscarpiastri

comments 2.1k

user1 How are you real??? You’re so beautiful

user2 This belongs on a postcard, fr 💌

user3 HAHAHA Oscar

user4 Hair tut when?

user5 Model, muse, icon, legend

oscarpiastri Thanks for including me 😁

user6 You look absolutely devious

comments 8.3k

user7 NO WAYYYY

user8 Is this how I find this out?

user9 Oscar is my GOAT 🐐

user10 Future WDC incoming. . .

user11 Poor Lando, he’s going to get demolished

user12 I’m excited to see this pairing!

user13 They’re complete opposites, it will be funny to see how this works out 😅

When Oscar didn’t think you were paying attention, he loved to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears. You had a bad habit of having loose curls flying around, which is why you straightened your hair to an inch of its life almost every day. Oscar had been pestering you about this habit of yours for weeks now, bribing you with sweets and threatening to steal the iron. He said that your bright red hair reminded him of blood, of the invisible bond the two of you shared. You waved him off, calling him creepy, but secretly? You found it kind of poetic.

We’ve known each other since we were six. When would I lie to you? If your hair looked bad, I’d tell you.

You hated letting him win. The few arguments the two of you had never been resolved by direct confrontations. For Oscar, it was a nightmare: he was an introvert, through and through. Even if you were angry, it didn’t mean you were going to cross his boundaries. Instead, your arguments had been settled like icebreakers. A silly joke cracked by either one of you, and the tension dissolved. Neither one of you had ever conceded, but maybe it would be worth it this time.

Because Oscar Piastri, your best mate since childhood, had reached his insurmountable dream of entering Formula 1. He had signed with McLaren – a mid level team, but one with massive potential. The one thing that he could never stop talking about and spent ages fighting for, had finally happened.

So, yeah. You were willing to make some sacrifices to make Oscar happy. Never let it be said you didn’t do anything for him.

When you had found out, the notification from the official Formula 1 Instagram page appearing on your phone, you had screamed so loudly your mother had rushed into your bedroom, clutching her heart like she’d suffered a heart attack. “OSCAR MADE IT INTO FORMULA ONE!” you shrieked, tears flowing down your face. You were deliriously overwhelmed.

“Oh my God, I thought somebody killed you!” Your mum had scolded you. “Tell Oscar I said congratulations. That’s amazing. But don’t do that again to me, you understand, Y/N?”

You nodded, immediately going to the text chain for Oscar and typing up a series of messages to him. It was incredible how fast the trajectory of someone’s life could change for the better.

In the blink of an eye, your best friend was suddenly thrust into the public sphere. Now, he wasn’t just yours to admire, to love, to keep. He was everyone’s.

And suddenly, his newfound fame didn’t seem so wonderful anymore.

In the twenty years that spanned your life, you never believed that you would fall for the “sexy” British accent trap. Lots of the girls in your year – when you were at school – adored it, swooning over actors’ voices in the cinema, but personally? It wasn’t something you were fond of. You rather liked Oscar’s Australian accent: clipped, quiet. Familiar.

But then you met Lando Norris.

You were at McLaren Headquarters in Woking, touring alongside Oscar. You hadn’t asked to join him – your company and consoling presence was just an unspoken rule, especially when Oscar was forced out of his comfort zone. The building and grounds were sprawling, with a sleek modern design and blinding white lights. The raw power and the faded glory emanating from within disoriented you. You couldn’t believe that you were here, walking through halls haunted by the memories of legends.

The Brit was two years older, and a veteran in Formula 1. He was waiting for the three of you in a meeting room, and didn’t wait for the tour guide (a young woman named Shelley) to introduce himself. Lando was cocky and sure of himself, cracking jokes like it paid the bills. He was the complete opposite of Oscar, and typically, you avoided men who were outgoing.

Yet. . . something about Lando lured you in.

When Oscar was in the garage, getting to know the pit crew, you stayed behind, telling him you were tired – which was the truth. Lando waited with you, pretending like he was relaxing, scrolling through his Instagram feed.

“So. . .” he finally said, looking up from the glowing screen. “Can you believe it?”

You shrugged, as casually as you could muster. “Not really, no.”

“I’m sure Oscar is thrilled,” Lando continued. You could tell he was pushing for details, eager to know more details about his new teammate. Oscar hadn’t revealed many things about himself, one of the many reasons why you were so loyal to him. He would die before telling anyone else the secrets you told him.

You looked down at your hands, unsure of what to respond. Lando was being nice, but you felt like there was something else he wanted to know. You decided to be courteous, in case your gut was overanalyzing the situation. It did have the tendency to do that. “Yeah. In his own way.”

Lando cocked his head, searching your face for clues. “Not a very emotional guy?”

“He is, but only when he gets to know the other person. It takes time.” You swallowed, plastering on a bright smile. “He’ll warm up to you, don’t worry.”

“OK.” Lando hummed appreciatively. “Turn up the charm. I can do that.”

You chuckled, imagining Oscar’s reaction to Lando’s nearly insufferable charisma. It would be absolutely hilarious to witness it. Poor Osc.“Mhm. Good luck.”

“Thanks!” Lando grinned, obviously not detecting the sarcasm lacing your words. Then, in a serious tone, he questioned, “Could I potentially. . . have your number? I understand if not.”

“Of course,” you answered, after a beat. “Here’s my phone. You can put in your contact details here.”

A few moments later, Oscar returned to the meeting room, immediately standing by your side like a protective guard dog. You could feel the tension radiating from him, as if he were aware that you’d given Lando your cell number. “How was everything?” you asked, twisting around to look at him.

“Great,” he said, staring at Lando with a shrewd expression. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, rising from your seat. “Just about.”

“Thanks for tagging along,” Oscar said calmly, but you saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it jealousy?

You had no idea, but you were sure that it was a matter of time. Not even Oscar could keep his cards hidden for too long.

oscarpiastri replied to the Snap

Interesting song choice 🤔

You had never kept a secret before from Oscar. It wasn’t something the two of you did. You knew each other like the back of your hand, and sometimes, you really did question whether he was psychic, so there was no point to it.

Except. . . now you were hiding the biggest bombshell ever from him. OK, maybe not the largest scandal ever, but it would hurt Oscar when he found out. Which is why you were sure to act as normally as possible, so he couldn’t sniff it out.

Because you were talking to Lando Norris, his teammate, behind his back.

And you were falling for him. Hard.

He was witty. Smarter than you’d first thought, with a tongue that could send heat sparking through your skin with only a few words. So what if he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch when it came to geography or maths? Lando had a sweet, genuine soul.

He resembled Oscar in that way – trying to conceal the vulnerability that you admired so much. Everyone thought that F1 drivers had an ego, believing they were invincible. Lando disputed that, whole-heartedly, and you adored him for it.

Meanwhile, Oscar was extremely hostile to Lando. You had never seen him so distraught before, resisting cordiality despite all your efforts. It gave you an extra reason to be guarded; if he found out, there was no doubt that he would seek revenge on the track.

You couldn’t risk it.

Especially since you knew – if it came down to it – you could not choose between the two of them.

Time skip (March 2023)

f1 And that’s a wrap! Bahrain Grand Prix, the opener for the 2023 season, is completed! Astounding performance by Red Bull’s Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez.

comments 27.3k

user14 Du Du Du Max Verstappen

user15 I can already tell this season’s going to be Verstappen domination

user16 Lwk want him to dominate me

user17 Mega

redbullracing 🎉🎉

user18 Awesome start to the season!

It had been six months since you had met Lando Norris for the first time. Six months, you had been harboring a crush on Oscar’s teammate.

Six months, and you still hadn’t told Oscar.

Your heart was torn in two; part of you wanted to stay loyal to Oscar. You’d known him for ages, and you felt like dating his teammate was a betrayal.

After you confided in your mum, she had gotten so frustrated with the situation that she forbade you from talking about it anymore.

“Either do something, or don’t complain,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air.

But was more complicated than it seemed.

Because the memory of that December night was still imprinted in your mind, as if it had only transpired mere days ago. Your family had gone on a trip with Oscar’s, heading to Byron Bay for a nice summer getaway. It was almost ten p.m., and you wouldn’t have been able to see anything, if it hadn’t been for the bonfire Oscar had set up. It crackled merrily, illuminating the dark stretch of sand you were lounging on.

You were talking to Oscar, mindlessly passing the time, waiting until your parents shooed you off to bed. And then, without any warning, Oscar had kissed you, cutting you off in the middle of your sentence. You couldn’t remember now what you were talking about. The only thing your brain could comprehend was Oscar’s lips on yours. He was chaste, gentle, but when you pulled yourself closer to him, he had deepened it, ferociously clinging to you like you were his saving grace.

Oscar didn’t mention it ever again, and sometimes, you truly believed you had imagined it.

Now, three years later, you waited outside of Oscar’s driver’s room, still unsure of where you stood with him.

And you weren’t sure you’d ever know.

f1gossip Rumors are making the rounds that McLaren driver Lando Norris is dating Y/N L/N — yes, Oscar Piastri’s childhood best friend! What’s the verdict? Could there be some truth to this?

tagged yourusername, landonorris, oscarpiastri

comments 136

user19 This seems like a plot to a book 😭

user20 Oh, how I wish I were Y/N L/N

user21 Two hot eligible bachelors pining over her. . . 💔

user22 I like Lando, but Oscar suits her much better

user23 What in the ever loving rom-com is happening right now at McLaren?

user24 Yeah, no. Stick to the racing PLEASE.

user25 The papaya boys are fighting 😡

“We’re going to tell Oscar about us.”

Lando’s head tilted to the side as he absorbed your words. “What do you mean?”

You tapped your foot impatiently. “You heard me. I want to tell Oscar that we’ve been. . .You know. Talking.”

“And we’re suddenly not worried he’s going to kill me on track?”

You bit your lip. “I hate keeping secrets.”

Lando huffed, irritated. “But you don’t care that I could die?”

With an aggrieved sigh, you looked at Lando, silently imploring him to just shut up and go along with your plan. The plan that you’d quickly assembled after caving to the immense pressure of the secret you were keeping from Oscar. “Please don’t be dramatic.”

“It’s hard not to be! He’s terrifying! Like a silent serial killer. Do you have it out for me?” Lando followed you as you headed to the kitchen, brewing yourself a cup of mint tea to soothe your stomach. “Are you being serious?”

“He’s going to be here any minute now,” you murmured under your breath. “So. . .It’s a bit too late to back out now.”

Lando gasped. “Any minute now?” he repeated, disbelieving. “No fucking way.”

“Look, I know you’re nervous, but you need to calm down.” You stepped closer to Lando, cradling his face in the palm of your hands.

He tugged himself free of your grip. “Nervous is the understatement of the year.”

The doorbell rang, and Lando yelped. You rolled your eyes, walking back to the living room to unlock the door and let Oscar in.

“Is everything OK?” he immediately questioned.

You nodded, mouth going dry. “Yep,” you managed.

“You’re pale. What’s going on?” Oscar narrowed his eyes, scanning you for the reason why you were acting so strangely. “You texted me, saying there was something urgent you needed to talk to me about. So? What is it?”

You gave him a shaky smile. “Um, yeah. About that. So. . .”

“Aw, come on. Spit it out, Y/N.”

You lowered your head, avoiding eye contact. “Lando, come out of the kitchen.”

Lando edged himself out of his hiding space, ears blazing red. “Hey, mate. How are you doing?”

Oscar looked at you, then at Lando, absolutely dumbfounded. You could see the cogs in his mind whirring as he made sense of the situation. “I knew it,” he said, realization dawning on his face. “I knew you were together. Fuck.”

You glanced over at Lando, who was just as confused as you were. “Pardon?”

“This isn’t the right thing to say. I shouldn’t say this, but I’m going to.” Oscar paused, fumbling for the proper words. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you for what feels like an eternity, and I can’t watch you date my teammate without wanting you for myself.”

A small gasp left your mouth. “What?” you whispered.

“I love you, Y/N. I always have.” Oscar closed the gap between the two of you. “Call me selfish, but I want you too.”

Lando scoffed. “So, we’re going to share her or something?”

You blushed. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind.”

Oscar blinked, then smiled broadly. “That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

yourusername, oscarpiastri, and landonorris So maybe the rumors were, in fact, true. . .? 🤭

comments 7.2k

user26 I predicted it.

user27 Knew it since day one as well. There was just no way it wouldn’t happen. Y/N’s too hot.

user28 Girlboss 💖

user29 That’s my icon

user30 Now that’s a throuple I’d like to join

user31 AWWWW 🥹

mclaren Our papaya boys

user32 Oscar finally confessed. No freaking way

user33 Yeah, is the world ending? 😲

user34 Y/N is winning at life

user35 I 100% support this. They’re iconic.

Credits: Dividers — @saradika-graphics; Photos — Pinterest

#f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1blr #f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 smau #f1 romance #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #landoscar #landoscar x reader

114 notes · View notes

ixtaek · 2 days ago

Text

Gonna overcomplicate things but hear me out:

Legend and Twilight are alternate universe "twins", and Wind and Hyrule are as well.

In the Child Timeline, Time marries Malon, has a child, and X generations later, Twilight is born.

In the Downfall Timeline, Time dies, but Malon marries someone else, has a child, and X generations later, Legend is born.

They occupy the same "space" in the alternate timelines as each other, as Malon's descendant. Their lives are totally different because of Time and Ganondorf's activities, and even the fact that they have different ancestors, but every so often something comes up where you see the similarities. The talent with animals, the fondness for red-heads (Marin and Fable, Midna), etc. Things beyond just both being a Hero. They even both have the same favorite food.

Meanwhile, in the Adult Timeline, Malon pined for a fairy boy who had been there but was no longer. X generations passed, and Ganondorf returned like he did in the other two timelines, but no Hero emerged, as the Hero's Spirit was no longer in that timeline. The flood happened instead, with no "twin" to Twilight or Legend existing in this timeline. Z generations pass, at least 300 years worth, and Wind is born in a post-apocalyptic world. He assembles the Triforce of Courage and slays Ganondorf. He continues on his quests, saving his Zelda at least once more.

Meanwhile, in the Downfall Timeline, Z generations pass, at least 300 years worth, and Hyrule is born in a post-conquest world. He assembles the Triforce of Wisdom and slays Ganon. He continues on his quests, saving a second Zelda.

They also occupy the same "space" in the timelines as each other. Again, vastly different lives, vastly different genealogies, but occasionally the similarities emerge. Both can command nature, both have magical power. Both are explorers at heart. I also think it would be funny if Wind's favorite food is something bizarre like pickled fish eggs and everyone hates them except Hyrule, who has never had them before but suddenly realizes he finds them delicious when Wind introduces them to him.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu twilight #lu legend #lu wind #lu hyrule #there's an ancillary here about Four getting sealed and the FSA era and the Palace of the Four Swords lining up as well #but it kinda throws everything off since the palace is at the start of Legend's quest #but after the end of Twilight's #also for the sake of this theory my “EoW is pre-OoT” theory applies or else we just skip it for the sake of LU

93 notes · View notes

iteratorsex · 2 days ago

Text

Fetid is not actually a "Future" or "Alternate Universe" Salination

they actually have very different styles between each other!

F05 Comparisons. Actually, in Fetid, the Ripples show Salination. This does not happen the other way around

Here's a side by side

You notice how Fetid's F05 doesn't have a top on it, and almost looks as if it was BUILT that way?

Here you can see the ripple showing salination, despite it being entirely different in Fetid

This entire area resembles Salination, yet the style of Fetid everywhere is completely different! Fetid has karma glyph terrain, bridges, large mushrooms, big fans- and Salination doesn't have any of these

There's even other some differences too!

These two rooms are connected, when previously they were seperated

The pipe in F10 is flipped

F12 is missing connections to F11

And some other very very minor differences in rendering and decor of course, but thats not as meaningful

The moment you leave this area and into E05, the tiling goes right back to the Fetid style- the fucking karma glyph flooring.

ALSO!

This area has the gilded wind of Shattered Terrace. Which is not seen anywhere else through the game, meaning that the connection to Fetid into Terrace is a lot more noticeable or prevalent

And you may also notice that Fetid is the only place with naturally spawning Rot Lizards and Sentient Rot, as well as a hidden lobetree

So what do I think happened instead?

I believe that Watcher takes place within the imagined realms mentioned in the Karma Flower dialogue. Each warp region is a bubble reality formed from memory patterns within the strands

So possibly, the bubble realm that contained Salination may have "crashed" or leaked into Fetid, possibly BECAUSE of Shattered Terrace (which is basically Spinning Top's little home, and they may have been the one to cause this)

And because Salination crashed so hard into Fetid, it created a false memory, and also caused Sentient Rot to possibly leak into the region as it begins to unfold and show its true cerebral nature

#textadactyl #sentient rot #theory #watcher dlc #watcher spoilers #rain world #lore #region #brain world

60 notes · View notes

lillaydee · 2 days ago

Text

I'm Right Here Part 10

BFF!Joel Miller / F Reader

Sometimes the person we've been looking for has been right there all along.

@copperhalfcent, @demonsasss, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @peelieblue @liciafonseca @ultra-nina-bella @joelmillerpascal @kirsteng42 @heartpatch @capnjaket

Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the tag list

WARNINGS: BFF Joel Miller, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Angst, Love Triangles, Miscommunication, Past Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel is a Clueless Idiot, Jealousy, Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced/Supposed Sexual Assault, SEXUAL ASSAULT, SELF HARM, Joel has PTSD

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 9

Joel pushed the door to your room softly, playfully saying ‘knock-knock’ when he saw his wife look up from her phone. He walked over to her, greeting her with a peck on the cheek, asking her how you were doing.

“Still asleep. She did wake up in recovery, apparently, but fell asleep again. They told me to call someone when she does. She might be in a bit of pain for a while, they said. But she should be okay.”

Joel placed the paper bag he was carrying on the table next to the couch, taking the ice pack he had brought with him out. He went over to the minibar and placed it in the little freezer.

“For her shoulder when she wakes up. She needs to ice it,” he told Annie.

“You know a lot about shoulder injuries,” she teased.

“Been around long enough to see it happen. Eddie used to keep one in the freezer just for her, even when she hadn’t been back in years. Had to throw one away from freezer burn once.”

Annie gave a refrained laugh, worried that she might wake you. She got up from her seat next to your bed and joined him on the couch. He got the sandwich he had brought for her out of the bag and passed it to her.

“So,” she began, taking a bite out of the sandwich, “This is the infamous Daze.”

Joel nodded slowly, his lips pursed into a pout. You hadn’t changed much, he thought. Your hair was different, but other than that, you were basically the same person he saw at the airport all those years ago.

“She’s much prettier up front. Taller than I thought she would be.”

Joel nodded again, a bit lost for words, not really knowing how to answer.

“You know,” Annie continued, “I’ve always been a bit jealous of her. Everyone loves her, she sounded perfect. Made me feel inadequate, to be honest, but that was okay since she wasn’t around. Well, she is now, and the first time I met her, she was in the ER, injured from saving my daughter’s life. As far as I’m concerned she’s literally an angel. I might hate her now,” she quipped, smiling at Joel.

He turned to meet her eyes, his face riddled with guilt.

“Annie…”

She patted his knee, shaking her head, telling him “I’m just kidding,” she assured him. “She seems lovely. And she’s here. She’s back.”

“Annie…”

Their conversation was interrupted by a quiet moan from you. Annie quickly passed the sandwich back to Joel, going over to you. You were groggy to say the least. Annie pushed the call button, gently placing her hand on your shoulder when you tried to get up.

“No Daze, you should lie back down. Your shoulder, honey. Stitches.”

You sort of froze for a bit, looking around the room, confused as fuck.

“You were in an accident, remember? You just had surgery. You are in the hospital,” she gently told you, her hand still on your good shoulder, trying to prevent you from getting up again.

Recognition and recall came to your eyes, and you slumped back into the pillow, your body relaxing. A nurse came in, checking your vitals. A doctor came in after, asking you some questions, smiling at your loopy answers.

“How’s your pain Miss Stevens?” he asked.

“Oh, my pain is amazing. Fire.”

He gave you a small laugh, telling the nurse to administer some pain meds to manage your pain. He turned to Annie and Joel, reminding them to keep your shoulder rested on the pillow for a while longer before leaving.

Annie quickly went to your bad shoulder as soon as they left, making sure the pillow propped behind you was fluffed up and comfy for you. When she tried to give you some water, you shrunk back as if she had just materialized out of thin air in front of you. You stopped when she held the straw to your lips, opening your mouth just enough for her to insert the straw in, taking sips of water, all the while eyeing her. You stopped taking sips at one point, but bit into the straw when she tried to pull the cup away from you. You continued drinking after a few beats, eyes unblinking, just staring at her, memory searching for recognition. You finally stopped drinking when the glass emptied. Annie filled it up and offered it back to you. This time, you looked at the cup warily before looking at her, suspicion in your eyes.

“Who are you? Why are you making me drink? Are you trying to poison me?”

She laughed. “You just drank a whole cup, and now you are asking if I’m trying to poison you?”

“I did?”

“Yeah, honey, you did.”

“Why are you calling me honey? Do I know you?”

“Hmm… technically no, but we’ve met. I’m Annie, remember? Sarah’s Mom? Joel’s wife?”

Your eyebrows scrunched. “Joel?”

“Yeah, Joel. Your childhood friend?”

Your bottom lip jutted out and you shrugged, before hissing in pain.

“No, honey, don’t move your shoulder yet,” Annie cooed, fixing your pillow again.

Joel sat up upon hearing your painful gasp. You turned your head towards him, as if only clocking his presence just then. Your eyes met his. He froze.

“Hey,” you whispered too Annie, far too loudly, tilting your head her way, eyes still on Joel, making Annie choke down a laugh. “Can you see him?” you asked, surreptitiously pointing at him with your head.

Annie played along, discreetly glancing at Joel from her seat before nodding at you.

“Who’s that?” you asked, looking conspiratorial, as if he wouldn’t be able to hear you. “He looks familiar.”

“Yeah?” she asked, “Where do you think you know him from?”

You appeared to be thinking hard, seemingly failing at any form of recollection. The nurse from before came back in, a syringe in her hand, emptying it into your cannula.

Your body relaxed immediately, but you were fighting to stay awake, eyes still on Joel.

“He looks like that guy…” you managed to mumble.

“What guy?”

“The guy who liked me and then didn’t. He was mean to me. He hurt me with his words.”

Annie’s heart sank. She turned to look at her husband, whose face was now the definition of heartbreak.

“Maybe he will make up for his words now,” she coaxed, taking your hand in hers, squeezing it a little. You squeezed back.

You blinked at her, slow, deliberate, drugged. Your next words came out slurred, drawn out.

“Nah. He’ll yell at me again. And then he’ll leave. Or he’ll make me leave.”

“Maybe he’s changed. Maybe he’ll come after you this time,” she tried again, her heart clenching at how heartbroken you seemed, despite your high.

You took a slow, deep, dragging breath. “No he won’t. He never did. I waited. He didn’t come after me. He never will.”

Annie was still struggling with what to say next when your eyes closed, your breathing relaxed, your grasp on her hand softened.

By the time Annie turned to look at Joel, he was gone, the door slowly closing behind him.

You woke up the next morning to whispering people. Olivia silently shrieked when she saw you were awake, coming over to give you a light hug. Eric and Benny kissed you on the forehead, all three somehow finding a place to sit on one side of your bed without overwhelming you. Will walked in a bit later with breakfast for everyone. Aunt Tina, Anita and Jake arrived just as your breakfast was brought to you. Breakfast was a merry event, so much laughter and joy shared, the nurse had to pop her head in a few times to get everyone to be a bit quiet. It was the hospital after all.

“Sorry we couldn’t visit yesterday babe,” Eric said. “But Annie said you were asleep anyway, and we thought we should let you rest.”

“I did drop by with Annie at first, but I had to go back to work. By the time I got off Annie said you were down for the day, they gave you something for the pain,” Olivia added.

“It’s okay guys. I’m fine. The nurses’ station is right outside my door.”

“Annie kept us updated though. Apparently you woke up for a few minutes but went back to sleep.”

“So… Annie was here?” you asked.

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. “Uh… yeah,” Will said, “Are you okay with that? She was the only one available.”

“No, of course it’s okay.”

“Honey, we wanted to tell you about her and Sarah. But…” Anita began.

“No, it’s okay, I never wanted to know.”

The room was quiet again. You ate your pancake, quite aware of the eyes that were boring on you.

“You can ask, babe, we’ll answer,” Eric finally said.

“Sarah…”

“She’s Joel and Annie’s, not Jen’s,” Aunt Tina quickly answered.

You nodded. You didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“What happened to Jen’s baby?”

“I think we should let Joel answer that, sweetie,” Anita said. “It’s better that way.”

You nodded, biting into another piece of pancake.

Anita got up from her seat and sat next to you on the bed. She placed her hand on your knee.

“Sweetie, are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“She’s a wonderful woman, Daisy, she helped him out a lot. She’s the reason he hasn’t gone off the rails,” Anita continued.

You nodded, swallowing your pancake with an audible gulp. “I’m sure she is. She seems nice. And Sarah seems like a wonderful girl.”

“She’s the light of our lives,” Anita told you, smiling, patting your knee once more before getting up and going back to her seat.

The door opened again, and Annie and Sarah popped their heads in. The silence roared back into a buzz of activities.

Annie came to your bedside, asking you if you remember who she was.

“Annie, right? Joel’s wife?” you asked, trying to keep the bitter bile you were tasting as you said those words from surfacing.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she said, “I take it the drugs have gone out of your system now?” she asked, smiling cheekily at you.

Your eyes widened. “Why? What happened? Oh God did I make an absolute fool of myself? Shoot, tell me you don’t have me on your phone saying stupid things,” you begged.

She laughed, patting her purse, “Oh, I just might. I’m gonna save it for when I really need a big favour from you though.”

You smiled. Great. She’s funny. And friendly. And pretty. And sweet. And married to Joel. And the family loved her. And she gave them all Sarah. Wonderful.

Just excellent.

“Listen,” she said, sitting down next to your bed. “I just wanted to thank you again, for saving Sarah. That girl is my life, Joel’s life. I don’t know how we could’ve survived if you didn’t…” she had to stop talking, choking a little, trying to hold back tears. “So… thank you. As far as I’m concerned, you are my hero, I owe you a life, and if you ever need anything… just ask.”

You just smiled. You didn’t know what to say, so you patted her hand awkwardly with your good hand reaching across your body.

“Auntie Daze?” a sweet voice called out to you. Your turned around to see Sarah standing on the other side of your bed, a cuddly-looking stuffed lamb in her hand. “I got this for you. It doesn’t make up for anything, but I want to say thank you again for saving me.”

“Oh,” you took it from her hand, “It’s lovely Sarah. Thank you. And please stop thanking me. I did what anyone would’ve done. I’m glad you’re okay. How’s your wrist?”

She lifted her wrapped hand slightly, telling you it hurt just a little bit, but she’ll live, thanks to you.

The door opened again, and Joel came in. The room went deadly quiet. Joel shuffled on his feet awkwardly for a few seconds before relaxing when Annie got up to take the paper bags full of breakfast he was holding off his hands, calling for Sarah to come have her breakfast.

“Can I have the last doughnut?” Benny piped up, making everyone roll their eyes. “Sorry,” Benny whispered to Eric. “The silence was awkward as fuck, okay?”

You busied yourself looking at the stuffed lamb Sarah brought you, smiling a little when you saw that it had a ribbon around it’s neck, ‘Eddie’ written in Sharpie on it.

Your stomach rumbled. Benny stopped bringing the last doughnut to his mouth, looking at you with his mouth open. “Fuck Daze, was that your stomach?”

You covered your face with your good hand, “Sorry! I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday! I guess I’m still a bit hungry,” you sheepishly said.

Benny looked at the doughnut in his hand, “You want the doughnut? I’ll go get you something from the café,” he offered.

Joel got up, taking one of the bags he brought with him to your bed. He placed a breakfast burrito and an orange juice on your tray, crumpling the bag.

“No, you have it, I’m okay. I can ask for more food,” you said, not looking at him.

“Eat, Daze. I got it for you,” he picked up the burrito and unwrapped it, handing it to you. He unscrewed the orange juice bottle and placed it back on your tray before going back to eat his breakfast with his family, Annie smiling warmly at you as her husband took his place next to her.

You placed the burrito back on the tray, biting your lips, trying hard not to let anyone see them tremble. You laughed at some joke Jake made, quipping something back just to stop yourself from tearing up. For some reason, you couldn’t eat his offering. You couldn’t look at the burrito, you couldn’t look at him. But you could feel his eyes on you.

Benny sat next to you and began feeding you the doughnut bit by bit, making dumb jokes until you laughed.

You loved seeing them all again. It felt right. You’ve missed this, spending time with all of them. They were the closest thing you had to a family. And you couldn’t blame them for not telling you about Annie and Sarah. You deliberately changed the subject every time they tried. You didn’t want to know. You were trying to move on. Hard. It’s been 15 years, and you really thought you had succeeded. But seeing him again, happily married to an obviously nice and beloved woman, one who was responsible for pulling him back from the abyss he was facing then at that, it hit you like a fucking brick in the face.

You left. You had to keep reminding yourself that. You left. You deliberately asked for an overseas assignment so that you could get away from him. You wanted to move on, make a life for yourself, one where no one was accusing you of possibly assaulting them and leaving you alone after begging you to stay. You were lost yourself, losing Eddie literally meant you were all alone. You remembered thinking to yourself – you were alone, might as well be alone. Really alone.

And now, what was it that you have, really? A great job, a great condo, great friends, and quite a few broken hearts. And the man who drove you to dump everything and leave? He’s married. Happy. With his Annie. And his Sarah.

It’s okay, you coaxed yourself. It’s only a few weeks. You’ll go back home soon. And once you got out of here, you’ll be busy sorting your aunt’s house, so that’ll take your mind off the Joel and the Annie and the Sarah. And then you could leave and go back to your lonesome life. It’s sad, to think of the loneliness that await, but at least you wouldn’t have to watch him play happy family with someone else.

It's stupid really. You chose to leave. You don’t get to boo-hoo that he moved on. Lay on the bed you made.

“Knock-knock!” a playful voice chirped as the door to your room opened. A huge bouquet of daisies made it’s way into your room, followed by Mike, looking slightly taken aback by the amount of people in the room.

“Mr Parks!” Sarah cheered. “Everyone, this is my art teacher, Mr. Parks. He brought me and Auntie Daze to the ER yesterday.”

Everyone got on their feet, except for Joel, Sarah and Annie – they’d met before. Anita and Aunt Tina gave him a hug, thanking him for taking you and their granddaughter to the ER. The poor man got overwhelmed, looking flustered at all the attention. He finally broke free from everyone, coming to your bedside, placing the huge bouquet of flowers by your bed.

“Sorry if it’s cheesy,” he said, scratching his head a little bit, “But your name is Daisy, and when I got to the florist all I could think of was to get you daisies. A bit of lazy thinking on my part.”

“It’s okay, I do love them, because of my name. So, hi Cheesy, I’m Cheesier.”

He laughed, sitting on the chair next to your bed. “How are you doing? They operated?”

You nodded.

“Does it still hurt? Do you need anything?”

“She needs ice packs for the swelling, Joel brought her one. It’s in the freezer,” Will quipped, going to the freezer to take it, handing it to Mike. “About 20 minutes every hour until the swelling is gone, or if it starts to hurt again,” he told him. He nodded.

It was then that you noticed how quiet the room had gotten. The whole room was just staring at you and Mike as he gently placed the ice pack on your shoulder, timing 20 minutes onto his phone.

“Well,” Eric said, picking up the bag that contained his and Benny’s breakfast, now filled with trash, “We should leave them to it. I’ll be back at dinnertime babe, you want anything?” he asked, breaking the others’ stupor. Everyone started cleaning up after themselves, getting ready to leave. Sarah came to hug you goodbye, waving goodbye to Mike, telling him she would see him Monday. She looked at you and Mike together for a while, a strange look on her face, before snapping out of it and leaving.

They all kissed you goodbye, save for Joel, Olivia telling you she would be back with extra lunch for you. Annie came to say goodbye, the same strange look on her face as she looked at you and Mike, before smiling sweetly at you and saying goodbye again. Joel stood by the door, the only one who did not come over to say goodbye to you. He stayed rooted where he was for a few seconds, looking at you and Mike, before nodding at you, giving you a sad smile, finally closing the door behind him as he left.

Mike stayed for quite a while, talking about nothing in particular. It was nice, talking to him. You asked him about his job, his family, and he in return asked about yours. It was just… easy. He even joked about your rumbling stomach, practically feeding you the burrito so you wouldn’t go hungry until noon. He bought you a selection of vending machine snacks, “Gotta make sure that tummy of yours stay full until your friend gets back here with lunch, I have a feeling you could get… uhm… challenging… if hangry,” he teased, placing the alarming assortment of chips and pretzels onto your lap, earning him a smack on the arm from you.

The two of you ended up hanging out, watching half a season of some National Geographic thing on TV together, his socked feet by your legs on your bed, half the snacks gone by the time you were done.

The door to your room opened, and Olivia walked in. She was failing miserably at hiding a smile off her face to see Mike still there, all comfortable next to you, feeding you pretzel sticks. “Oh, sorry!” she said, not looking sorry at all. She placed the bag of take out she had brought on the coffee table, “I’ll come back? Give you two some privacy?”

Mike looked at his watch, “Shit, is it noon already?” he flustered, looking embarrassed to have spent such a long time with you. “Sorry, I got carried away. You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, getting up.

“I don’t mind, you’re good company,” you quickly said, trying to sit up. He immediately helped you, propping the support pillow back in its place after plumping it a bit for you.

“Uhm, listen, do you mind if I come back tomorrow? We could watch the rest of that show?” he asked, his cheeks reddening a little.

For the first time in a long time, you could feel your face get hot. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” you nodded, giving him your phone for him to key in his number. He called his own phone from yours, asking if it’s okay to text you later today? You should be ashamed of how fast you said yes, your heart doubling in size at how happy he looked to hear your answer.

He put his jacket back on, “Well, ‘til then?” he asked. “Til then,” you nodded. He turned to look at Olivia, who suddenly seemed very interested at the painting of a cat on the wall behind the couch, before quickly bending down to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. He said goodbye to Olivia, who said goodbye back, an overly drawn and flirty one at that, complete with hair tossing and exaggerated head tilt.

You pretended to be studying the TV remote control when she turned to look back at you, her mouth hanging open in an excited smile. “Are you serious? He is so hot!”

“You’re married,” you reminded her, throwing an empty pack of pretzel sticks at her.

“You are not. Girl, get him!”

“I’m leaving in a few weeks.”

“So? Plans can change! Or, if not, at least you wouldn’t be lonely the next few weeks!”

You rolled your eyes as she plopped herself on the seat next to your bed, assuming Mike’s sitting position before interrogating you about the man for the next half an hour.

You fell asleep after Olivia left, waking up just as they sent you your evening tea. You went to the bathroom and took a long, wipe down shower, getting yourself as clean and fresh as you could after the whole travesty that was yesterday. Took you a while to clean your hair, chastising yourself for not thinking of it when Olivia was still around. After what felt like hours, you walked back into your room, feeling much more refreshed, albeit maybe regretting the hair wash as your shoulder was starting to hurt again. You got the ice pack out of the freezer, wanting to ice your shoulder again, when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” you called out distractedly, walking back to your bed. The door opened, a familiar looking lady standing just outside the door, hesitating to come in.

“Daisy,” she gently called out your name.

You turned around, your entire body going ice cold upon realizing who it was, and not from the ice pack.

“Jen.”

Part 11

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #BFF!Joel Miller

60 notes · View notes

reiinaissance · 1 day ago

Text

STEP UP YOUR GAME ft. arataki itto (genshin impact) x female! reader

⟢ summary Arataki Itto, one of the troublemakers in your university, needed to pass his test in his failing subject to be able to play this year's football game. So he begged for you, the smartest girl in his class, to tutor him. You never thought it would lead to something more...

⟢ content warnings nsfw, modern! university! alternative universe, sub! reader, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, size kink, unprotected. minors do not interact.

⟢ word count 1.5k

⟢ notes this is a repost from my old account ☻

archive of our own

"No."

Arataki Itto almost dropped to his knees. No? "W-What?"

"I won't tutor you."

"Why?!"

You told yourself you wouldn't get involved with the Arataki Gang who were notorious on the campus for being... well... troublemakers. Kuki Shinobu was an exception, though, because she's your best friend. And she mostly stayed out of trouble. You never knew how she joined them, it just happened.

"I just... I have a lot of stuff to do this week." You said, opening your notebook to read the lecture for today's class.

You heard Itto sighing sadly, and you almost felt bad. Almost. "You don't have time to tutor me this week? Even just for an hour?" When you didn't respond, he clasped his hands in front of you, "Please! I'll do anything! I really have to pass this subject to be able to play the upcoming game!"

Okay, you lied. You felt bad.

Shinobu sometimes drags you to one of Itto's football games, and he was a good player. It would really be a waste for the team if he doesn't get to play in his upcoming game.

...You know what?

Clicking your tongue, you nodded. "Fine. Every 8 p.m. on weekdays at starting tomorrow."

He pumped his fist up in the air, "Woo-hoo! I'll see you tomorrow... Uh..." You tilted your head. "What's your name again?"

All you have to do is to do your best in tutoring Arataki Itto and hope to God he does well in the test. So much for not wanting to be involved with the Arataki Gang.

"This is the third time I've explained this, Itto." You pinched the bridge of your nose. You've been in his dorm for almost 2 hours now, and you had to be back in your dorm by 11 p.m.

"Wait, wait!" Itto shook his head vigorously. "Just explain to me one more time and I'm sure I can understand it!"

You sighed at the pouting look he gave you and stood up to get your water bottle from the table. "So why didn't you ask Kujou Sara to tutor you instead? She's smart." You asked, and Itto shuddered at the mention of her name. "...What's wrong with Sara?"

"Are you seriously asking me that...?! She's literally the most difficult person to get along with!"

You furrowed your eyebrows, walking back to the bed. "No she's not. I get along with her."

"Hah, right. Of course, smart people get along." Rolling your eyes at his remark, you continued teaching the math problem to him. After a few more explaining, he got the problem right.

"Hey, that's correct! Good job." You flashed him a small smile, and you could've sworn his eyes twinkled with joy.

"Really?!" Without any warning, he hugged you, catching you off-guard. "I'll make sure to focus really hard so I can get all 'em right!"

You get that he was happy about it... but...

You never thought his abs would be that rock-hard. Your clothed breasts were pressed up against his clothed abs, and you felt a weird sensation in your—

Y/N! Snap out of it!

"Uhh, you there?" Itto pulled away, looking at you with a concerned look, then his eyes widened. "Oh— Oh. Sorry, it's just when I'm happy I hug... people. Like when we win games, you know? I hug my teammates and I'm sorry if I—"

"It's fine." You chuckled, and there was an awkward silence until you spoke again. "Um, let's move on."

He nodded and answered the next question. Wrong.

"No, no, it's like this..."

And before you knew it, it was already 11 p.m.

“Thank you… really! I already think I’m gonna ace this test ‘cause of you!” Itto flashed a handsome smile, “Be safe on the way to your dorm, alright?”

You returned the smile, waving at him. “I will, bye.” Itto was about to close the door but you stopped him when you heard footsteps. “Wait.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

You completely forgot someone monitors the dormitories as soon as it is 11 p.m!

Itto pulled you into his room and closed the door. You leaned back on the door in distress, “Oh, I forgot about the dorm monitor. You can’t go back to your dorm any time soon…”

“No shit.” You sighed and looked up at him.

He looks… attractive. You were so focused on tutoring him that you never realized he was this attractive.

“Y/N?”

You came back to your senses, “Hmm?”

“I said, you can stay here till the monitor is gone. They’re usually gone by 12 a.m.”

You cleared your throat, nodding, “…Yeah… yeah.”

He chuckled, “Y/N? You okay?”

You nodded once again, “I am…”

“Then… why do you keep staring at me like that?”

“…Like what?”

“Like that.”

Itto was looking at you, and you couldn’t help but gulp at the way he was gazing at you. Archons… he looked so hot. What the hell? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You walked past him and sat on the bed. “Guess I’ll have to wait… like 30 minutes or so.”

He turned, a smile on his face, “Wanna do something fun to kill time?”

All you could think about was him fucking you senselessly, trying to keep quiet so you don’t wake the others.

“Sure. I’ll tutor you some more.”

Tutor, my ass.

You were on all fours on Itto’s bed, his dick in your mouth as he stood in front of you. You wrapped your hand around the rest of his length that you couldn’t fit into your mouth, and looked up at him. He was biting his lip, grunting quietly.

“Archons, Y/N… Who knew you could suck dick so good?”

You didn’t know how it got to this point — You were tutoring him once again, but you couldn’t focus. You kept stuttering and Itto couldn’t understand you. But then seeing his hard-on… You looked up at him and he was gazing at you…

You both couldn’t resist each other.

Choking on his cock, he gripped onto your hair, hissing, “Fuck…”

Then he pulled your head away, the string of saliva connecting your lips and the tip of his cock. You looked up at him, breathing out, “Fuck me.”

Itto was still panting, and the side of his mouth curled upwards. “Yeah? You gonna be quiet while I fuck you?”

“Mhm… Please…” You whimpered, then gasped when he pulled you up and then pushed you down onto the bed.

He kissed your neck, his hand reaching for your wet clit and rubbing it. You moaned quietly, rolling your hips against his hand then whining when his hand pulled away from you.

"J-Just the tip, first..." You whispered and bit your lip, feeling the head gliding along your clit. "It won't fi— Agh!"

Itto covered your mouth with his hand, growling quietly as he carefully thrust into you. "I'll make it fit, don't worry."

Suddenly, footsteps were heard outside the room. You looked at Itto as he covered your mouth, and your eyes widened when he moved against you. “Shh. Don’t make a sound…” He whispered as removed his hand from your mouth and kissed you.

You couldn't help but clench around him and he groaned, pushing deeper into you. You moaned through the kiss as your legs wrapped around his waist. “Mhhf… O-Oh…”

He's so big that you could feel his tip touching your cervix, hitting it with every thrust he does. He pulled away from your lips as he fucked you harder, your moans coming out as silent gasps.

"Fuck, baby..." Itto whispered, gritting his teeth. "You like that? Does it feel good?"

You could only nod your head in response, afraid to talk because you might moan too loud. He let out a breathy laugh as he continued pounding deeper into you.

Tears filled up your eyes from the pleasure and you could feel the knot on your stomach as Itto went faster. "Mm— 'm gonna...!"

"Shhh, do it for me, baby. Come on."

Your body shook as your orgasm washed over you. He grunted once more, biting into your neck softly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." And he finally pulled out, cumming on your stomach, "Fuck…"

The sight of your almost-passed-out figure on his bed almost made him hard once again, but he resisted himself. He fell next to you, letting out a contented sigh.

You closed your eyes, still panting. "I was only gonna tutor you. Not fuck you."

Itto laughed, caressing your thighs. "Too bad."

"So you're telling me you weren't at your dorm last night because you were at Itto's?" Shinobu gave you a disapproved look. You smiled sheepishly.

"...Look, it just happened, okay? What were we supposed to do while waiting for the monitor?"

Shinobu sighed. "So much for telling yourself to not get involved with the Arataki Gang."

#♡.ᐟ writing #arataki itto #genshin arataki #arataki itto x reader #arataki itto smut #itto smut #itto #genshin impact itto #genshin itto #itto x reader #itto x you #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader

51 notes · View notes

omegastation · 2 days ago

Text

Brooks tried to be funny but the entire DLC is just... sad when it comes to her and the clone. And I know I'm not the only one who appreciates Brooks and the clone as characters. Replaying the Citadel DLC is showing quite clearly the tragedy of the road not taken.

The clone is the lonely figure who doesn't have what Shepard has and what makes them special: a team, a "we", a "us". No "we face our enemy together".

And Brooks who is not really Brooks plays a role with Shepard and with the clone. She watched from the sidelines as she put together dossiers for Shepard: everyone joined him, but not her. Never her. When she does join him, she plays a role. Not even the best version of herself, as she tries to be as clumsy and awkward as she can be as Staff Analyst Maya Brooks. Still. She gets respected, accepted and her advice is taken into account by Shepard and the Normandy crew. I think it did something to Brooks, and she will realize what exactly months or years later. But that acceptance is for Maya Brooks. It's not really for the person inside, the real one, lurking in the shadows, who I think, is longing, like the clone, to be loved.

Both Brooks and the clone have been rejected by the Illusive Man, probably one of the worst father figures in Mass Effect. Brooks is also compared to Miranda, as the clone puts it "mine has more bite". But not really when it comes to loyalty as we know. The two father figures for Shepard are David Anderson, who has a true love for Shepard, and Hackett, who is mentioned twice showing support - defending Shepard a Spectre candidate as we've seen in the archives and as someone who would understand immediately that the clone is not Shepard. Meaning the people we love understand our essence, and can't be fooled.

Unlike Shepard, the clone and Brooks are alone, playing roles, with fractured identities, and so much of the DLC is about their suffering: the clone especially. Brooks believes the clone would not have let them live, and the clone finds out that they're not going to be saved by Brooks. The look as she walks away is not one of triumph. That's sadness. And I think it's because she believes, among many things, that her and the clone are one and the same and therefore, not worthy of love and safety.

The moment the clone realizes Brooks will not save them makes me want to cry:

It is normal to want to be a part of a "we" and to despair when you realize you are alone in this world. The tragedy is that they could have been a "we", Brooks and the clone, but they didn't believe in each other enough. The person who believes in them the most is a Paragon Shepard, pleading for Brooks' life, telling the clone to live. Someone they both must see as an enemy, someone they tried to hurt badly, but someone they desperately wish to be friends with.

A lot of "what if" situations come to mind with those two. I know they've done terrible things, they are who they are. Still, in an alternate universe, I hope they're happy, safe and loved.

#debmeleplaythrough #clone shepard #maya brooks #clone shepard & brooks #i could add more about loving yourself #and what it means in this context #but that's a long post already #those two makes me sad #i'll look for fics later

43 notes · View notes

effieotto · 2 days ago

Text

Just Effie Trinket —alternative universe

I. what if Effie was not from the Capitol

A seamstress’s daughter from district twelve. her mother was the owner of the only fancy boutique in the district and her father was a peacekeeper who had been forced to move back to the Capitol when their affair was reported, leaving her mother pregnant with their third child, a toddler and a five years old boy to feed on her own. Their relationship disgraced the Trinkets in society and harmed their business

Just like Asterid helped people from the seam for free, Effie used her abilities as a seamstress to make the seam girl’s dresses looks prettier for the reaping (free charge) so they could at least look good during their worst nightmare. She also fixed ordinary gowns into beautiful wedding dresses and mended simple suits for the grooms, charging very low prices. People warmed up for her then, and slowly she fixed her reputation

When her father was gone and the boutique affected by the unpopularity of her family, effie (as the eldest daughter) had to help her mother feeding their family, even though she sometimes had to rely on shameful ways to get money. It just ended when she was fifteen and her mother managed to remarry and regain people’s trust

She was the forth member of the Maysilee, Merilee and Asterid little girlfriends group

Effie was known for being gorgeous and seductive, and even though her mother wanted to marry her with a merchant guy as soon as possible, Effie had far too much fun in flirting and kissing boys behind the school after class

As a peacekeeper’s daughter, effie was raised to respect the law to the letter, without a single question. However, although she was obsessed with rules and regulations, she couldn’t help but sneak into the woods to swim in the lake with Asterid (who sometimes brought Burdock too)

In elementary school, Blair was in love with Effie —but he never said anything because he knew she had a crush on Haymitch (even though they claimed to hated each other’s guts and he wasn’t available). They were very good friends, though

#just something i’ve been thinking recently so here are my headcanon for mg favorite trope #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #asterid everdeen #maysilee donner #what if #thg headcanons #alternative universe #sotr effie #sunrise on the reaping #thg sotr #thg burdock #thg series

50 notes · View notes

kradogsrats · 3 days ago

Text

Theory: The Other Primal Magic

So I realized something recently: we've actually been shown two adjacent-but-different forms of primal magic, which everyone has just conflated into one because the distinction isn't made obvious.

Primal spell runes are not a form of draconic writing. Both versions of the "humans receive primal magic" story have a strong distinction between the draconic words and spell runes, and the runes themselves have more in common with ideograms than logograms. For example, the pluviam praesidium rune isn't a combination of symbols that independently correspond to words meaning "rain" and "shield," it's a picture of a rain shield (i.e. an umbrella).

Even in the alternate concepts for that rune, where it is explicitly composed of several independent elements instead of just "umbrella," pretty much all of them (including the final one seen in the show) combine something that could be interpreted as rain (the bouncing downward stroke that forms the "handle" of the umbrella) and a shield (the curved dome), but those two symbols don't represent the words "pluviam" and "praesidium."

This is a subtle but important distinction, because while the majority of primal spell runes we see are like this—representations of what the spell does, rather than the spell's words—there is a subset of spells that work the opposite way:

What do these spells (though "spell" is a stretch for the elevator) have in common?

Each is a three-word spell with three corresponding runes, while other primal spell runes are single symbols representing spells of between one and three words (but usually two)

In three out of four, the runes are activated or "lit" individually (aquis spirare faucibus lights all at once, but it's a bit of an outlier in other respects, as well)

Two of these spells—manus pluma volantus and Karim's Sunforge orb destruction spell (which we only know two of the three words of, so I'm just going to call it that)—explicitly can be achieved by only the most powerful mages of those primals. So here's what I think:

These are primal magic spells invented by primal mages, possibly more recently than the primal rune spells.

Except for the elevator (which I'll come back to in a minute), I think these are spells created using draconic words paired with elven runes that correspond to those words. The (presumably Skywing elf) symbols of manus pluma volantus are very different from the (presumably Sunfire elf) runes of Karim's spell because the symbols themselves aren't from the same language. Basically, a powerful mage can combine draconic words and "runes" from their own language to build a spell out of component parts, which are distinct from the universal rune spells any mage can cast.

This also explains one of the more cryptic statements in Tales of Xadia (which is saying a lot):

Plotice, I would bet, has either discovered a combination of draconic words and Skywing runes that forms a new spell, or he may have discovered a universal rune that can be used for an existing compound spell, making a previously difficult spell attainable for less powerful mages. "Discovered" is an interesting word here (compared to "invented") because it implies that you can't just do this by combining words willy-nilly—maybe dragons or archdragons can, but there's a limit to what an elven (or human) mage can achieve, and the trick is figuring out what combinations work. Same for turning the spell words into a universal rune, if that's even possible—you can't just draw a picture and call it a day.

What's interesting is the possibilities introduced by inscribing these runes on objects. We know that even if Rayla carves terminus ad glacium into some ice, she can't activate it herself. Callum the Ocean mage has to do that. However, it's not super clear whether Rayla could have activated the Starscraper elevator if she was the one to read the words, or if a Sky mage (or even just a Sky arcanum) is required for that. We don't really know whether the Starscraper elevator symbols are Skywing or actual written draconic, just that Callum can read them:

Our other example is the waterbreathing amulet, which has to be usable by someone without an Ocean arcanum, considering that Callum doesn't have one when Akiyu gives him the amulet. Callum does have to activate or cast the spell when he draws it himself, but it seems like the amulet is sufficiently magical, itself. (Stella also uses it, but that's less concrete evidence that it can be used without an Ocean arcanum because Callum could be activating it at the same time as the others.)

We aren't told whether the waterbreathing spell (I'm not going to type out aquis spirare faucibus every time, fight me) is particularly difficult, but it fits the pattern and Callum describes it as conceptually similar to manus pluma volantus. Which it is! You might think that "breathe underwater" would be a fairly basic and desirable Ocean spell, but how do you do that with only Ocean magic—no "air" or "breath," those are both Sky primal domain. The way to do it is, as Callum says, "mage gills" that physically attune you to the Ocean the way that mage wings attune you to the Sky. My only doubt with the amulet and its spell is that, unlike the other comparable spells, the runes really don't say "Tidebound elf language" to me. Of course, we haven't really seen any Tidebound elf environments, so who knows.

Anyway, I think this has some interesting implications regarding the link between primal magic and very specifically dragons, how it may have been passed to elves and/or humans, and what kind of "claim" any of them (vs. dragons) have on it. Additionally, it goes a long way toward soothing my nerdrage over the wildly different "sets" of rune designs we are otherwise expected to accept as being from the same language, even though I know that—primal runes aside—this show could not possibly care less about the design of what they call "writing."

It's also shockingly similar to my much-less-substantiated headcanons about how dark magic works, but that's a whole other thing.

#the discrepancy has TORMENTED me for a long time #and surprise it's two entirely separate systems!#as for why terminus ad glacium HAS to be carved onto something... that is a question i'm not prepared to deal with #primal magic #kradogsmeta #the dragon prince

51 notes · View notes

unfortunatelycosmic · 17 hours ago

Text

Suggestions for Hinata/Kamukura's head scar

While it is a stylistic choice, if anyone wants to describe or draw the location of Hinata's scar more accurately, it would be behind his hairline.

Frontoltemporal craniotomies would align the best with the description of Hinata's surgeries, the suppression of his memories, and identity. Because of the secretive nature of the Kamukura Project and how steadhanded the scientist were, they would want to conceal visibility and clean lines.

Enoshima described it as a 'forehead scar', so it's could possibly be question mark incisions. It's this curved arch that starts at the ear and follows up the side of the head to the hairline. It is standard due to its accessibility to large areas of the frontotemporoparietal bones. But it's noticeable even with hair.

An alternative option is an extended bifrontal scar, which is more aligned to the universal interpretation of his scarring. It's basically removing a large flap of bone at the front of the skull, and It follows the hairline from one ear to the other. But it's meant to avoid excessive brain altercations because it's usually for tumors.

Another thing to note is that sometimes there are multiple incisions. Single incisions are more common but are smaller and less invasive. Multiple scars are utilized for more complex surgeries like extended bifrontal.

Linear scars are singular and can be placed in a wide variety of locations on the skull depending on the procedure. Usually around the ear.

It's entirely up to you and your personal understanding of Hinata's surgeries, but his scars realistically shouldn't be visible on his face.

#danganronpa #hajime hinata #izuru kamukura #sdr2 #character breakdown #to that one person

30 notes · View notes

24kmagiic · 2 days ago

Text

The Masters of Good & Evil: A Detailed Meta of Klaus Mikaelson & Bonnie Bennett (Klonnie)

Hello Saints & Sinners!

I’ve shipped Klaus and Bonnie since Season 2 of The Vampire Diaries. While this ship was brutally snatched out of my cold, dead hands, I can still say today that Klaus and Bonnie were destined to be together, and if you stay a little while, I’ll tell you why I think so.

Grab a snack, I plan to yap for a minute.

Objective:

Summarize their backgrounds and explain how it shaped them.

Point out their similarities, differences, strengths, & weaknesses.

Explain how and why these work for and against them.

Remain on topic while being as concise as possible.

Origin Stories & How They Shape Them:

Klaus: Born in the 10th century to Esther and Ansel, Klaus believed Mikael was his biological father for the entirety of his human life.

After the death of his younger brother, Henrik, Esther stole a spell from Ayana Bennett’s grimoire and turned the entire family into vampires so that none of them would suffer the same fate.

Once turned, Klaus’s hybrid nature emerged when he triggered his werewolf curse, thus revealing Esther’s transgressions. He learned that she suppressed his werewolf nature for years with a spell, making him a target for Mikael’s abuse.

Seeing that her son was now a true abomination, Esther cursed him by binding his werewolf side. Klaus then killed Esther and framed Mikael for it before running away with his siblings.

Mikael’s relentless pursuit of Klaus for centuries compounded his trauma, fueling his paranoia and desire for power to protect himself and his family. This event became a foundational wound, fostering feelings of rejection, inferiority, and rage.

Bonnie: Born in the 20th century to Rudy Hopkins and Abby Bennett-Wilson, Bonnie was abandoned by her mother at an early age and emotionally neglected by her father, who traveled relentlessly for work.

She remained in the primary care of her Grandmother, Sheila Bennett, the alleged ‘town drunk’. While Grams did her best to care for Bonnie, she failed to teach her granddaughter about her family’s ancestry.

Bonnie descends from the oldest magical bloodline in the Vampire Diaries universe. Her heritage, initially believed to date back to the Salem Witch Trials, extends much farther and can be traced back to the 1st Century BC. Her ancestor, Qetsiyah, created the first Immortality spell, sparking the events of the series 2,000 years later. Her ancestors have been the catalysts in every supernatural plotline throughout the TVDU, and their magic and blood are often responsible for breaking curses, creating alternate dimensions, and creating creatures.

After discovering she was a witch, Bonnie was thrown into the supernatural and experienced the death of her beloved Grams early on, marking her hatred of vampires and the destruction they cause. She often received backlash from other characters, including the spirits, for her moral and magical obligations.

Her absentee mother briefly reappears, and Bonnie discovers that not only did her mother live a state away, but she was also raising another child who was not biologically hers. Abby's return reopens Bonnie's old wounds, and after being turned into a vampire, Abby disappears again, triggering more suffering and loss for Bonnie.

Bonnie is isolated from her friends and family while left to deal with the supernatural burden of being the only witch in a town that’s a magnet for destruction. As a result, she is burdened with responsibilities, selfless and loyal to a fault, has a martyr complex, and is often placed on a high moral pedestal. She is reserved, and though she is known to be ‘judgmental’, she is actually understanding when it comes to her friend’s decisions.

Whew. That was a lot, and I haven’t even gotten started. Brew some tea and meet me back here.

...Intermission...

This next part is partially borrowed from another Klonnie Meta I did, but this one is more in-depth.

Similarities:

There are so many commonalities between the two of them that make shipping Klonnie so fun.

Similar to how two siblings can grow up in the same house and face the same trauma but end up polar opposites, that's how I view Klonnie's commonalities (minus the sibling bit, obviously). They both faced similar traumas, but how they processed them turned them into different people. Klaus is the Yin to Bonnie's Yang.

Shared Traumas:

Parental Negligence

Bonnie: Rudy was negligent after Abby left and thus, Bonnie grew up alone with Grams, who failed to teach Bonnie about her heritage. (I'm aware it was against Rudy's wishes but I'm still side-eyeing lol.)

Klaus: Esther was negligent in keeping his father's identity from him and allowing her husband to abuse him. Also, she created the spell to weaken him for her own selfishness, thus putting the target on his back when it came to Mikael.

Abandonment

Bonnie: Her mother walked out on her for no legitimate reason. Her father was always gone, and Grams was an alcoholic (so they say). Even the people in her life were emotionally absent. Then you have her friends who left her to deal with the consequences of magic alone. Their absence, be it emotionally or physically, has taught Bonnie that love is very conditional and that if she can control the circumstances, she can minimize the pain their abandonment causes her.

Klaus: After killing their mother, he developed a deep fear of his siblings finding out and abandoning him for it. Therefore, he became obsessed with loyalty. His biological father was nowhere to be found until a thousand years later. Klaus’s abandonment issue shows up in the form of narcissism. If he can guilt his siblings and make them fear him, he’d never have to worry about them leaving him. (Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t work for either of these walruses.)

Internalization, Narcissism, & People Pleasing

Bonnie: Each time her friends are in trouble, she takes up the mantle to fix things. No one has ever asked, but she’s in-tune with those around her, so she thinks she knows exactly what they want. She then responds by ‘earning her keep’. This links back to her abandonment. To Bonnie, creating comfortable lives for those she loves directly translates to them staying in her life (not the case, but she believes it). She’s uncomfortable with others’ discomfort, and that is a major character flaw. She’s a grade-A people pleaser.

Klaus: This man sees every decision his siblings make as a direct threat to his person. He mistakes their boundaries and their desire to create their own identities outside of him as betrayal. Again, his abandonment issues make him respond with force, as he would with his enemies. And though he would never ‘kill’ them, he’ll cart them around in boxes for 900+ years. If Bonnie is a people pleaser, Klaus is the narcissist who can sniff her from miles away.

Shared Personalities:

Deep Emotional Capacity & Fierce Loyalty

Bonnie: Highly empathetic, Bonnie feels everyone’s pain and will prioritize it over her own suffering. We see this countless times with The Gilberts and The Salvatores. Because of this, she will go against her own morality. For example: The Gilbert Device debacle in which she risked the entire town’s jugulars because of Stefan’s love for Damon, she was willing to destroy the other side to bring Jeremy back for Elena, she tried to stop Elena’s transition at the expense of her Gram’s spirit being destroyed with aether.

Klaus: Despite his cruelty, Klaus loves his family and will destroy heaven and earth for them if necessary. Because of how deeply he feels for them, he looks for that same level of devotion in them and is often let down when they don’t return it with the same level he brings it. In his eyes, he gives more than he receives and this makes him paranoid about whether they truly love him or not. Mikaels abuse and manipulation causes him to second guess their loyalty often and so he does what he does best. Lashes out.

Klonnie: They both feel so deeply that they often suppress it to protect themselves. However, they both tend to ‘explode’. Klaus with his overreactive anger, and Bonnie with her willingness to sacrifice her life for the Mystic Falls Gang. They both make extreme sacrifices to protect those they love, even crossing moral lines to do so. Klaus will hurt his siblings to keep them safe, and in a way, so does Bonnie when she decides to die for them without their knowledge or consent. (Example: Klaus killing Elijah and Rebekah’s love interests, Bonnie telling Jeremy over the phone that she won’t survive the collapse.)

Survival & Isolation

Klaus: The World’s Only Original Hybrid (‘Life’)

Bonnie: The Last Surviving Bennett Witch (‘Death’)

Klonnie: I’ve touched on this earlier, but they’ve both experienced great pain and loss. They carry deep emotional scars, shaping how they see the world and interact with those they hold close. But let’s switch gears and talk about how their survival and power work against them. Their power alienates them, and because of it, they’re isolated. How poetic would it have been to have one of the world’s oldest creatures hook up with the last survivor of the very bloodline that created him!! The possibilities are endless. Klaus is isolated by fear, while Bonnie is isolated by duty. Them trying to kill each other is so romantic! My personal opinion: As much as Bonnie would try to destroy that bastard, Klaus would keep her around just because he’d like the idea of flirting with death. Being alive means nothing to an immortal creature. Throw in the threat of death, and life becomes so much sweeter. He’d never be able to get enough of her. Bonnie is often seen as life, while Klaus represents death, but the roles would be reversed in this scenario. Bonnie would be his cute little grim reaper. In conclusion, people either depend on them (Bonnie) or fear them (Klaus), but rarely do they understand them.

Growth & Redemption

Bonnie: People see Bonnie as a moral beacon that's full of light (and she is), but if you dig deep, Bonnie is a very dark character. She is the antithesis of evil, which does not always equate to what we define as 'good.' Bonnie's goodness is rooted in the way she masters evil, and she knows how and when to tap in (For example: Trying to kill Damon by fire). Most "good' characters we see in media today aren't actually good, they're harmless. Elena is a perfect example of this. Just because she was physically unable to hurt a fly doesn't mean she was a good person. Her selfishness placed Bonnie in ugly situations plenty of times, but it was brushed off because she ‘meant well’ and as a fellow black person, that is a very dangerous sentiment for our white friends to have. Additionally, our girl could learn boundaries, confidence in who tf she is, and how to put her desires over her sense of duty sometimes. She doesn’t always have to be the one to fix everything and everyone, and she could learn a lot from Klaus’s ‘selfishness’.

Klaus: If Bonnie is the antithesis of Evil, Klaus is… evil. One of my favorite sayings is “to be good, you must master evil”. I applied that to Bonnie’s character in the section above, but when applied to Klaus’s character, it’s so poetic and symmetrical to Bonnie. Klaus masters evil because he used to be good. Mikael and Esther showed him the worst in humanity, and because of their transgressions, they created a filthy, dark creature who, at his core, was a kind human being. The best villains once gave a fuck and Klaus is an example of that. Centuries of fear and persecution at the hands of Mikael created this dark, twisted, beautiful being, and if you flip Bonnie’s coin over, there you have Klaus. Additionally, this man could stand to be a bit more tender in his approach to love, and I think Bonnie would be the perfect person to remind him what tenderness feels like. His passion is overwhelming and suffocating, and while Bonnie can benefit from that, it would cause major roadblocks in their relationship. His control would stifle her and push her away, while Bonnie’s moral high ground would get on his absolute nerves. Especially when he knows she can be morally gray when necessary.

Klonnie: A fun little theory I’d like to mention is how their isolation makes them two of TVDU’s most touch-starved/deprived individuals. And Mwah. Imagine them in the sack. Their chemistry would be explosive because they both have what the other needs. Bonnie needs someone who wouldn’t play about her, and so does Klaus. Klaus needs someone whose loyalty he’d never have to question, and Bonnie is the perfect candidate. With a LOT of work, they’d both finally get the love they deserve and naturally, redemption (Klaus) and growth (Bonnie) would come to them, easily or hard won.

Take a nap. Tomorrow we fight another day.

...Intermission...

Or eat a sandwich and come right back...

Differences:

Strengths & Weaknesses

Moral Compass

Bonnie: Bonnie has a strong and almost fixed moral code. She is so rigid that she can’t bend it; therefore, she breaks it. She went from hating vampires to becoming best friends with one and even considered becoming one herself, which seems out of character, but again, she’s so rigid in her beliefs that she doesn’t always see when she’s… being a hypocrite. This is where I can see her and Klaus bumping heads because he’s more adaptable than she is, and her rigidity would annoy him and trigger his inferiority complex. Klaus, as fixed as he may seem to be in his anger, there is a method to his madness, and he has a reason for everything he does. He bases his reactions on past experiences, which I’ll highlight next. Bonnie does the same; only she doesn’t wait for evidence sometimes. She confronts you before the problem even occurs. She also uses her morality as a means of control for both herself and others. For Example: Planning to kill Klaus before the sacrifice (duh but, they could have attempted to come to an agreement our found a better solution), distancing herself from Caroline before seeing what kind of vampire she’ll be (though that had more to do with guilt than anything), and warning Damon that she’ll take him out if he steps out of line (assuming, correctly, he’ll fuck up soon).

Klaus: Regarding his family, I’d say he’s morally gray… on specific issues. Is he overbearing? Yes. Has he done things that I think they should disown him for? Also, yes. But he also goes to the ends of the earth for them, and that kind of devotion is rare (which is why they keep coming back to him). One of my favorite things to point out is how Klaus despises every man Rebekah brings home. In the beginning, it seems like Klaus is controlling, possessive, and at times, even incestuous lmao. But I always remember the flashback where he discovered he was immune to the daggers because REBEKAAAAH decided to fall in love with a hunter and nearly got them all killed/immobilized due to her incessant need for love and her incompetence when it comes to vetting her suitors. After seeing that, you understand why he is the way he is. His wickedness is his self-preservation, and his paranoia is what’s kept him (and his family) alive for a millennium.

Klonnie: These two are night and day, which is why they work. By the end of the series, Bonnie’s moral compass was frantically spinning while Klaus’s… well. His compass is pointing North-West (ish), and smashed into pieces beneath his foot. I think Klaus could learn how to make inclusive decisions regarding his family from Bonnie, and in turn, she could learn how to relax and realize her morality isn’t a weapon to wield.

Approach to Power

Bonnie: Sees Power as a burden and responsibility.

Klaus: Sees Power as control and longevity.

Klonnie: Klaus weilds power aggressively, and Bonnie wields it as a defense. She only operates in her power when she’s on the defense and never on the offense. This is the case with most “good” characters, which is annoying because so much could be prevented if you head off the problem before it becomes one, but… that’s when things become morally gray. Enter KNEEklaus. Though chaotic, he tends to play offense, which gives him the advantage in 90% of situations (like most villains). I haven’t figured out how yet, but these two could find a way to balance this perfectly. With many arguments and make-up...

Confidence & Self-Loathing

Bonnie: Underestimates her importance due to emotional neglect. Klaus is very self-loathing, and while Bonnie doesn't initially appear to be that way, she is too. Her strong moral code is just that, her way of torturing herself. For example: Constantly sacrificing herself for 'good' simply because she has the burden of wielding magic.

Klaus: Overestimates his importance to cope with rejection. Klaus is so used to being rejected that he expects it. That said, he’s spent his entire existence making sure that he is the answer to everyone’s problem… despite creating those very poblems.

Klonnie: Klaus hides his inferiority with arrogance, and Bonnie hides hers with humility and loyalty. Time and time again, we see Bonnie undervaluing her presence within the group by taking herself out of the equation because she was taught that her presence in her parents’ lives wasn’t necessary for them. (I want to bawl right now.) Klaus feels the same rejection from his parents, but he hides it with false bravado by wielding his status as the original hybrid who can’t be killed. They are both the ‘center of attention’ for completely different (negative) reasons. In conclusion, the confidence level for both of them is in hell, and while I think they could find a way to build confidence in each other... they’d need some serious help.

Interpersonal Style & Communication

Bonnie: Empathetic, supportive, and emotionally stable. She is exceptionally good at making connections with even the worst characters (Damon) and building trust. She has a way of growing on you even when you don’t want her to.

Klaus: Manipulative, controlling, and emotionally volatile. He isolates people through fear or force. He has a way of getting under your skin because, contrary to what most believe, the most manipulative people are also skilled at reading people, much like empaths. Klaus needs to control everyone around him to keep himself from getting hurt, while Bonnie refuses to be controlled.

Klonnie: Klaus pushes people away to protect himself. Bonnie pulls people closer, even when she’s hurting. That may sound false, but think about it. The more her friends distance themselves from her, the more she does for them. Because if she feels you pulling away, she sees that as you abandoning her, and if she thinks you’re abandoning her, she goes into full people-pleasing mode. For Example: When Elena wanted to stay behind on the other side while it was collapsing, Bonnie panicked and grabbed her to pull her to the other side. When she thought Elena would die as opposed to transitioning, she risked pissing off the spirits at the expense of her grams because the thought of losing anyone else terrified her. Klaus is the same way. Each time Rebekah tried to run off with a man, Klaus daggered her. He pushed Elijah away by doing the most amoral, irredeemable thing. For example: Telling the witches to kill Hayley and the baby and killing Gia (something I’ll never forgive!!!!!) In conclusion, Klaus lashes out, and Bonnie People-Pleases.

Romantic Expression

Bonnie: Can we call Bonnie’s canon relationship love? One was a ‘here damn!’ relationship and another was stockholm syndrome. (In my humble opinion, sorry Bonenzo girlies. Also, I recognize I stole a Bonenzo photo to make the edit above. So you can clock me for that.)

Klaus: It’s hard to peg since we haven’t really seen this man in love-love but I imagine it’s possessive, intense, and seductive. His romantic gestures would blur the line between devotion and obsession.

Klonnie: Klaus would use his love as a way to possess someone and anchor them to him while Bonnie awards her love like a hard-won gift. Even if it costs her something in return. For example: She gave up her love and freedom for Enzo, and revived Jeremy just to get cheated on. (My foot will remain cemented onto that lil boy’s neck.) At first, Bonnie would be disturbed (and fascinated) by Klaus’s possesiveness but as I said before, our girl could use someone that does not play about her. All he’d have to do is show her the man beneath the monster and she’d lowkey be a moth to the flame. They’d start off toxic of course because a people pleaser and a narcisist is never a good combo but in this case it would hurt so good. Because at their core, they’re good people. (Klaus’s is buried beneath centuries of trauma and stoicsism but it’s there)

In Conclusion (Or Denouement)

Klaus and Bonnie are both masters of good and evil, on the most extreme ends of the spectrum, and I think that’s the fun and beauty of this ship. The possibilities are endless, and there are so many different rabbit holes you can go down when it comes to them. Together, they could balance each other: Klaus learning patience and humility, Bonnie learning that power can be embraced, not just endured. As long-winded as this meta is, I’ve still barely scratched the surface so I’d love to hear what you all think about these two. What I’ve laid out for you here are reasons why I personally adore them.

If you’ve made it this far, you are a gem, and I wish you a lifetime of stocked refrigerators and Klonnie fanfics.

Thanks for reading!

-Nia

#klonnie #bonnie bennett #klaus mikaelson #klonnie meta #tvdu

49 notes · View notes

l1v-jzn · 12 hours ago

Text

thesis of the damned au — geum seong je #2

pairing: geum seong je x reader

genre: psychological thriller, dark academia, slow-burn romance, alternate universe (au)

summary: you transfer to an elite private university on a prestigious academic scholarship. Everyone there seems to know each other. Secret handshakes. Closed doors. Whispers you’re not invited to.

you meet Geum Seong je—sharp-tongued, perpetually late, smirking like he knows every secret in the building. He’s brilliant, bored, and definitely hiding something. Rumors say he wrote a paper so controversial it was buried by the faculty.

you find it. It’s not just a thesis. It’s a manifesto. Buried in it… are clues. To a secret society. To a missing student. To a crime that never made it into the newspapers.

and you?? You’re the only one smart and reckless enough to keep up with him.

taglist: @thepoeticfirefly @kyungjunnies @hikaerys @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @miyawwn @sanaxo-o @feralmaneater @jeewhat @satorustorm @jaymiwrld @satoru2716 @heeknow @indarius @yinyangcchii (and anyone wanna be tagged here!)

— Previous Part — — Next Part —

they didn’t speak again until 2:13 a.m.

the dorm room was dim, lit only by the old desk lamp humming softly. It cast a pool of golden light across the bed—now a battleground of papers, redacted documents, and the occasional half-eaten snack. Rain tapped at the window like it was trying to eavesdrop.

you sat cross-legged on the faded rug, hoodie sleeves pulled over your knuckles, your fingertips smudged with graphite. Seong Je was sprawled across the bed like he owned time itself, one arm behind his head, the other flipping through a binder so yellowed it crackled.

he had this infuriating calm about him. Like even chaos couldn’t touch him without asking permission first.

“So,” you said, circling something on the map, “this tunnel under the chapel—sealed, right?”

“According to the administration, yes,” he said, chewing absently on the end of a pencil. “But the administration also claims Avemhall doesn’t have an underground archive full of censored case files and missing student records.”

you looked up. “So what you’re saying is…”

“I’m saying if they say it’s sealed, it probably leads straight to hell.”

you gave him a slow look. “You say that with the confidence of someone who’s been there.”

“Freshman orientation,” he deadpanned.

a tired laugh escaped you before you could help it. And just like that, the air shifted—less like static, more like a string being pulled taut between you.

you leaned forward, tracing a red circle drawn around a date on one of the files. “This notation—it’s tomorrow.” He sat up instantly. “What?”

you handed him the paper. “Look. Same pen, same handwriting as the other notes. ‘Phase II: Observation begins.’ That’s not just a theory. That’s a schedule.”

his eyes scanned the page, the line of his jaw tightening. He was already halfway off the bed, pulling on his hoodie. “Then we go tonight. Map the route. Find their access point before they use it.” You raised a brow. “You’re assuming we’re doing this together.”

he turned to you, one brow arched with practiced arrogance. “You broke into a vault, showed up at my door like a drenched banshee, and now you’re sitting on my floor sorting contraband. Congratulations. You’re in the group chat.” You smirked. “You have a group chat?”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a flashlight from his drawer. “It’s just me. But I send really dramatic updates.”

he knelt beside you, flipping through the tunnel schematics. His knee brushed yours. Neither of you moved. You could smell his cologne now—woodsy, sharp, and faintly burned, like cedar left too close to flame. He looked up at you—and paused just for a beat.

it wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Still. But his gaze lingered longer than necessary. Like he wasn’t looking at you, but into you—cataloguing something only he could see. You swallowed. “What?” His voice was softer than expected. “Nothing.”

you narrowed your eyes. “No, you were looking at me like I grew antlers.”

a hint of amusement curved his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

he didn’t reply, just passed you a worn polaroid. “This was Myeong-joo’s. Last photo she took before she vanished.”

you studied it—two students near the chapel, faces blurry, one circled in red ink. Your stomach turned. The figure looked familiar. Too familiar. “She was close,” you whispered.

“She was reckless,” he said, voice tight. “She trusted the wrong people.” You looked up. “That why you don’t trust anyone now?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The silence between you said everything. You bit your tongue, “Okay,” you said. “Tomorrow night. We go under the chapel.”

“Carefully,” he said. “Obviously.” You said playfully rolling your eyes to him.

“And no more solo hero moments.”

“No promises.”

he sighed, exasperated. “You’re going to get us both killed.” You smiled. “Not before I solve this.”

Seong Je's Dorm — 3:55 a.m

it was nearly 4 a.m. when she finally fell asleep.

she hadn’t meant to—just laid back for a second, eyes fluttering, papers still in hand. Seong Je had glanced up from the notes, ready to make some snarky comment about caffeine limits, but the words never made it out.

she’d drifted off, head resting awkwardly against his bed frame, a file folder cradled like a blanket, hair a halo of chaos across her hoodie.

and just like that, the room went quiet. Really quiet.

not the kind of silence that comes from emptiness, but the kind that fills a space. Stretches it. Softens the edges of everything sharp.

Seong Je leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, pretending to still read—but his eyes kept flicking back to her. Once. Twice.

and then he stopped pretending.

her breathing had gone steady, one arm curled under your head. There was a tiny crease between her brows, like she was still fighting the mystery even in her sleep. She looked tired. Not just physically. Bone-deep tired. Like she’d been carrying things alone for too long.

he hated that he recognized it. He stood slowly, careful not to wake her, and picked up the scattered pages at her feet. He hesitated over the polaroid she’d been studying last—two anonymous figures under chapel light, secrets stitched in the shadows.

she’d gotten too close. So had Myeong-joo.

and now here she was, asleep in his dorm room with a target practically glowing on her back—and yet somehow still the calmest thing in the room.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, crouching beside her. “So stupid.”

he reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed and paused. His hand hovered just above hers. Not touching. Just hovering. Because he didn’t trust what it would mean if he let it.

instead, he gently draped the blanket over her shoulders, brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, and stood.

he didn’t say it out loud, of course. But in the soft silence, in the space between breath and heartbeat, it was there anyway, “Don’t disappear on me too.”

Seong Je’s dorm — The next day, 7:24 a.m

the morning light sliced through the blinds like judgment.

golden and intrusive, it crawled across the room, catching on the spines of old books, highlighting dust motes floating like ghosts between you and the boy you weren’t supposed to care about.

you stirred slowly, the stiff ache in your neck dragging you back to consciousness. You were curled on the floor beside Seong Je’s bed, the same cursed blanket still wrapped around you like a quiet confession. His scent clung to it—clean laundry, rain, and whatever danger smelled like in human form.

you blinked. Took stock. Your legs were tangled in an old hoodie. Not yours.

your breath hitched. Oh no.

across the room, Seong Je sat perched on the edge of his desk, barefoot, a mug in one hand and a pen tapping restlessly against his knee. The glow of his laptop screen cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the dark crescents under his eyes.

he didn’t look at you. “Sleep well?” he asked flatly, eyes fixed on the screen like it was more interesting than the very obvious emotional minefield in the room.

you pushed the blanket off your shoulders like it had personally betrayed you. “You let me fall asleep in your room?”

“I let you collapse like a Victorian orphan who just saw too many secrets,” he said, sipping his coffee. “There was snoring. I considered calling campus security.”

“Liar,” you muttered, rubbing sleep from your eyes. He didn’t deny it.

the silence hung. Long. Heavy. One of those silences that wasn’t empty—it was full. Of all the things you could say. Shouldn’t say. Almost said last night when he tucked the blanket around you like someone who definitely didn’t care (but absolutely did).

you stood too quickly, catching your balance on the edge of his desk. Your fingers brushed his mug. Warm. Steady. Not like you.

he finally glanced at you, eyes flicking up from the screen—and lingered. Just for a second too long.

his gaze was unreadable. Not cold. Not warm. Just... layered. Like there were too many thoughts trying to fit into too small a space. You cleared your throat. “So. Nothing happened. We move on. Cool?”

“Cool,” he echoed, voice carefully neutral. You stepped back. He watched you go.

but then—just before you reached the door—he said it. Quietly. Without looking. “You talk in your sleep.” You froze and slowly turned to him. “What did I say?”

he smirked, finally—finally—meeting your eyes. “You said my name.”

your stomach dropped somewhere between your knees and the floor. “I–I was probably threatening you,” you said, too fast.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sounded more like pleading.”

he looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. Like he’d won some silent battle you didn’t even know was happening. You glared. “You’re insufferable.”

he shrugged. “You keep coming back.” And you hated that he wasn’t wrong.

Avemhall University Courtyard — 4:18 p.m

the courtyard was crowded.

golden-hour light slanted through gothic arches, casting long shadows over the students sprawled on stone benches and creaking iron chairs. Laughter floated through the air—too bright, too brittle.

you were flipping through your annotated copy of Symbology and Subversion under a cherry tree, trying to look casual. Like your pulse wasn’t betraying you. Like you didn’t know exactly who had just walked into the quad five minutes ago.

and like you hadn’t felt his stare the moment he did.

across the way, Seong Je leaned against the arch of one of the older halls, deep in mock conversation with Baek Jin and some other upper-year society kids. His head tilted back slightly as if he was laughing at something—but his eyes? They weren’t on them. They were on you.

barely there. Blinking slow. Calculated and careless all at once. You turned a page you hadn’t read.

he said something to his friends—then peeled off, crossing the quad at a maddeningly unhurried pace. You didn’t move. You didn’t have to. His presence closed in like a storm front.

he stopped a few feet away. Hands in his coat pockets. Head cocked. “Didn’t think you were the type to sit outside and soak in aesthetics like a tragic protagonist.” You looked up, dry. “Didn’t think you were the type to do social interaction in daylight.” He smiled—barely.

the air crackled between you. Neither of you stepped closer.

a girl nearby glanced between the two of you, sensing something unspoken, and immediately looked away like she’d just seen something too private. “Where were you headed?” you asked, tone carefully light. He shrugged. “Nowhere in particular.”

you raised a brow. “So you just happened to stop near me.”

“I’m doing research,” he said, voice smooth. “On self-deluded scholars who think they’re subtle.”

you exhaled a laugh despite yourself. “That’s rich coming from the guy who definitely stared at me for five full minutes without blinking.” He stepped closer. Just slightly. “Only because you were looking at me first.” That shut you up.

for a heartbeat, the world blurred—students walking by, campus noise fading, cherry blossoms dancing in the breeze like confetti for a moment you weren’t ready to name.

he looked at you like he was trying to memorize something.

and then—like it never happened—he straightened, cleared his throat, and nodded to your book. “Careful with that chapter. The margins hide more than just footnotes.” And with that, he turned. Gone before you could ask what he meant. You stared after him. Every nerve lit. Every thought tangled.

your book felt heavier in your lap. You flipped to the page he mentioned—and froze. Tucked into the margin, between two lines about initiation rites, was a name. Yours.

and the same thin, sharp handwriting from the locker note.

North Wing hallway — ?:??

you weren’t supposed to be here, that much was clear from the way the overhead light flickered once—just once—as you passed beneath it, as if the building itself was warning you to turn back. But you couldn’t.

the name in the book’s margins had been written deliberately. Ink too fresh. A plant. A message. And that message had led you here.

to the hallway they said no one used anymore. To the door with the rotted wood frame and a handle that shouldn’t have turned—but did.

you stepped inside. Dust hung in the air like fog. The room smelled like candlewax and old secrets. Long shelves lined with cracked leather tomes. A single desk in the center. Nothing on it except—a black envelope, with your name. You reached for it—but a voice beat you to it. “I wouldn’t open that if I were you.”

you froze. Behind you stood a girl. Maybe your age. Maybe older. Her uniform was regulation-perfect, but too clean. Pressed like it had never been worn for anything as pedestrian as learning. Her hair was pinned with a silver clasp shaped like the Avemhall crest—but older. Sharper. You hadn’t even heard her enter.

her eyes scanned you like a file. Unbothered. Icy. “You’re the scholarship girl,” she said, like it was an insult wrapped in silk.

you straightened your shoulders. “And you’re clearly someone who enjoys dramatic entrances.”

she smiled, and it wasn’t kind. “We’ve been watching you.” That ‘We’. Your stomach twisted.

she stepped closer, circling like a hawk. “You and Seong Je make a curious pair. He doesn’t usually get... attached.” You bristled. “We’re not anything.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “That’s what Myeong-joo said too.” The name hit like a dropped stone in your chest. Your voice cracked. “You knew her?”

“She knew too much. Asked the wrong questions. Trusted the wrong people.” Her eyes met yours, dead calm. “You’re heading down the same path.” Silence. Thick. Chilling.

you wanted to speak. You really did. But your throat felt like it had been tied in knots.

then—she leaned in, close enough for her whisper to skim your ear, “Secrets are sacred here, sunbae. Break the rite, and the walls break you.” She pulled back with the poise of royalty. “You’d be wise to remember that.”

and just like that, she slipped past you and out the door—heels clicking like punctuation marks. When you blinked again, she was gone.

you looked down. The envelope was missing.

Your Dorm — 8:39 p.m

you didn’t notice it at first. The symbol.

not until your notes from Prof. Chae’s lecture started shifting—not in content, but in vibe. You flipped a page, and there it was: scrawled in the corner like a careless doodle, sharp and spiraling and wrong.

it looked like three crescent moons stitched into a circle, ringed with tiny marks like teeth. You hadn’t drawn it.

you would’ve remembered drawing something that unsettling.

you stared at it for a long moment, waiting for the memory to click into place. Nothing did.

you shut the notebook. Waited. Then opened it again. The symbol was still there.

then you checked another notebook. Your copy of Dark Societies of the Enlightenment. The back cover. Same symbol. A little fainter. But there.

and when you turned off the desk lamp? It glowed faintly.

your breath hitched. Something in your chest thrummed—like the notebook was vibrating with a frequency your bones didn’t know how to ignore.

and then came the sound. A thud. Low. Hollow. Not from your room—but somewhere close. Like a knock, but not on your door. You grabbed your phone. Dead. Again. Of course.

you stood slowly, heart jackhammering, and opened your closet—not knowing why, just following that cold instinct that something was off—and tucked behind the shoeboxes at the back was a folded piece of parchment. Not paper. Parchment.

you unfolded it carefully, hands trembling. It looked like a map. Or a blueprint. Lines connecting parts of campus you didn’t even recognize. And right in the center: That same symbol. Burned into the page. Below it, written in tiny, spidery handwriting: “When the sun passes the tower’s eye, the door will open. Come alone. Leave nothing behind.” You blinked—and the message began to fade. Disintegrating like ash.

you clutched the page tighter, breath shallow, pulse frantic. It didn’t matter if it made sense. You knew one thing: You were being summoned.

The Clocktower — 11:43 p.m

the bell didn’t chime at midnight. It never did.

that was part of the ritual—you learned that from the map. When the “tower��s eye” looked over campus and found only silence, that was the moment.

so you stood there beneath the looming arch of the clocktower, breath clouding in the cold, the map clutched in one hand and the faint glow of the symbol on your wrist—because yes, it was on your skin now—guiding you.

you weren’t sure when it had appeared, only that it burned cold every time you got closer.

a breeze whispered through the cracks in the stone, and then—a click. The wall shifted—barely but enough for a body to get in.

you stepped forward, heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to break out. The door was flush with the tower wall, nearly invisible unless you knew where to look—etched with the symbol, which pulsed softly once as your fingers touched it. Then it opened.

stone groaned. Dust lifted. Air that hadn’t breathed in years sighed in your face. You slipped inside.

the passage curved down—spiraling steps, lit only by sconces that shouldn’t have been lit, their flames unnaturally steady. As if the air didn’t dare move down here.

you followed the steps, down, down, and then voices. Low. Chanting. Rhythmic.

your feet landed on a marble floor carved with sigils you didn’t recognize. Candles in concentric rings. Robed figures standing silent. Hooded. Unmoving.

in the center of the room, a boy knelt. Head bowed. Shaking. You couldn’t see his face, but you recognized the uniform. First-year. Another scholarship student.

they were saying something in Latin. Or maybe it wasn’t Latin. Your brain tried to translate and failed.

a silver bowl of water passed from one figure to the next. Then, a blade.

the one holding it raised their hand—and you didn’t realize you’d gasped until all their heads turned to you in unison. “Who—” one of them started. You ran.

bolted back up the stairs, lungs burning, not stopping until you slammed out into the night, your breath tearing from your throat. Until someone pulled you from the dark.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You yelped—spun—and found yourself face-to-face with Seong Je, hoodie on, hair disheveled, eyes blazing.

he shook your arm once. “Are you insane?! Going in there alone, what did you think that was?! A damn tea ceremony?!”

“I didn’t know what I’d find–”

“You don’t get to not know!” he shouted, voice raw. “They could’ve—God, they could’ve marked you or worse.” You’d never seen him like this.

he let go of your wrist like it burned him, turning away to drag a hand through his hair.

you stepped closer, quieter now. “I found the map. The symbol. The book in the library. And you weren’t going to tell me?”

he turned back to you, and for a second the anger dropped—just long enough for you to see the fear under it. Too late. You both knew it.

behind you, the clocktower bell finally rang—one slow, thunderous chime. You both looked up.

and in the silence after it faded, Seong Je said, almost too softly, “…They know your name now.”

Abandoned Greenhouse — 12:09 a.m

he didn’t say a word after the clocktower.

just grabbed your hand—tight—and pulled you through side paths and service corridors like a ghost who’d memorized every skeleton Avemhall had hidden.

you didn’t protest. Not even when you recognized the back entrance to the greenhouse.

not even when you noticed it had been reinforced—barred windows, layered locks, wards carved into the old stone lintel like quiet prayers against whatever hunted outside.

he finally stopped moving once the door was locked behind you. You were breathing hard. He wasn’t.

the room was strangely warm, lit by mismatched lamps and the faint shimmer of bio-luminescent moss creeping up the wall. Not the prettiest sanctuary, but clearly lived-in. A cot in the corner. Books stacked everywhere. One lone space heater chugging like a tired beast.

you opened your mouth to ask something—anything—but he beat you to it. “You could've died.” Just that. Quiet. Flat.

you stepped closer, defiant. “So could that kid in the circle. What were they doing to him?” Seong Je didn’t answer.

instead, he sat on the edge of the cot and dragged a hand down his face like he was trying to rub away the entire night.

“Avemhall’s full of stories,” he muttered. “Secret societies. Hidden doors. But the real ones? The ones that don’t make the yearbook? They don’t play games. You show up uninvited, you don’t get detention. You disappear.”

“You shouldn’t have seen that.”

you crossed your arms. “I did.” Another silence.

then he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something toward you. It slid across the old worktable and stopped near your hand. A charm. Worn brass. Shaped like the symbol—but different now. Inverted. Protective, maybe. “Wear it,” he said. “Always.” Your fingers closed around it. “And what is this supposed to do?”

his eyes met yours, serious in a way that left no room for sarcasm. “Buy me enough time to get to you if they come.”

something in your chest fluttered—fear, maybe. Or something softer and more dangerous.

you lowered yourself into the chair across from him, charm clutched in your palm. “…Is this the part where you tell me everything?” Seong Je’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No.” You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

he leaned forward, forearms on knees, voice dark velvet and razor-thin patience. “Because the more you know, the more you’re worth killing.” Your stomach dropped. But you nodded. The charm burned faintly warm in your hand.

outside, the wind screamed against the glass. Inside, Seong Je watched you like you were already part of the game. And in the farthest corner of the greenhouse—one of the vines shifted. Like something was listening.

Flashback to Seong Je’s Past

Seong Je had been just like you, once.

scholarship kid. Transfer. Smarter than most, angrier than all. His grades outpaced his professors. His mouth outpaced his sense. And someone—someone in the Society—had noticed.

he got the first note the night after he corrected a professor in Latin. It didn’t say much.

“We see you. You want truth? Come earn it.”

he thought it was a prank. He followed it anyway. Just like you.

but his initiation hadn’t been something he stumbled into. It was planned. Controlled. Everyone in those robes had known his name. His history. His weak spots.

they brought him to the same chamber under the clocktower. They didn’t blindfold him. They wanted him to see.

the boy kneeling that night hadn’t been a victim. It had been him.

they marked him—not with a blade, but with words. Dozens of voices whispering secrets all at once. Some of them true. Some half-true. Some designed to break him.

by the end of it, he didn’t know which way was up, but he knew one thing: They didn’t want obedience. They wanted complicity.

so when they offered him the final rite—to complete the circle, to take the oath—he smiled and walked away. No one ever did that. He’s the only one who lived to try.

his legs barely worked by the time he found the east wing. He’d followed instinct more than direction. It had been raining then, too. Of course it had.

the greenhouse had been abandoned for years—students joked it was haunted, or cursed, or full of venomous plants that never died. Which made it perfect.

he’d broken in through a rotted window. Collapsed against the floor. Cried, maybe. Not that he’d admit that now.

he carved his first ward into the wall that night. Slept beside it.

every time someone got too close—Society members, professors, anyone with that look in their eye—he added another ward. Another layer of defense. Another brick in the fortress he never let anyone see inside. Not until now. Not until you.

Back to the Present

he doesn’t tell you about it, of course. A past that still lingers in him.

he just sits across from you, watching as you twist the charm in your fingers like it might whisper to you.

you don’t see the way his gaze lingers on your face. The worry that slips through the cracks. The guilt he carries like a brand under his skin.

he doesn’t say it out loud. But he’s thinking it.

“I should’ve burned that map the second I saw it in your hands.”

“I should’ve warned you.”

“I should’ve never let you in.”

but instead, he just mutters, “Get some sleep.” and turns away. He doesn’t sleep. Not really. He just listens. To the wind. To the heartbeat he’s too aware of.

to the silence where your breathing fills the room—and so help him, if you snore, he’s going to have to start catching feelings against his will.

Abandoned Greenhouse — The next day, 7:37 a.m

you don’t remember falling asleep. Just the soft warmth of the charm in your hand. The low hum of the space heater. The way the rain outside sounded like static against the glass. But you woke up to silence. Not in the creepy way.

the rare kind. Sacred. Like the world had paused to give you one breath of peace.

you blinked at the sight of you. The light was low—one lamp still on, flickering gently like it was trying not to disturb you. Your muscles ached from the cot, your mind still fogged with the aftershock of everything you’d seen.

and then you saw him, Seong Je. Asleep. Slouched in the chair beside your cot, hoodie bunched up at the neck, head tilted slightly like it had dropped mid-watch. His arms were folded. One leg stretched out. His face soft in a way you’d never seen—none of the usual tension in his jaw, no biting sarcasm curled into his mouth.

just stillness. Just a boy who looked… young. Tired. Beautiful, in the way tragic statues are—half-sorrow, half-strength, all shadow.

a few strands of hair had fallen into his face. You fought the sudden, idiotic urge to brush them back.

he muttered something in his sleep. Frowned. Then relaxed again, like whatever demon he was dreaming about had let him go.

you stared at him for—like really stared—because this—this wasn’t the Seong Je who barked orders and rolled his eyes and called you “newbie” like it was your birth name.

this was the one who’d dragged you to safety. Who’d given you protection he didn’t even want to admit you needed. Who stayed. Even when he didn’t have to.

the charm was still warm in your hand. Carefully—slowly—you sat up, the blanket falling from your shoulders. You didn’t want to wake him. Not yet. Not when the storm had quieted and he finally looked like someone who could be trusted. Or maybe just someone who wanted to be. And maybe that was worse.

because you knew. This moment wasn’t going to last.

eventually, the real world would claw its way back in. With threats. And secrets. And the reminder that you weren’t supposed to be here at all.

but for now? You watched him sleep.

and tried not to fall for the only boy, who is broken enough to understand why you never really felt safe in the first place.

second part is here!! 🙈🥳 how are y'all feeling abt this part?? 🙌🏻😤 happi reading!! 🙂‍↕️🤌🏻

#geum seong je #geum seongje #keum seongje #wolf keum #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #keum seongje x reader #wolf keum x reader #weak hero x reader #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class one #weak hero class two

28 notes · View notes