#Wailing Song!AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miraclewoozi · 10 months ago

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DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome. or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader. content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song.

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong.

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.”

He was right.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all.

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say.

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position.

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air.

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done.

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal.

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present.

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you.

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember.

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter.

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again.

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary.

The urge to just… lean in to you.

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees.

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again.

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop.

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday.

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare.

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once.

He swears.

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure.

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting.

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway.

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t.

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances.

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise.

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that.

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come.

Eight seconds later… still nothing.

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light.

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug.

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again.

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?”

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue.

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before.

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip.

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter.

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh.

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair.

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop.

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders.

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help.

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place.

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head.

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in.

I love them. Thank you, you said.

It’s perfect.

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double.

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead.

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue.

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose.

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late.

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to.

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are.

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob.

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum.

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him.

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen.

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door.

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important.

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair.

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath.

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright.

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened.

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head.

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop.

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together.

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said.

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love.

With someone who wasn’t him.

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt. And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before.

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder.

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it.

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush.

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth.

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you.

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too.

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure.

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together.

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try.

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could.

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down.

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better.

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same.

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved.

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person.

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say.

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here.

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no.

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline.

Not enough, but some.

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin.

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky.

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough.

Happy New Year.

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes.

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you.

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow…

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there.

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you.

You could do it, his brain tells him.

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter?

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside.

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said.

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule.

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all.

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday.

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you.

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change.

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant.

The pouting continued.

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table.

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling.

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together.

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features.

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?��

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road.

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess,

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks.

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer.

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks.

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick.

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone.

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own.

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block.

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths.

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too.

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again.

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon chwe fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hansol x reader #hansol fluff #kpop fluff #j writes.#*#so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3 #vernon fanfic

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misswynters · 4 months ago

Text

Rooftop Cravings

Gwayne Hightower x reader (modern au)

[WARNING: making out/kissing, smoking, needy/desperate gwayne, implied sexual relations, worship?, extreme touching, not proofread

[synopsis: Gwayne calls you to the rooftop, needing you. Like a desperate man.

[note: uh i absolutely love freddie fox…he’s mine, the first pic is actually him (0-o)

Part of the Dragonblood: Southside Series

song inspiration: desert rose

The Hightower apartment complex stands tall and imposing in the heart of Chicago’s South Side. It’s a place where everyone knows everyone else’s business, and secrets are hard to keep. Tonight, the air is filled with the sounds of the city – sirens wailing in the distance, the murmur of late-night conversations, and the occasional blare of a car horn.

You move through the dimly lit hallways with purpose, your heart pounding in anticipation. Gwayne Hightower, the ever-charming and mischievous bad boy of the neighborhood, had slipped you a note earlier in the day – a secret rendezvous on the rooftop. The thrill of it all reminds you of scenes straight out of a TV show. Each apartment was a testament to wealth, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering sweeping views of the city that never slept. But Gwayne Hightower wasn’t interested in the views tonight. He was standing on the rooftop, the wind tugging at his clothes as he stared at his phone, desperation clawing at his chest.

He dialed the number, his fingers trembling slightly. The ring echoed in his ears, each second stretching into an eternity. When your voice finally came through, soft and curious, it was like a lifeline.

“Hello?” You answered with a question.

“Where are you?” His voice was rough, strained with an urgency he couldn’t hide. “I need to see you.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then you spoke again, concern lacing your words. “Gwayne, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” he admitted, his breath hitching. “I’m on the rooftop of The Hightower. Please, come. I… I need you.”

The line went silent for a moment, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in your head. Then, with a resigned sigh, you agreed. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Gwayne ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket, pacing the rooftop as he tried to calm his racing heart. The city lights flickered below, but all he could think about was you. The way your smile lit up a room, the warmth of your touch, the sound of your laughter. He was consumed by thoughts of you, his need for you almost painful in its intensity.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an hour. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and longing blending into a potent mix that made it hard to breathe. When you reach the rooftop door, you push it open and step into the cool night air. Gwayne was waiting for you, leaning against the edge of the building with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks up as he heard you approach, his trademark smirk playing on his lips.

“You actually came,” he says, taking a drag from his cigarette and exhaling slowly, his back facing you.

You looked around the rooftop, adoring the city skyline. Seeing him at the edge, you walked over. “Gwayne, what’s wrong?”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark with unspoken emotions. “I’m sorry,” he slightly whined, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be without you.”

Gwayne's confession hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. The city below seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you on this isolated rooftop. The cool night air mingled with the warmth of his breath on your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

Gwayne stubs out his cigarette and steps closer, closing the distance between you. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, his hands finding your waist and pulling you close.

"You don't have to be sorry," you whispered, your fingers brushing against his jaw. "I'm here now."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if it were the only thing anchoring him. "I've missed you so much," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Every second without you feels like an eternity."

You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, soft and reassuring. "I feel the same way."

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Shall we make the most of our time together then?”

You couldn’t even respond before Gwayne captures your lips in a searing kiss. It’s as if all the pent-up longing and passion you’ve been feeling spills out in that single moment. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer as your fingers tangling in his hair deepening the kiss.

Gwayne's hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer. His need for you was palpable, an almost physical force that drew you together. He kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. Each brush of his lips against yours was a silent plea, a desperate need to be connected to you.

The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you and the raw emotion that pulsed between you. Gwayne's hands roamed your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

"I can't get enough of you," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire.

You smiled against his mouth, your heart swelling with affection. "Then don't stop," you whispered, your words a gentle challenge.

Gwayne's response was immediate. He kissed you with renewed fervor, his hands exploring every inch of you. His touch was electrifying, each caress sending waves of pleasure through your body. You melted into him, giving yourself over to the intensity of the moment.

He guided you until your back pressed against the railing of the rooftop. The metal was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Gwayne's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as your fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Gwayne," you moaned, the sound of his name on your lips spurring him on.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. They were dark with desire, but there was something else there too- a vulnerability that tugged at your heart. "I love you," he said, his voice trembling with the weight of the words.

"I love you so much it scares me."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "I love you too," you said, your voice steady and sure. "More than anything."

A shudder ran through Gwayne at your words, and he captured your lips in another searing kiss. There was a new urgency to his movements, a desperate need to show you just how much you meant to him. His hands slid under your shirt, the heat of his touch sending shivers through your body. Gwayne’s fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt.

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your skin, your own hands finding their way under his shirt. The feel of his muscles beneath your fingertips was intoxicating, and you couldn't get enough. You needed to feel every inch of him, to remind yourself that this was real.

Gwayne pulled back just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before doing the same with his own. The sight of his bare chest, illuminated by the city lights, took your breath away. He was beautiful, every inch of him a testament to strength and vulnerability.

He pressed you back against the railing, his hands exploring your now exposed skin. Each touch was a promise, each kiss a declaration of his love. You could feel his need for you, the way his body trembled with barely restrained desire.

"Please," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I need you."

You nodded, your own desire mirrored in his eyes. "Mmmm," you hummed, your wordless expression, a vow.

Gwayne's eyes darkened at your words, and he kissed you with a passion that took your breath away. His hands moved to the waistband of your pants, his touch gentle but insistent. You helped him, the two of you working together to shed the last barriers between you.

When you were finally free of your clothes, Gwayne took a step back, his eyes raking over your body with a hunger that made your pulse race. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in for another kiss. You stood there in your underwear and so did he. It was slightly cold tonight, so it was wise not to be fully naked out in the open.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured against your lips.

You blushed, the intensity of his gaze making you feel exposed in the best possible way. "Says Mr. Handsome," you jokingly replied, your voice soft but full of conviction.

Gwayne's lips curved into a smile, and he kissed you again, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made your heart ache. Each touch was a reminder of just how much he loved you, just how much he needed you.

The world seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in him. The city below, the stars above - none of it mattered. All that mattered was the way he made you feel, the way he showed you just how deeply he cared.

Without breaking the kiss, Gwayne's hands moved to your waist, slightly touching your nipples through your bra. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. When he reached your chest, he paused for a moment, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Yes, Gwayne. Please."

That was all the encouragement he needed. His mouth descended on your chest, kissing and sucking with a need that left you breathless. His hands cupped your breasts, kneading gently as his tongue flicked over your sensitive skin. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn't help the soft moans that escaped your lips.

Gwayne's neediness was palpable. He was everywhere at once, his hands, his mouth, his body pressing against yours.

He worshipped your chest with an almost frantic desperation, his kisses turning into gentle bites and sucks that left you trembling with desire.

"You're so perfect," he murmured against your skin. "So fucking perfect."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. "I need you too," you breathed. "I always have."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a raw, unspoken emotion. "Then let's not waste any more time."

With that, he pulled you into another searing kiss, his hands never leaving your body. Up on the rooftop, under the moonlit sky, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, lost in each other's arms.

You pull away from the kiss, both of you breathless. Gwayne’s eyes are dark with desire, but there’s also a softness there that you don’t see often. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender.

He leads you to a makeshift seating area – an old blanket spread out on the rooftop, surrounded by the twinkling lights of the city. You sit down together, the cool night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

“Sometimes, I feel like this is the only place we can really be ourselves,” Gwayne admits, his voice raw and honest. “Away from all the bullshit.”

You nod, understanding all too well. Life in the Hightower complex is chaotic, full of drama and noise. Moments like this are rare, precious.

“What’s been going on with you?” you ask, wanting to share in his burdens, if only for a little while.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Same old shit. Trying to keep my family together, keep everyone out of trouble. It’s exhausting.”

You lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder. For a moment, the world feels right. The noise and chaos fade away, leaving just the two of you and the city lights.

The morning sun filters through the cracked blinds of the huge apartment. You wake up to the sound of Gwayne moving around the kitchen, the smell of coffee filling the air. You stretch and sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Last night was absolute perfection and bliss. He treated you well, having the most loving and gentle sex you could’ve imagined. It was all you can think about.

Gwayne turns as you enter the kitchen, a smile spreading across his face. “Morning,” he says, handing you a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” you reply, taking the cup and savoring the warmth. “Thanks.”

He leans against the counter, watching you. “You should stay more often. I like waking up to you.”

You smile, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the coffee. “I like waking up here.”

Gwayne steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “Then stay with me, ___.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. It’s a big step, but one you’re willing to take. “Okay,” you say softly. He kisses you gently, sealing the promise. Gwayne traps you between the kitchen island and his arms, leaning down to match you height. You could feel him pressed against you, the only layer between the two of you was the thin underwear you both were wearing. He wanted another round.

[note: i keep adding more to my plate however, i was in NEED for this 😐, if you would like to be added to my taglist for all of my gwayne fics COMMENT!

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#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd smut #gwayne x you #gwayne smut #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #freddie fox #hotd shameless au #hotd modern au #house targaryen #ser gwayne #gwayne fanfic #hotd gwayne

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solecize · 5 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (5)

ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: a ㅤㅤㅤ year of a death of a thousand cuts because, no matter what comes your way, saying goodbye is never an option. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, fake dating, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), both main characters are very flawed, violence, infidelity, foul language, substance use (illegal drugs) 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. extra warning for violent acts in a relationship (throwing objects at the wall) ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjoin the taglist here! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤm.list | previous | next

stop, you're losin' me

i can't find a pulse

my heart won't start anymore

TOP HEADLINE TODAY: new kbs variety show announced - first mc revealed to be s.irens' novaㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ january 2017

the memories of bora bora stuck to you like maple syrup on your hands for years. it was a haunting notion to consider the trip the beginning of the end. you remember the way the golden sand stretched out across the water for what felt like forever, as it shimmered and sparkled under the relentless sun. you could hear jungkook’s laughter echoing in your ears like a melody of a song that looped in your head. the sharpest image of that week glared at you angrily - the first serious fight that you ever got into with your boyfriend.

it was a given that you and jungkook butted heads like any other long-term couple, but you found yourself stomping away to nayoung’s hotel room at the end of the third night with a bundle of clothes in your hands and tear-stained cheeks.

when she swung the door open, her heavy lids indicated that she was about to burst into a complaint about you waking her up. instead, nayoung’s eyes jolted open when they read the expression on your face.

“what happened?” she asked.

you fought a wail, making sure to shove any sort of crying down your throat because god knows you would never stop if you started. nayoung frowned and opened the door wider, gesturing for you to come in.

her room was always messy at the dorms and you weren’t shocked to find her hotel room in a similar state of disarray. however, it beat the way you trashed the room you’d been sharing with jungkook. clothes on the floor, random objects hurled at the wall, and even a lamp abandoned on the floor. the anger you felt was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. you admitted this to nayoung, who looked at you like you had two heads.

“yeah, we fought and i may have knocked some things over. . . “

your temperament was definitely an issue to be discussed, but in your eyes, there were more pressing problems to address. when nayoung made room for you to sit on the left side of the bed, you immediately tucked yourself under the covers and let a few tears stream down your face.

she frowned. “what were you guys fighting about?”

“jungkook thinks that i’m always too focused on work,” you explained, swiping at your face. “he said i don’t make enough time for him.”

at this point, you were four years into debut and permanently stuck in the fast lane. a few major events occurred in your career recently that changed the trajectory of your group’s popularity - the first being the departure of miseul. it was an unfortunate situation, as she requested the termination of her contract to go back to her hometown, where her grandmother was ill. the company then replaced her with a new girl, cara, who you did not get along with. there was no choice in the matter, though, and your group’s first comeback with the new lineup happened earlier that year.

another signficant dynamic change was nayoung’s quick rise to stardom as an actress. she’d starred in a drama that was one of the most popular of all time on mbc and as a result, grew in popularity that arguably surpassed your group. she had endorsements and jobs coming left and right, which was prioritized by your company over the group’s endeavours.

it was a bitter feeling, being overshadowed by both your own group mate and boyfriend, but you instead focused on working harder and taking on every project you could. even with bts’ growing status and schedules, you found yourself making less and less time for jungkook and his argument was that he always did more for the relationship than you did.

“focused on work? we’re literally on vacation.” nayoung sighed, coming into bed with you. “i’m glad you’re here, though, y/n. i feel like i haven’t seen you since we landed.”

agreeing to the bora bora trip was a reluctant decision, as it was originally just supposed to be a composition of your and jungkook’s friends. you only wanted to bring nayoung and sooah, until the latter convinced you to ask cara to tag along, since they didn’t want to leave her out. the trip was intended to be the time for you to bond with jungkook, but you were now put into a position to also bond with your group members, especially since things hadn’t really been the same with the girls since miseul left.

“nayoung, we’re still friends right?” you asked meekly, feeling pathetic even as you said it.

her shoulders dropped and she pulled you into an embrace. “of course we are! why would you say that?”

“ever since we stopped living with each other and since miseul left. . .” you trailed off, tearing away. “i feel like the group sees each other as just coworkers or something.”

you were now twenty years old and experiencing life independently. the same was said for your group mates, as you were all now off doing your own things and only reuniting once or twice a year for a comeback. at some point, you considered these girls sisters. now, those feelings felt miles away. even the bora bora trip felt forced.

“y/n,” nayoung’s tone grew serious. “i’m always going to be here for you.”

this would be the last time that s.irens would spend time together outside of work. sooah and nayoung’s relationship soured over the years to the point where they no longer spoke by 2020 - a result of merely growing up and growing out of childhood friendships. you also began building resentment against nayoung, who would become the country’s it girl in no time and stopped publicly acknowledging that she was in a girl group. you eventually no longer considered her a friend, deciding you did not want her arrogance in your life. miseul only texted you once a year to say happy birthday. this was the breakdown of the only support system you had.

when morning came after staying up until dawn with nayoung, you found yourself sneaking back into your and jungkook’s shared hotel room. you were surprised to see that he was not in bed, but felt a salty breeze stream in from the balcony.

you stepped forward and saw jungkook sitting down, eyes fixed on the aquamarine of the beach ahead. when you opened the door wider to let yourself out, he already knew it was you.

“i’m sorry, bug,” he immediately said, too ashamed to look at you.

you were convinced that it was your hothead that drove the majority of the argument and his apology made your heart sink. you were the one who threw things at the wall and spiralled without looking back. he shot back with his own words, but you knew that you were the one who started it.

without warning, you sat right beside jungkook and wrapped your arms around his back. you put your chin on his shoulder and he physically relaxed, as if he’d been carrying sandbags for days. you whispered an apology against his neck and held back tears.

“you’re right. i’ve been a horrible girlfriend.” you hated how bitter the words tasted. “i’m going to do my best to fix my work-life balance. you try so hard for me.”

TOP HEADLINE TODAY: the 2017 edition of the idol star ahtletic competition now filming in goyang!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤjanuary 2017

you never felt at fault for your hot temper when jungkook’s jealous eye followed you like a lost puppy. it was just as much as a problem as your own shortcomings and it always felt like a battle of who’s more in the wrong between you two.

everyone looked forward to each year’s edition of the idol star athletic championsips, a kind break amidst the hustle and bustle of a regular schedule. some of the more active idols took the games quite seriously, but for you and the rest of s.irens, it was several days of filming that were ultimately far more chill than any of your regular promotional activities. coming off the bora bora trip, a little relay race was next to nothing in terms of effort.

your group’s event was the last of the day, which left you and nayoung wandering around the goyang gymnasium for the meantime. you were texting jungkook to see if he was also free, when nayoung was called over by some individuals.

it was in a tent area away from the view of the spectators and cameras, which you were grateful for at an event where fans watched idols like hawks.

“nayoung! and nova!”

exo’s leader was known in the community to be charming and well-spoken, which didn’t surprise you when you found yourself struck immediately. you’d seen him around and of course watched him on television and online, but you could now see up close just how different the aura of a top boy group was. beside him was his fellow group members and participants for the archery event later that day, who were sehun and chanyeol.

“y/n, this is junmyeon and sehun and chanyeol,” nayoung introduced, beaming. it seemed like her rise in popularity meant that she had begun rubbing elbows with a-list idols like exo.

you mirrored her smile. “nice to meet you all. y/n is fine, just call me that,” you insisted, as the three of you exchanged bows.

unlike your fellow group members, you didn’t find yourself to be much of a social butterfly. you hung out with them and your boyfriend - occasionally your boyfriend’s friends. yet, somehow, others knew you. sehun asked if you were doing archery again this year, which you weren’t. junmyeon complimented your group’s last release. chanyeol mentioned running into miseul at the airport the other day.

as the pleasantries were made, the floor rumbled with the roar of fans across the stands. in the middle of the arena, the rhythmic gymnastics event was set to begin and all eyes were trained on the competition. that is, all eyes except junmyeon’s, whose own eyes remained fixated on you. it was a foreign sensation to feel your heart leap.

“excited for the day ahead?” strained chanyeol, struggling to be heard over the mcs talking.

nayoung replied, “yeah! i think our group has a good shot at the relay event!”

that was false, since you knew sooah was prone to tripping and falling, but you kept that to yourself with a muffled snicker.

“it’s definitely going to be a long day. . .” sehun said, yawning.

nayoung blew some hair out of her face. “at least it’s only one day of filmng this year.”

you enjoyed participating in isac each year, as it was mostly fun and games, but it was stressful knowing that cameras were constantly on you. each day of filming felt like the equivalent of a week when you anticipated random fancams of you on the internet the next day, probably doing mundane things like saying hi to a member of exid.

junmyeon spoke, “it’s going to be a long day, but there’s a thing happening at kc lounge tonight after filming and a bunch of our team is going to be there. chanyeol reserved a whole section for us - you should come.” it took you a second to realize he was now boldly holding out his phone.

although the words were meant to address both you and nayoung, he was directly facing you and only looked at you when he asked. you were caught off guard, having trouble finding the words to respond. junmyeon’s eyes were soft and his smile was inviting - you weren’t an idiot. you knew when an invitation was beyond friendly. even nayoung was side-eying you, following the inquiry.

“uhm - “

“i’d love to see you there.” it was hard to miss the once over he gave you, as his boys let out a low whistle at his suaveness. you couldn't help but notice the pink tint spreading across your cheeks.

the attention felt nice. you’d never been approached so boldly by a senior idol before. and he was hot. you didn’t know what to say, except that you were lingering in this conversation for way too long than acceptable.

thankfully, the vibration of your own phone interrupted whatever sentence you were to form next. with a glance at the screen, the picture of you and jungkook stared back at you and you were left dumbfounded. why was he calling you in the middle of a live event?

you said, “sorry, i think i’m being called.”

nayoung nudged you, prompting you to turn around and see that jungkook was staring directly at you from a few tents away. his expression was stone-cold and eyes burned in your direction. realizing what it looked like to him with junmyeon basically asking for your number, you groaned.

“you think it’s safe for me to walk over there?” you muttered into nayoung’s ear, ignoring the curious stares of the three exo members in front of you. junmyeon had now slowly retracted his phone away, now also noticing jungkook looking your way.

nayoung looked around. “maybe if you walk behind the tents, up against the wall,” she suggested, not missing jungkook either.

it wasn’t too bad of timing either, since the competition was mid-event and most individuals were preoccupied with that. you wouldn’t have approached him in public otherwise.

junmyeon seemed to understand what was going on and he only offered a small smile. “well, let me know. we’re stuck here all day, anyway,” he chuckled.

you thanked him and excused yourself, following nayoung’s direction to discreetly make your way over to jungkook’s tent.

other than him, a few members of bts lingered around the tent, presumably warming up for their event later on in the day. well, that’s what you thought they were doing before, as they were now looking towards you and jungkook, probably witnessing the same interaction as your boyfriend. jungkook’s arms were folded across his chest when you approached and you were already not in the mood.

“meet me in that hall,” you said as quickly and loudly as you could, not wanting an audience.

you turned around without waiting for an answer and jungkook waited several beats before trailing behind, just in case. the two of you found yourselves in the tunnel leading into the main stadium area, which was thankfully empty.

you were surprised that jungkook’s fuse was triggered, as you two just shared a nice dinner date the night before with no issues. however, the more you thought about it, his jealousy issues were rising recently - from one wrong stare at a party by a monsta x member the other night to being asked out by a music producer that worked with s.irens. each interaction was met with rage.

“are you alright?” you questioned, once you were out of earshot and eyesight from anyone.

“were they being weird to you?” jungkook instantly replied, jaw clenched.

you furrowed your eyebrows. “what? no,” you said. “they were just being friendly - “

“you should stay away from exo, i wouldn’t trust a lot of those guys.”

“isn’t taehyung friends with some of them?” you dryly shot back, but he ignored your sentiment and continued ranting about how male idols weren’t to be trusted.

obviously, you and him both knew what he was actually annoyed about. you stood your ground, as you knew you didn’t do anything wrong. it was a harmless interaction and you didn’t expect the entire idol community to know that you and jungkook were dating - well, actually, you kind of did and it was a little bit weird to get the invite in such a flirtatious way, but you were not going to take part. it was shut down immediately, but here you were.

after another minute of jungkook going on about the interaction, you interrupted him by abruptly placing a kiss on his cheek. he froze.

“stop it. i’m fine. he was just being nice,” you sighed, looking around to make sure nobody was hiding in the shadows. “now, can we go back to our jobs, jungkook?”

though your boyfriend was normally quite relentless about these things, your words did snap him back to the reality in which you were putting your very careers at risk to even have this hushed conversations in the shadows. isac was all fun and games, but you were on the clock with cameras in every corner possible. your slight touch of affection seemed to also help, as jungkook visibly eased when you kissed him on the cheek.

he adjusted his sweatshirt and sighed. “alright. i’m sorry.”

and that was the end of that conversation, but another faded memory lost in the chaos of 2017.

TOP HEADLINE TODAY: the 2017 bts live trilogy episode III (final chapter): the wings tour to commence next weekㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤfebruary 2017

the bland eggshell walls of the bighit entertainment headquarters didn’t faze you. at the very beginning, it was unsettling just how hollow the corridors and nooks appeared to be, as if the surroundings belonged in a prison. you’d been in and out of the hallways over the past years, albeit often for very few reasons that were pleasant. though it was a huge maze, you memorized the path on floor seventeen.

upon hearing the loud ding and the metal doors sliding open with ease, you stepped onto the said floor with nothing less than pure anger bubbling in your veins. you clearly made your way up here — through traffic and past the security at the front desk who always mistook you for a crazed fan — with a purpose. you weren’t going to rest until you gave jeon jungkook a piece of your mind. releasing a long sigh, the employees who took a glance up and saw the infuriated expression on your face didn’t even bother stopping you. this had become routine.

the distinct voices of his group members, combined with one of the group’s tracks amplified through speakers and footsteps squeaking on the hardwood floors in immaculate unison, were enough to tell you that he was here.

“jeon jungkook.”

the chorus to ‘spring day’ came to a sudden halt. hoseok was the first person to take notice of you and stopped dancing when you appeared at the doorway. the others noticed fast and when jungkook finally looked up, someone had already stopped the music.

the look shared by his group mates seemed to read that they knew exactly what he was in trouble for. the prompt end of the music seemed to indicate so. a scared expression flashed on jungkook’s face upon reading your own stone-cold one.

last time this happened was when you found a pack of cigarettes in one of your boyfriend’s jackets, after he swore up and down to you that he was quitting nicotine. another time was because of him forgetting that you had a date that night. today, the rage running through your veins was due to something new.

jungkook visibly winced every time you said his full name aloud and here, he nearly shuddered at the sound. his head hung low, like a puppy. he knew what he did wrong this time.

“i’ll be right back,” you heard him mutter to namjoon who could only nod empathetically, arms folded across his chest as he observed the scene.

for jungkook’s sake, the group broke out into forced conversation to distract from the two of you. seokjin pretended to ask hoseok for help with the choreography and taehyung wanted to suddenly show the rest of the group a video on his phone. meanwhile, the youngest of the group wordlessly followed you out into the hallway.

“where were you last night?”

the question was immediate, not even waiting for jungkook to shut the door behind him. he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

jungkook asked, “did you really have to come all the way here to have this conversation with me?” exasperation laced his words like a bow, but you were unfazed.

“well, clearly i don’t know when and where you’re busy,” you shot back, “so i had no choice but to come here.”

he opened his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off by raising your phone to eye-level. on the screen was the private instagram of cha eunwoo, who posted several slides of content of cheonsa lounge in gangnam. the very first picture was him and jungkook, clutching a shot glass of dark liquor in one hand and a vape in another. upon scanning the screen, where you proceeded to move through the instagram post - one picture of jungkook posing with eunwoo and the bottle girls from the club and the next being jungkook holding a bottle of champagne - silence filled the air.

jungkook’s shoulders drop in defeat. “i’m sorry, it was a last minute thing - “

“how last minute?! i called you at ten last night, asking if we could have a movie night in,” you cut him off, “and you said you were feeling sick! you don’t look so sick in these photos, huh?”

“i was feeling sick, i swear!” he exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “the boys called me an hour after that and guilt-tripped me into coming - “

“oh, please.”

jungkook huffed. “i’m telling the truth!””

if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t a far-fetched idea that jungkook’s boys did, in fact, drag him out to the club the night before. regardless of that, you were more upset with the fact that he declined you, but said yes to his friends.

“is a night in with me too boring for you now?” you questioned, jaw clenched. “if you were going out, you could have at least asked me to come!”

“you don’t have to come out every time with me, y/n, i need time with my friends,” he replied and sighed once more.

this made you even more mad. “when did i say you can’t have time with your friends?!” you didn’t like the fact that jungkook was making you out to be such a control freak.

jungkook groaned. “i didn’t say that!”

nothing had been the same since the bora bora trip earlier that year. sure, you and jungkook fought like any other couple, but it was never this bad and this frequent. it was as if the fight in the hotel was the first domino to a cascade of falls. coupled with your increasingly exhausting schedules and other factors affecting your relationship, such as your career-driven mindset that was prioritized over everything and bts’ rise to international fame, it was only natural that you and jungkook would only drift farther apart.

yet, neither of you were ready to walk away. as you and jungkook continued your back and forth for several more minutes to come in the darkened hallway of bighit entertainment, you could hear the opening notes to spring day once more - his fellow members presumably giving up on waiting for him to return before resuming practice.

i miss you, was the opening line to spring day and it physically hurt your heart to listen to, as jungkook stood just a few feet away from you and still seemed so far away. the two of you gave each other the silent treatment for the next week after.

TOP HEADLINE TODAY: s.irens fans grow restless as the group's comeback is pushed once again, allegedly to accomodate main dancer go nayoung's filming schedule for mbc's 'far away' dramaㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ september 2017

for once, you and jungkook were not getting hazy heads amidst the lights of a nightclub or a packed party, but a charity ball. held at the spacious estate of a member of the family behind hyundai, it was a sight to behold and made jungkook forget that he was in the middle of seoul. he found himself in the back gardens, underneath a marble gazebo that overlooked the lush flowers and twinkling lights of the area. they shone like stars, string lights that hung all around the gardens, and jungkook wished he could share this sight with you.

things were fuzzy with you, but jungkook held out hope that you would be able to pick up the pieces and fix things soon. after a string of fights the past few months, you had finally reached your wits’ end. it was an imploding, inevitable time bomb that was going to set off sooner rather than later. you and jungkook were beginning to butt heads more than not and one random thursday night, it was d-day.

there weren’t too many places in the city that would be safe for even just a normal stroll with your boyfriend, which was an unfortunate truth that jungkook had to swallow for years on end. more than anything in the world, he wanted to flaunt you to the whole world to show everyone just how lucky he was. he was so in love with you and that was never going to change.

from the moment he met you, he was smitten with your beauty and the nail in the coffin was your addicting personality that he was so naturally in sync with. to have someone so incredibly bewitching as his best friend, all jungkook ever wanted to do was scream to the world that you were his girlfriend.

instead, your date nights since the turn of your early twenties consisted of outings like secluded nature walks, friends’ homes, long drives, and if you were careful, the corner store at night. maybe that was why jungkook loved enjoying the seoul nightlife with you - it was a safe space where you could be with each other and with each other, the most important thing other than pounding music and letting alcohol wash away your worries.

your last date was no different, as jungkook suggested to take a walk along the han river. you had no qualms about the suggestion - though, evaluating the place as a date wasn’t the catalyst to your agreement. you knew that there was a conversation to be had and you could have done in anywhere at that point. it’d been over two weeks since you last saw each other, as missed opportunities sipped from your fingers to sit jungkook down and have a talk about your relationship with him.

jungkook saw you from a mile away - it was hard not to when you were literally wearing one of his hoodies. even though it’d felt like forever since the dna promotions began taking over his life and you were off filming a drama, he could always spot you in a crowded room in just seconds. you were waiting by the water, looking off into the seoul night skyline. a black baseball cap hid most of your face and you were smoking a cigarette - a habit that you eventually picked up from jungkook, despite initially chewing him out for the unhealthy habit. you eventually decided that you were also too overworked to not have a vice.

on the other hand, jungkook had been cold turkey for a whole month. he’d grown disappointed of himself for giving in so often on ruining his health, especially as a singer. a frown tugged at his lips when he approached you, just as you were finishing up.

your eyes always brightened when you saw jungkook, but tonight, you saw something in his own that prevented it. offering a small smile, you walked closer up without a hint of a light in your eyes.

“hi kookie,” you whispered and pulled him into a tight embrace. jungkook always loved your scent - a strong cinnamon and vanilla smell that warmed his heart, even on breezy autumn nights like this one.

his face was in your hair, holding you just as tight, when he realized something. something odd.

jungkook stepped half a foot apart when the hug concluded, examining your features. “there’s something wrong, isn’t there?” he asked, as the anxiety came to settle in after you chose to hug him instead of kiss kim.

your lips pressed into a thin line and he knew. you insisted that you two hold hands during this walk, which he wanted to refuse, but eventually decided to remain quiet about it. hands clasped, you two began to stroll south of the river.

for a bit, you and jungkook bantered about how you stole his hoodie without him even realizing it. then, an uncomfortable silenced emerged, as you both could only listen to the light stream of the han and the passing cars nearby.

it was jungkook that said something first.

you let him speak freely because on any other day, it would be a battle marked by avoidance and stonewalling. jungkook had suddenly come to a stop in the middle of the path, after the silence became too grand for him. he reached his limit, too.

“we should take a break.”

things had been getting weird for a while now between the two of you. you were always fighting and when you weren't fighting, it was when jungkook was overseas, away on the wings tour.

that’s when your heart began racing. “a break? you want to separate?”

“we obviously can’t be together. this isn’t working out. we clash too much and we’re always screaming at each other and we’re risking our jobs and - fuck, i’m sorry.”

the rant was cut short when jungkook, after pacing back and forth as he spiralled with each word, paused in his tracks at the sight of tears streaming abundantly down your cheeks. he stopped and immediately felt the ball of anxiety at the bottom of his stomach transfigure into a heavy dread accentuated by guilt, weighing heavy on the inside. his chest began hurting and apologies fell from his lips, as he took you right back into his arms.

“i love you, i know it’s been hard, but we can’t break up,” you hiccuped in between each short breath, barely audible when your crying face was pressed up against jungkook’s chest. “do-do you really feel that way?”

jungkook rapidly shook his head, not even taking time to think about it. “no, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry!” he cooed, rocking you back and forth.

after a moment of just crying from the two of you, you were finally able to catch your breath and rubbed jungkook’s back, hoping it would help him catch his. his breathing eventually slowed back to normal.

“but, i think you’re right. . .” your voice suddenly emerged, barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to lose you. . .but we need space.”

“i’d do anything to save this relationship,” jungkook replied and the statement brought you an unknown feeling, spreading across your mind. “whatever you think is best. i can’t lose my best friend - let’s take some time and come back stronger.”

and that was the agreement. it had been just about a month since it happened and there was no progress since. your and jungkook’s schedules were busier than ever and it was only a coincidence that you both ended up at the same charity ball.

for the first time in a long time, seeing you felt like remnants of a far away memory - shattered glass pieces of your relationship dancing in the air that, if jungkook tried hard enough, could be grasped at and remembered. your hair was now blonde and made longer with extensions, brushing just above your tailbone. you wore a periwinkle evening dress, soft satin mirroring the chandeliers on the high ceilings and fanned out into a flattering mermaid tail shape. jungkook hadn’t seen you with such makeup before, as you wore a cherry red lip and a sharp cateye. you looked different. . .good, but different.

jungkook saw you in the foyer, mingling with some chaebols and looking bored. jungkook noticed that you came with sooah, presumably to represent s.irens or your company as a whole, but neither of you so much as looked at each other. jungkook grew worried that you were slowly isolating yourself from your friends. he was also worried that your bored eyes were instead tired eyes from such a hectic schedule.

there wasn’t any way that jungkook was going to get your attention in that moment, so he instead carried on with his night as normal. he greeted friends, looked for opportunities to network, and helped himself to the fine wine. after an hour, he wandered outside to get some fresh air. then, he looked out at the beauty of the gardens and thought of you, as he strolled down the cobblestone path with a glass of red in one hand.

he wasn’t sure how long he’d been pondering for under the gazebo, until he saw the time of his watch and realized that it was probably time for dinner to be served. jungkook sighed, stepping out of the gazebo to make his way back inside the manor, sneaking one more look at the calming moon and hoping to run into you at the party.

jungkook’s wishes were met sooner than expected, as he spotted you by a tucked away corner, smiling from ear to ear. he was taken aback to see the source of your giggling, being some guy he knew from the korean national football team. one of their best players, actually, as jungkook was quite a fan. he was one of the most popular athletes in the country, it was no surprise that he’d be brushing elbows with other a-listers at this charity ball. jungkook hand clenched into a fist, watching the two of you flirt away from everyone else.

throughout your years together, jungkook was always a bit of a possessive type. in the way you were far from perfect, he also understood his own flaws. i mean there was quite a lot, like anyone else - he was also bad at communicating his feelings, often shutting down, and cared a lot about appearances.

none of that mattered in this moment, as he began walking straight toward you.

in your defense, you genuinely believed that space meant that you were single. had you been the one to make a fuss about breaking up? yes, but. . .well, there was no but. it’d been years since you were able to prance around without the worries of a relationship and although you wanted jungkook back, it was admittedly freeing.

bae sejoon was the striker on the men’s national team and had been eying you since you walked into the estate. the two of you previously crossed paths at a lounge in gangnam a few months ago and now seeing that jungkook was not presently attached to your hip, he made the first move. it was hard to ignore - his coy smirk and athletic build that exuded masculinity. however, your only intentions were to simply ravel in the attention sejoon was willing to give to you.

as soon as you arrived to the event, sooah already left to go greet some of her model friends in the main dining room. she didn’t ask you to join - you’d been drifting apart since the beginning of the year and moving out of the dorns. meanwhile, you planned to politely mingle with other guests, given that you were technically here because of work - despite wanting nothing more but to lay low and keep to yourself.

“well, maybe we should go together. can’t believe you’ve never been to the best cafe in all of seoul.”

instead, you were batting your eyelashes at sejoon, who’d been going on about some french-style cafe that just opened up in the city. you didn’t think he was a particularly interesting guy, but he was cute. a cute distraction.

you said, “that sounds fun.”

except, sejoon didn’t know that you stopped drinking coffee two years ago. he didn’t know that you found little coffee shops pretentious and too hipster-y for your liking. you forced a smile.

jungkook always got you pastries straight from one particular bakery. he remembered your matcha order word for word. he made fun of coffee shops that tried too hard to be different with you. he. . . . he was now right in front of you?

you made it known to jungkook that you loved seeing him in all black. as the first kiss of autumn dawned upon seoul, he donned a long sleeve dress shirt and slacks. tailored and in the consistent shade of all black, the sight lit a fire in your stomach and you found yourself in a haze of how good he looked.

jungkook never hid how attracted he was to you, even after all these years of being together. he scanned your appearance from head to toe, licking his lips. it was as if there wasn’t a whole third person in your presence, as explicit images ran through both of your minds. it’d been so long since you saw each other and the tension in the air was like molasses.

“hi y/n,” jungkook greeted, not even looking sejoon’s way, until the other male cleared his throat. “am i interrupting something?” the glare jungkook sent sejoon was sharper than a blade.

sejoon rolled his eyes, already realizing his defeat. “yes, actually,” he replied.

your eyes remained trained on jungkook until that moment, where you had to physically shake it off.

“jungkook, you know sejoon,” you began reluctantly, noticing jungkook’s hard planted feet.

he only grunted in response, still not caring enough to say anything to sejoon and acknowledge him.

at this point, sejoon was over it. he looked at you and then at jungkook’s menacing figure, arms crossed and glare still fixed. it was as if you watched him calculating his odds during this conversation and decided there was no winning.

sejoon turned to you, a crease in between his eyebrows. “nice chatting with you,” he said and solemnly walked away.

you would have otherwise rolled your eyes at such a dramatic reaction if it weren’t for jungkook standing in front of you. everything about him was so mesmerizing, as the time away truly made the heart grow fonder. the smirk pressed against his lips showed that jungkook knew exactly what kind of effect he still had on you.

“i’ve missed you,” were the words that fell out of your mouth, almost instantly, and you wanted to kick yourself. how pathetic.

jungkook eyed you. “didn’t look like it just now,” he tried to be casual, but the sharpness in his voice was loud.

“still as jealous as ever, huh?”

your initial tactic was to play hard to get - even if you and jungkook had been together for years, it’d been so long since you could just flirt and tease him. it was a spark that’d been missing for quite some time now. a smile played mischievously on your lips.

truthfully, this was what jungkook needed. he was initially despondent upon your agreement to give each other space, sulking for several days until work got too busy to be dwelling on emotions. the time away and seeing you look at another man sparked something in him, too. his lids grew heavy.

he said, “so, this is what space means for you, huh?”

jungkook sounded as angry as he was hungry. it set him off, as his gaze lowered further and further down your body. on any day he would be ticked off, but his feelings of frustrations today instead felt warm and inviting. you froze when he stepped closer towards you, close enough that you could simply speak in secrets.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all that could come out of your mouth in a heavy breath, too mesmerized to make any further attempts at wit.

he was now just about nose to nose with you, but you couldn’t muster up the strength to meet his eyes.

“you’re nervous.”

“no, i’m not,” you said, edge in your voice.

lying right through your teeth wasn’t the best strategy when jungkook could see past it like glass. you were happy to flirt and dish it out, but being so close to jungkook so suddenly left you at a loss for words. you forgot where you were for a second and when you realized that the two of you were in public, your heart began beating like a butterfly’s wings. despite this, he was bold. he didn’t move an inch, willing to risk it all.

jungkook let out a low chuckle. “you won’t look me in the eye. you’re nervous, baby.”

“what do you want, jungkook?” you asked slowly.

his gaze trailed back to where sejoon walked off to. “what was all that about?” he said.

the answer was glaringly obvious to you, as jungkook innocently brushed a hair from your eyes and you resisted the urge to shudder at his touch. nothing in the world compared to this feeling.

“honestly?” you began, as identical smirks began to form on both of your faces. “nothing. nothing at all.”

that was all that needed to be said. jungkook, without tearing his eyes away from you, wordlessly took his phone out of his pocket and made a call. he licked his lips as he spoke and everything else in the world faded to grey. jungkook was a cascade of the colours of the rainbow, illuminating brighter and brighter like the sun until you were blinded from seeing anything else. he was a kaleidoscope that shone in front of you and you were emerging from a place with no light.

it took you a few moments to realize that jungkook was calling his driver. however, as far as he was concerned, the night wasn’t over - it was just getting started.

jungkook finally stepped away and you somehow felt so cold. “i’m going to leave out of the west wing doors. my car is there. leave out the east wing doors and walk around to meet me.” his directions were precise and somehow not commanding. tone soft and a gentle hand on the small of your back, it was the worst feeling of all.

familiarity. comfort. home.

all you could do was nod, your chest growing louder with excitement. both of your synergies were one and you both knew what idea came to mind. not much else needed to be said and there wasn’t a single part of you that could say no. his knowing smile was haunting.

after parting ways in opposite directions - as if a conversation didn’t even occur - you eventually ended up in the back of a limousine with jungkook.

time moved oddly in between those two moments, as the only thing you could think of was jungkook. it was an addiction no different than chips across a roulette layout or a cup of espresso at the same time everyday.

thankfully, the driver’s partition was already up when jungkook opened the door for you, because he immediately captured your lips before you could even sit down. like second nature, your fingers found themselves in the crown of his hair and his hand held your neck like a trophy. you both stumbled, now sat - at least he was. you were already straddling his lap. he tasted like red wine and you could have indulged for forever.

“mph, that’s what i fucking thought,” he mumbled against your lips and you took his as an opportunity to slide your tongue into his mouth.

his hands began hiking your previously eloquent gown up, enough that he could grip your thighs from underneath. your own hands found the buttons of his shirt, as the limousine began to speed off in what were probably going to be circles until jungkook told the driver to stop.

being in love was a vicious cycle that proved to be endless. this pattern would only continue from here on out. no matter how deep your passions for each other ran and no matter how addicting each others’ touches were, it only grew worse from here. more fights than lasted weeks to only be swept under the rug with a fuck and make up or a bottle of whiskey shared between you both. growing issues that were overlooked because that was your best friend.

your heart was no longer in it - it was trapped. all you could do was forget and forgive. all jungkook could do was beg and shower you with love. the night at the charity ball was one of many roots that eventually grew into deep seated resentment.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.1k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, violence, swords & firearms, abductions, hurt/comfort, torture references, nakedness, needles, gore, etc.

A/N: Alright, and that's a wrap on this mini-series. Biker/mechanic!Ghost is next on the list.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You hit the water and immediately push back to the surface, ignoring the burning of your open wounds.

“John!” Your high and panicked call can’t be heard above the yells to arms and the distressed wails. “What are you doing?!” Bodies get chucked from the side of the ship and all you can do is watch as they meet the water around you—skin cut open and eyes dead.

While the sea was numbing your pains, your heart was hurting enough for all of them; hands flailing to try and help keep you above the waves. But everything was so dark, only the light far above giving you a sliver of perception.

“John!” You scream again, eyes snapping back and forth along the ship. Your arms burned with heat.

“Go!” The words ring out and make you cringe, graveled and ragged—an order. But how could you? Vile grunts and skin meeting skin sound out, no more shirking blade edges or the boom of pistols. Fists meeting ribs, bared teeth.

“The Mermaid was wearing tags! He’s part of the King’s forces!” The leader. “If we can’t have the beast, we’ll have the coin from a turncoat!”

“Deserter!”

“Traitor!”

“Tie him to the post!”

Your ears twitch and pull at the horrible words, lungs near hyperventilating and black waves going red. If you weren’t able to ingest water, the way your head was slowly sinking would have left you sputtering and choking.

What will they do to him? Why can’t I help? It was the only part in your life where you regret having a tail, because now you can’t save John in the same way he saved you. Your eyes lock helplessly to the upper deck, far, far above. You can’t drag yourself up or even find the energy to stay above water.

Your strength was waning quickly—you needed to be tended to; healed. But it felt worse than a betrayal to see not even a glimpse of John’s brown hair or his large arms. To not feel the hold he kept on you. You wanted his lips and his flesh to be pressed into you, to venerate your image as he always did.

A Hierei that worships at the shrine that is you.

“Curse you,” you say aloud to the men above. The ones that tie your raging love to a post; you hear his low growls and biting expletives like blades in their own fashioned way, the sea garbling your words. “Curse your greed and your violence!”

But no one listens, and with a heavy and weighed heart, you have to let your dead muscles rest as they give out completely against your will. Sunking under the battling waves, you feel like dead weight; no different than the various bodies around you that John had dispatched.

You felt useless.

Above you was John, being tied up and taken—taken to a King that wants your species dead. You don’t want to leave, but the current is snatching you away like seaweed, limp and broken. Whatever John had done to your wounds, the fabric of his shirt was holding fast to your shredded flesh, but it didn’t stop the agony or the inner conflict.

He was right above you…why aren’t you strong enough to help?

Your eyes flutter, hair and arms floating.

Everything grows dark, but John never once leaves your mind. Perhaps the Fisherman was worshiping you, but you did the same unto him.

The eyepatched leader’s words loop in your brain, paired with storm-blue eyes. Gentle praises.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Your body sinks with the rest.

—

The sand under you is coarse and dry as your eyes barely open, chest rising and falling but shakily, stuttering in its course. Small noises groan in the back of your throat, fingers like stones beside your face.

Everything hurts, but something has woken you up. Noises. Muttered speaking.

“Now why would she have these?” There was a moment of clinking metal and a low huff.

You groan louder and curl into yourself more, only to stop when the tears in your flesh pull. Your lungs inhale sharply.

“Oh, Christ,” the accented voice is smooth as it gets closer. “Easy, then, Ma’am. Shite, I was hoping you’d stay under a bit longer, I’m not bloody done yet.”

Forcing your eyes open, you hiss at the burn of morning light, laying on your stomach with…your brows tighten…were you wearing a tunic? A hand meets the back of your shoulder and you cry out, jerking.

“Woah!” More force is applied to keep you down but it only makes you struggle more. “Please, I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”

You stall at this revelation like a bird, panting. Muscles tight, you cautiously look over your shoulder to weakly stare at whoever this man was.

Brown eyes meet your own, and a dark-skinned complexion over an oval face. They blink at you with concern and hesitation, sparing only a nervous smirk and a chuckle. You stare widely, saying nothing.

“I…I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. Whoever got you,” this man trails off, glancing down at your tail. “Well, they did some proper damage.”

“Who are you?” Your voice is damaged from all the screaming you’d done, cracking and frail. You stifle a cough and survey the land with frantic snaps of your orbs. This wasn’t your cove.

Where were you? What had happened to the ship? To John? Your hand travels to your neck but lands on nothing. It’s like the world stops turning.

The necklace.

“My name’s Kyle, Miss, but I’m just as well off being called Gaz—” Your hand snaps to his shoulder, wrenching him down in a violent slam to the sand; with a shove of your ailing body, you cross an arm over his chest to pin him.

Brown eyes widen, and one hand easily raises in a placating manner. You don’t bother to look at the other, your head broken into bits of instances and images of horror.

“Where is it?” Your lips hiss out. You didn’t know you could make a sound like that.

Kyle, dressed in a fine outfit of a Bookkeeper, furrowed his brows at you. He didn’t look off-put by your brashness, or by the fact that you were of the Merfolk.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am…I’m not following. Where’s what, exactly?” There was a glinting at his throat, and you snatched at it with a glare and snarl of ‘thief’ on your tongue.

A blade presses into your side and you freeze. Kyle stares up at you with a frown on his face, body tight. “I think you should let that go, Miss, yeah?”

The metal discs are the same as John's, but they hold a different name entirely.

“Kyle Garrick, Sergeant, 141st company under the King.”

“One Hundred and Forty-First?” You whisper in a hushed voice and the blade loosens from you. Mouth opening and closing, you forget for a moment what Kyle is. Your eyes go glossy with hope. “You know John?”

Eyelids blink at you in astonishment and all at once the knife is sheathed at his hip once more. Gaz gapes, his slight stubble shifting on his face as he talks slowly.

“Yes, I do…how do you know the Captain? No offense, but I didn’t peg him for the type to run off with…well…” he trails, chuckling. “Not run exactly, then, is it?”

You glower and push back, flinching at your aches but waste no time in speaking frantically to the man as your tail flaps. If he was on the same ship as John was, they certainly knew each other well; Kyle had to assist you.

“Please, you need to help me,” The man’s face goes serious and he pushes himself up, “—there’s been a terrible event. John has been taken, don’t you understand?” Your hands grasp at his collar, forgetting to ask about the missing necklace in your mounting hysteria. “They took him. They’re bringing him back to the King and it’s all my fault!”

You don’t know if it’s the pain or the fatigue, but your emotions spill from you in droves, silver tears falling like drips from a blacksmith's smelter to the beach of this foreign place. Your body feels unable to hold itself up—so much blood lost.

Gaz gains a sheen of panic at your state, gripping your shoulders lightly above the given tunic.

“Now, now, Ma’am, steady. You’ve lost a lot of blood, eh? We need to get you sorted.” But internally your words disturbed him. John had been taken? His Captain? And he had known a mermaid?

“I don’t need to be sorted,” you mock, shaking him, “I need my John back! And you’re going to help me.”

Kyle gazes around awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to comfort you as his upper half gets forced back and forth.

“First,” he stops you with a firm squeeze on your shoulders, “we’re getting you stitched and wrapped, Ma’am. If what you’re telling me is real,” Gaz pauses, glancing at the sea lapping at your tail, “then I need to get in contact with the others.”

Your body slightly sags, panting and shaking. While you should have asked who the others were, your adrenaline was too great to allow you to think above the fact that Kyle was going to help you. He had known John—that was enough for you to know he was a good person.

“Easy,” the man mutters, face pulled in concern. There’s a moment of tense silence before Gaz shifts a hand to the pocket inside of his tweed frock coat, slipping to the side of his green notch vest. He blinks his brown eyes at you before he lightly takes John’s necklace from the depths of his clothes. Kyle presents them as your shoulders loosen with a small sliver of comfort. “I believe you were looking for this, yeah?”

He spares a friendly, boyish, smile.

Your fingers brush his as you delicately take the metal up, fingertips weeping with torn flesh. Staring at them, you bring the item to your lips and kiss it gently after a moment of agony, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, “you fool, what have you done?”

“I’ll be needing to move you, Ma’am,” Gaz clears his throat and looks back to the grass-coated road. The beach where you had washed up was near the bottom of a slight hill, and along with sand, there were a lot of pebbles. The wind was chilled. “I was just finishing up with a temporary binding when you woke. We can speak more when I get the larger wounds stitched.”

You see his gaze fall down you once more.

“I’d think there’s a lot to catch up on.” Shuffling John’s necklace over your head, you allow Kyle to take bandages from his Gladstone bag which he had brought down from the road with him. He says he found you on the beach unconscious not five minutes before you woke back up as he takes out John’s tunic strips before packing the wounds with fresh material.

“You stopped?” You ask quietly, body shaking. “Why?”

“Well, I left the same time that the Captain did,” he explains, looping fabric around your tail as you shudder and clench your teeth at the long cuts over your scales. Kyle spares you a glance before continuing. “Same reason too. The minute innocent beings were being hunted, everyone in the One Hundred and Forty-First deserted. They weren’t too happy with us, I’d imagine. I do what I can to help anyone, regardless of species.”

Gaz pulls back and finishes up, brushing his hands on his folded legs and sighing.

“We all separated and led our lives the best we could—got jobs, hid ourselves, the like.” While the story was fascinating, as John was rare to talk about the King or his service beyond a clenched jaw, you truly were suffering from blood loss.

Every moment it became harder to keep your upper-half vertical and your eyes open. Gaz’s words slurred in your eardrums as the sand under your hands got pushed back by pressure like a rock being dragged. Your head must have swayed, because the next moment you’re being lifted with a grunt and a steadying of feet.

“Can’t say I’ve ever carried a mermaid,” Kyle grumbles to himself, blinking down at your form as our head rests limply on his chest. “Certainly not one that knows Price of all people.”

You focus on your breathing as he ascends the hill, going slowly and holding your form tight so as not to drop you. While not John’s size by any means, the man was still strong in a more lean and lithe way where your Fisherman’s was upfront and bare with it.

You’re carried down the trodden path to a lone house on the upper hill above the water, small and quaint, it’s only a single square room.

Truly this event speaks to your luck—how on earth had you found perhaps one of the only men on the planet that knew John and sympathized with magical creatures?

Kyle sets you back on his bed softly, pillows pressed into indents of your head and cheek.

“Alright then,” he sighs, “let's get this figured out, yeah?”

You’re offered food and water, but all you care about is sleep. Your tail hangs off the end of the bed and your fins ache with torn skin. Without even looking at your scales, you know they’re damaged immensely. Most will be left with great scars.

Merfolk could be called vain in their lifetime, and the sentiment wasn’t entirely untrue. You were beings of elegance and beauty—ethereal lustfulness hardwired into your DNA. Image was important to you, and this loss was great.

But the loss of John hurt more than any torture someone could inflict on you; any wounds. You needed him back.

As Gaz prompted you to tell your story, which you did with failing consciousness, your hand traveled to your necklace to grasp it tightly. Lips quivering. When the first push of the man’s needle entered your hard flesh, you never even felt it.

—

You awoke for the second time, once more, to the sound of speaking.

“Well, he’s sure gotten up to it while we’ve been away! Fuckin’ bastard.” This accent didn’t belong to Gaz, and thus your eyelids pushed back with slight unease. Had John’s Sergeant sold you out? With a struggle, you blink back to reality only to find a pair of bright blue eyes stuck on you.

For a moment you startle, those shades so similar to John’s that for a moment you had forgotten what had transpired. Then the pain in your tail strikes up and you balk back sharply.

“Soap!” Gaz hisses, grabbing the large and built man away from the bed. “Get the hell away from her, would you? Christ, she’s been through enough without having to look at that face when she wakes up, Mate.”

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap, as he’d been introduced, was the epitome of a blacksmith—ash still on his square jaw and his large black apron tied at a stiff waist. His arms were as bulky as your head and while he was shorter than Gaz he made up for it in sheer muscle.

Blue eyes darken with annoyance before they swivel back to you, but they lighten just the same when they spot your fear-spiked expression.

“Sorry about that, Little Lady. Just curious, is all.” You swallow the saliva in your throat and turn to look at Gaz in question. “Not every day somethin’ like this happens.”

“Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish,” the man offers, rubbing at his neck apologetically. “Served with John and I. You can trust him.”

You blink and turn back to Johnny, and, sure enough, around his neck were the common silver discs that Gaz and John wore over the tunic and apron.

“A…” You try to remember what your Fisherman had told you about human customs. With a frown, you carefully extend a hand and hold it aloft while your tail rests and your other limb keeps you up. “A pleasure, Johnny.”

A wide grin meets your eyes and a hand is clapped into your own; shaking it firmly as yours remains limp.

“Ah, please, the pleasure’s all mine.” When his grip leaves you look down at the various stitches and thick wrappings around your body before thinning your lips and gazing back at Gaz. He stares and tilts his head when you lock eyes with him.

“Thank you, Garrick. I…I owe you a large debt.” He’s already shaking his chin at you.

“Negative, Ma’am,” Kyle denies. “The only thing we need to be focusing on is getting the Captain back. Simon should be along by the evening.”

“Sure the man’ll show?” Johnny raises a brow and stands to his full height, going over to the small table in the middle of the room and sitting down with a huff. He picks up a flagon and takes a sip of ale. “He’s far off cuttin’ stone.”

“I sent a rider out and said it was urgent. He should be getting it about now, yeah?”

“Well, hell, I’d sure hope so else we’re out of our favorite Ghost. Can’t have that.” You watch and stare at the ease these two converse with the other, years seem to bleed from their mouths like waves in water. They had it all figured out, and noticeably, they weren’t at all panicked.

“How are the both of you so calm?” You can’t help but ask. Brown and blue turn to furrow their brows at you.

“They took the bloody Captain. Only person worse than that to steal away would be Simon.” A chuckle. “I’m more worried about the bastards themselves than him.” And it was left at that.

At times throughout the day, Gaz would bring you bread to nibble on to help settle your stomach, water, and ale whenever you needed it. When the dryness of the air and the fireplace got too warm for you, Johnny would be the one to carry you down the hill to the water where you’d soak your wounds in the surf. In those moments you could finally take in the pure silence under the waves and let your anguish take hold.

But you always had to break the surface at some point, shimmy into the dry tunic that Soap offers with respectfully averted eyes, and let him carry you back with his bulky arms.

As it always did, the water let your wounds heal far faster than a man’s, though the aches were still intense.

John’s eyes would not leave you. His crown of stars or the lantern light on his face—the way he whisked you away from danger and put himself dead center into it. Keeping you to his large chest as he held aloft a sword in your honor.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Oh, and you loved right back and you hadn’t told him.

It’s hours upon hours later when the door is shoved open as you sit up in the bed; tail limp and dim on the floor below. You look up in shock at the man whose frame nearly takes up the entire doorway, shoulders wide and thighs vast under work pants and a large tunic, cowl over his head and clasped with a brooch at his left pec. Under shined a deep brown gaze and pale brows, but his entire lower face was covered by cloth.

Intimidating, his visible expression was entirely blank. You wondered if perhaps a vampire had walked into this place without proper entry, but then you remembered the man Johnny and Gaz mentioned.

Simon. Ghost.

Well, he certainly fits the part, stone dust on his clothes and large boots stacked with scrapes. A Stonemason.

“There’s the man!” Johnny exclaims, raising his hand which has another cup of ale in it as he’d downed the other some time ago.

“Where’s Price?” Deep was Simon’s voice, and he spares you a glance but nothing more. Gaze falling down your tail with hidden flickers of intrigue and wafting back up to stop at John’s necklace. His brows pull in as he turns.

“Gone—taken to the King,” Gaz explains from where he leans against the fireplace, face serious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunts, walking in and closing the door behind him. “Where was he last?” It’s mildly amusing to you that he doesn’t seem bothered or even surprised by a mermaid in Gaz’s home.

“Just off Harpies Nest,” Johnny pipes in, itching at shaved sides of his scalp. “Where the old beasts used to fly from.”

“I’m guessing she’s the reason for that, then?” Everyone was anxious to act, even you. These men were close, and while circumstance had forced them away from one another the loyalties still lay.

“Affirmative. Price’s been in good company, seems.” A stale glare is sent his way and he chuckles and puts up his hands.

“Is there anything we can do?” You ask, looking at each in turn. Seeming to still hold that ingrained ranking that all men in the service do, Johnny and Gaz look to Simon. Brown eyes blink slowly, turning to look at you in a narrowed thought.

After a while, he speaks in a monotone.

“They’ll be bringing ‘em to the castle to stand trial. We’ve already lost a day’s time and there’ll be no ship that can sail as fast as we need it to.”

“By land?” Gaz wonders. Johnny’s shaking his head.

“How do you expect we get the Lady through that?” Eyes turn to your lack of legs. Body stiff, you huff and grit your teeth. If they thought you weren’t going along, that was foolish of them.

“I can swim to the docks,” you pause, “but you’ll have to tell me the way, for I do not know it.”

John had talked about docks—places ships went to rest. You’re sure you can make it, even like this. You had to.

Johnny stares before he chuckles twice, sharing a glance with the others and motioning to you. “I like ‘er.”

Gaz and Simon look at one another with a side-eye, before Kyle sighs and shakes his head. Simon hooks his thumbs into his pants and huffs out, “Sure you’re up for that?”

“I’m helping John.” Pushing, you meet those brown eyes head-on and steel yourself. “I need him back.”

There’s no further fight, and Ghost takes everything you say at face value. “Fine.”

And that was that.

—

The plan was so stupid you wondered if these men had gone brain-dead, but inside the castle dungeons, John had no way of knowing that.

He frowned deeply as his pounding skull tipped back to connect with the cobblestone wall, blood dried over the right side of his face. A growl on his lips as the chains keep his hands high above him and hanging as his backside stays seated on the floor. His limbs had long since gone numb, circulation cut out in an uncomfortable state of numbness.

But inside of him, there was a sense of accomplishment despite everything. He’d gotten you away from dirty hands—away from hooks. Away from danger.

John could die happy with that.

On the ship, before he’d been brought to the castle, the crew had tied him to the mainsail mast with a ragged rope that had skinned his flesh in just minutes of the rocking waves. They’d taken his vessel as well, and all of his belongings were confiscated in the docks. From there it had been amused jabs at his stomach with fists and knife-throwing practice.

John had cuts along the sides of his arms and the meat of his thighs—clothes shredded and torn from blades. His forehead had a long gash from the scalp to the temple, dried now but pulling with red aggression.

The fisherman hums under his breath and thinks only of you.

It was a fact that you had brought music into his life; a melody of waves and scales that could not be denied. Songs that sounded like sea-foam and a lapping of a tail across the water. When he’d seen you that day from behind the black rocks, John had lost a piece of himself to your wide eyes and tilted head. That spark of connection.

He had never been so thankful for choosing a new place to cast his nets, because he’d unwittingly caught the greatest creature he ever could have—one people have been running after for years.

You.

John’s lips pull in a tiny smile, eyes going soft. Above him his chains rattle and his arms flinch, wounds burning, but for the life of him, he can’t stop smiling. Wherever you were, he hoped you were safe and that he gave you the best chance of survival. He hoped you could forgive him.

Footsteps echo off the ground, and John looks over to the iron bars of his cell stiffly, mask re-falling to his stern face like a curtain. Two guards in armor clink down the hallway, expressions hidden by hoods and cloth. One produces a rusted key from his belt and slips it into the door, the metal rattling as it gets forced back and forth until the telltale click signifies the opening of the lock.

“Finally letting me out, then?” John speaks dryly, voice holding a rasp.

No one answers, and soon John’s chains are dropped and his arms seized. Yanked up, the fisherman grunts in pain as his legs drag behind him across the cobble—being taken somewhere. Probably, if John had to guess, the noose.

Desertion isn’t something you can get out of shy of a life sentence; to hell or to a cell was entirely up to the King. And the King wasn’t entirely fond of John and his One Hundred and Forty-First.

John was forced out into the open courtyard, a dichotomy of brightly flowering bushes and expensive finery to the platform placed in the very middle. The brunette's lips thinned at the sight of the large and imposing body made of wood and rope belonging to the gallows, a grim reaper of earthly material. There would be no great fight from him, no roar of a death rattle, just a kicking of his feet and tight wheezes, but no more.

He knows his final thoughts will be of you—what you’re doing right now, how you’ll live the rest of your life. John hopes you don’t cry for him.

The two guards shove him forward, and already a crowd has formed below the viewing platform for the monarch himself, who sits in all of his finery. Wyvern leather for his gloves, unicorn horn for a scepter, and…John’s eyes go tight, scales that make up a crown of opal and gold. Vibrant scales.

Unmistakingly Merfolk, anyone who’s met one of the species would know it. It has the same shine as the one John holds in the pouch on his belt; the fisherman clings to the fact that, against all of it, you were still with him in even a small sense. You’d be with him.

So John grits his teeth and glares up to the dias defiantly as the guards hold him under the noose, shoving his head to the side to grab the rope. He feels no fear.

“Fuckin’ watch it, Muppet,” the fisherman hisses, snapping his head to the side to stare into the glinting brown eyes from under the hood. He pauses, brows furrowing. “What…?”

As his hands are forced behind him, they’re not tied as the excited murmuring from the crowd begins, the King’s forward-leaning attention.

They’re given a knife.

John hides his surprise and looks over to the other guard as he fits the noose over his neck. Amused blue, and around his neck the glint of silver discs.

“Oh, bloody hell, you’re takin’ the piss,” the former Captain growls lowly. He knows those damned eyes, just as he knows his former Lieutenant’s.

MacTavish and Simon.

“Chin up, Captain,” Johnny jokes under his breath hidden by cloth. “Show’s about to start. Let’s give ‘em a proper scare, yeah.”

Blue eye glare, but they lack the venom. A barred-teeth smile grows. How had this happened? Johnny steps back and goes to his side, the wood under their feet creaking. The crowd falls silent, looking to the King for the verdict.

The King’s fingers raise and John memorizes his face in that instant…because it’s only then that he sees Gaz.

Gaz, who was on the upper terrace of the courtyard’s walls, holding a musket with the stock trained to his cheek; body still and ready—tutored to a perfectly motionless trance. There aren’t any guards to be seen near him. It’s a moment of pure silence, a ruling energy. The crowd is waiting for the King to verbalize an answer that he’s never able to give.

As the monarch’s lips open there is an eardrum-bursting boom that shatters the call for John’s doom and instead spells his own in his very castle from one of his former men. A poetic ending, John would say, but he’s unable to verbalize it as he’s suddenly falling through the gallows hatch as Simon reems on the handle.

“Knife!” It’s all the Ghost yells in warning.

With a rush of air, there’s a split second to cut the rope before it breaks his neck, and with a snapping motion, John perfects it in an instant—instinct as sharp as any blade that could be put into his hand. He hits the ground with a loud grunt of pain and struggles to sit up until Johnny and Simon jerk at him from where they’d jumped down as well. Not a second too soon, as lead balls from rival guns were already hitting the gallows.

Not all the guards were dead, then, and apparently, the three had known that would be a possibility.

John would have to scold them later.

“What in the hell is going on?!” The fisherman barks, but he’s being dragged before he shoves their hands off of him and follows to where they beeline into the fleeing crowd.

“What?” Johnny belts out laughter. “No ‘thank you?’ We just saved your neck!”

“Left!” Simon shouts, and although John’s body can’t take much more, they all dart into the cover of the castle walkways. “Make for the docks—the Sergeant’s meeting us there.”

“Bloody fucking Christ!” John growls but quickly goes onto the most important topic. “She’s behind this, isn’t she?” Johnny’s smirk only confirms it.

“Proper girl you’ve got there, Gaz found her on the shore. Else we’d never have heard about it all before you were dead and gone.” John blinks at him. “Getting reckless without us, now?”

The former Captain ignores the remark. “Where is she?”

“Oi!” Ghost hisses, looking over his shoulder as the three hurry on as shouting rings from behind them. “Get your head in the game. Focus on not getting shot, yeah?”

Brown meets blue.

“You’ll see ‘er soon.” Simon ends, dead eyes shifting to a form that rampages through the hallway behind them. “Behind!” He calls loudly, and John ducks just as a knife is thrown with pinpoint accuracy. A sound of a body hitting the floor echoes over the distant screaming and calls of alarm.

The King is dead.

All of the men reach their destination by sheer luck and the knowledge of how to use a blade, cobblestone leading to open streets and back alleys. Finally, the wide stretch of sea was visible, and a shadow slinked out of a corner quickly.

“Hell,” Gaz blinks at them, “do you think I’ll ever be let back into the castle?”

Johnny pants a laugh. “You’ll be lucky to get into the province, ya sneaky Bastard. Fine fuckin’ shot.”

Simon looks at them. “Gaz, Johnny, get to it.”

They’re by the open water of the dock, long wooden walkways stretching out with ships shifting in the waves. John wonders if his boat is here in the back of his mind, but his eyes are already combing the waves greedily in search of you.

Were you here? Oh, he hoped you weren’t. You’d be placing yourself in the middle of a very real and present danger.

“Get to what?” John questions, looking at each man in turn. “What ‘ave you planned, eh? Seems I’ve missed the meeting where we decide to assassinate the bloody monarch in broad daylight.”

Gaz places a hand on his shoulder as he shimmies past. “Best to leave the heavy lifting to the ones who can stand fully, Captain.”

“Aye,” Johnny confirms. “You’ll want to be here more than anywhere, bet ya.”

Simon shares a look with the blacksmith and grabs John by one shoulder, leading him to the water as Johnny takes the other. The brunette blinks quickly in confusion and grunts an expletive.

“Get your hands off of me you pair of—!”

“Have fun!” Johnny and Simon both shove him into the water with a final push and dart off like wisps.

Water rushes into his ears, covering his head and soaking his clothes before it drags him under. John’s arms flailed to propel him back to the surface. A jolt later, his head is breaching the water with a venomous glare and a barked order on his lips to a vacant audience. The boys had already sprinted off to who knows where.

“Son of a…” John trials, weak legs kicking to keep him afloat. Something brushes his thigh as water drips from his nose, cleaning away the blood with a reddish tint to the liquid.

The fisherman startles, head snapping down just as your hands grasp at his abdomen, sliding up as you press your lips deeply into his in one swift motion. He gasps, grip instinctually moving to hold onto the small of your back.

You press into him tightly, pushing every emotion into the locking of your mouths with desperation and longing. Sighing deeply into the kiss, John melts into you as your tail brushes his legs, torn fins visible and shimmering stitches pulling at flesh. Scales glint somewhat brighter under the waves, water dripping along your shoulders and wetting your hair.

John brings you closer when he realizes it’s your form around him, eyes fluttering closed and fingers weaving behind the base of your skull. It’s as if the world stills for that quick and reverent second as if everything is right. The both of you break the kiss with soft eyes, and after a moment of staring your chest releases a chuckle; hands coming up to capture your fisherman’s cheeks, weaving through those beard hairs once more.

The brunette stares at you and lays his forehead into yours, not knowing what to say. A smile plays on his lips.

“...It seems my fisherman had more of a reckless side than I anticipated,” you speak for him, whispering into the air. Your eyes flicker over the cuts and bruises visible on his pale flesh and a flash of fear alights in your expression. “Oh, John…What have they done to you?”

“Just scratches,” the man reassures delicately. “It’s alright, Love. I’ll live.”

But you both know this conversation can’t happen here. With a few more pecks of kisses to his lips, you ask in an ethereal voice, “Do you trust me?”

Your hand is locked to his wrist, pulling him along the waters as your head tilts at him and tail sliding along his flesh.

John wastes no time. “Of course.”

Lips flicker to a small, loving, grin and then you drag him under the water.

—

“Do they hurt?” He asks you carefully, running a calloused hand along the tears in your fins you know will never heal fully. You sit on the rocks below Gaz’s home, the water still dripping off of both of your bodies.

Out farther in the water the three other men are sailing back in John’s fishing boat, a few minutes out. You blink down at him and move a hand to shift his jaw upward to you, humming.

“Not when you touch them like that,” confessing, you keep close to him, held tightly under the crook of his arm and breathing in that scent of rope and wood oil. You practically vibrate with comfort, all of your worries able to be put aside at last.

John looks down at you and chuckles, putting a deep kiss on your scalp and taking a deep inhale.

“Cheeky,” he teases. You smile.

“And yours?” Your voice speaks out in question as the water brushes your tail.

The man peels back to look down at you slowly. “Already better…I owe you, Sweetheart.”

Huffing, you shake your head, “You owe me nothing. The only reason you were there was because of me.”

John’s brows furrow, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your head back to him. He stares into your eyes for a long while until your face starts to heat with emotion, blinking up at him innocently. His blues dart over the healing cuts and marks with hidden emotion.

“I’d do it again,” John whispers. “A million times over, you hear? I’d be a bloody fool not to.”

He kisses you as you both wait in the setting twilight for the others, bloody and beaten—more scar tissue than anything else—but still your John.

“Thank you,” he mutters into your lips, and then again when he nips at your flesh. The man plays with his necklace at your collarbone as he traces patterns in your scales and smirks when you shiver.

He wonders how he got so lucky when the others anchor the boat near the shore, hopping off and wading the rest of the way to the beach. John kisses your forehead and says he’d be right back.

You watch him with glinting eyes as he walks over to his men, taking each in a heartfelt handshake and conversing honestly. Your eyes blink at the care they display for one another and raise a hand when they peel off, back up to Gaz’s home to rest.

They reciprocate and disappear atop the hill.

What’s he doing? You ask as you watch John climb aboard his vessel and rummage around his fishing barrels, opening some and tossing the tops to the deck. Hands shifting along the rocks, you can’t hide the amusement or affection in your eyes at the sight of his ramping annoyance. What was he looking for?

Your fingers go up to play with his necklace and watch.

You can’t say you feel much heartache at the loss of your cove—even with the king dead, you were still hunted for your scales—though you had grown to see it in a new light. The place was only a home when John was there, and you knew wherever you went as long as he was there it would be alright.

The both of you wouldn’t let anything happen to one another.

John comes back carrying something tucked in cloth, a small parcel held in one hand and longer than it is wide. Your interest is immediately piqued, curiosity straining your eyes.

He holds it out to you with a mischievous glint and a smirk.

“Go on,” John motions. Blinking at him, your brows furrow as you carefully take the item from his hands, settling it in your lap before you shift the cloth away.

Your fingers go to cover your mouth, small gasp entering the air.

It was a golden box, engraved with movements that resemble lace and waves—shimmering in the low light.

“John,” you stutter, “what is…?”’

“Open it,” the man insists, kneeling down in front of you as if his muscles didn’t ache. “It’s the reason I was late that day.” John grunts, rubbing at the bottom of his beard and watching intently; crinkles beside his eyes.

You stare for a moment with burning tear ducts before you grasp ahold of the lid and open it after running a digit over the make.

Inside sits blue velvet and, strangely, your own scales, but atop that…the blinding gold of a pair of twin cuff bracelets—stones the same shade as your tail. It was perhaps the most elegant piece of jewelry you had ever seen.

For a solid minute you’re rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing as your tail hangs limp in the low tide. Chucking, John takes the pieces out and your ears twitch to the sound of your scales clacking together like glass.

“Why would you…” You can’t make sense of it.

John slips them over your wrists and you gape in wonder. They fit just perfectly.

You look up into your Fisherman’s face and feel tears drip down your chin. A hard hand comes to wipe them away as you laugh through a sniffle.

“Do you like them, then, Love?” He asks lowly, beard pulled back in a smile.

“Yes,” you say immediately, giggling. “How could I not? John, they’re lovely. Far too beautiful for me.”

The former Captain grunts and his brows pull in, frowning. “Now why would you say that?” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Can’t make me change my mind on that, eh?”

Your eyes bore into him, lips parted. After a moment your face feels like it’s on fire and you cover your cheeks.

John laughs loudly, grabbing your arms and lightly squeezing the flesh before taking your grip back down to your lap. You smile so widely you’re afraid your face might crack open.

“No need to hide,” he hums. “Let me see that face.”

“You’re good to me, John.” His face softens, wrinkles fall away, and his chest swells with pride. You kiss his lips and whisper, “I bare my soul to you.”

It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ but something far more precious.

The man’s face deepens with devotion, gruff figure more than easily leaning over yours as you’re carefully laid back to the tiny pebbles behind you—a hand behind your head and at the swell of what would be a hip.

In the darkening night, the sun shines its dying light across the waves just like the extending fingers of John’s firm grip; dragging you into him as sea-currents would. Wrapping you both in kelp and a salty grave. His voice is the grating of sand, the slide of a rope across a wooden deck.

“Then I’ll take care of it for as long as I live.”

Your fisherman damns you to a crypt of land and air, and you couldn’t worship it more. To live and to die beside him is to have existed just as you should have.

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pa1nrema1ns · 15 days ago

Text

Two Intertwining Melodies || Sung Jin-woo (Part 2 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N: Hello again everyone! Thank you so much for all of your interest and feedback on part one of this series. Due to the sheer enormity of the second chapter, I've decided to expand the siren au into a trilogy rather than a two-parter. My dear friend and beta reader @forbidden-sunlight has been an absolutely incredible source of support in the creation of this story. She also wrote the imagine that inspired this au. Links to the prologue and first chapter are posted below. Do be sure to read them first before continuing. And as always, heed the content warnings that are listed.

╰┈➤ Previous Chapters

🦪 Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight 🧜‍♂️ Part 1: Master and Apprentice

Content warnings: 18+MDNI, canon divergent, graphic descriptions of gore, death, and violence, afab!reader, reader is a makeup artist and hair stylist in the entertainment industry, a/b/o dynamics, heavy mentions of heat cycles, knotting, and breeding, threats of assault/non-con made by Kang Taeshik towards the reader (Jinchul intervenes and protects her), suggestive themes, some sexual descriptors, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo.

Word count - 9.6k

Summary - You find yourself returning to your childhood home of Jindo Island after receiving the offer of a lifetime. However, you can't shake the feeling that someone or something is watching you.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

[Skill: "Monarch’s Domain" Has Been Activated.]

“Come on out!”

A cacophony of deafening blasts, wails, and the clash of steel rings across the crimson-tinged horizon of the one hundredth floor of the Demon’s Castle; a perfect accompaniment to the Armageddon currently taking place. Infantrymen by the hundreds emerge from the shadows to skewer Baran’s forces while Iron, Igris, and Tank slaughter the larger and more formidable combatants with wanton brutality. Issuing a non-verbal command, Jin-woo orders Fang to incinerate his enemies with ‘Song of Inferno,’ and a calamitous ball of flames bursts forth, eradicating most of the battalion.

“Amazing… on all the top floors I’ve been with him, I’ve seen nothing quite like this,” Esil whispered in awe. Although she was a demon princess who grew up in this wasteland and had seen many spectacular sights, the power of commanding shadow soldiers was most certainly not one of them.

In contrast to his companion, Jin-woo calmly observes the cataclysmic destruction with a piercing gaze. Despite gaining the upper hand against his troops, Baran remained steadfast in his refusal to engage directly in the ensuing fight. This simply would not do. Jin-woo needed to secure his victory in this decisive battle, and fast.

Jinwoo’s opponent possessed the last ingredient required to craft the Holy Water of Life: The Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch. A fortnight of endless fighting had culminated to this moment, and he was on the precipice of triumph. But the Demon King was unlike any adversary he had ever faced before. Jin-woo could gauge just from the sheer murderous energy emanating from him that Baran was in a league of his own. And his power spoke for itself: endless demon hordes at his beck and call, a wyvern as a mount, and an insurmountable supply of mana that showed no signs of running out. Jin-woo would need to approach his foe strategically lest he lose this war of attrition.

At long last, as if he could sense the siren’s impatience, the Demon King makes his move. He bids his draconian steed to fly at a lower altitude. Once within range, Baran unhinges his jaw and unleashes a massive beam of white lightning. Within seconds, thunder runs rampant throughout the land, devastating everything in its path. However, Jin-woo and his shadow army stand strong regardless of the imminent danger. The siren even has the audacity to smirk.

So Baran thought he could defeat him with electricity? Excellent. He really could not have asked for a better opponent. As luck would have it, Jin-woo’s oceanic nature gave him the edge in this situation. The surface of water, acting as a conductor of electricity, causes high voltages and amps to spread rapidly. With this in mind, Jin-woo launches a counterattack.

“Wreak havoc on all who dare to stand in my way, Charybdis!”

Powerful torrents of black seawater manifest from the shadows just before Baran’s attack could hit him. The rushing stream then runs across the land and coalesces into a violent maelstrom in the sky. The raging vortex absorbs most of the lightning in its maw before redirecting its flow towards the Demon King. Baran wills his steed to evade by canting to the left, but Fang incapacitates him by striking the wyvern’s wing with a blast of fire magic. The Demon King leaps from his mount’s back before it’s forced into the whirlpool and electrocuted. He lands gracefully on his feet and shoots a sinister grin at Jin-woo.

“It was worth it to let Fang have the sphere,” the siren remarks nonchalantly, as if it was just any other day and not a fight to the death. “I’m glad you’re finally on the ground. Constantly looking up was making me tired.”

With the Demon King grounded, Jin-woo no longer required the aquatic effects of Charybdis. The dark water above evaporates as it returns to the abyssal depths of the ocean, its job now complete. With this hindrance finally gone, Baran doesn’t hesitate to release another beam of white thunder, this one even greater than the last. Fang attempts to lessen the impact with ‘Song of Protection’, but the force of taking a direct hit ends up obliterating him. Undeterred by his comrade’s demise, Iron bellows at Baran and slashes at his body with his axe. But he proves to be no match for the speed of the Demon King, who ruthlessly splits his head in half. Igris then valiantly joins the fray and swings his great sword at the demon. However, this too is a fruitless endeavor, as Baran swiftly catches his blade and wipes him out with a flick of his wrist.

Just as Igris’s body fades, Jin-woo emerges from the ashes in his true sirenic form, Knight Killer and Baruka’s dagger at the ready. “Scylla!” He snarls a second incantation that brings forth another wave of black water, this time in the shape of a six-headed beast. The aqueous leviathan slams into Baran, crushing his body under its weight and submerging the entire floor of the dungeon in water. The Demon King swiftly breaks free from the tides and springs onto the roof of one of the sole remaining towers. Soaking wet and surrounded by large bodies of water, Baran ends up on the defensive; if he were to use his lightning, he risked electrocuting himself. Jin-woo was also in an environment that favored him, and the Demon King could not pinpoint his whereabouts while he was swimming underwater.

Even with this advantage, the gap in power was still significant between the two. Knowing this, Jin-woo doesn’t allow him a moment of reprieve. He uses his tail to project his body from the currents and launches at the Demon King with his daggers. The demon responds in kind, countering his onslaught with a flurry of strikes from his own weapons. Jin-woo holds his own against the extraordinary speed of Baran’s slashes. But he was low on mana, and fatigue was rapidly building up. While oceanic magic was incredibly effective, it incurred a high cost of mana. This, coupled with an extended exposure to a dry, fiery atmosphere, was having a seriously detrimental effect on his endurance. It was time to end the battle after dragging it out for so long. Jin-woo just needed an opportunity to catch the demon off guard–

Klang!

A loud noise reverberates in the dungeon as a lance ricochets off Baran’s head. The demon redirects his focus to the sheepish face of Esil. Huh? I thought I told her to head for higher ground. When did she…? Jin-woo ponders briefly before banishing the thought. He requested a distraction, and someone kindly provided him with one. He wasn’t about to squander his only chance.

Using Baran’s hesitation to his advantage, Jin-woo discards his short swords and sinks his fangs into the Demon King’s neck, crushing down on his windpipe. As Baran struggles to throw him off, Jin-woo unsheathes his claws and gouges out chunks of flesh. The demon howls in agony, his pained cries music to the siren’s ears. “How stupid of me,” Jin-woo sneers, his voice deepening in pitch as his actions became more monstrous, “I was fighting you like a man this entire time, when this is who I really am. Heh, I guess being disguised as a human for so long made me forget.”

Summoning all his strength, Jin-woo uses his muscular arms to tear Baran’s torso from his body. The vicious mauling completely eviscerates the demon, with only his entrails being left over in its wake. His victory now secured, Jin-woo exhaustedly slumps to the ground and reverts to his human appearance. The throes of battle destroyed most of his clothes, much to his chagrin. The only apparel that remained intact were his tattered jeans, and those only just spared his modesty. He scoffed in annoyance; he’d need to purchase a new wardrobe soon to make himself more presentable for you …

“Jin-woo, sir!” Esil dashes towards him with a worried look on her cute face. The siren smirks, satisfied despite the many setbacks he faced during this confrontation.

“Esil, tell your father the Radis clan is now the number one family.”

“Jin-woo sir,” the demon girl responds exasperatedly, “Our family name is Radir.”

6:00 AM, on the outskirts of Jindo Island…

Jin-woo deeply inhales the crisp morning air as he soars through the endless skies. Much had transpired in the short time between the conclusion of his showdown with Baran and now. He had gained the Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch, along with the World Tree Fragment, and Spring Water from Echo Forest. With these three components, he was at last able to craft the Holy Water of Life. Once finished, he cradled the precious vial in his palm, as if trying to ascertain proof of its existence. Afterwards, Jin-woo deposited it into his magical inventory for safekeeping.

Of course, the elixir was just one of the many spoils of war he had claimed. Kaisel, the wyvern who now served as his mount, was his for the taking after Baran’s death. The gift of flight had expedited the journey home, much to his joy. A rune stone had also provided him with the skill, ‘Shadow Exchange,' a means of trading places with any of his soldiers scattered throughout land and sea. Thanks to this new ability, he was able to leave that hellish landscape. After being gone for what felt like eons, Jin-woo was desperate to return. To his family. To Ashborn. To you.

He’s relieved when the familiar cityscape of Jindo-gun comes into view. He estimates it would take roughly 15 more minutes for them to arrive over the briny waters. However, before they can make it past the coastline, the spellbinding fragrance of bergamot and vanilla overwhelms Jin-woo’s senses. This could mean only one thing: you were nearby. The headiness of your musk had also gotten more potent in his absence, signifying your fertility.

“Fuck!” Jin-woo’s hisses as desire courses hot and heavy through his veins. He tries to resist the temptation of your pheromones, but you smelt so damn good; so ready and willing for him and his knot –

Jin-woo grunts as he bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. The pain causes him to regain some mental clarity, and he wills himself to calm down. But it’s of no use. His thoughts were currently being clouded by lust and the instinctual drive to breed. Those two weeks he endured in the Demon’s Castle had significantly intensified his longing for you, and the pent-up sexual frustration was coming to a head. Jin-woo really had to nip this in the bud. His stamina was at its limit, and he was in no condition to be seen by you. The siren also desperately needed to go home and check in on his mother and Jin-ah. He was the only alpha and protector of their family after the disappearance of his father. He couldn’t afford to waste another—

The wind carries your scent as it blows past Jin-woo’s face a second time. It was as if you were beckoning him like some sort of enchantress. Unable to ignore your maddening aroma, Jin-woo at last gives in. He knew the decision he was about to make was foolish, reckless even. But he must heed the call of his omega.

He silently apologizes to his mother and Jin-ah and asks them to wait just a little longer. “I’ll only introduce myself… maybe I can even get her name,” he tries to reason with himself while slowly succumbing to delirium. His mind made up, Jin-woo commands Kaisel to deliver him to the area where your scent is the strongest. The wyvern then returns to the void shortly thereafter, leaving the worn out siren to his own devices.

Grainy sand molds against his bare feet as stumbles across the beach in search of you. “Shit. If this keeps up, I might not make it back to Mom and Jin-ah.” Jin-woo mumbles softly. He really was in poor form. Maybe it had been a mistake to depart immediately for Jindo island without taking a break in between. Damn.

As black spots start to obscure his vision, Jin-woo’s gaze finally lands on you. His lips quirk into a tired smile. Even through blurry eyes, you looked absolutely stunning while standing in the sunlight. Like an earthly goddess.

With his consciousness ebbing further and further away, the siren musters up the last of his energy to stagger towards you. He makes it only two steps before his body gives out and he collapses. Rather than hitting the hard ground, a soft and warm embrace met Jin-woo. He blearily cracks open an eye, curious about what broke his fall. It was at that moment your lovely, albeit worried face greeted him. Pretty, he thinks, exhaustion finally taking its toll on him. The last thing Jin-woo remembers before the darkness overtakes him is the soothing smell of bergamot and vanilla.

Two weeks ago, someone or something had been watching you. It was during the first day of filming the mystery-thriller, ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’, a passion project by renowned producer, Go Gun-hee. The man had an incredible work ethic, with a career spanning over 40 years and numerous accolades to his name. He had recently come out of retirement, and the entertainment industry was buzzing with anticipation. Known as a cinematic miracle maker, every motion picture Go Gun-hee produced set box office records. Suffice to say, you had been over the moon after finding out you were amongst the few who made the cut for makeup artists hired to work on set. Although the instant you found out where the filming location was to take place, you immediately felt your enthusiasm dampen. Jindo-gun. At one point, this had been your home. Now, it was but a distant memory.

You had spent most of your childhood on the island of Jindo. Its scenic beaches, sprawling forests, and crystalline waters made it ideal for shooting a film based on a luxury yacht charter. There was one major caveat however: the sirens. Several pods of these unpredictable creatures resided off the coast of Jindo, and the alphas were infamous for their aggression, especially during the height of the mating season.

Growing up, your parents warned you time and time again not to walk alone along the shores at night. "Don’t ever go to the beach by yourself after dark," your mother had signed this to you almost every day. A constant reminder to stay safe and vigilant of your surroundings. Townsfolk also gossiped and shared sordid stories about the lost souls who fell victim to the sirens. But this wasn’t just word of mouth, a child’s fairytale, or mere superstition. These deadly apex predators were very much real, and a troublingly high number of homicides were committed by them each year. Unfortunately, this did little to dissuade foolhardy tourists and arrogant fishermen from pouring into the island during the hotter months of spring and summer.

Eager to escape the foreboding atmosphere, you had applied to and been accepted into a 2-year cosmetology program in Busan shortly after finishing high school. Makeup had always been a strong interest of yours and with the support of both your parents you flourished in your craft.

Although you had been nervous about the transition from quaint suburbia to the big city life, you found yourself quickly growing accustomed to the fast-paced environment. Your school had also been very accommodating, providing you with a sign language interpreter and captioning services for your classes. A kindhearted young woman by the name of Lee Joohee had been assigned as your interpreter during your time in Busan. You became fast friends and remained close even after graduation.

After receiving your license, you relocated to a small apartment in Seoul and began working as a hair and makeup artist in stage productions, commercials, and musicals. You greatly enjoyed the creativity and networking opportunities of your profession, often getting to bump shoulders with many well-known actors and actresses. Within a few years, your portfolio grew considerably. This enabled you to broaden your horizons by breaking into the film industry. ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ would be your first foray into this competitive market and you wanted to prove yourself as a newcomer to the scene. So, despite your reservations, you begrudgingly agreed to board the private jet headed for Jindo island.

If you recall correctly, the mating season for the sirens wouldn’t take place for another four months, so everything should proceed without a hitch… right?

You began to feel a little more at ease when you found out Cha Hae-In and Yoo Jinho were cast in major roles in the movie. You had first met them when they were both burgeoning stage actors. Cha was surprisingly camera shy and preferred to keep a more subdued profile whereas Jinho was outgoing and incredibly humble despite his privileged background. The bubbly brunet was the youngest son of the chairman of Yoojin Construction Company, a major industrial conglomerate in South Korea.

Although you came from different walks of life, the three of you had hit it off right away, finding common ground in your passions for campy horror films. You even taught them a few signs, and this inspired Jinho to devote himself fully to learning sign language. Cha also practiced her signs with you whenever she had the chance, but her busy schedule often made it difficult for her to find spare time. Nevertheless, you were deeply touched by the efforts made by both of your friends.

While taking a break on set, you felt a pair of eyes boring into you as you were relaxing with Cha and Jinho. At first, you chalked it up to paranoia. It had been years since you visited the island, and you’d nearly forgotten how oppressive the ocean seemed at night. But it was the middle of May. The mating season for the sirens would not take place until September at the earliest. Regardless, the sensation of being watched still lingered even after the mysterious presence had left.

There was also the enthralling scent of lavender and sandalwood thickly permeating the air. It had a distinctly masculine undertone to it that had piqued your interest. It was far too strong to be from a couple spritzes of cologne or perfume, yet more subtle than the pungent smell emanating from many of the alphas who composed the cast and crew onboard the yacht. Their musk was overbearing at best, but this fragrance was entirely different. It was sweet. Delicate. Intoxicating…

You had to find the source of it. Making up an excuse about wanting to get more fresh air, you stay behind on the deck of the ship while your friends return to their accommodations to retire for the evening. As you lean over the railing to scope out the scent, an intense wave of heat suddenly ignites in your lower belly causing you to gasp and buckle at the knees. It briefly lingers in your abdomen before shooting directly to your core. You bite back a moan as your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure spreading throughout your body. Slowly but surely, you were entering into a primal state; one of pure unbridled arousal. You should be concerned. No, you should be horrified. You were so vulnerable, so out of sorts. And yet…

You had never felt so exhilarated. It was as if ecstasy became you. You were ascending higher and higher to parts unknown, all semblance of rationality long since abandoned. The coil in your gut was wound so tight, it was at its breaking point. If this continued, you would inevitably plummet over the edge and succumb to your baser instincts –

The metallic odor of copper violently infiltrates the air, abruptly bringing you back to your senses. Your eyes bolt open, and you release a shaky breath. You’re surprised to find yourself on your knees. They must’ve given out on you at some point. However, your shock shifts to horror when you catch sight of an unruly mop of purple hair from the corner of your eye.

It could only belong to one individual: Kang Taeshik.

Shit. You’d been acquainted with the man just yesterday, but he terrified you. Taeshik was an up-and-coming actor on the scene; one who excelled in any role he played. In spite of this, the first impression he left on you was enough to make you keep your distance. Although Taeshik’s demeanor was docile, there was a cold and calculating look in his eyes that made you shudder. It reminded you of a predator eyeing its prey. The most off-putting aspect of the man, however, was his stomach-churning scent. He positively reeked of blood.

You could feel panic setting in as he began to saunter towards you, a lascivious smirk spread across his face like a dark promise. You’re unable to rise to your feet, still weakened and lightheaded from the erotic sensations affecting you earlier. Worse yet, you feel a lump in your throat, making it difficult to shout or scream for help should the need arise. You were essentially cornered, defenseless, and alone with a menacing alpha. And if the pungency of his musk was anything to go by, he was on the verge of a rut. You sink back into yourself in fear and begin to tremble uncontrollably.

You can see Taeshik’s mouth moving as he closes in on you. You’d become adept at lip reading over the years, although it was difficult to decipher everything he was saying in the darkness. The only words that you can make out are "little omega" and "whore." Your blood curdles. Someone, anyone, please help me! You silently plead, knowing it was futile. For a moment, you foolishly imagine the owner of that enticing scent coming to your rescue.

Thankfully, just before Taeshik can grab you, a large hand envelops his wrist in a vice grip.

The purple haired nightmare cants his gaze to the side and narrows his eyes. He’s greeted by the furious expression of none other than the film’s director, Woo Jinchul. Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. Thank God, you think.

Taeshik rips his arm away and leaps back, creating some distance between himself and the taller man. Jinchul quickly assumes a protective stance in front of you. His broad back prevented you from seeing your would-be assailant, something you were extremely grateful for. For a few tense moments, you can only sit and stare at Jinchul’s imposing figure as he confronts the other man.

Despite how scared you are, you wish you could partake in the conversation if only to defend yourself. Taeshik may try to manipulate the situation by implicating you as an instigator or seductress, something many male actors in the industry unfortunately got away with due to their connections or wealth. It was despicable and made you seethe with anger at the salacious lies and rumors spread by the press and social media.

After several painstaking minutes, Taeshik departs with nary but a shrug of indifference. Apparently Jinchul’s status and power as director did nothing to intimidate him. He waits until Taeshik’s figure disappears before turning to face you. There’s an uncharacteristic warmth in his usually hard gaze, and you’re able to catch a whiff of his natural scent: cardamom and cedarwood, a calming combination.

Jinchul gently offers his hand and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. Your legs are still somewhat stiff but functional now. He permits you to steady yourself by grasping onto his shoulders and it doesn’t escape you how oddly intimate these actions are. As if to further prove this, Jinchul, in a strange display of affection, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches.

A beat passes before the realization of what he just did hits him. Jinchul’s eyes widen, and he quickly snatches his hand back as if he was scalded. And was it your imagination, or were his ears turning pink? He awkwardly clears his throat before opening his mouth. ‘Are you alright? Did Taeshik harm you in any way?’ You read his lips closely, appreciating the pauses and slow enunciation of his words. Jinchul was aware that you could lip read rather efficiently, and this made it easier to communicate with him since he would not have to always rely on an interpreter.

You shake your head and see him breathing a sigh of relief. ‘He won’t ever be allowed near you again; I will make sure of it.’ Jinchul is back to his usual no-nonsense demeanor it seems. But what had caused him to act so… tender towards you? And Taeshik? The man had always been creepy and taciturn, but he never went out of his way to torment you. If Jinchul hadn’t arrived at just the right time, you could have been assaulted. You feel bile rising to your throat at the thought. Why was this happening? You were always careful and made sure to take your heat suppressants every day. None of the alphas you worked with had ever tried to hurt you before, so why? Unless you were going into heat, but that shouldn’t be possible…

You suddenly break into a sob, overcome with emotion. Your distress causes Jinchul to spring into action. He promptly removes his blazer and drapes it over your shoulders to ward off the chill of the night. Jinchul then produces an embellished handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you. He hesitates before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and his lips move again. ‘I’m here for you,’ he mouths. You wipe away the tears with the handkerchief and stifle your cries into its soft fabric. All the while, Jinchul remains by your side and grants you as much time as you need to collect yourself. When the tears finally run their course, you lower the ruined towelette from your face and chance a timid glance at him.

Jinchul regards you with a pensive expression on his sharp features. He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and reaches back into his pocket to pull out his phone. He then begins typing away and once finished with his message, he hands the device over to you, displaying the contents of his notebook app.

"As director of this film, I want you to know that I will always prioritize the wellbeing of our cast and crew. With that being said, the actions I witnessed Kang Taeshik commit tonight were morally reprehensible. I won’t disclose the full details of the discussion I had with him, as I do not wish to cause you any further emotional distress. I will say that I can personally attest to the fact that Kang Taeshik sought to menace and harm you while you were in a vulnerable state of heat."

You feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach as you skim over the last sentence. So Jinchul knew you had unexpectedly gone into heat? Of course he would; he was an alpha. How could you have been so stupid? The director was most certainly going to see you as a liability now… you may even end up losing your job.

You reluctantly force yourself to continue reading. If this to be the conclusion of your tenure, then at least you would see it through to the bitter end.

"Please do not blame yourself for what has happened. Your disposition as an omega has no bearing on your contract or employment, nor does it offer an excuse for an alpha, or anyone for that matter, to harass you. It is with impartial and sound judgment that I have made the executive decision to terminate Kang Taeshik and remove him from production effective immediately. This will cause some inevitable delays, but an impromptu casting call can be arranged in the meantime. I’m willing to run over schedule if it guarantees everyone’s safety."

You exhale and feel all the tension dissipate from your body. So, you weren’t the one being let go, Taeshik was. You hadn’t known much about Woo Jinchul beforehand, but you were thankful that he was a man of good character. This was becoming exceedingly rare in an industry composed of unscrupulous and morally bankrupt members of the upper echelons.

You type back a response before handing him his phone.

"I am so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I really don’t understand what happened. I’ve been taking suppressants for years, and an alpha has never tried to threaten me before. Thank you for stepping in to protect me. I really don’t know what he was planning to do."

You couldn’t help but apologize even though Jinchul had vindicated you. What leaves you reeling, however, is the reply he gives you when the mobile device is back in your hands.

"I should be the one to apologize, not you. My behavior towards you earlier was incredibly uncouth, and for that, I am deeply sorry. As director, I should be conducting myself in a manner that is more befitting. Instead, I allowed my instincts as an alpha to impair my judgement. I promise this shall not happen again."

Uncouth behavior? Did he mean when he was brushing your hair from your face? How could he be apologetic about something so innocuous? The implications don’t fully register until you replay that last sentence: My instincts as an alpha. Instincts…alpha…!?!

He was reacting to your pheromones.

That evening, Jinchul insisted on having you treated at the on-site infirmary. Alas, with few medical staff and even less equipment it was difficult to determine what was causing your symptoms. Was it possible your medication was no longer working? Omega suppressants were highly effective, but that didn’t mean they were infallible. A missed dose or interaction with another drug could negate the effects. But you weren’t taking any other medications, and you never missed a dose.

Needing a second opinion, you were transported to the emergency room at a nearby hospital for further evaluation. Jinchul had opted to let Cha and Jinho drive you there after explaining your circumstances to them (minus the issue with Kang Taeshik; he was keeping it under wraps for now). Unlike him, they were both betas which made them immune to your pheromones.

You ended up being kept overnight for observation. After running a series of tests, including labs to assess your hormones and an ultrasound, you were found to be undergoing a pseudo estrus or ‘false heat’ as it’s more commonly referred to.

Unlike a regular heat, a false heat occurs only when a highly compatible alpha is within close vicinity of an omega. This in turn triggers a massive release of pheromones leading to an increase in libido, fever-like symptoms, cramping, and fatigue. Whoever this alpha was, their presence was so virile that your heat suppressants were fully canceled out by them.

You were questioned extensively about your experience by the healthcare team. "Do you have any partners? Are you sexually active? Is there anyone you work with who is an alpha? When did you first start experiencing the signs of your heat?" The list was never-ending. With the help of an interpreter, you answered everything to the best of your ability. And by the end of it all, you were still at a loss.

No one on that yacht had been emitting that scent, you were sure of it. It had to have been someone wholly unrelated. Perhaps a fisherman or a swimmer? But it was late and everyone who was local to the island knew better than to risk the waters at night. Everyone except you and the entourage on board the yacht, that is.

Frustrated, you eventually gave up on trying to figure out the identity of your potential mate. Your physician, a compassionate fellow omega by the name of Min Byung-Gu, strongly recommended an entire week of bed rest for you. This was to serve as a means of letting the heat cycle run its course. You were also provided with prescription medications to alleviate your symptoms.

Resting was crucial. Any physical stress or strain could worsen your condition, and omegas were particularly susceptible to injury or illness while at their sexual peak. In addition to this, your doctor recommended ceasing all contact with alphas, effectively barring you from returning to work. You were crestfallen at this, but you acquiesced knowing it was for the sake of your recovery.

To avoid any mishaps, Jinchul arranged for you to stay in a penthouse for the time being. The lavish suite was situated on the very top floor of a deluxe condominium, affording you all the personal comforts and privacy you would need. You couldn’t help but snort when you opened the door to your new living quarters. It was like you were a goddamn princess trapped in a tower.

As if that wasn’t enough, your boss had also hired two very intimidating bodyguards. Both were betas who had been tasked with protecting you during your heat. The first to be introduced was a hulking beast of a man called Thomas Andre. He was huge, with a herculean frame that looked to be made of steel rather than flesh and blood. A wild mane of blonde hair and intricate patterns of black ink also adorned his chest and arms, making him even more imposing.

The disarming smile he gives you is anything but, however. He’s also surprisingly gentle with you when he shakes your hand.

Your other bodyguard had a physicality that was far less egregious, but his razor-edged gaze, unnervingly calm composure, and the bulging muscles of his arms revealed a powerful aura that was not to be underestimated. This man had gone by the name of Liu Zhigang, a master swordsman of the highest caliber and one of the strongest individuals in China.

He too, had been unexpectedly friendly, even going so far as to ruffle your hair and calling you a “good girl,” in his native language. Your interpreter had been particularly scandalized while signing this to you after you were insistent on finding out what he said. You, on the other hand, thought it was rather cute, especially when juxtaposed with his tough guy image. There had also been no ill intent or malice in his words; he was being genuinely amiable to you, just as Thomas Andre had been.

Perhaps you could make do with this situation. But you could only imagine how hefty of a price tag these two highly skilled warriors could warrant. Jinchul was sparing absolutely no expense on you. He must have felt terribly guilty about your traumatic experience that night…

You make a vow with yourself not to take his generosity for granted.

And so, the next week passes by rather uneventfully. You ended up becoming stir crazy right from the beginning. You had been so accustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle of a makeup artist and hair stylist that the very concept of wasting the day away seemed foreign. Gone were the 12–14-hour shifts that had once encompassed your daily routine. It was maddening, this sudden lack of purpose.

Sleeping, reading, eating, and binge-watching dramas with closed captioning had been your main escape from the dullness of being confined to bed all day. No one, not even your parents, Jinho, or Cha had been permitted to visit you while on bedrest. Jinchul and Min Byung-Gu had advised you to limit all external stimulation while you were in heat. You understood the importance of this, but it did nothing to prepare you for the overwhelming loneliness that awaited you.

Sure, your bodyguards had been cordial to you, but they were preoccupied with keeping watch over the premises and warding off any intruders. Neither one had time to engage with you beyond a simple greeting or farewell. Even your interpreter kept her presence scarce, coming only twice per day to check in with you and to relay messages from your friends, family, and the director.

It was as if you were a bird in a gilded cage. Locked away, out of sight, and out of mind. You hated every second of it. You wanted to curse the cruel hand you were dealt, to resent the alpha who had caused you all this misery in the first place. But…

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it no matter how unbearable the isolation became.

Once those seven agonizingly slow days were over and done, you were given medical clearance to resume your job. You never thought you would be so happy to work again. Of course, you still had some restrictions in place. Jinchul wanted you to take it easy, so he requested that you work no more than 4-6 hours per day. At this point, you were willing to do anything if it kept you out of that forlorn penthouse.

In addition to this, you were prescribed a significantly higher dosage of oral heat suppressants. It was to be used as a prophylactic to ensure you would not enter a second heat. The side-effects had been merciful, with nothing more than the occasional bout of nausea and a loss of appetite to show for.

Jinho and Cha were ecstatic to see you again, although your other colleagues were far less enthusiastic. The attentiveness and apparent favoritism towards you by the director did not go unnoticed. You were predictably met with the cold shoulder by many of your peers upon your return. It didn’t help that Jinchul had kept the confrontation between him and Taeshik confidential. Only executive producer Go and your bodyguards were made aware. This was done to protect you and to prevent the besmirching of your character by the media. The rest of the cast and crew had simply been told that Taeshik had departed from the film due to ‘irreconcilable and creative differences.’ The purple haired man’s PR team, for their part, also appeared to be going with this story.

Frankly, you could care less about what your coworkers thought of you. You were just glad that you never had to be around a horrible psychopath like Taeshik ever again. Cha and Jinho, on the other hand, had taken it upon themselves to act as your newly appointed bodyguards in Thomas’s and Zhigang’s stead. Any nasty gossip or snide remarks were met with a frosty glare from the blonde woman and threats of litigation from the heir apparent of Yoojin Construction.

You couldn’t have asked for better friends or a more considerate boss, but you were starting to find the constant protection and coddling from them to be too much. You were a woman with her own autonomy after all. And yet you were being treated like a piece of glass, as if you would shatter with the slightest gust of wind. It was suffocating and your newly toxic work environment certainly wasn’t making matters any better.

To keep yourself grounded (and from going insane) you had taken to embarking on early morning walks along the beach. The peace and tranquility were a welcome solace from the tumultuous reality of your situation. You could spend hours getting lost in the beauty of the dawning sun.

You should have known this temporary serenity was not to last.

That Sunday had started out much like any other morning. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, changed into a pair of leggings with a matching sports bra, and slid on some comfortable running shoes. It was a little before dawn, and you were hoping to catch the breathtaking sight of the sunrise along the sandy marshes of the island. You weren’t scheduled to work, so you had all the time in the world to explore and enjoy nature. You planned to make the most of it.

You start off by walking to a well-known bakery to purchase some freshly made kkwabaegi. The crispiness of the fried dough complements your coffee perfectly. After eating your sweet treat, you continue your journey, heading southbound for a local beach. The area was usually a tourist trap in the summer, but it was much less populated at this time of day.

The moment your foot connects with the sand, you are instantly hit by the familiar smell of lavender and sandalwood. You begin to panic.

Shit! It was that alpha from a few weeks ago!

You know the right thing to do, the reasonable thing to do, would be to turn back and run. You were all alone in a secluded area with someone who was potentially dangerous. The last time you were near them, you had been rendered completely helpless just from their pheromones alone. If you got too close to them, you could end up going into another heat.

The other possibilities were more nightmarish. You’d heard horror stories about depraved alphas who would kidnap omegas and force them into becoming their mates against their will. Dominance amongst alphas these days was often synonymous with entitlement, something many of them would use to justify their disgusting actions. If this person nearby was of the same barbaric mindset…

Despite the storm of conflicting emotions raging within you, you remain rooted to the spot. It was just no use; you couldn’t convince yourself to retreat. Curiosity and the need for closure far outweighed your fear and anxiety. You had to find out the identity of this individual, regardless of the risk.

You steel yourself before nervously trudging in the direction of the scent. For whatever reason, the strength of the alpha’s pheromones was nowhere near the same extent as it was on that night. It was soothing this time, like a hot shower at the end of an exhausting day. Had the increased dose of your heat suppressants been responsible for this? Well, no use in questioning it now.

As the aroma grows stronger, you find yourself heading closer towards the sea. The sun was starting to peak over the tussling waves, and you briefly turned your head to avoid receiving an eyeful of blinding light. It’s in the periphery of your vision that you finally see him: the alpha that had been evading you for so long.

Even from a several yards away, you can tell he’s quite tall; standing at a height of around 185 cm. He’s also naked from the waist up, with only a pair of shredded jeans on his figure. But what captivates you most is the feverishness and intensity of his gaze. No one had ever looked at you like this before. It was almost reverent. Like you were some kind of deity.

The man staggers towards you slowly. Had he been hurt? There didn’t appear to be a scratch on him, although his remaining clothes were a mess. You reason that he must be experiencing heat exhaustion. This would explain why he had taken off his shirt. Your hackles lowered, you decide to throw caution to the wind and approach the man.

His body gives out just as you begin to close the distance between the two of you. You immediately pick up the pace, turning your walk into a jog. You’re able to catch him right before he falls face first into the sand. That was a close one, you think, releasing a breath you weren’t even aware you were holding. You’re able to fully take in the man’s appearance now that he was close enough to hold.

He was unspeakably handsome. As a stylist in the entertainment industry, you’ve seen your fair share of gorgeous celebrities. But all of them paled in comparison to the robust beauty of the man before you. Unblemished olive skin that was smooth to the touch. Silken ebony tresses that you were tempted to run your fingers through. And a God-like physique that had your pulse quickening. What you’d give to caress the rippling muscles of his torso...

Just who in the world was this ethereal alpha? And how was he able to sleep so soundly in the arms of a virtual stranger? The man had even nuzzled his face in between the valley of your breasts as if it was the most natural thing on earth! Oddly enough, you weren’t put off by his actions. In fact, you found them to be endearing. Was this what it was like to form a predestined bond with someone?

You briefly consider texting your friends to get help for the man but decide against it once you start weighing your options. If he was transported to the hospital, there was a chance he would be forcibly separated from you. What’s more, if it was found out that he was the one who caused your false heat, there could be far reaching consequences. You were still being monitored on set, and Jinchul might deem this man to be a threat to you.

He didn’t look to be injured, at least not physically, so you rule out the hospital. You deliberate for a few more minutes before ultimately choosing to wait and bide your time until he regained consciousness.

The two of you remain entangled in this strange embrace as stunning shades of orange, red, and yellow paint the sky. The waves shine incandescently in the sunlight, and you find yourself facing the ocean, distracted by its splendor. After a few minutes, you feel something shifting in your arms.

You return your focus to the man. He’s finally started to stir, groggily raising his head from your chest. You both lock eyes, your wide-eyed gaze contrasting with his half lidded one. You see his chapped lips open and close, mouthing only one word: 'Omega.'

You feel a shiver run down your spine. Alpha, your inner omega silently preens, instinct taking over.

The man attempts to talk to you again, but you hush him with the gentle press of your index finger to his lips. He obeys right away and makes no further efforts to speak. You had many questions that you wanted to ask, but that could wait for just a little longer. Your alph – no, this alpha, was in desperate need of some water. He looked awfully parched.

You unzip the tote bag you brought with you and sift through its contents before producing a canteen filled with water. You open it and push the lid to his mouth, motioning for him to drink. He follows your orders without a second thought, taking several generous gulps. Rivulets of excess water drip from the corner of his mouth, down his Adam’s apple, and you find yourself getting distracted by his body again. You internally curse as you feel yourself growing wet. You discreetly press your thighs together, hoping to dull the ache building between them.

You fail to notice the flare of the man’s nostrils or his blown-out pupils as he watches your actions from the corner of his eye.

When he’s finally had his fill, you cap your canteen and place it to the side. You then reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. The man shoots you an uneasy look when he sees it in your hand. Was he unfamiliar with mobile devices? You type a quick message in your notebook app and turn the screen towards him.

“I’m going to use my phone to communicate with you because I have a hearing impairment. Is that alright? I just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

The boyish look of surprise that crosses his face while he reads doesn’t escape you. He must not have been expecting you to be deaf. You anxiously await his response, unsure of what his reaction will be.

His expression morphs into something akin to barely concealed wonder, and he nods his head. You breathe deep and type away on your phone again. Your next message elaborates on your concerns.

"First, can you tell me if you’re in any pain or if you’re injured? If you are, I can get an ambulance for you. My name is Y/N, by the way.”

His eyes quickly flit over your words. In response, he dips one of his fingers into the wet sand. You’re curious at first, until you start to recognize the shapes that he’s drawing as letters. Why was he writing in the sand? Was he not comfortable with using your phone?

Once finished, his message reads:

“I’m unharmed. I do not need help. Thank you for the water.”

Great, so he wasn’t hurt. Now you can finally focus on getting some damn answers!

You start typing furiously, pouring all your heart into unspoken anger. As soon as you’re finished you nearly slam the mobile device into the man’s face. He blinks owlishly, looking adorably confused by your actions. You don’t know whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“Now that I know you’re okay, can you please answer a few questions for me? Tell me, were you sailing near a large yacht a few weeks ago? There was this scent that day, an alpha’s scent. It smelt incredible. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find this person. And then I came across you! You have the exact same smell as them! And you’re obviously an alpha yourself since you recognized me as an omega right away. Please, just tell me who you are! I ended up going into heat because of that alpha, and I feel like I’ve been losing my mind over them!”

The man’s face flickers from shock to guilt as he reads your explosive words. You regret typing them almost immediately when you see the sadness in his steel gray eyes.

He tries to use your phone to write back, but he’s clumsy and ends up swiping his fingers over a bunch of random characters. He huffs and bites his lip, clearly embarrassed. Crap, now you were feeling even worse about unleashing your tirade on him. You’ve always had a temper on you, and it often led to you lashing out and hurting the people you cherished most. And now you had allowed your mounting frustration to get the better of you in front of this poor man. For all you knew, he could be an innocent bystander who was just trying to get some help after becoming overheated.

You had to set things right.

You gently take the phone from the man’s hands, place it in your lap, and cup his cheek. He nervously glances at you, afraid that you’ll still be mad at him. But he’s greeted by your warm smile instead. Reassured, his shoulders relax, and he leans into your touch. After a few moments, you withdraw your hand, eager to continue the conversation. You can’t help but mourn the loss of contact as you resume your typing, however. Your next message reads:

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have taken out all my anger on you, especially when you probably don’t have anything to do with this. Please, allow me to start all over again and explain everything to you. Just so I can confirm if you’re the same person I bumped into several days ago. And don’t worry about having to use my phone. I’ve got a pen and a notebook you can write on.”

His eyes take on a hopeful sheen, and you have to force yourself to part from him in order to get to your bag. He really was too charming for his own good, this strange alpha…

That reminds you, you still hadn’t gotten his name!

Once the writing utensils are given to him, he starts scribbling away. His chicken scratch is barely legible, but it was better than nothing. Your handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best either, if you were being honest. He wrote:

“Omega, you are not at fault for anything. I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. My name is Sung Jin-woo, an alpha from Jindo-gun. I am the person who was exploring the area around that large boat several nights ago. I became worried when I smelt an omega’s scent. It was you; you were the omega I was seeking that day. I should have shown myself to you sooner. What happened to you after I left? Did any other alphas approach you?"

Sung Jin-woo, huh? It suited him. He had an oddly formal way of writing though, one that clashed with his youthful appearance. This time, you don’t miss the possessiveness in his eyes as he writes that last sentence.

‘Did any other alphas approach you?’

You gulp, reminiscing over the entire ordeal with Kang Taeshik. Should you even tell Jin-woo? By now the problem had been resolved and Taeshik was already fired. There was no reason for you to make Jin-woo feel even worse about causing your heat.

In the end, you choose not to mention Taeshik. He was out of the picture, and you didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

You resume typing in your notebook app, your response stating:

“No, not really. My boss found me on the verge of passing out, though. He’s an alpha so he could tell why I wasn’t feeling well. I was taken to a hospital by my friends since they’re both betas. I had to stay in bed for a week, but as you can already tell I’m alright now. I’m just glad I was finally able to meet you, Jin-woo 😊 You see, I work on that big ship. I’m a makeup artist and hair stylist, and the yacht is the set for a movie that’s being filmed…”

The next few hours pass in companiable silence as you communicate through pen strokes and text messages. Both you and Jin-woo had shared a considerable amount about one another over this time span.

You learn that Jin-woo had grown up on the island, much like you. He lived with his mother and little sister on the outskirts of town and served as the sole provider of the family after his father passed away. When you question what he did for a living, he paused before writing he was a fisherman. This would explain why he was out so early in the morning. The most ideal times to fish were sunset and sunrise. But how had his clothes gotten torn up like that? When you asked, he merely answered that he fell off his boat and had almost gotten swept up in the propellor. Apparently, his shirt and pants had been destroyed by the turning of the blades. You were incredulous at first, given just how dangerous that sounded, but Jin-woo had a way of selling you with his words. You eventually found yourself believing him despite your previous skepticism. He must have also been fishing that night two weeks ago.

Jin-woo had asked you many questions as well. He seemed particularly concerned about your heat cycle. When you disclosed the cause of it was your compatibility with him, his entire body tensed. Jin-woo’s hands then started to shake and you took one of them in your own to calm him. He glances at you, and you’re taken aback by the fire in his eyes. For the briefest of moments, you fear that you might’ve revealed something you shouldn’t have. Before you can compose an apology, Jin-woo releases your hand, picks up his pen, and starts writing again. Once finished, he gives you the notebook with an expression of apprehension on his face.

“Is this something you’re comfortable with? Now that we’ve met, I’m really interested in getting to know you more. But how do you feel about me? Do you want to continue this conversation? I understand if you’d want me to leave after everything you were forced to endure.”

How did you feel about him?

You mull over all that’s occurred since returning to your hometown. You had never expected to encounter so many trials and tribulations. By all accounts, you had every right to cease any further contact with Jin-woo. But you were undeniably intrigued by him. He had been nothing but respectful of your boundaries, and you found yourself being drawn in by his earnest personality. If nothing else came from this meeting between the two of you, then at least you could become friends.

You type an honest response and wait on bated breath as he reads it:

“I’m not sure how I feel about us right now. Honestly, I don’t believe in things like destiny or fate when it comes to finding a soulmate. But I do want to continue seeing you. I also would like to learn more about you as a person. Maybe we can take things slow and figure it out from there. What do you say, Jin-woo😉?”

All the anxiety seems to melt away from Jin-woo’s face. A cute grin tugs at his lips, lighting his darkened visage.

His answer is succinct:

“I’d really like that, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat. That was the first time he used your name.

A small part of you starts to wonder if the two of you really are fated to be together. Cheesy as it sounds, you were more than willing to take a chance on this budding relationship with Jin-woo.

Little did you know this meeting would set in motion a series of tragic events that would shatter countless lives and forever leave a stain on the island’s reputation.

🔱 To be continued...

Tag list 1:

🪼 @the-dumber-scaramouche @ghostdoodlen @skylar896 @phisen @eliciana

Tag list 2:

🐬 @asylrd @mochinon-yah

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thebrainrotsreal · 8 months ago

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First of all, we're already married now. Engaged, if you prefer. The wedding to be determined. LIKE YOU GET ME FR???? Been Literally pacing all day about this. Been busy all day but thinking about your additions to this AU,,, it's sickening the BEST way possible. It's haunting and I'm mad I can't watch an episode of this. Agony.

Oh, and I do have an ao3 but I like keeping it separate from art blog ☆*｡ﾟ(tings)ﾟ｡*☆, so if you do just credit my tumblr. ALSO IF YOU WRITE ANYTHING SHOW ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. Also, side note, "No Children" by Mountain Ghosts, has just been the theme looping in my head to express the loathing (yet eventual loathing kinship between them?) between Mark and Wasp. "I am downing. There is no sign of land. You are coming down with me, hand in unlovable hand. I hope you die. I hope we both die."

✧✧ mark stares at wasp with something akin to pity. you were alone, his eyes seem to say. you are alone. you will always be alone. wasp doesn't cry (he hasn't cried since he was five), but he looks down, solemn. you are, too. ✧✧

AND OH MY GOODNESS. Everything you wrote about Wasp and Mark being the half of each other, the loneliness being so palpable and visible to each other but still inescapable. They don't want each other for company but what else will they have? Who else can understand? And the no more bear hugs thing... who else understands that?

I CAN SO SEE them fighting each other, tackling the other, and then just squeezing the life outta 'em. They can't hug bear hug people and Wasp would rather bite Mark's throat out than ever admit needing one, Mark would sock Wasp in the throat before saying it either, but in a moment they just kinda understand and hate that they do anyway. Let the "hug" linger before loathing takes over again and kick 'em in the jaw. RAHHHHHHH the hatred from recognition goes crazy.

And the exhaustion afterwards? When all the rage fizzles out into a distant loathing, and they kinda end up chilling together. Sitting on the moon, or just hovering in space together or above a sea (gotta imagine to avoid incredible property damage, they go all out in those areas). They'd rather die than call it bonding, but sometimes they talk, or sometimes it's just quiet until they both go home.

✧✧imagine the others reacting to this tho. there is a lot of comedy potential...they could be sitting next to each other, arms touching like they're two little kids watching TV, while muttering the worst kind of insults towards each other. they don't even realize they're near each other✧✧

EXACTLY INCREDIBLE YES YES YES YES. In their """"bondiing""" arc because it's still pissed the fuck off at each other, but they pull something up on their phone and the other hovers so they rest their head on the other's shoulder. Everyone looks on in horror, probably awaiting Wasp to fucking bite Mark. Nothing happens. They just look at whatever is on Mark's phone. Mark rattles off an insult, Wasp snaps back, they move on. No one has a broken nose. It's mystifying.

I gotta imagine they also get to a point of dialed back punches? But this dialing it back for these super powered unhinged cain instinct "twins".

EX. Like getting pissed off enough to almost break Wasp's nose, but don't wanna go through the whole energy of mauling. Wordlessly, Wasp kicks him in the back which makes an awful cracking nose. They continue talking like nothing happened. Again, everyone around them is "what the fuckery."

I can imagine Rudy or Rex trying to talk to Wasp and Mark as the closest equivalent of fucker that has the same face situation, but they realize very very quickly Wasp and Mark are dead ass when they say they wanna strangle each other. These mfs are not joking. And at this point it's not normal but it ??? works for them?? somehow. sort of??? Rex stops trying to touch these situation with a ten foot pole. Rudy thinks they would be an incredible case study of cain instinct taken to the worst extreme.

✧✧ mark is haunted by the image of his dad wearing his own face. wasp laughs at him, mocks him and cries — “we're just like dad,” he says, proud, and it sounds like both a curse to the teenager beaten by his father, and a blessing to the boy who wants to be just like him when he grows up ✧✧

Love you casually writing straight up epic poetry to perfectly describe their outlooks on Nolan, which sums up their distinct main difference. How am I supposed to be normal about this holy shit??? LIKE YES YES YES EXACTLY THIS IS WORDED SO PERFECTLY??? You did it! You broke them, their issues, and their differences down to their essentials!

i have nothing else to say this is just perfect holy shit.

✧✧ until they disagree on something. then they're at each other's throats again✧✧ (about the comic con together)

They disagree on one minor thing that probably reflects/parallels their contrasting outlooks and suddenly everyone around them feels a chilling, dangerous presence but the only thing they can spot are two twins gritting their teeth at each other.

They refuse to fight in there without risking damaging anything, or getting banned. They will maul each other in the sky after it's over, however.

They fight over who is the bigger fan. "Well I would actually kill for xyz", "That's doesn't mean anything! You would kill for anything!" "Oh shut up--"

✧✧ wasp finds debbie. debbie hugs him, thinking he's mark. he doesn't have it in him to strike her, so he hugs her back. he forgets about it the next day, because he doesn't care about her. she's just another human. she was a pet, or so mark's dad said. why should he care? why does he care? ✧✧

kicking screaming crying YES YES YES YES YES YES EXACTLY. DRAG HIS ASS INTO THE EMOTIONAL BLENDER. MAKE THIS MF PONDER. GET AN EMOTIONAL CRISIS ON HOW MUCH DIFFERENTLY YOUR LIFE COULD HAVE BEEN. It is dubbed get redeemed loser au for a reason and you have proved exactly why, yes yes yes.

The way Debbie is something that could truly start to crumble Wasp's walls, the way that hug felt, that casual expression of love and affection directed at him. He hated it, is what he tells himself. He's better than that, is what he assures himself. He could kill her again and care, but why is suddenly harder to say? The next day Mark doesn't even get a word in and Wasp's punching him in the throat. Why consider your emotions when you can fall back on the one thing you're incredible at? Violence!

✧✧ and--- wasp's existence makes everyone worry not because of the murder (i doubt mark would tell them. at least not at first) but because of how so ooc he makes mark act ✧✧

YES EXACTLY! They don't know where he's actually from, but Mark, who usually looks like someone kicked his last ice cream from out his hand and someone rained on his entire parade (s2 mark looks like he's 0.08 seconds away from crying at all times and no one can convince me otherwise), suddenly snaps at his "twin" with such palpable irritation. And it's so jarring. He never raises his voice at anyone, (exception being Cecil but no one there's to see it) so it's bizarre, off-putting. And his twin snaps back just as ready. Mark tells you they just met recently, but the loathing they carry seems to speak of years of spent of rage finally clawing its way to the surface. When he turns back to anyone else, he is kind again, exhausted but clearly trying. When Wasp enters a room he tenses. Debbie is just taken off guard as anyone else, so you can't even get any answers from her. Whatever they got going on, they're not sharing.

Though, if GOG or Mark's friends found out, I can totally see Wasp snapping at Mark and telling them to get a rise out of Mark. Saying it out loud to get on his nerves and make him fight. "You wanna know where I'm really from?" "Wasp, shut up." "No, no, no, let's tell the truth, right? I mean you're so high and might, aren't you Mark? You'd never hurt anybody?" "Wasp. Shut UP!"

✧✧ mark knows that he can just, not hold back with wasp. they fight, and his hatred for what wasp represents merges with the hate he feels for himself. wasp smiles, showing all teeth in a predatory way, and says, “fucking finally” ✧✧

Stunning, immaculate, incredible, 10/10, perfect, I can see this happening and it's so glorious. Literally nothing to add this is perfect. Also ofc Wasp would call Mark a pussy after wjdkjksk. They're both exhausted and winded and bloody and Wasp needs to have the last word.

Also to the thing about training together, they're brutal here too, because here Mark can practice without hurting anybody. And it's relieving, and exciting and it hates it so much. He hates that it works and he improves. He hates Wasp does have more training. And Wasp knows and savors it.

I want to draw for this so badly but I have too many ideas and yet none at all and my brain is exploding so I simply offer you these.

EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK!!! I want to be coherent about this season but please picture me foaming at the mouth and running on the walls. S2 being what if Mark's just like his Dad? Insanity. I love this show. Anyways, AU where an Evil!Mark tries to make Our!Mark worse, and Our!Mark tries to make the other better. Something something confronting your idea of the worst version of oneself. Plus, tweaked black and yellow costume because I saw it and immediately went murder hornet lookin' ass and knew I had to draw it. Evil ass Mark. Horrible. I think he should be dragged kicking and screaming into redemption.

#get redeemed loser au #prof yapper hours #invincible rotating in my mind #U GET ME FR FR FR FR FR FR #im busy as fuck today but TMRW I WANNA DRAW ONE OF THESE SCENES SO BAD #KEEP IN MY MIND DRAWING TAKES ME AGES WITH BACKGROUNDS BUT I WANNA DRAW BLOODY GRINNING WASP SAYING “FINALLY” SO BAD BRUH #UR MIND IS INCREDIBLE U GET MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE #sobbing crying wailing this isn't the plot of s3 fjkjdkfjkd #why can't it be real HUH #anyways your thing about wasp pondering is so good bruh oh my goodness #a mf who listens to music 24/7 and it reminded me of the lyric “it hurts me just to think and i don't do pain” (my ordinary life)#me trying to accumulate songs to match these mfs like my life depends on it #still running around in circles about these two oh my GOODNESSSSSS #THANK YOU FOR REBLOGGING IM SO HYPE RAHHHHHH

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justbelievinginmagic · 14 days ago

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like a waltz⎯ part 1: brisé.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is seonghwa x reader focused & wooyoung x reader focused! series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: the worst night of your life makes you recall what you thought was one of the best nights of you life - meeting jung wooyoung at the cromer opera house. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, mature topics, strong language, ballet lore, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, violence, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, allusions to exploitation in ballet, pain, fear, injuries, alcohol mention, reader discretion advised. word count: 5.7k -> next chapter series masterlist

brisé ; french pronunciation: [bʁize]; literally 'broken'

All she had wanted her entire life was to be the ballerina prima. It was all she worked for. Every day she woke up to dance; she lived, breathed, ate for ballet. And she almost had it. It had been so close. The shining lights, the praise, the private dressing room, all for her. An escape from the shame of the petit rats, the groping from patrons, the reliance on a man’s wealth. She was going to be a star – in her own right. She was going to be a star.

Now, she laid in the dirty alley way, beaten and broken.

Through the torn bits of her hosiery, she could see her ankles were a purple-red color, splotched, like a gruesome Impressionist painting. The bones were at odd angles, too sharp, too extended for them to be not broken. Her hands shook as she tried to move them, tried to push at the pain that crept up her legs in a deafening manner. She could barely move them, roll them, anything without crying out in pain.

And cry she did. Wails escaped her chest in a mournful song. Her coal-mascara dripped down her rouged cheeks, melting into a mess and staining her mink fur coat. Their fur coat – their gift to her - that now felt suffocating around her, strands of the fur stuck to her sweatied skin and making her skin crawl with the feeling of maggots. She struggled to take it off, fighting with it as if it the animal had come back to life and was biting at her. Shoving it off and onto the alley floor with a huff, she moved to wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands. They too were injured. Her dainty fingers were scraped and cut up from the harsh cobblestone beneath her. Phalanges dripped ruby red, and most likely had been smudged over her face with a false rouge. If someone had caught a look, they’d be afraid her face was bleeding. Luckily, that had been spared; everything had been except for her feet. Just her legs were mangled, beaten, bludgeoned with bats, and crushed into the ground ‘til the bone creaked and shattered. Her poor dancing feet.

She hadn’t thought they would do it; she thought…

Jongho had cried for her the night before, pleaded with her as she told him her decision.

She should’ve known then.

Wooyoung advised against it after dinner, hissing out in fear that Hongjoong wouldn’t be happy.

She should’ve known then.

Yunho refused to see her that evening, locked away in his study.

She should’ve known then.

Seonghwa had even grabbed her hand this morning before she left the mansion; he had said nothing but his eyes were dark and cautioning as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

She should’ve taken his warning.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. His footsteps were heavy as he approached her. The familiar scent of his cologne that was once reassuring, exciting even, now made her face scrunch up into despair. She tried to shift away from him, wriggling away like a worm. Each bend of her ankles made agony crawl up her spine. Her throat flexed in pain and a whine escaped her chest unwillingly.

She couldn’t go far and Seonghwa easily pinned her down with simply a cold look in his eyes.

His eyes were always serious, a shadowy thing that only lightened around his lovers. But they did not lighten with her tonight. In fact, she swore they were the coldest she had seen them like a cold star staring back at her.

Seonghwa stopped in front of her with his feet straddled her legs; his perfect new shoes smelled of polish, expensive and shining. With a tilt of his head, he stared down at her with his handsome face shadowed by a large brimmed hat. She stared up at him, her mouth a scowl-like grimace.

His cool gaze carefully left her tear-sodden face to graze over her ankles. Blood coated her nylon tights, her knees rubied and torn. Her ankles looked worse for wear, twisted, mangled, and beaten. He could see the bone pressing into her bruised flesh, painting it ivory white.

“My dove,” he hummed out in a coo. He knelt. “My pretty dancer. Poor thing.”

Poor thing, he tutted. Poor thing, they all tutted. The same pathetic words from the matching mouths of rich folk who wanted to play with her like she was nothing but a ballerina doll spinning on a music box. Watching her spin around and around like a chicken with no head, whirling, out of breath for their amusement. All she had been was a marionette for them to play with. That’s what she realized she was even to him, even to them.

She stared up at him with a glower. She thought they were different.

“You did this.” She growled.

Her tone was low and vicious unlike anything he had heard from her before.

Seonghwa simply smiled. His carved lips twitched up on one side of his beautiful face, forming a wicked half-smile. His diamond-inlayed teeth glinted in the gas-lamp light that dripped into the alley way from the main road. A leather-gloved hand reached out to grasp her jaw, not unkindly but certainly with a firmness familiar for him. He directed her gaze his way, taking in the dripping stage-makeup. Surely it would leave oily remnants on his fingertips. Surely his touch would leave watercolored bruises on her jaw. He tutted again at her swollen waterlogged features. A smear of blood cut across the bridge of her nose. With the utmost care, firm and slow, he brushed away the grime. Blood seeped into his leathered gloved. Her blood.

“This is why Wooyoungie likes you so much,” he chuckled lowly. “You’re both brats at heart.”

Her mouth sneered in annoyance, mimicking a sneer she had seen him flash far too often. He thought this was nothing. That she was being disobedient for fun. Like this was just a horrible, horrible game. Despair filled her eyes as she tried to shift her jaw out of his hand with that, baring her teeth like a mongrel would. He caught her chin between harsh, gloved fingers again.

“But, like Wooyoung, I love you nonetheless,” he confessed. “Would do anything for you.”

His eyes were dark, inky, like tar swallowing her whole. But they were serious. Deadly so. Just like Hongjoong was when he had promised she’d regret her decision if she followed through with it.

Still, it ached like a lie. It ached bone-deep like her injuries. (She had seen the attackers’ tattoos on their skin. The word ‘A T E E Z’ inked onto their knuckles; ‘BLACK PIRATES’ on some of their bared arms. Their suits they wore were of the men at the mansion. The ski masks covering their features from view didn’t make them ghostly attackers like they had wished. She had seen the masked men before creeping out of the mansion’s office at the order of Yunho or Mingi.)

She wasn’t dumb.

His thumb caressed her cheek fondly. Expensive, freshly cleaned leather smooth and soft against her make-up muddied features.

“Let’s go home, hm?” he hummed. “You look like you need a warm bath and plenty of rest. We’ll have a doctor come assess your injuries, dove.”

And in a mimicry of a gentleman, he shrugged off his long coat to wrap around her – rather than grab her now-dirtied fur coat from the cobblestone floor. In fact, she bet he’d find it so filthy he’d leave it for the rats. Maybe another petit rat of the ballet would open the doors of the backstage only feet away and steal it away. With words of ‘oh, a patron gave it to me’ after she scrubbed and scrubbed the blood, the makeup, the grim away. Just as he’d do with her, wash it all away until she was shiny and new again.

With ease, he lifted her up into his arms, cradling her close as he rose to full height once more. There was no discussion. No mention of her apartment on the far side of town, her home; no, they would be heading to the strange mansion the Kim clan called home. His grip was firm on her as he exited the alley way of the Cromer Opera House.

It was on this day YN wished she had never met the charming second-youngest of the Kim clan that day in the foyer de la danse. Then, her life and livelihood wouldn’t have been stolen by the ones who had once admired her.

The foyer de la danse was known as simply the ballet boudoir to the ballerinas. While it was a sort of dressing room, sort of practice room all-in-one, it was also dreadfully unprivate. The intricately decorated room of gold and glamour was the perfect frame for a pretty picture. Tall mirrors enclosed the room on all sides as new gas-powered chandeliers high above lit the room in a bright golden glow, highlighting each of the girls in view. There were no dark corners, no privacy screens, just mirrors, gold, light, and pretty girls.

None of the male dancers were allowed here. None of the female patrons either. But men who had high-status or who scraped up enough money to spend to stare at the young girls prepare for the show would promenade around. Freshly pressed fine linen suits, luxurious watches on their wrists or in their breast pocket, expensive cologne mingling with the aroma of their expensive liquor. Greedy eyes scanning up and down the ballerina’s half-naked forms as if they were just meat at a butchery.

They’d sip their bourbon leisurely, and approach the girls no matter what they were doing. If they were warming up at the barre, lacing up their shoes’ ribbons with patience, pressing fine powder over their face, or even mid-adjusting their costume with a costumier, they’d drop everything to smile coquettish and bite back the annoyance of disruption. In the ballet boudoir, the men were king, and the ballerinas were nothing but jesters for their amusement. The boudoir - it was a cruel nickname to taunt the young dancers who didn’t know any better. This was no private place. No, it wasn’t a dressing room like they’ve heard of.

If it was a less-than-full audience at the Cromer Opera House, there would be only familiar men in the room – who oftentimes already had their eyes on their prey. Lord Frederickson favored Julia with the red hair. Mr. Takahashi was leering after Mina. Kim Dohyun had been pursuing Imara for a year now; she had saved almost enough money to be out of the boudoir and have her own personal dressing room, maybe by next season! They were unfortunately lucky.

Now, YN had been the fortunate unlucky girl. Throughout her time at the Cromer Opera House, she had only a few male admirers. All who had little money and would spend most of their wealth getting into the boudoir and have none left to ‘woo’ with gift-giving or patronage. Even so, she had to act friendly. Smile with your cheeks, YN, an older ballerina had advised once. They can tell when there is nothing behind your eyes.

YN had been part of the corps de ballet for over a year now because of this. A petit rat at her age was mocked. She had no debut, no prospects. It wasn’t from not trying. She had practiced since she was three after all. She was an urchin with a seamstress mother and forgotten father who had passed in the war. It was typical of girls like her to try to seek fame - the easy-way - her mother claims. But there was no easy way in ballet.

Decades of training resulted in swollen purple toes, aching muscles, millions of destroyed ballet shoes, and countless inquiries to the choreographer to let her have a chance. The choreographer who had something against her. Maybe it was from when she was a child and would rather play than practice on the barre or maybe it was when she was a teen and had begun to read at breaks rather than continue to strain her muscles like some of the girls. The Madame hated her.

Regardless, she had never danced on stage alone, never was stand out. Her golden hour had yet to come. And with that, she wasn’t pursued by patronage suitors seriously. A blessing and a curse. She avoided wandering hands, wet mouths, and nasty tongues. But every costume had to be commissioned with her own coin (most often, she would sew it in the dark of night, icing her feet as she snipped at scrap fabric her mother owned.) Each ballet shoe’s cost was taken from her meager wages. The fee of practices, the fee of using the opera house’s rehearsal room, the fee of utilizing the boudoir’s accommodations like powder and rouge and candlelight if they could charge for that, all laid on her shoulders.

A true petit rat, lowly and searching for scraps. Digging her nails into opportunities where she can shine. But not from another’s assistance. No, her pride was too heavy on her back now for that.

“YN, YN, YN!”

There was a chatter – giggling and chittering between the younger girls – as they came padding into the boudoir before show-time. Tip tap, tip tap, tip. Around the corner of the opened grand doors, they came waddling in like a flock. Their swan costumes made them truly look like little ducklings; white feathered tutus leaving stray feathers onto the wooden floors as they scurried her way.

The one yelling her name was young, not even ten years old yet. She was short for her age too, a thing she despised. Only tall girls were prima ballerina her fellow ballerina friends taunted. She slid to her knees beside YN.

She smiled up from her spot on the ground, one pointe shoe on and the other resting beside her.

“Tiny, hello,” she greeted, finishing tying the ballet shoes’ laces up her legs.

“Have you heard? Have you heard?” Another of the young ballerinas chimed as she rushed forward as well, her dark hair tumbling from her half-up bun.

“Jane, your hair,” YN half-scolded, half-warned.

Her eyes glanced away from the youngers towards the grand gold-gilded doors of the boudoir, half-expecting their Madame to walk in and lash at them for looking so untidy. Despite this being a dressing room.

Pausing in tying up her laces, she gestured for the girl to join her on the cold wooden floor (they didn’t utilize the radiator heaters until mid-act 1, so it’d be warm for the patrons during intermission.)

Jane was thirteen and, with a huff, she plopped down, bony knees clanking as she did so. Her costume splayed out in a feathered mess. Her little fingers began to pick and fluff the costume. Her head lolled back, and YN began to untangle the pins from her curls.

“YN,” the one she called Tiny whined.

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled. “What’s so exciting?”

“There are new young bachelors in town!”

“What?”

Cromer wasn’t a tiny coastal town anymore. It was bustling with people and money and trade. New buildings were popping up more and more, growing taller and taller by the day. The high society they were aware of was growing larger and larger until the folk they thought were rich and powerful weren’t all that rich and powerful anymore compared to the new conglomerates. But unfortunately, these millionaires were often married, unhappily.

“You know the Ateez House?”

YN laughed at that.

Everyone in town did. It was their most favorite ghost house. It was the largest sprawling estates in Cromer with the spooky story that all knew. The story went it was once owned by a pirate captain, the only Captain of the Black Pirates. They pilfered and ravaged ports one by one until they were known across the seas as a brutal blood-thirsty crew. No coastal town was safe from them. Until one day, they stopped sailing mysteriously. The story goes that the captain settled in the town of Cromer under a false name and built Ateez Mansion – a sprawling estate built with blood-soaked gold and diamonds. Some say its haunted with the deaths of the captain’s victims; others say the entire house was cursed from the stolen treasure hidden within.

All just tall tales to try to explain why a beautiful mansion remained unhoused yet perfectly taken care of. Sometimes you could see candlelight flickering in the foyer through the grand stained-glass windows or even ghostly figures with no faces walking about.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m the one who told you the ghost story about Ateez House.”

One of the youngest curled closer to her side, shivering a bit as she thought of the scary story.

“They moved into the Ateez House!” Tiny exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the wooden floor in excitement. Tiny loved to gossip and this was like Christmas. New bachelors meant new flings which meant new gossip!

“Was there a sale of the estate?” YN wondered as she finally got all the pins from Jane’s hair out and in a small pile on the floor beside her.

“No,” one of the other young teens said. She wasn’t even among the clambering youths around her; she was on the nearby barre stretching out. “No sale had been published in the papers. I heard from June who heard from Martha who heard from Wendy who heard from Lorelai who heard from her current suitor that the bachelors already owned the house but never stayed there.”

Now, that was news. YN’s brows rose in surprise.

“It’s been their house?” she repeated as she paused in gathering Jane’s hair into a bun. Another ballerina warming up nearby nodded enthusiastically.

“Do any of you tattletales know their names? How many are there?” YN asked.

Across the sea of swan-costumed girls, sparkling in gems and beads, their faces fell.

“That’s a no then… has anyone seen these mysterious bachelors leaving the mansion?”

There was a silence.

“Any proof of these men at all?”

Nothing.

YN sighed out. “Who would own that mansion and never live there? It’s been empty for decades now. None of us have known the owners. I don’t—I think it’s just gossip, girls.”

Jane wiggled in her grasp, bratty as she whined. “But YN,” she complained. She had been so excited to imagine and pretend and think of handsome suitors.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, hm,” YN encouraged as she finished wrapping the girl’s hair tight into a perfect bun. Pin after pin was slid in with precision. “For now, no more gossiping about ghostly bachelors in an abandoned mansion. Practice calls – Tiny, have you warmed up?”

Tiny furrowed her brow, her lips falling into a pout. Embarrassment heated her face as she curtly shook her head ‘no’.

“Go on,” YN encouraged the other with a smile before patting Jane’s shoulders to indicate she was done with her now-pristine hairdo as well.

“She acts like she’s the Madame,” Tiny mumbled under her breath as she stomped to her feet. “She’s not even a featured ballerina.”

The snide remark stung but YN tried to remember that they were young. Young and unaware of the hardships that awaited them. It wasn’t just dancing here. It was far more than that. YN returned to her shoes, tying them once more.

New bachelors in town. . . that’d be something. Far too often was it old men with oily money. But there is no way anyone truly owned that estate for all these years and no one in town knew it. No way. Somebody would know who owned it. It wouldn’t have become a ghost story. It was just silly gossip. Wishful thinking for a man to come sweep you off your feet.

She sighed and stretched her limbs before hoisting herself up to prepare for tonight’s show.

Swan Lake: a princess turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer's curse. She’d watch the prima ballerina, Odette, dance about gracefully from the wings each night. YN’s toes flexing at every movement, as if she were dancing it herself. She yearned for it. Ached to be the one performing. Instead, she was simply one in the crowd. The corps de ballet, the ensemble. She’d spin about in the back, pirouette perfect, leap lovely. Awe and comfort the lead throughout her struggle as a swan as she, YN, remained the ugly duckling.

Her gaze would dance throughout the crowd as she did an arabesque, slow and precise. There is Nikolai in his usual spot. There’s Mrs Lee and her young sons. Ariel and her suitor Sunghoon. Takahashi in Box 2 with his sisters. Box 4 had Fredrikson and his family. Box 5 was empty – wonder where Dohyun was, Imara would be relieved she could relax tonight she bet. Her eyes skipped over Box 8 because, of course, it would be empty. It was always empty. Except…

There was a quick plie of her knees before she had to jete away off-stage

Whispers consumed the backstage. Did you see? Did you see?

Box 8 was occupied.

Never had it been occupied in all the years of the Cromer Opera House.

Cromer held many superstitions even as a modern industrializing town. They had ghost stories about houses after all. But one of the strangest superstitions was the number 8. They skipped the 8th street; the eighth floor was unspoken in the tallest of buildings. No aisle 8, no 8th editions.

Box 8 of the Opera House was left empty strategically - for luck.

But now, there sat only one man. Shadowed by the dark curtains of the box, he watched the show from opera glasses and sipped on glittering champagne that would occasionally catch the candlelight of the grand chandeliers.

Did you see his face? Who is he? Is he handsome? Who could buy the box? Who would want to buy that box?

“Quiet!” One of the older ballerinas snapped at the youngers. “The audience will hear you!”

YN snorted behind a hand, standing ready in the wings. While she didn’t gossip, she listened. As if the audience was completely enraptured by their rendition of Swan Lake. The Opera, the Ballet, the Theatre: they weren’t to solely watch a show and be entertained. It was social. It was always social. Of course, the audience was wondering the same questions as they were.

Who was he? Was it a he? His form looked masculine.

She wanted to catch a glimpse.

It was a man she surmised after the next scene. YN was downstage this dance, sat among the young ballerinas and acting as a mother swan to them as they would do dramatic port de bras, arm movements. She had time to glance about once more.

In the shadows of Box Number 8 was a handsome man. Dark hair framed his face. He wore a suit that was a deep black velvet. And his eyes were glued to her, she swore it.

He was someone new. He was someone intriguing. And she waited to see if he was indeed watching her. Her group stood after sometime to chase after Odette, leaping this way and that until joining back in the right-upper corner of the stage on a lifted platform, stylized as a grassy hill.

She looked up at the box. He was staring at her. He was staring at her, opera glasses focused on her. They glinted in the candle-light. He disregarded the spotlit prima ballerina pirouetting around the lower left of the stage. For her. She smiled at him.

Tiny glanced her way with a giddy immatureness in her actions, breaking the elegance of a ballerina in her excitement. She could already hear Madame’s scolding at tonight’s debrief. But YN didn’t mind. Because he was looking at her.

And everyone knew it.

Act One finished in a roar of applause. Heavied red curtains slid shut for intermission as they hurried off stage.

“He was looking at her.” Jane exclaimed bouncing on her feet as she tugged her friend’s arm in excitement.

The corps de ballet was walking all together through the backstage halls of the Opera House towards the boudoir. The prima ballerina and the principal dancers escaped to their own private dressing rooms – YN watched as a patron, Mr. Kim, an older gentleman snuck into the prima ballerina’s room.

“No, he wasn’t,” another girl claimed.

“Yes, he was,” Jane defended.

“No, he wasn’t,” another snorted.

“Yes, he was!” Tiny yelled, indignantly.

“Tabitha!” the Madame rounded the corner of the boudoir, exiting out of its doors to meet the ensemble.

The Madame was a strict looking woman, tall nosed with her hair in a meticulous updo. Her cane did little to aid in her walking but much in discipline. Too many times had she felt the thwack of the cane against the back of her legs, her arched back, or her stomach.

Legs straight! Back straight! Don’t slouch! YN!

The group paused at her appearance; some of the girls bowed their head in respect; others hid behind taller legs.

“Miss Tabitha, must I remind you of your manners every day?” she queried, her tone loud and grating. “As a lady of this company, you must be a lady.”

“Sorry, Madame,” Tiny immediately apologized, head bending forward.

There was a heavy pause as the Madame’s fiery gaze lingered on the young girl before passing over the selection of the ensemble. She glared at YN pointedly. YN had long stopped trying to appeal to her; it never worked she had learned.

“Carry on, girls,” the Madame instructed.

They curtsied in unison before continuing towards the boudoir, hopefully with enough time to slip into their next costumes, if need be, before any patrons were lounging about. It was always uncomfortable to change with the men about – it made them feel truly like objects on display rather than dancers. Skilled ladies.

YN went to her shared vanity, glancing over her makeup. Dabbing at sweat that beaded at her hairline, she went to reach for a handkerchief but when she leant back up right was spooked by the sight of a man behind her.

Black velvet linen made up his suit; she had been right. It was perfectly tailored to his form, luxurious and hugging. His suit jacket was longer than typical but stylish with ornate, Greco-Roman inspired embroidered sleeves.

In the mirror, he was handsome. Strong jawline. Bare collarbones visible from his loose fitted button up beneath his suit jacket. With dark intriguing eyes that didn’t stray from her, a quirked brow, and delicate face-framing strands of hair, he stole her breath away.

“Hello.” He greeted coyly.

The boudoir’s chatter died down at his greeting. All eyes zeroed in on them. She stood to her full height once more, holding the handkerchief in between her hands. Sweat slid down her temple to her jawline delicately.

“Hello,” she greeted, patting down the sides of her face quickly before turning to face him fully.

His lips were plump, curling in a hint of a smile as he watched her spin to face him. He seemed to be examining her just as she did to him.

“You’re far more beautiful than any of these girls,” the mystery man commented leaning over the vanity to peer at her.

His fingers fiddled on the white vanity, making shapes this way and that. Knocking his knuckles against the wood, almost boyishly shy. But this patron wasn’t shy. She had seen men parade about and try every trick in the book with a girl. She could see it in the sparkle of his dark eyes. The curl of his charming smile.

He wasn’t shy. He was smart.

“You are a charmer, sir,” she complimented, opening a glass container holding puff powder.

She flashed him a cheeky smile before using the puff to powder over the sweat on her forehead, her cheeks. A jar of rouge was placed down near the mirror by another dancer. When she turned away, her tutu brushed against the mysterious patron’s waist. He didn’t take his eyes from YN all the while.

“I wish I was,” he softly crooned. So he wouldn’t have to watch her in the mirror, he turned to lean back on the ledge, fingers pressed behind him as he watched her touch up her lipstick with a delicate brush. “I’m only speaking the truth.”

It was a soft admittance. His eyes hadn’t left her features, darting from her eyes to the red petals of her mouth that pressed together in a pout as she finished apply the lipstick. Her finger went to dip into the pot before, with a quick movement, he grasped her wrist.

It wasn’t painful just surprising as she jumped in his grip. His hold loosened greatly, allowing her to pull away if she wished. She didn’t.

“Let me; don’t want you to dirty your hands,” he said.

She licked her lips; the heavy taste of beeswax and rosewater stuck to the back of her tongue as she nodded minutely.

The handsome patron’s cheshire cat grin grew. A dark mole on his cheek caught her attention the more his cheeks puffed up with his smile. Beautiful. He let go of her wrist. Long, long fingers dipped into the red makeup.

“What’s your name?” she asked, a first when it came to the patrons and male-visitors of the ballet boudoir.

Far too often, everyone knew everyone. They’d scratch and crawl away or towards certain men; attention meant everything to a beginning ballet dancer. It meant success. No one seemingly knew him, judging by the looks she caught the more experienced, older ballerinas throw her way.

“Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung,” he answered her before tapped the blush delicately on one cheek.

His touch made her heart race. He licked his own lips, looking down at her through tussled dark locks. His fingers pressed another dot to her other cheek. His free hand moved to cup her jawline, forcing her to look up at him before, with gentle motions, he began to blend the rouge into a soft gradient. One cheek, then the other.

The room felt quiet. Burning eyes on them grazed her skin but it didn’t make her stomach churn with anxiety. It felt like only the two of them existed in a perfect bubble. His touch didn’t burn or disgust her; it tingled across her skin making gooseflesh crawl up her arms, up her spine. She worried he could see them through the sheer nylon of her long-sleeved costume. If he did, he didn’t comment on it. His eyes were focused on adding to her beauty, gentle and almost reverent.

“And yours, little swan?” he tilted her chin up as he finished with his work. He loved to watch the rubied glow on her cheeks grow and grow, and not due to his careful make-up’ed handiwork.

“YN,” she said.

He grinned before he repeated her name. His fingers trailed over her cheek, over her chin, his thumb ghosting over her plush lipsticked lips. Before he pulled away and leaned back on the vanity; rouge staining the pure vanity below his hands, sloppily.

“Pretty name for a pretty swanette.”

She smiled up at him, the building, bubbling excitement writhing in her throat. She swallowed.

“Are you new in town? I’ve never seen you at the Opera.” She commented offhandedly.

His grin remained, the corners of his lips curling cat-like. “Mmhm,” he hummed out. “You can say that. I’m from Aurora originally.”

“Aurora… the island Aurora?” she queried with intrigue. “I’ve heard its booming lately. The Jewel of the Atiny Sea.”

He nodded, his smile not fading but his eyes crinkled as he raised his unstained fingers to push her hair aside. Just as an excuse to graze her shoulder she bet.

“I grew up there before it became beautiful,” he admitted. “Its much nicer now – I like to visit on holidays but I don’t miss it.”

“But now you are in Cromer. For how long?” she continued.

He hummed again leaning close. “For however long it takes to woo you?” he flirted.

It made a whirlwind of butterflies dance in her stomach. He watched as her blush extended to the tips of her ears. He laughed lowly.

“You’re teasing me,” she warned with a smirk. “We barely know one another.”

“Maybe,” he retorted. “I know skill and dedication when I see it. I like that.”

There was a ringing of a bell, delicate but a familiar sound for the ballerinas. Some turned their heads towards the stage hand ringing it to give him a smile. Others remained speaking to their patrons or changing their costumes to Act 2’s ensemble. Most remained eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Do you need to hurry along, beautiful swanette?” he fiddled with the crown of feathers pinned to her hair.

“Soon,” she replied simply.

His fingers trailed over her hair, tucking some behind her ear delicately before he grazed his hand down the sleek nylon of her sleeve to take her hand. His hand was decorated in countless rings. Gold, silver, copper. One was a series of silver circles ( …or were they sideways 8’s?) with jewels placed in between stylishly. There was another that was a polished silver with the emblem of a letter she couldn’t quite make out on its face. The metal felt cold against her hot skin. Running a thumb over her knuckles, he squeezed her hand.

“Will you indulge me in another meeting soon? I regret to inform you I can’t stay late after the performance,” he admitted. “I would like to get to know you.”

It was charming the idea he proposed. As if she had any will or way in meeting him. But she was intrigued by him. He was handsome, playful, and new. He was mysterious with how he sat alone in the forbidden, unlucky Box Number 8. She wanted to get to know him… and if he wanted to pay for her time like the other patrons eventually did with their ballerinas, maybe this would be beneficial for the both of them.

She leaned in close like she had seen other ballerinas do with their patrons. Closer than what was appropriate for a lady, but not close enough to have their forms touch. She looked up and smiled, enjoying the way his own ears were beginning to tint a playful red. This was a fun dance between the two of them. She had never enjoyed her suitors so much.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’d love to talk more, Mr. Jung.”

“Call me Wooyoung.”

#wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #atz x reader #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #written by haley

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jakeshands · 7 months ago

Text

WIKIHOW: to unlove heeseung lee

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: how to unlove heeseung lee. a comprehensive guide written by lily morrow. step #1: tell him, to his face, you don’t love him. step #2 — there’s no step number two. lily got distracted. now its up to you. how does one fall out of love? a story told in two acts

genre: crack, comedy, romantic comedy, fluff, lots of silliness, slight teacher au/new girl au if u squint, lowkey unreliable narrator

featuring: enhypen, lily of nmixx, yunjin of lsfm, jeongin of skz, beomgyu of txt, ningning of aespa, wonyoung of ive

warnings: lots of kys jokes/humor like a lot😭, loads of profanity, loads of sex jokes/mentions of sex, a joke about christian guilt and cathliocism, lmk if i missed any

word count: 12.6k

author’s note: look. i just started writing. sorry. incredibly unedited and dont take this seriously PLEASE😭😭😭😭

Act I: I loved you from the start.

[SCENE: ENGAGEMENT PARTY, 6 PM]

A gentle pink cascades across the sky. You exit the restaurant, the excitement of the engagement party seeping out of you as soon as the door shuts. One of your college friends, Chaeyoung, is finally engaged to her high school sweetheart. You remember receiving the news from Chaeyoung over the phone. She sounded ecstatic, and so were you.

A gentle breeze blows through the air and it pushes your hair back softly. You swing your black handbag and hum the rhythm of a song you can’t quite remember under your breath. You pass by a convenience store and you double back deciding to enter the store.

Greeting the worker, you rummage through the selves and find snacks for yourself and your roommates. Home run balls, corn chips, and tiramisu. You pick out a bag of tiny animal-shaped cookies for yourself. After buying the four items, you exit the store and continue your journey back home.

With a heavy exhale, you unlock the door to your apartment and with one hand gripping the doorknob, you begin to undo the straps of your heels, hobbling into the apartment. Loud sounds of sobbing and sniffling fill the apartment, and after finally sliding off your heels, you glance up at the scene in front of you.

Sitting on the sofa and watching the end of the Titanic were your roommates. A pile of tissues sat in the center of the coffee table, and bowls of discarded ramen lay on the floor. Jay was sobbing loudly into the bright pink pillow you picked out when you first moved in, Sunghoon was blowing his nose over and over, and Jake was hugging his dog, Layla, whom he somehow managed to sneak into the apartment when he first moved in.

“Y/N!” Cries Jay, noticing you. “You’re back!”

Sunghoon blows his nose.

You hold up a small plastic bag. “I come bearing snacks.”

Jay sobs harder. “You’re the best girl friend we’ve ever had.”

You smile. “I better be.” You had out the snacks you bought for each boy; home run balls for Jake, tiramisu for Sunghoon, and corn chips for Jay. “Also, didn’t we ban Titanic from our apartment? Last time we watched it, you three didn’t speak to each other for a week.”

“We did,” Sunghoon agrees easily.

“...So why are you watching it?”

“Ask Jake,” Sunghoon points at the boy still sobbing into Layla’s fur.

“I’m fine….he’s obviously going through something.”

“Rosie!” Jake wails loudly.

“That’s not even her name, Jake,” Jay scowls.

Jake responds with another loud sob. Rolling your eyes, you open up the bag of your animal-shaped cookies and walk through the living room to reach the kitchen. You throw your handbag on the counter, and then shriek loudly when you catch sight of another body in the kitchen.

“Y/N?” Jay calls out, his voice not as shaky as it was before. “Is everything okay?”

You poke your head back into the living room and scowl at the three boys, and one girl -- Jake insists everyone references Layla as a ‘girl’ and not a ‘dog.’ As you can tell, Layla is the only girl in his life aside from you and Lily Morrow -- sitting on the couch. “Why is he in our kitchen eating our food?”

“The couple he was rooting for on Love Island got voted off, or something like that, and he needed some Boy Time,” Sunghoon answers.

“And he came here? Instead of slipping into Jeongin’s room and getting stoned?”

“He needed an emotional connection,” Jay says after wiping his snotty nose with your pink cushion.

“Jeongin is a very emotional guy,” you refute. “He is very in touch with his feelings, unlike the three boys I live with. And the one in the kitchen. I would like one of you to tell him he needs to leave.”

“Why can’t you?!” Jake wails again. “We’re all emotionally devastated at the moment!”

Sunghoon and Jay nod, agreeing with Jake’s words. You scowl. “Last time I talked to him I got a rash and a head cold. I can’t get sick.”

“You work with kids who refuse to cough into their elbows. Of course you were going to get sick,” Jay rolls his eyes. “Just talk to him.”

“No!” You whine petulantly, resting against the doorframe. “Please. Don’t make me talk to him.”

“I have a name, you know,” a gentle voice says from behind you, and you shriek, stumbling away from the doorframe and into the back of the couch. The gentle voice laughs loudly, and standing in the doorway to the kitchen, in all his glory, is Heeseung Lee. His silver hair somewhat shines beneath the orange-toned lighting, and his mouth curves up into that stupid heart smile of his.

“Monster!” You shriek, pointing at Heeseung, who is eating a donut from the box you brought home earlier today. “There’s a monster in my apartment! Jay, quick, get him out!” You punch the apartment’s self-proclaimed black cat in the arm, to which he hisses. No surprises there. He spends too much time around….do you dare say it……Jungwon.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Y/N.”

“And you need to leave.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you need to buy me another box of those donuts you’re eating.”

Heeseung looks down at the box he is holding and then looks back at you. He shrugs. “How much was it?”

“Seventeen dollars.”

Heeseung raises his eyebrows. “You bought a box of donuts for seventeen dollars? Twelve donuts for seventeen dollars?”

“What’s wrong with that?” You frown.

Heeseung sighs and finishes the last of the chocolate donut he’s eating before rubbing his now free hand against his forehead. “You give me migraines.”

“Good,” you respond. “Now get out.”

Heeseung pouts, “do you not care about me?”

You shake your head. “No, not really.”

“We’ve spent our whole lives together, and this is how you repay me?”

“Get out or so god help me,” you scowl. “I will choke you out again.”

“Again?” Sunghoon asks in surprise.

“Yeah, Y/N choked Heeseung back in middle school,” Jay says as he scrolls through the illegal movie website for another movie to watch. “Ooo, Shape Of Water sounds cool!”

“A mute girl falls in love with a fish, Jay,” Jake responds. “I didn’t know you were into bestiality.” He then holds Layla closer to him.

“Who’s Chaeyoung engaged to?” Heeseung asks you, picking up another donut with pink icing and white sprinkles. “I got an invite from her, but it clashed with Love Island.”

“You are not changing the subject on me,” you snap. “And you can find out tomorrow. At school. Now get out of my apartment and stop eating my donuts. Why couldn’t you have gotten stoned with Jeongin? Or played guitar with Beomgyu or -- or visited Jungwon.” You shudder at the thought of the younger boy.

Heeseung laughs. “You still find Jungwon scary?”

“For many reasons!” You defend. “He thinks he’s a cat, he bit me once, and he threatened to hunt me down and kill me if I ever managed to hurt Jay.”

“Is that why we never hang out one-on-one?” Jay asks you, now looking up the emoji movie on the illegal website.

“Yes.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Sunghoon pipes up, helpful as ever.

“Yeah,” Heeseung agrees with Sunghoon’s words. “It’s a skill issue. Maybe you need to level up --”

You whack Heeseung with the bright orange pillow Sunghoon picked out when you first moved into the apartment together. “I still don’t understand why all those girls fawn over you. Even now! You’re a fucking middle-school teacher yet girls still stick to your sides like leeches. What do they even see in you?! Do they know you used to pick your nose and wipe it on the nearest body to you, which always happened to be me? Do they know you scratched your balls and then ate all my McDonald’s Chicken Nuggets once?”

“What does me scratching my balls and eating your chicken nuggets have to do with anything?”

“You didn’t even bother to wash your hands after getting a good scratch!” You exclaim loudly, whacking Heeseung with the pillow again. “Stop eating my fucking donuts!”

Layla barks loudly and leaps off the couch, running for the bathroom. “She needs to pee,” Jake announces, standing up, “I should go help her. You know, potty training and all that.”

You groan and hold your head in your hands. “Why did I decide to move in with Incel #1 Incel #2 and Incel #3?”

“Hey! I am not an incel!” Sunghoon exclaims. “I get laid!”

“Sure you do,” you respond, not believing a word Sunghoon just said. “Explain to me why Wonyoung said you chickened out last time things got steamy between you two?”

“Incel means involuntarily celibate. Me choosing to not be intimate with Wonyoung doesn’t count as involuntary because it was a conscious decision.”

“Umm actually…” Jay mimics in a high-pitched tone and pokes his index finger in the air. “You’ve been dating for like five years dude, there’s no time like the present.”

“Fine,” Sunghoon snaps. “I’ll go over there right now and do the dirty.” Sunghoon snatches up his phone from the coffee table and immediately calls Wonyoung as he walks over to his bedroom. “Wony, hey,” his voice suddenly adopts that adoring tone he uses whenever Wonyoung is around.

“Finally,” Jay mutters, “I’ve had to listen to him complain about his performance fears for years. The world doesn’t understand how hard it is for men -- oh my god I sound like Jake.”

“....I’m gonna head out now. While I wish I could stay and watch whatever is currently happening, Yunjin just sent me an SNS text.” Heeseung says.

You turn around to find that, somehow, Heeseung has eaten all twelve of your donuts, and at this point, you don’t even care. You’re too exhausted and confused and just concerned for the three boys you live with to even whine over Heeseung eating the only edible thing in this apartment. “SNS? What does that mean?”

“Sister Needs Sister.”

“What?”

“SNS means Sister Needs Sister.”

“Sister Needs -- okay whatever I’m not gonna question whatever weird thing you have going on with Yunjin. Just get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Heeseung tips his imaginary cowboy hat at you and finally exits the apartment. Your shoulders slump and you throw yourself over the back of the couch, landing awkwardly on your neck as Jay cackles loudly at something on his phone.

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” you whine. “I haven’t even finished typing up Friday’s lesson.”

Jay ignores you, still cackling at something on his phone. Jake shrieks his dog’s name loudly in the bathroom and something falls over in Sunghoon’s room.

It’s 6:30 AM when you enter your classroom. You have an hour until students begin to fill the school and while you always tell yourself that today will be the day you actually wake up early enough to get to school at 6:00 AM, it never happens and you’re left with an hour to get everything prepared for the lessons ahead.

Grumbling to yourself about having to let Layla into the bathroom to take a piss -- and then watch the dog miss the toilet bowl completely -- you ignore the box of donuts sitting on your desk. It’s only when you finish recalling how you had to literally drag Jake out of bed to clean up Layla’s mess do you realize there’s a box of twelve donuts on your desk.

Frowning, you put down your coffee cup and examine the box. It’s from the same bakery your previous donuts were from. A small card sits on top of the box and you open it.

Sorry

- Heeseung (:

Groaning, you chuck the small apology card aside and open up the box. Instantly, the aroma of freshly baked donuts fills the classroom and your mouth begins to water. You wonder how Heeseung was able to get the donuts freshly baked. The bakery doesn’t even open until seven.

Pushing that thought aside, you grab a donut and get settled in your chair, beginning to finish the lesson prep you failed to complete last night.

Thirty minutes quickly pass by. The only distraction you had was your phone buzzing. Sunghoon needed to pee and when he stepped into the bathroom, he found Jake lying, face down, fast asleep. Right next to Layla’s puddle of pee. Sunghoon, being the good friend he is, snapped a photo of Jake and sent it to the group chat before heading back to bed. He didn’t even bother to move Jake back to bed.

“Enjoying the donuts?”

A voice draws you away from your laptop. Your rapid-fire typing stops and you glance over your shoulder, finding Heeseung standing at the entrance of your classroom. You gift Heeseung a small smile and lean back in your chair. “Thank you for the donuts, Heeseung.”

“Do you accept my apology?” Heeseung asks as he walks over to your desk.

“Of course,” you beam. “You know the way to my heart, Heeseung. Want one?” You offer the box to Heeseung but he waves you off. “By the way, how did you get these donuts freshly baked? The bakery doesn’t open until seven.”

Heeseung winks. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

You roll your eyes.

“Chaeyoung and Seungmin, huh? Who even is Seungmin? I don’t remember Chaeyoung ever dating a Seungmin?” Heeseung drums his fingers on your desk.

You snort. “Seriously? You don’t remember Seungmin? He was in the year above you. Also in choir with you. Do you seriously not remember him? He thought he was a dog for the longest time so he often barked at people in the hallways.”

Heeseung’s face lights up. “Oh! Him! I threw his lunch in the toilet one time. Fond memories.”

“Why would you do that?!”

Heeseung shrugs. “I was fourteen. We do weird things at fourteen.”

“Bullying is not a weird thing.”

“It was some kind of choir initiation,” Heeseung answers. “I don’t remember it. It’s been like. A decade.”

“You’re getting old,” you muse, teasing Heeseung.

“I could say the same about you,” Heeseung mutters, picking up a pen from your pen jar and chucking it at you. It hits your arm and clatters to the floor, loud in the empty classroom.

“Once a bully, always a bully,” you retort.

“Whatever.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” You ask Heeseung, “like, I don’t know, picking out what songs you’re going to sing in class today?”

“Unlike you, I have respectful friends who know not to bother me when I plan my lessons, so I already have picked out the three songs I plan on teaching the kids today.”

“Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon are your friends too? I don’t see how that is an insult.”

“To be fair, I was only able to complete my lesson plan for this week because Jeongin and Beomgyu were following some Zen Yoga YouTube video they found,” Heeseung admits, grimacing slightly. “Seeing both of them in yoga pants…..Never again.”

“Did you finally realize you have a flat ass compared to theirs?”

Heeseung scowls and deliberately knocks over your mug of pens. “Don’t ever say I have a flat ass again. Jake’s the one with a flat ass.”

“He is not!” You defend your best friend with everything you have while cleaning up the mess Heeseung made. “You come into my classroom, make a mess, and insult my friend? You’re so lucky I don’t have super strength.”

“You’re lucky I don��t have super super strength.”

“Really?” You deadpan, glaring at Heeseung. “How childish. One of my students could come up with a better retort than that.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes and grabs a donut from the box. Usually, you would whine and try to make him put it back, but today you let it slide since Heeseung was the one who bought the donuts for you. You turn back to your laptop to continue finishing up the last slide for today’s lesson as Heeseung chews on the chocolate-covered donut and flicks through the worksheets you printed out.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” You mumble.

“No,” Heeseung responds, finishing off the last of the donut. “Mmm, those donuts are good.” He tries to help himself to another, but you slap his hand away. A scandalized gasp rings out through the room and Heeseung stares at you like you just called his mom a whore.

“Get out of my classroom, Heeseung. I can only tolerate you for so long.”

“Rude. I’ll remember this, Y/N,” Heeseung warns, backing out of your classroom as he wiggles his forefinger. “Heeseung Lee never forgets.”

You snarl in response.

Jake kicks the soccer ball back and forth with Riki. You sit on a bench nearby with Jay and Sunghoon, licking the triple stack of mint chocolate ice cream you coerced Sunghoon into buying for you. It took a lot of effort -- Sunghoon violently puked in the gutter the moment you asked, apparently his allergy to mint chocolate is very real -- but after unwillingly pulling out the cute poses you tucked away after you graduated high school, Sunghoon gave in. Much to Jay’s delight.

Next to you, Sunghoon’s stomach rumbles loudly. “I’m gonna puke,” Sunghoon mumbles, ditching the remainder of his Tiramisu ice cream on the ground and running for the nearest bushing, retching loudly. Jake kicks the soccer ball at a dog.

Jay cackles loudly at the misfortune of both his friends -- Sunghoon having an allergic reaction to mint chocolate, and Jake practically crying on his knees as he apologizes to the dog and the dog’s owner over and over. Riki just stands to the side recording Jake. “God, I love going to the park. Don’t you?”

You stare at Jay. “Are you a masochist? Do you feel joy in seeing other people’s misfortunes?”

Jay tsks, shaking his head. “I’m a sadist, not a masochist. There’s a difference.”

“Well, school me on the difference, Jay.”

“Masochist; I enjoy hurting or humiliating myself. Sadist; I enjoy hurting or humiliating other people.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” you vow.

Jay finishes off his cone and rubs his stomach. “Jay’s finished! Jay’s no longer hungry! Jay thinks we should head home now.”

Sunghoon’s still retching. Jake’s still crying. Riki is now trying to muffle his laughter. You’re halfway through your triple scoop of mint chocolate. And Jay simply does not give a fuck.

“Oh. Hey guys!” To make matters worse, Heeseung appears, dressed in jogging gear, and next to him is Jungwon. Oh God. Immediately, you start stuffing your face with the ice cream, trying to finish it all so you can high tail it out of this park. Jungwon Yang terrifies the shit out of you. Not only is he a professional Taekwondo athlete, but he’s also part cat. You vividly remember the time Jungwon attacked you -- hissing and claws out. You wake up screaming to that particular memory most nights.

“Heeseung! What’s up bro?” Jay dabs up Heeseung.

You give Heeseung a once over. He’s wearing leggings underneath his black shorts, a bright yellow tank top, and a red headband wrapped around his head, pushing back his hair. On his feet are -- god you have to blink a couple of times. Bright pink shoes. Bright pink shoes. They must be Jeongin’s.

“Nothing much. Just out running with Jungwonie. He was feeling a bit energetic this evening.”

You side eye Jungwon who has begun to do some stretches -- well, to you it looks like he’s getting ready to spring another attack on you.

“Y/N,” Heeseung addresses you. “Finish eating all the doughnuts I gave you?”

(Heeseung bought you another box of doughnuts today. He must be feeling pretty sorry for eating your seventeen dollar box of doughnuts last week. It makes your heart burn. And in a good way — at least you think. Maybe you have heart burn?)

You smile politely, very aware of the ice cream all over your face and the brewing brain freeze. “Of course. I have to say, they were super lovely, Heeseung. I appreciated your kind gesture. Very kind. Super good and kind. I loved it. Lots! Hahahahahahaha --”

“You okay?” Heeseung interrupts, furrowing his brows. He reaches over and presses his palm against your forehead. You jolt away instantly, scowling.

“I’m not sick!”

“You’re acting weird.”

You side eye Jungwon again. This time he’s on his phone. He’s probably calling for back up. Most likely Sunoo. Oh God, you’re about to get attacked, and then kidnapped. This is not good. You need to get out of here.

“Weird?? Hahaha why would I be acting weird….” You choke down the rest of your ice cream with more force this time. Heeseung and Jay watch on in befuddlement.

“Slow down girl,” Jay says. “That ice cream isn’t going anywhere.”

“Maybe she’s just practicing,” Jake says. It seems he’s gotten over the trauma of hitting a dog with his soccer ball. “For, you know…..”

If you weren’t trying to force mint chocolate ice cream down your throat, you would’ve jumped Jake.

“Hey, woah,” Heeseung grabs your wrist and halts you from eating. “Let’s clean you up a bit.” He pulls a box of wet wipes out of thin air and begins to wipe your face gently with them, discarding them in the nearby bin.

For some reason, your heart begins to palpitate as you watch Heeseung, who has a soft look on his face, clean your face. One hand gently holds your chin, while the other wipes away the ice cream you had smeared all over your face. Heeseung may be a freak and get on your nerves constantly and make you consider murder, but there are times like these; times where he is so kind and gentle towards you, and it makes you rethink your entire life --

Right. Your life.

So, you were born on a frosty December morning. You came out screaming so loud, a couple of nurses had to leave the room and you roused your passed out father. In the room next to you, Jay was born a couple of seconds later, which led to you and Jay growing up together. Side by side. Hand in hand. The sharing-the-sandbox-and-pushing-each-other-off-the-monkey-bars growing up.

All your life you’ve been stuck to Jay’s side. And you hated it.

Elementary school started and you made new friends. Who then became Jay’s friends as well. You pushed Jay off the monkey bars every break time because he had invaded your big squad of girls, and you would get put in time out for ten minutes because of it every time. Jay would buy you a popsicle after school as an apology for worming his way into your girl group.

(Though, Jake should be mentioned here; he was an honorary member of your girl club because he was pretty good at braiding hair. This is when you, Jake, and Jay became a tight knit group of friends, much to your displeasure. Did everything in your life have to revolve around Jay?)

Middle school came and with a renewed vigor, you made new friends. And so did Jay. And it turned out his friends were also your friends. Because, somehow, you befriended Yizhuo, and Lily, and so did Jay. But there was one person you and Jay did not share in common; Heeseung Lee.

Heeseung was in the grade above you. He was kind, smart, and very attractive. You had both gone to the same elementary school and he instantly took Jay under his wing, but you made sure to stay far away. Boys who weren’t Jay and Jake had cooties. You didn’t really talk to Heeseung until middle school when Jay thought it would be best to add Heeseung to your friend group.

Instantly, Heeseung ticked you off and thus, began your long winded friendship of fighting and bickering every chance you got. It was just so easy to piss Heeseung off, and it was clear Heeseung took amusement in annoying you. At first, everyone told you it was because Heeseung liked you and wanted your attention -- but then came your freshman year, Heeseung’s sophomore year.

High school was a whole new environment, and a new friend was added to your friend group; Sunghoon. But more on that later. High school meant maturity, sex, and nostalgia for your childhood -- more on the sex part later.

With confidence filling your veins, you asked Heeseung out on a date. He promptly rejected you. That night, with Yizhuo and Lily, you called upon some demons and made them swear to curse Heeseung for the rest of his damned life.

Apparently, those demons suck fucking ass.

While you spent most of your time bickering with the boys around you, there were the times when they were gentle with you -- Heeseung especially. Somewhere, buried deep down, Heeseung actually cares about you. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. You’ve seen the way he handles you when you’re crying or emotional in any way and you can’t help but let your heart flutter, even after swearing to move on from Heeseung ever since he rejected you.

You don’t like admitting this but. Well. You’ve been in love with Heeseung since you were twelve.

God. How pathetic.

So -- there Heeseung was, gently wiping your face. “Messy girl,” Heeseung scolds gently. “Seriously. When did you become like Riki?” With a last swipe over your lips, Heeseung backs away. “There. Now, you look easy on the eyes.”

Knuckles crack. You glance over at Jungwon. He’s cracking the bones in his neck. Oh God. You thrust the remainder of your ice cream at Jay and book it out of the park. You weren’t planning on staying any longer. ‘Local girl kidnapped by self-proclaimed Cat Boy’ is not a headline you want to be featured in.

Sayonara bitches!

jake’s intervention: stop kissing everything

you: mom is making me come home for christmas

you: decided tn is my last night alive

you: anyone wanna watch me jump??????

jay smells: Can’t watch! I’m Jungwon-sitting

gaymansaywhat: Gay

gaymansaywhat: Woah who said that?????????????????

you: im so happy you came out of the closet sunghoon 😭😭😭😭

gaymansaywhat: Not funny. Didn’t laugh.

gaymansaywhat: I literally have a girlfriend.

you: Ok…….moving on.

jake (DNR): what time are u planning to jump?

you: in ten minutes

jake (DNR): i’ll be there!

jake (DNR): physics is making me rethink my smoking sobriety oath

jay smells: girl.

jay smells: BTW i’m also going back for christmas, and the invitation is extended to everyone!

nishimura: I’LL BE THERE

you: at my suicide or at christmas?

nishimura: wat do u think freak.

you: kys. food over free entertainment? i see what kind of boy you are, riki nishimura

heeseung: i think i’m a part of the family emailing list

heeseung: i even got assigned to bring a plate of dessert

jay smells: of course you did.

jay smells: i got assigned to bring meat and they’ll probably expect it to be like slow cooked lamb or something

Jungwon Yang: I’ll be there.

Jungwon Yang: At Christmas. Not suicide.

Jungwon Yang: 👋

you: how can someone be horrifying over text?

barbienoo: i’ll def be there at christmas (:

barbienoo: can’t make the suicide, sry

you: i’m calling it off

you: it’s so pathetic how i only have jake as my audience

you: if anything that’s only making me MORE suicidal

heeseung: need some company, y/n?

heeseung: jeongin and beomgyu dumped me

you: poor baby heeseung

you: be a man about it and kill yourself.

gaymansaywhat: Anyone else feeling like a third wheel rn?

For once, the school day passes by relatively boring. No children crying, no friendship drama, and no boys tugging on ponytails. Humming to yourself, you tidy up your classroom while thinking of what to have for dinner tonight. Jake and Sunghoon were out bar hopping with Felix -- which basically meant they’ll be touring all the gay bars in the city.

“Hey.”

Glancing up, you see Heeseung resting in the doorway of your classroom, his brown satchel Jay gifted him for his eighteenth birthday hanging off his shoulder. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up, black trousers, and those fancy leather brown shoes Jay buys by the hundreds. Seriously. Half of Jay’s room is full of shoe boxes.

“Hey,” you respond, dumping the handful of trash you were holding into the nearby rubbish bin.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat three horses.”

Heeseung grins. “Perfect. I have a reservation at that new Italian restaurant in ten minutes. Meet you there?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is this a date?”

“Do you want it to be a date?”

“Well, you are fresh out of a break up. I know you, Beomgyu, and Jeongin were involved for a while --”

“--I hope you know we were joking about that polyamory shit --”

“-- It wasn’t a joke. It’s okay. We love the gay community in this classroom --”

“--Don’t tell me that you’re in love with me, Y/N --”

The conversation full of interruptions dies there. Can Heeseung tell? Just by the way you’re standing? Or the way you’re talking? That you’re in love with him? Shit. You need to do something to throw off suspicion. You can’t have Heeseung thinking you’re in love with him. That’ll lead to your demise.

(“Okay, here’s my ‘How-to-stop-loving-Heeseung-Lee’ guide,” Lily Morrow announces, sitting on her bright pink couch in her bright yellow apartment. Yizhuo was sitting next to Lily, squinting at the Colleen Hoover book she was reading -- unfortunately, Yizhuo had fallen victim to Booktok’s Colleen Hoover propaganda. She’ll have to learn the hard way.

Wonyoung was also here. She was eating hot cheetos and daintily dusting off her fingers with a cute handkerchief your pretty sure you helped Sunghoon buy.

It was Girl’s Night. Well. An attempt at Girls night because only four of you were here. Minjeong had other business to attend to -- Beomgyu and Jeongin apparently took higher priority over Girls Night. Chaewon actually had work. Like. Real life work. A full time corporate job kind of work, which was unfortunate, and Yunjin was attending to an SNS text Heeseung had sent her. Speak of the devil.

Fiddling with the ends of the throw pillow Lily’s roommate, Jinsoul, bought, you lean towards Lily with eager ears. “Tell me, Mrs. Morrow. Tell me how to stop my twelve-year pining.”

Lily clears her throat. “First step is admitting, to Heeseung’s face, that you do not love him. Admittance in the face of adversity is always a good start.”

You nod, eyes gleaming. “Okay. Admit I do not love Heeseung to his face. Good start. What’s the next step?”

Lily makes a face. It looks like she just got a toothache. “Um. That’s all I have.”

There’s a long pause.

Yizhuo gasps. “What a shit book!” And then she throws it across the room, narrowly missing the cat-shaped lamp Lily’s roommate -- Jinsoul, once again -- bought. “What are you two talking about?”

“What the fuck, Lily? Why did you call a Girl’s Night then? We were supposed to figure out how to stop my pining!” You cry, shoving your face against the ugly throw pillow.

“I was….interrupted.”

“What was more important than coming up with a comprehensive guide to getting over Heeseung Lee?”

“Um. Jake called me. Said he had lady problems.”

“He -- what? Jake has lady problems? He’s -- he can’t even get his dick up?!”

Yizhuo snorts. “He can’t get his dick up?”

“He asked me if female dogs also go through puberty because Layla wasn’t listening to him.”

“I’m gonna kill that fucking dog.” You swear.)

You laugh. “In love with you? That’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said, Heeseung Lee. I am not in love with you!” Phew. Good save.

“Hmm, okay!” Heeseung shrugs. “Let’s go eat.”

It’s a short drive over to the new Italian restaurant. You and Heeseung park next to each other and enter the restaurant in silence. It’s packed and conversation is spilling out into the night. Everything about this restaurant speaks romance, and it’s hard to not notice all the dates happening around you as you’re seated smack in the middle of the restaurant.

Since you were driving, you decided to get some Fanta.

“You still like Fanta?” Heeseung asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Hater,” you scowl. “Fanta is good.”

“Sure. If you were raised in a dumpster and had to fight your way out.”

You pick up the knife in front of you, watching it glint in the moody restaurant lighting. “Don’t test me, Heeseung. I was a waitress in high school.”

“Is that supposed to scare me? Are you going to “are you ready to order” me to death?”

“Watch that mouth, Heeseung Lee.”

Heeseung grins and focuses back on the menu in front of him. “You do know Jeongin and Beomgyu and I weren’t actually dating?”

You smile, rolling your eyes. “Of course I know. But to anyone else? Well.” The spaghetti bolognese sounds good, but their ravioli sounds even better -- oh wow their gnocchi. This is going to be a tough decision to make. Glancing up at Heeseung, you can’t remember the last time you two ever hung out like this. In fact, you can’t ever remember the last time the two of you were this polite with each other.

“So, why’d you ask me to join you tonight? Do you still feel bad for eating all my doughnuts?” You set the menu down, deciding on the ravioli.

“Nah,” Heeseung shakes his head. “Jeongin, Beomgyu, Yunjin, Minjeong, and I had this slideshow night a couple of nights back. Jeongin’s slideshow was a lecture on how we should all be mature by now -- I mean, no twenty-five-year-old should still be arguing like a twelve-year-old with their friend.” Heeseung glances up at you, an oddly warm look in his eyes. “It kinda got me thinking.”

“Oh,” you fail to come up with a response.

Your waiter comes back and you order your food.

“I guess it’s time we mature,” you agree with Heeseung. You feel as though your world has been turned upside down. Being mature with Heeseung? That sounds immature. “Does this mean we have to say good morning and good evening to each other, and ask how each other is doing whenever we see each other?”

Heeseung snorts, siping his orange juice. (He’s one to talk about ordering Fanta. Only freaky losers order orange juice. Orange juice drinkers are the worst types of humans. Trust.) “Not that adult-like mature, Y/N. It’s like we didn’t grow up together.”

“Well, if you wanna get technical --”

“Jay talked about you all the time in elementary school. I felt like I knew you before I actually knew you. I also thought you and Jay would get married, but apparently Jay has a type for women and men who don’t want him. Case and point; Yuna and Jungwon.”

You giggle, thinking back to Jay’s whirlwind romance with Yuna -- that was all in his head. Jungwon…well that’s a work in progress according to Jay. You’re pretty sure Jungwon has a thing with Rei, which is probably why Riki is a bit antagonistic towards him because Riki has a thing for Rei.

“Jake told me he was out with Felix tonight.”

You nod your head. “Jake and Sunghoon are going bar hopping with him. I wonder how long it’ll take for them to realize they’re actually going to every gay bar in the city.”

“It’ll take a while for Sunghoon to figure out. He’s used to getting hit on by everyone and everything.”

You raise your glass of Fanta. “Let’s cheers to that.”

Your food arrives. It was just as yummy as you imagined, and the night floats away as you and Heeseung talk about everything under the sun. It felt weird, but nice, not arguing with Heeseung over stupid petty things like siblings would. You think you could get used to this.

You order a brownie for dessert, and of course after saying he was too full for dessert, the gooey chocolate brownie is too tempting for Heeseung.

“No!” You exclaim, whacking Heeseung’s hand away. “You do not get to eat this brownie. I’m paying for it, so I’m eating it. Don’t even think about touching it. I don't want your ugly music teacher hands getting all over it.”

“You hate me,” scowls Heeseung. “And what did music teachers ever do to you?”

“Exist,” you snarl.

Heeseung eyes you, and then breaks out into a grin, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “Ahh, I know what this is. This is reverse psychology flirting.”

You give Heeseung a look, and then reach out to touch his forehead. “Are you sick, Heeseung, what are you even saying?”

Heeseung bats your hand away and opens his mouth. “Ahhh?”

“Ahh,” you mock back and shove the entire brownie into your mouth.

“Why do you eat food like it’s going to disappear in .5 seconds. What happened to savoring the flavor?”

“So. Since when were you on my family’s email list for Christmas dinner?” You address the elephant in the room -- well, the elephant in the room for you. You’re pretty sure Heeseung isn’t aware that that’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past 48 hours.

Heeseung shrugs, finishing off the last of his eighth glass of orange juice. “It just happened. I think it’s also your mom trying to get me married into the family.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to get down on one knee?”

“I wouldn’t get married to you.”

“How else will you marry into the family? I’m an only child.”

“There’s always Jay.”

“He’s my mother’s non-biological son.”

“She still thinks of him as a son.”

“Fine. Be gay. See if I care.”

Heeseung has a smug grin on his face. “I think you do care, Y/N. You care greatly about the fact that I would choose Jay over you.”

“Everyone chooses Jay over me. Even my own mother,” you grumble.

“How’s the Heeseung project coming along?” Yizhuo asks as she’s painting your nails over the dining table. Jay was busy in the kitchen, airpods in, and cutting up some vegetables for the curry he was making. Jake was busy crying over some physics shit and taking breaks to stare at the pack of Malboros he bought yesterday, and Sunghoon was giggling like a teenage girl as he texts Wonyoung.

Freak.

“Well, I told him I didn’t love him to his face like Lily advised,” you say.

Yizhuo nods her head.

“And that’s all I’ve done so far.”

Yizhuo gives you a disappointed look.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You whine. “It’s just. Hard. Okay? Super duper hard because everything about him attracts me. Even his fucking adam’s apple.”

“Why are we talking about Adam's apple?” Jake asks, walking into the kitchen, tears streaming down his face and his fingers twitching.

You both ignore Jake who then immediately breaks down as soon as he opens the refrigerator. Sometimes you regret moving in with Jake. He’s prone to breakdowns.

“Keep this up and you’re gonna die alone. And a virgin.” Yizhuo hisses.

“Actually, I’m not a virgin. Remember?”

“Why’d you have to remind me,” groans Yizhuo.

So -- the sex thing.

You + Jake + alcohol = Sex.

End of story.

Yunjin suddenly bursts into the kitchen, Sunghoon following close behind. She leans over, her hands resting on her knees and she gasps for breath. Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares at her. It takes a while for Yunjin to regain her composure -- it’s probably all the hotboxing she does with Beomgyu, Jeongin, and their pickle rick bong.

“Heeseung -- Heeseung’s on a date.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is where Act Two begins.

Act II: A love that nobody could destroy

[SCENE: CHRISTMAS PARTY, 9 PM]

It’s Christmas. It’s the season of cheer. It’s the season of snow, snowmen, and eggnog. It’s the season of giving. It’s the season of kissing each other under the mistletoe and having hot Christmas sex while Jingle Bells plays.

You sit on the couch, eyes following Heeseung around the house like a hawk. So, Heeseung has been going out on dates with a girl named Ryujin. Interesting. You’ve never heard of the name Ryujin before, and your mother knows everyone in the godforsaken city. Next to you, Jeongin shifts uncomfortably.

“Remind me why we’re sitting together?”

“You’re a Heeseung magnet,” you tell him.

“I am?”

You look at Jeongin. “Yes.” And then you look back at Heeseung.

Christmas; season of cheer and giving, but for you? It’s the season of green-eyed monsters named jealousy. You wonder, what does this Ryujin girl have that you don’t? What was so special about her that made Heeseung decide to go on dates with her instead of you? Was your hang out at that really nice Italian restaurant really that bad? You shiver at the thought.

Jeongin, ever the Heeseung magnet, manages to attract Heeseung over to the couch you were both sitting on. Sitting up straighter, Heeseung takes a seat beside you, his knee brushing yours. You almost drop your eggnog.

“Hey,” Heeseung greets, grabbing a pillow and holding it against his chest. “Pretty fun party, isn’t it? Your mom always throws the best parties, Y/N.” Heeseung beams at you. Teeth and all. You swoon a bit.

“Yeah, well, she’s putting on her best since you’re here.” Is this flirting? Are you flirting? Beside you, Jeongin snorts into his cup of lemonade.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “So, how many cards did you get before Christmas break? I got about fifty. Lots of chocolate too.”

“I’m not sharing that private information with you.”

“Ahh, you only got three.”

“Did not! My students love me!” You defend.

“Hmm. Sure.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung smiles like he knows the answer to every question ever. “Oh, you know. I’ve heard some things about you…..”

You practically pin Heeseung to the back of the couch, your eggnog thrust into Jeongin’s unwilling hand. “Tell. Me. Now.” You demand, through gritted teeth. “Or I will castrate you.”

“Last time you threatened castration nothing happened.”

“This time it will happen. I know a guy who knows a vet.”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “Do tell, Y/N.”

“First, you spill your secrets and I spill mine.”

Unfortunately, Sunghoon interrupts your interrogation. “As much as we’re all enjoying the view,” Sunghoon says, sounding deeply amused, “your services are required, darling Y/N.”

If you were Medusa, Sunghoon would be stone. “What.” Venom practically spits from your mouth. Who dared to interrupt your interrogation? Oh. Of course it was Jay and Jake. They stand in a shadowed corner, beckoning you over with not-so subtle hand gestures.

Reluctantly, you let go of Heeseung, pat down your dress, and approach the two boys, Sunghoon hot on your heels.

“How important is this?” You hiss. “I almost had Heeseung’s confession.”

“Confession?!” Exclaims Jake. “He was gonna admit his love to you?”

Freeze frame -- a little backstory;

After Yunjin all but burst into your kitchen with that sudden proclamation of Heeseung on a date, Jay promptly asked you what you were going to do about that, which led to you freaking out and wondering how the hell Jay knew you were in love with Heeseung.

“I knew it from the moment I introduced you to him,” Jay said, sounding proud of himself. You, on the other hand, can’t help but feel suspicious. Since when was Jay so observant of you? In fact, when has Jay ever been that observant? Or had those kinds of feelings -- the psychic weirdo feelings? Jay’s a pretty straight forward facts kinda guy. Suspicion fills up your stomach, but you push it aside.

“Yeah, Y/N. You should go confess to Heeseung. It’s getting tiring,” Jake had followed up with after Jay’s explanation. It seemed his tears had dried up. After another shouting match of you asking Jake how he knew, you found out Jake only found out last year because Jay had told him. Once again, you were suspicious because since when did Jay willingly tell Jake all the secrets he knew? If there was one thing Jay was good at, it was goading Jake. He loved to tease and annoy the shit out of Jake, and he loved holding things over the Australian’s head.

Sunghoon’s reaction on the other hand, wasn’t surprising at all; “You love Heeseung?” An alien could be having sex with another alien in front of Sunghoon, and he wouldn’t even notice.

So, you found out two of your roommates knew of your love for Heeseung, and Sunghoon had just found out, so immediately a plan was put into action. Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon took this seriously, deciding they were gonna play Spies. Overdramatic freaks.

That’s why Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, and you were conversing in a dark corner in the living room. Apparently, that’s something spies do. “We have intel on this Ryujin Shin,” Jake says, in a low tone, eyes scouring the room for any eavesdroppers. You have to stifle a laugh.

“Pray tell, Agent Layla.”

(Agent Layla = Jake

Agent Mariners = Jay

Agent Ice Prince = Sunghoon.)

(Pretty stupid names if anybody were to ask you.)

“She’s a lesbian.”

Silence fills the dark living room corner.

“And you’ve confirmed it?”

Jay whips out his phone and shows you photos of Ryujin Shin. HD 4K photos.

“We literally caught her in 4K.”

“You stalked her?”

“Well --”

“You guys are taking this spy agent shit too seriously.”

“We’re bored, Y/N!” Sunghoon whines. “Bored, horny adult men.”

“You could’ve left the horny part out,” Jake mumbles.

“Okay, So, she’s a lesbian,” you say, confirming it yourself as you swipe through photos of this Ryujin Shin girl kissing another girl. “Does Heeseung look like a girl?”

Once again, silence falls over the dark living room corner. All four of you turned to look at Heeseung who was engaged in what seemed like a deep conversation with Jeongin. Lord knows what they were talking about. Probably the drama in Jeongin and Beomgyu’s pilates class.

“No. He’s not.” Jay confirms.

“But if your tilt your head slightly….” Sunghoon says, with a tilted head. Jake whacks him and Sunghoon straightens up. “Nope. Heeseung is very much a guy. Jake can confirm because he’s seen his dick before -- right?”

Jake nods his head. “It was a pretty solid dick.”

“So, Heeseung is a guy, Ryujin goes around kissing girls, why the hell would they go out on dates with each other?” You ask the question of the hour.

No one says anything for a moment.

“Maybe it’s an experiment,” Jake pipes up. “Maybe Heeseung is trying to turn Ryujin to the dark side.”

“Dark side?” You ask.

“Straight.”

“The dark side is being straight?”

Jake nods his head. “We hate heteros here.”

“Down with the heterosexuals!” Sunghoon exclaims.

“Okay, I’m finished with this conversation. I’m walking away. And over to Heeseung.” You shake your head. You feel your brain cells exploding.

“Wait! Y/N! What was the second step in Lily’s comprehensive guide to getting over Heeseung Lee?” Jay asks frantically.

“There was no second step,” you say. “So I’m left to figure out the second step all by myself. I mean, I should probably go on a date with someone, right?”

“I can set you up,” Sunghoon says.

“No.” You shoot him down immediately.

Your date was a guy named Mark. You’re spending your date in front of a claw machine, watching Mark blow all his money on attempting to get this one monkey plushie you had pointed out. “It’s fine, Mark, really. I don’t need it.” But, like all men, he ignored you and shoved another one dollar note into the claw machine. Groaning, you turn around, not bothering to watch another failed attempt.

The arcade was alive with people at 8 PM. Huh, who knew.

At first, Mark seemed like a cool dude. And then he howled at the moon fifteen seconds after you started up a conversation about Twilight with him. He told you he was team Jacob and that made you incredibly wary of him. Why would anyone be team Jacob?

There were a million other games you would love to play -- like the motorbike one across from you. You totally ruled at motorbike arcade games. Or there was this zombie apocalypse game you passed by as Mark led you over to the basketball game -- and then you pointed out the monkey plushie and Mark forgot all about his bragging about how he’s the best basketballer since Lebron.

Your mind trails to Heeseung. Typical. If it were Heeseung you were on a date with, you wouldn’t be standing here with a deep longing to play the motorbike game because you would be playing the motorbike game. Heeseung would be on the bike next to you making stupid remarks and you would be beside yourself in laughter.

The thing is; you’re what someone would call ‘emotionally repressed.’ You hate thinking, talking and feeling your feelings. Especially when it comes to romantic attraction toward your long-time friend. Ever since Heeseung rejected you back in freshman year, you’ve become accustomed to pushing your feelings away and burying them in the deep dark depths of your mind. They rarely come out to play -- and when they do, you’re ready and waiting to whack them back into hiding.

With a huff, you decide that this isn’t the date you want. You don’t want to be stuck to Mark Lee’s side for the night, so with tense shoulders you turn around to -- Mark Lee holding out the monkey plushie you pointed out, a broad grin on his face. “I’m a pro,” he says, fifty dollars poorer. “Now, it’s time for me to get my Lebron on,” and he leads you over to the basketball game.

Okay. Maybe Mark wasn’t that bad. He just….has some flaws. Fatal flaws. (Like seriously. Who howls at the fucking moon??)

“Noooo wayyy!” Mark exclaims, pulling up to the arcade game and tapping the shoulder of a hooded shoulder. As soon as you see the face of the hooded figure, you melt into the ground, never to be seen again. Heeseung Lee. What the fuck was he doing here? This was not the second step to Lily Morrow’s comprehensive guide to getting over Heeseung Lee. He wasn’t supposed to intrude on your date!

“Yo, Mark!” Heeseung daps him up, and then he sees you. Disgustingly, his face lights up. It’s like, ever since the Doughnut Incident, he’s decided to call you a friend, which isn’t exactly a good thing but also; you’re sick of being stuck in the friendzone. Like, c’mon!!!!!!!!!!! It’s been ten years since he rejected you, surely some feelings have developed in those ten years.

Well. There was the whole Jake Year. You don’t really want to delve into that -- too much uncharted territory and angst for you.

“Y/N!” Heeseung exclaims, wrapping you in a hug. If only Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon were here to see this. Wonyoung would also probably be there, since Sunghoon was. Ever since Christmas, you never see Wonyoung or Sunghoon without each other. Jay reckons they’ve gotten engaged. Jake’s too busy crying over Layla biting him to care.

“Hey,” you greet.

“You sound enthusiastic.”

“You know me, always enthused to see you.”

Ryujin Shin pops out of nowhere, because of course she does.

“Let’s be honest,” you blurt out, and then immediately regret it when Ryujin gives you a weird look. You need to stop hanging around Riki. And Jeongin. Don’t even start on Jeongin Yang.

Heeseung also gives you a weird look. “Let’s be honest, I need to poop,” you try to recover from that fuck up, but you think you only make it worse. “I think I’m about to blow, can we reschedule this date, Mark? I need to get to the nearest toilet before I explode.” You need to shut the fuck up. But you’re stressed and when you’re stressed, your mouth runs like a motor unable to stop. Jay says it’s your worst feature, Sunghoon says it’s your most defining feature. You told Sunghoon his most defining feature was the bruise he was about to get from your punch to the face.

“Are you sick?” Heeseung asks. Because apparently you constantly get sick around him.

“I’m fine.” (Why does your voice crack?) Suddenly, the arcade becomes overwhelming. You have to get out. So, with a hurried goodbye to Mark, you exit the arcade, gripping the monkey plushie tightly and trying to push the boiling pot of emotions further down -- but it doesn’t work, like it normally does, and your chest becomes tight.

You make it halfway down the street before you start crying. Why are you crying? Why?? What brought this on? Maybe it’s the fact Heeseung’s dating other people -- lesbians, to be exact. Maybe it’s the fact you tried to move on. Maybe it’s the fact Heeseung is always there, wherever you go.

Okay, so you know you haven’t gone into much detail about how much you truly love Heeseung, so here’s the truth; you love him. Really love him, that sometimes, it’s hard to breathe. You love Heeseung, that just the thought of him keeps you awake on random nights. When you were thirteen, you planned out your life with Heeseung in your diary. When you were fourteen, after Heeseung rejected you, you cried so hard you threw up and took three days off of school. When you were fifteen and trying to move on from Heeseung, you couldn’t.

When you were seventeen, you played a game of seven minutes in heaven and you wished badly to get Heeseung. You thought that maybe, if he kissed you, he would take back his rejection from freshman year. Instead, the bottle landed on Jake and --

You’ve loved Heeseung for twelve years.

Every time you think about the future, Heeseung is always there. Even now, when you’re trying to move on. Even now, when you were waiting for Mark to get the monkey plushie. Even now, as you’re crying, you’re wondering why it’s so hard to make Heeseung love you.

Maybe the whole Doughnut Incident was just the catalyst for this; your ultimate demise. Maybe, that Doughnut Incident, and everything that occurred after, is just the universe giving you a sign it’s time to give up. You’ve wasted twelve years of your life. Give Up.

“Y/N?”

Heeseung’s here. Heeseung -- Heeseung followed you?

You glance up, and Heeseung frowns, coming to stand in front of you to brush away your tears.

Maybe you were too in your head -- too blinded by fighting down your emotions that you didn’t realize how Heeseung truly treated you. Sure, you both argued over menial things, and called each other names just for the hell of it, but this was the true friendship of you and Heeseung -- forged over late night talks, and sneaking into Jay’s massive kitchen to eat all his pop tarts and drink his Coke.

Heeseung takes care of you. He was always there for you in high school when you spent hours in the school, and local library. He was there for you in college, when you were a pathetic mess and spent most of your freshman and sophomore years crying every day. And God. He was there for you during your Jake Years -- even when he shouldn’t’ve been.

This whole time, you’ve been deluding yourself into believing Heeseung never cared, when it’s so obvious now. He’s cradling your face, with concerned eyes. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” His voice is soft. So so soft. You’re utterly beguiled. You’re overwhelmed. You’re in a daze.

You respond by kissing Heeseung.

The Jake Years.

1. When did Jake and Y/N first hook up

Freshman year of college

Senior year of high school

Junior year of high school

2. When did Jake and Y/N begin regularly hooking up?

Freshman year of college. October 31st.

Sophomore year of college. November 15th.

Senior year of high school, December 31st.

3. How long did this relationship last?

Five months

Two years

One year

One year, nine months

4. Why did Jake and Y/N begin hooking up?

Because Y/N needed to get over Heeseung

Because Jake had a crush on Y/N

5. What were the consequences for hooking up with each other?

The answer is too long to be multi choice

The friend group falling apart, Heeseung fading away, Jake and Y/N resenting each other for a year after the relationship ended, Heeseung dating a girl called Giselle.

Y/N didn’t realize it at the time, but Heeseung loved her. He was in love with her. His heart was dedicated to her. He would’ve confessed, if it weren’t for him walking in on Jake and Y/N making out in a bathroom. Heeseung tried to keep his distance from Y/N, and Jake, but he loved her. So, he stayed and tried to repair his broken heart in the process.

Jake and Y/N blaming each other for all their problems.

All of the above. And more.

Examiner’s notes: I know this looks like a lot. And it is. And there’s more. There’s always more to the story, and if Y/N hadn't been so blind, then she would’ve seen Heeseung’s love and affection for her. Heeseung got to college, and realized he missed Y/N more than any of his other friends. He missed her, and missing her made him love her. He worshipped Y/N, and was willing to do anything for her and that made it hard to walk away from their friendship when she started hooking up with Jake, so Heeseung stayed. He fucking stayed. He stayed, and let Y/N shatter his heart whole. If Y/N had only opened her fucking eyes, looked outside of her mind, she could’ve seen what she had been wishing for for most of her life. Good exam. You seemed to have studied this topic well -- you have the best marks in this class! I hope to see you taking this course at a collegiate level.

“Not a fucking intervention,” you groan, opening the door to see Beomgyu and Jeongin in yoga pants and matching cheetah-print tank-tops. Did cheetah-print tank-tops even exist? You wonder where Beomgyu and Jeongin found them, Lily and her roommate, Jinsoul, would totally love them. “I don’t need an intervention. I’m fine. Please, I hate pilates.”

Jeongin grabs your arm and yanks you out the door. “Nope. You’re coming to our pilates class.”

“I’ll scream.”

“Try us,” Beomgyu smiles. It’s not a nice smile. You hate it when Beomgyu smiles with his teeth.

Jeongin and Beomgyu’s pilate’s class was infamous for many things -- their teacher, Joshua Hong, was a little bit on the…..gay side. And everyone who went to pilates with Beomgyu and Jeongin, came back a changed person -- Jake can attest to that. He was free of his Christian guilt and immediately lit up five bongs, got stoned, ran through the streets naked, and entered a Catholic church. Talk about extreme.

“Fine. I’ll jump out your van and kill myself.”

“It’ll be our pleasure to witness that great feat,” Jeongin responds, rapidly pushing the down button on the elevator before giving up and heading for the stairs.

“What the fuck why are we taking the stairs? We live on the fifteenth floor. I’m not walking down fifteen flights of stairs. Look! The elevator is starting to climb floors --”

“Shut up and start climbing, Y/N,” Beomgyu says, holding the door open. “You need this.”

“Did you just call me fat?”

“Maybe. Move your fat ass.”

“Rude as hell.”

“You wanna know what’s rude?” Jeongin asks, and instantly, you know what’s about to be said.

“Nope. Don’t say anything. I don’t wanna know --”

“Kissing our best friend and then running away.”

Yeah. That happened. Call it a moment of panic.

You groan loudly, the sound reverberating through the stairwell. “I’ll admit, not my finest moment.”

“Actually, hooking up with Jake while Heeseung was in love with you was not your finest moment,” Jeongin corrects, holding up his forefinger. Behind you, Beomgyu disguises his laughter as a cough.

You already knew Heeseung was in love with you while you and Jake were hooking up because of Sunoo. He was severely inebriated and decided to spill dark, juicy secrets to you. But, like everything else related to Heeseung, you pushed it away and pulled on your blind glasses, letting your unreliable train of thoughts control the narrative of your life.

Pulling up to a pilates class in jeans was the worst mistake of your life, but Beomgyu and Jeongin didn’t seem to care as they placed their mats down at the very front of the room, and right next to….Jungwon, Sunoo, and Riki. God. You were literally in hell.

Jungwon hisses at you, Riki smirks, and Sunoo holds in his laugh. Clearly, the news of you kissing Heeseung had spread fast.

“I hope all women die,” Jungwon claims in a rather dramatic fashion.

“Don’t say that. They’ll call you misogynistic,” Sunoo says, patting Jungwon on the head.

“Well. That is something a misogynist would say,” Riki points out.

“I can’t believe you broke Heeseung’s heart a second time,” a voice behind you says.

“Who the fuck are you?” You ask, whirling around.

“Chan!”

“Someone with the name Chan probably stinks,” Beomgyu says.

“That’s rude,” Chan comments.

“Your feet stink,” the person behind Chan says.

Chan leaves the pilates class.

“So,” Jeongin says, beginning to stretch. “What happened?”

You stand there, arms folded, mat still folded, and in jeans. “Not telling.”

Jungwon hisses again. Sunoo has to manhandle the younger boy away from you.

“Why not?” Beomgyu asks, pulling out a cruiser from his bag. He takes a sip like it’s water. To be honest, you’re not surprised. You’ve seen their fridge before. You’ve never wanted to unsee something so badly.

“Because it’s stupid,” you feel ashamed to admit this but whatever. You pick at your jeans.

“What’s stupid?” Jeongin probes, now doing a handstand -- what the fuck?

“Just -- everything!”

Upon your sudden proclamation, the pilates instructor, Joshua Hong walks in. Saved by the teacher, you let out a sigh of relief. Jeongin and Beomgyu would have to give up their interrogation for now and you’ll get time to think over pretty solid excuses to their questions.

Or so you thought.

“Gayshua -- sorry, Joshua!” Beomgyu calls out, “we have another one!” And he points to you. This Joshua Hong fellow grins so brightly you literally have to squint. Talk about veneers.

“Dope. Come on up here,” Joshua gestures to the podium that is usually used by instructors.

“What?” You’re confused.

“Intervention time!” Sunoo cheers, clapping. Soon, the whole studio is clapping and Beomgyu leads you up to the podium. You feel totally befuddled. What the fuck. You were supposed to air out your deepest darkest secret to a room full of strangers?

“Alright, this is Y/N,” Beomgyu introduced you. “She’s in love with our best friend, Heeseung Lee. You all know Heeseung, right?”

Everyone nods their head, and a voice rings out, “yeah! He’s pretty dope.” The voice belonged to Mark Lee. Of-fucking-course. Somehow, this all gets more embarrassing.

“And he’s in love with her too and she broke his heart --”

“He used to be in love with me,” you correct Beomgyu. “He doesn’t love me anymore.”

Beomgyu laughs so loudly you cower away. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“What…..what was funny about that?” Your ears are still ringing.

“If he didn’t love you anymore, why is he crying in bed watching Riverdale? Why did you break his heart a second time, as he so dramatically put it?”

It’s like an atom bomb was dropped on you.

“Wait. You said Riverdale?”

Beomgyu nods his head. “That’s how you know it’s bad.” Then he turns back to address his fellow pilates friends. “Y/N did a classic ‘kiss-and-run.’ Today, we will help her unpack all of her feelings, and emotions. But beware; she’s incredibly emotionally repressed. Like it’s fucking terrible.” Then, Beomgyu hops off the stage, and everyone’s eyes are on you.

“Yo? A kiss-and-run? She must be insaneee,” you hear Mark murmur.

Maybe he was right.

That pilates intervention did nothing. You ended up getting stoned with Beomgyu and Jeongin after, and then immediately falling asleep as soon as you got home. Heeseung plagues your dreams. He’s a never ending nightmare -- right? Dreaming about Heeseung is a nightmare?

The week continues on. You ignore all the advice Beomgyu and Jeongin’s pilates class gave you and instead take your own advice. You avoid and ignore the problem -- Heeseung. Hell, you don’t even like his Instagram stories. It’s serious business to you. Even at school you manage to avoid Heeseung.

It’s a Saturday night. Wonyoung is over for dinner. “You know, Y/N,” Wonyoung speaks up suddenly as you’re loading the dishwasher and she’s searching through the fridge. “I think you’re pretty pathetic for avoiding Heeseung.”

Being called pathetic by Wonyoung Jang of all people means you’ve hit a new low.

“Pardon?” It’s the only response you can manage.

Wonyoung shuts the fridge and smiles at you. “Well, first of all, I don’t know why you enlisted in Lily’s help. Everyone knows she’s not the best person to go to for help. And second of all, I don’t see the point in avoiding Heeseung -- you both love each other. Just go and confess and then you’ll live your life-long dream.”

“It’s complicated,” you protest, but even to you it sounds like a weak excuse.

“No it’s not,” Wonyoung responds, studying the various photos and reminders pinned to the surface of your fridge by the random magnets Jake buys -- he has a magnet addiction. It must be the physics part of him -- “you’re the one that’s making it complicated. You love to complicate things, don’t you?”

This whole conversation is worse than death.

You spend the entire night replaying the conversation over and over again. Your fingers begin to twitch and you grab your phone, unlock it, and click on Heeseung’s contact, your finger hovering over the call button.

A minute later, you throw down the phone and get up to use the toilet. You’ll never be able to work up the courage to call, or text Heeseung. Maybe this is for the best, really. Pushing open the door to the bathroom, you stop in your tracks upon the sight of Jake helping Layla pee into the toilet.

“Oh, she’s actually getting better?”

Jake turns and flashes a smile. “You know what they say! Practice makes perfect!”

“Right…” you trail off. “Jake, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Jake says, grabbing some toilet paper for Layla.

“Do you regret….it?”

“Yes,” Jake says, without missing a beat.

“Oh,” you don’t know why you feel so offended, but you don’t blame Jake for regretting it. A lot of friendships were ruined in the process of your relationship.

“You know, Y/N, you’re not as emotionally repressed as you think. If you wanted, you’d be with Heeseung right now.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Sex buddies for life!” Jake grins. “Look, Y/N. You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened in college. We were stupid, you were emotional and in love and I took whatever you gave me. It’s in the past, we’re more mature now. You have a chance, and you should take it. Don’t be afraid.”

You groan and hold your head in your hands. “I just -- I just can’t call him. I can’t. What do I even say to him?”

“So don’t call him,” Jake says matter-of-factly. “Go see him.”

“Go see him? At 2 in the morning?”

“Excuses, excuses,” tsks Jake. “I’ll drive you.”

“You’re broke and have no gas.”

“I nicked Jaehyun’s keys in the lobby earlier.”

“Jake!”

“You’ll be thanking me later. C’mon, let’s go.”

Jake pulls up to Heeseung’s apartment building. You’re sitting in the backseat since Jake insisted on Layla having the passenger’s seat. Your stomach rolls over with nerves and every gulp you take only increases the speed of your heart.

“I feel sick,” you croak.

“Throw up in the gutter, not in my car.”

“You mean Jaehyun’s car.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get out and go see Heeseung. Tell him you love him and want to have his babies.”

“Alright, alright.”

Layla barks at you as you exit the car.

“Layla says ‘fighting!’” Jake tells you.

“Thanks Layla.” You sigh and turn to look up at the building in front of you. “I can do this,” I whisper.

“I won’t wait for you!”

“What?!” I exclaim, turning back around. “Why not?”

“I’m tired and need sleep, so you better make sure Heeseung accepts your love and apology otherwise you’re walking home, or sleeping on the street.” With that, Jake pulls away from the curb, leaving you standing helplessly in your cat pajamas and BTS hoodie.

The elevator ride up to Heeeseung’s floor is the longest ride of your life. You’re sweating everywhere -- forehead, palms, armpits, elbow, behind the knees, and even your feet. You can do this. You can do this. It’s easy, just apologize and admit your love.

The elevator door dings open revealing Heeseung.

“Oh!”

“Oh.”

You and Heeseung stare at each other for so long, the elevator doors start to shut again. For a second, you want them to shut and take you away, but then you remember Jake’s threats, and Wonyoung’s words and you’re thrusting your hands out, stopping the doors from closing.

“Heeseung,” You begin with a surge of confidence. “I’m sorry for running away after kissing you. That was kind of a stupid move.”

The elevator doors begin to shut again. You thrust your hand out to stop them from closing. “Like, it was genuinely stupid because why did I do that? I mean, I’ve been in love with you for twelve years, so I should’ve stayed and kissed you more --”

You hold your hand out to stop the doors from closing.

“--I should’ve enjoyed kissing you. But instead, I ran because apparently that’s what I’ve been doing for the past couple of years. It’s true, though, that I’ve loved you for twelve years. I loved you every second of those twelve years. I’ve never stopped. And it’s okay if you don’t love me back, even though Beomgyu told me you’re watching Riverdale. I’m sorry for making you so sad you watched Riverdale. I think that’s the worst part about all of this.”

This time, it’s Heeseung who stops the doors, letting you continue on with your monologue. You hope you’re making sense.

“I guess this is where I say; I love you Heeseung, and I would like another chance to kiss you.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything when he gets into the elevator with you. He presses the lobby button, and watches the door close in silence. You’re pretty sure you’re not breathing. “Heeseung?” You ask, gently. “Are you okay?”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything until the doors ding open, revealing the lobby. Turning to you, Heeseung takes your hand and leads you out of the elevator. “Heeseung, where are we going?” You ask, following Heeseung as he leads you out of the apartment building.

It’s raining.

“Do you have an umbrella?” Heeseung asks, finally saying something.

You shake your head.

“I can’t be bothered going back up to get mine. Are you okay with walking in the rain?”

“Of course, as long as I’m with you.”

Cringe or not, it makes Heeseung smile.

“Well, actually, I kind of do mind because when my hair dries after being out in the rain it gets all frizzy and --” You cut yourself off as Heeseung breaks out into a sprint, tugging you along with him. What the fuck was he on? Was he stoned, or something? Maybe he was leading you to your death. Sounds right. You, too, would murder Heeseung if he pulled a kiss-and-run on you. In fact, it would probably be a murder-suicide.

Okay. That’s kind of morbid.

It turns out, Heeseung took you for a run around the block. God he’s such a weirdo. And a loser. And a freak. And you’re totally in love with him. He has no flaws. He’s perfect. He’s like Prince Charming, if Prince Charming’s hobbies were hotboxing and playing every instrument known to man.

“What the fuck, Heeseung? Why did we just run around the block?”

“You look cute,” Heeseung responds. “I totally dig your cat pajamas. Didn’t Jay give you those?”

“Um. Yes? Answer my question, Heeseung.”

“I actually told Jay to buy you those.”

“Really?”

Heeseung nods. “He was freaking out. He didn’t know what to buy you. I, as usual, was his savior.”

“Oh, well, thank you?”

“It’s fine,” Heeseung smiles, his eyes crinkling. “And to answer your question; I’ve always wanted to kiss someone in the rain.”

“....Okay but why did we have to get soaked?”

“It makes the kiss more romantic.”

“How so?”

“Want me to show you?”

God, you don’t think you’ve ever smiled wider. You’re pretty sure you’re splitting your face in half with how wide you’re smiling. You must look ugly. Hopefully Heeseung will still want you. “Yes. Please.”

So, Heeseung shows you.

He kisses you.

And he’s right. He’s so fucking right. You should start kissing Heeseung in the rain, while soaked, more often.

He kisses you, and you stop shivering. He warms you from the inside out. Heeseung Lee is officially a genius. He should get a Nobel Peace Prize for kissing in the rain.

“Wow,” you say, pulling away. You feel Heeseung’s thumbs brush over your cheeks as he cradles your face so gently. “You were right.”

“Always am. And for the record, I love you too, I accept your apology, and I’ve loved you for thirteen years.”

“What? No you haven’t! I’ve loved you for longer!” Heeseung is a liar. He is a freak. There is no way in hell he’s loved you longer than you’ve loved him. Seriously, how blind and stupid are you? For all you know, you and Heeseung could’ve been in a twelve-year long relationship by now. Damn. You feel sick all of a sudden….curse you and your stupid self. You should ask your mom if you got dropped on the head repetitively when you were a baby.

“Yes. I’ve loved you for thirteen years. I remember when I first felt it. We were at Jay’s. It was barbeque night. You grabbed the ketchup bottle and it exploded all over your top. One of the funniest moments of my life, but it was also the moment I started loving you.”

“....That’s not fair.”

“Nothing in life is fair.”

“You’re such a loser.”

“Says the one who ran away after finally kissing me.”

“Can we not bring that up?!” you whine.

“Oh, I’m gonna bring it up for the rest of your life,” grins Heeseung.

“Let’s break up.”

“No,” Heeseung says, and kisses you again. “Also, I was expecting more of an extravagant way of professing your love for me,” he says after drawing back from the kiss.

“Oh, I had something planned. I was going to make my kids, one by one, enter your classroom with a rose and hand it to you, and then I was gonna get the band to play "I Melt With You" by Modern English while I get down on my knees and profess my love for you.”

Heeseung’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really?!”

“No.”

jake’s intervention: stop kissing everything

[2:45 AM]

you: heeseung and i are dating btw

you: in case anyone cares

[12 PM]

gaymansaywhat: Congrats.

[9:22 PM]

nishimura: sunoo give me 20 bucks or jungwon gets it

author’s note: idk what that ending was. it just got worse the longer i went on…. also this probs couldve been more angstier but i am currently suffering and going through the worst writers block of my life so pls forgive me. anyway stars will fall part two is being written its just. a long process. hope u enjoyed this shit show pls dont take any of it seriously 😭😭😭

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